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The following diagrams illustrate the method: L'axemplaira film* fut reproduit grace A la g4nArosit4 de: Bibliotheque nationale du Canada les images suivantas ^nt iti raproduites avec la plus grand soln, compta tenu de la condition et de la nenetA de I'exempiaire film*, at en fil*ma*"r'''* '^'"^ '*' *°"''''*'°"» «*" «=ontrat de Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprim«e sont film«s en commencant par le premier plat at an terminant soit par la derni*re page qui compone une empreinte d impression ou d-illustration, soit par le second plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmofi. '4609 USA (?16) -82 - C300 - Phone (716) 288 - 5989 'a. CAPTAIN LOVE tyORKS OF THEODORE "ROmRTS ^*- Captain Uoe .... $1.50 The Tied Ftathen. . . /.50 tBrothenofPtrtl ... 1,50 Hemming, the Adoenlunr 1.50 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY New England Building. Botlon. Mats. "AT LAST A FEW LINES WERE ACCOMPLrSHED." fl ■'af€^ «V t- '^> NY i I l! 1: li ... i i CAPTAIN LOVE The History of a Most 'Romantic £cent in the We of an English Gentleman During the Reign of Hts Majesty George the First. Containing Inci- dents of Courtship and 'Danger as Related in the Chronicles of the Period and Now Set Down in Print VHEODORE %OBERTS Jlulhor of •• lied Feathers. " '• Brothers of 'Peril. ' Hemming the Adventurer. ' ' etc. Illustrated by LOUIS ©. GOWING BOSTON ^ L. C. O Id O o b W X H J, On the Highway 9 volume of Bishop Maypole's ' Reflections ' for his sermons — unless he has changed mightily during my absence. He carries the book into the pulpit with him — for who's to gainsay him in Dodwater? — and reads his chapter openly and honestly." At that moment the coach drew to a standstill and one of the postilions dismounted and lit the lamps. Then the journey was continued at a lively pace. " Another hour, at this rate, will bring us to a decent tavern, if my memory serves me," remarked the soldier. The words had scarcely died on his lips before a pistol shot rang above the rolling of the wheels and the pounding of the hoofs. The vehicle lurched, and stopped short so suddenly that both gentlemen were thrown violently forward on to their hands and knees. The footman's musket bel- lowed overhead. Another pistol shot spoke and was followed close by a scream of agony. Curses were shouted, in tones of dismay and exultation ; and over went the fine carriage into the ditch, amid a rending of harness and a clattering of gear. CHAPTER II THE NAMELESS GENTLEMAN The tenant of Nullwood Lower Farm, William Holt by name, entered the kitchen of the farm- house with heavy tread. His whole broad face glowed moistly through the dispersed sweat of his brow. A few dried blooms of early clover and a long straw of timothy-grass clung to his woollen stockings. His wife, who stood by the door of the bake-oven, turned sharply at his entrance. " Not so heavy ! " she cried. " Lord-a-mercy, ye stump like a fatted ox ! " " Fiddle-de-dee, woman ! I walks like an honest farmer," retorted Holt. "D'ye look to find a gentleman at every turn r i your silly old head ? " he added. At that moment a girl entered from an inner room. Her rustic charms were heightened by a glow in her cheeks and a fine radiance in her eyes. " He axed me where he was," she whispered. " And oh, he did look at me real sensible." 10 The Nameless Gentleman 11 With an exclamation of satisfaction, the farmer started towards the door by which his daughter had just entered the kitchen. His good dame cried after him that his face needed washing and his manners mending; but he held on his way and en- tered the shaded chamber on the toes of his great boots. In a tumbled bed in a comer lay a young man. His face was pale and thin, but of a high distinction of feature. Lip and chin were covered with the down of a youthful beard. But h'- 'tyes were clear and sane. He smiled gently in reply to his host's respectful salutation. " And now, young gentleman," said the farmer, " I wants to know what your name may be an' where ye comes from. For two weeks come Satur- day, me wife an' darter has tended ye like one of our own blood — beggin' your Honour's pardon for sayin' so — an' now we'd like to know just who ye may be." The sick man stared at the yeoman with puzzled eyes. " You ask me who I am," he said — " well, to tell the tiuth, I do not seem to know." The farmer scratched his head and shuffled on his feet. " Dang they foot-pads an' dang they fevers," he muttered. " What the one begins t'other finishes 12 Captain Love — an' not a surgeon to bleed ye this side o' Tavcr- ton," he added. The sick man watched him keenly; and now, very feebly, he spoke again. Low as his voice was, it trembled with eagerness. " You talk of fever and foot-pads," he said. " You say that your wife and daughter have nursed me for two weeks come Saturday — and still you ask me who I am and where I come from. I think it is for you to answer questions, my good friend." " Ax away," retorted the rustic, smiling broadly. " Then how the devil do I happen to be in bed in a farmhouse chamber? " asked the other. " How ? " cried Holt. " Why, dang it, my gen- tleman, baint a farmer's bed soft enough for your lordship?" At that moment the girl opened the door and en- tered the room. " Dad," said she, " be that the way to talk to the gentleman — an' him sick. Ye'll have him ravin' an' rollin' again if ye shouts so loud. Leave him be ! Leave him be ! " Without more ado sVe pushed her offending parent from the room and closed the door on his heels. Then, going over to the bedside she fed the invalid with broth from a great bowl. He sipped The Nameless Gentleman 13 from the pewter spoon like a child. Presently he raised his fine eyes to the maiden's. " You will think me very foolish," he said ; " but will you kindly tell me my name." " Oh, sir," she cried, " I do not know your name. But how gladly would I help you if I could." For a little while he lay with his eyes clo.,ed and his brows wrinkled. " Lord, I car remember nothing," he exclaimed, suddenly. " Sir, you must lay quiet. You must rest your mind — else all our trouble will count for nought," whispered the girl. For answer the sick man, looking at her steadily but unseeingly, chanted : — " Sweet, your name I do not know — Queen of London village. I'll lay siege to brows of snow — Take your heart by pillage. Tell me, are your eyes of blue, Black, or merry brown ? Tell me — will you love me true, Queen of London Town ? " " Lor. sir," cried the girl, " what be ye about now? Your Honour have sung that song a score o' times, an' talked an' talked about it." 14 Captain Love "And what else did I talk about?" he asked, leaning sidewise on his pillow, " Ye called me Jack — many's the time ye called me so," said the girl. " An' ye talked about Lun- non — about me an' you — Jack an' you, your Honour — a-goin' to Lunnon. An' ye cried out aboitt the queen ; an' oncet ye spoke of yer dad, — an' oncet — " "Of my father?" inquired the invalid — " Then surely I said his name ? Surely, else how would you know of whom I spoke ? " The girl began to weep, and shook her head. " Nay, sir, ye gave him no name," she sobbed. " Tlie best father in the country — ay, the best in England — that be what ye said, sir; an' when ye first opened yo' eyes ye called dad ' Julia. " When the young man awoke next morning he felt stronger. For an hour or two he lay quiet, try- ing and trying to grasp some thread out of that past which his brain had let slip. The incidents of the previous day — the farmer's visit, and his talk with the girl — were clear enough ; buf. beyond that his mind could lay hold of nothing save the words of a foolish song : — " Sweet, your name I do not know — Queen of London village." t=: The Nameless Gentleman 15 1 " If I but knew my own it would be more to the purpose," he murmured. A shaft of sunlight was strej.ming acrcss his bed, from the deep-set lattice, when the farmer's daugh- ter at last entered with his breakfast of gruel. He ate eagerly, cleaning the bowl to the last drop. " And now," he said, " I should like to know the cause of my sickness. Will you tell it me, my lass?" Nothing loath, the girl put by the bowl, drew a stool to the bedside and told what she knew of how he chanced to become an inmate of Nullwood Lower Farm. And this was the way of it. Tom Pawn - labourer, had come knocking at the farm- house door at peep of day, with an awful story of foot-pads and murder in his mouth. At the word '• foot-pads " the good yeoman had pulled the blankets about his ears; but, in a twinkling his wife had shot him on to the floor and urged him into a few of his most needful garments. After which he had followed Tom Pawn a matter of half a mile down the highway — and there, in the softly spreading lights of the summer dawn he had looked upon the great coach overturned in the ditch. The doors had been torn from their hinges, evidently as the quickest way of disposing of the arms 16 Captain Love thereon. Five victims of the assault lay on the road. All were naked to the waist. Three of the dead men were proclaimed servitors by the quality and condition of their boots. The other two — gentlemen at a glance — had been stripped even to their feet. And one of these was seen to have a spark of life still aglow in him — and him the rustics had rolled in a smock and carried back to the farmhouse. The invalid caught the girl's wrist in his thin fingers, as she finished her story. " By God." he cried, " that outrage shall be paid for in blood. Nameless I may be. but I swear it on the oath of a gentleman. Those honest fellows in the muddy boots — ye gods. I feel it in my blood they were my servants. And the poor, deri gentle- man ? — who was he but my friend ? Ay, my friend, though my memory holds nothing of him — not an echo of his voice — not a line of his face " — and with a gesture at once pathetic and menacing, the youth turned his face to the pillow and eased his grief with tears. Thus the farmer and his wi f e found them — the sick man sobbing in the pillow and the simple girl blubbering beside the bed. " Rip my innards," exclaimed Holt, " but here be k i The Nameless Gentleman 17 a merry company." The dame grasped her daugh- ter by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet. " Pack yoursel' out o' this, my lass. Churnin' he awaitin' on ye," she cried; and, with more strength than skill, propelled the maid from the room. The disturbance both aroused and calmed the gentleman in the bed. "What is the meaning of this?" he inquired, discovering his face to his entertainers. " Axin' yer pardon, sir," said the woman, " but this baint iio time fer tears. Eye-water an' fever be friends, an' ye've had yer fill o' fever." "An' what may be the trouble?" asked the fanner. " I mourn my murdered friend and my murdered servants." replied the youth. " Ay. your Honour," said the farmer, " an' what might their names be?" " Nay, that I cannot tell you, my good fellow," answered the other. " My past lies in their graves." Day by day the nameless gentleman recovered health and strength. Though every incident of his past life had been wiped from his memory, either by the blow on his head received from the highway- man, or by the fever, his brain was sane and capable as ever and the results of his old training had been 18 Captain Love spared to him. In a Latin book, which some clerkly traveller had left at the farmhouse, he read with ease and delight. In those days this fact in itself was sufficient to mark him as a person of quality. Farmer Holt made inquiries at several of the houses of the near- est gentry: but none of the aristocracy of that region missed either a friend or a relative. One day in September the restless spirit of youth, and the desire to fare into the world and seek his lost name and identity, grew too strong for the nameless gentleman to withstand. He sought out the farmer, who was alone in his wheat-field. " Master Holt," said he, " my heart bids me out to seek my lost place in the world. I may find it under my true name or under another; but find it I will. And then, my friend, a hundred golden pounds will be yours and the life-long protection of a powerful person." The stout yeoman leaned on his scythe. " Ye speak bravely," he said, *' but what pledge have I that ye speak truth ? " " The word of a gentleman," replied the other. " Of a nameless gentleman — of a penniless gen- tleman — of a gentleman picked naked out of a ditch," said the farmer. The Nameless Gentleman 19 " Fellow," cried the young man, " take care, lest ' ou uo yoitrself a hurt. Was it not the very rich- ness of my clothing that caused my nakedness? pi! yon no*, see, with your own eyes, the marks on my fingers where rings had been ? Mend your ad- dress, my good friend, or else the profit of your kindness may escape you." " I ax yer pardon, sir," said the yeoman, who was easily cowed by the other's high spirit. " I meant to take no liberty with your Honour, I swear. An' maybe, sir, ye'll find your name an' your great friends in Lunnon." "Then shall I not forget my honest friend of Nullwood Lower Farm," replied the youth. " Stap me, but I'll buy you the farm, man, and the dame and the lass gowns of silk," he added. " Thank'ee kindly, sir," said the farmer. There was a twinkle in his dull eye. " An' don't forget, sir," he continued, " that ye be carryin' away with ye many a shillin's worth o' good cream, an' meat, an' ale an' many a night's good nursin'." " The debt shall be honoured," replied the gen- tleman, with dignity. Clad in ill fitting yeoman clothes, with an oak cudgel in his hand and a loaf of Dame Holt's bread in his pocket, the man bereft of memory and l\ 20 Captain Love worldly place set his feet bravely to the king's high- way. The shadows lengthened across the fields and dusk stole out from the plantations of oak and pine; and something in the balmy air and fading lights stirred the ghosts of memories in the way- farer's brain. " My friend was beside me," he murmured — " and we sang as we rolled along. And the song abides with me ; but, dear Lord, I cannot pierce the shadows to my comrade's face. Nameless, penni- less, 1 go afoot to London, who started so grandly in a rocking coach." Busied with such thoughts, and with vain at- tempts to awaken some nerve of the dead past, he tramped along until darkness closed down upon the landscape and faint stars twinkled overhead. Then, knowing that caution serves the poor as well as the rich on the king's highway — for a throat is as easily slit as a purse — he made a den for himself in the hedge-row and lay down to sleep. But his busy brain, harking back on a dead scent, kept him wide-eyed and restless. Of 1 sudden the traveller's coursing wits were recalled to him by a shrill and shaken cry — the scream of a woman in terror. Quick as thought he darted from his retreat to the middle of the « The Nameless Gentleman 21 wide road. Half-way down the slope which dipped '.ondon-wards before him shone the lanterns of a carriage. And again the scream of fear rang on the air. He sprang to the shadows along the ditch and ran noiselessly. The cudgel of oak swung in his hand, balanced to a nicety. The lust of battle sang in his head like the fumes of wine. The un- certain light of the stars showed him a small car- riage, a pair of docile nags, a postilion with his craven face hidden in his arms, and a mounted man beside the coach with head and shoulders thrust inside. Leaping up, he gripped the robber by the belt, dragged him side-long from the saddle and cracked his head with the club of oak. The fellow sprawled and lay quiet. The p •'t-boy sat up and applied his spurs ; and amid fei. i me screams and masculine curses from within, and cries for more speed, the carriage dashed on its way. The rescuer stood on the gray road and gazed after the bounding vehicle. " I wonder is she old or young, a beauty or a shrew ? " he murmured. He caught the highway- man's gray horse by the rein and made it fast to a thorn-tree. Then, bending down to his victim, he found the heart still moving and the breath flutter- ing. 22 Captain Love ill ■f 'i M. " Now shall the robber be robbed," said he. The highwayman's garments were new, and of superior stuffs and workmanship. ' young man pulled them off, from hat to b. .w, and donned them himself. Thrusting a hand into a pocket of the coat that fitted him so fairly, he felt a little col- lection of coins and rings. On the saddle he dis- covered a leather bag stuffed with gold, and fine pistols in the holsters. He carried the senseless robber lo the shelter of some bushes and covered him with 1*16 smock-frock and rustic garments which he himself had so lately worn. Then, mounting the gray horse, he rode on towards Lon- don. He had not ridden more thaii a mile before he was suddenly joined by a shadowy horseman who issued, without warning, from the gloom of a thicket. The stranger rode up to his knee. " Dennis, you fool," he cried, " where be the old knight's money-bag an' the young lady's trinkets?" The gentleman did not turn his face; but his right hand unfastened the leather bag from where it was hooked beside his right holster. " Here is the money," he said — and bcvitowed III ¥. 23 The Nameless Gentleman the weight of it so viciously upon the other's crown that the fellow reeled in his saddle. Thereupon the nameless gentleman touched spurs to his good gray horse and sped Londonwards at a gallop. |g...-.i.iv. ^sy.v M i)» CHAPTER III I, I i I THE HOUSE ON THE HEATH The gallop of the gray horse soon shifted to a trot, and from that, again, to a walk; and the nameless gentleman, feeling that the immediate need of hurry was passed, did not apply the spur. The night was fine and still, and grayly lit with a myriad of small stars. The highway ran wide and pale between open heaths. Save for the measured striking of the gray's shoes on the road, and the creak of saddle-leather, the only sound was that of a dog's barking, somewhere in front and to the right. What with the blood-glow of the recent ad- venture, the stir of good horse-flesh between his knees, the charm of the night and the thought of the bag of gold, the young man felt a fine elation. He squared his shoulders and looked proudly around at the vague and haunting desert. He patted the neck of the gray, jingled the coins and trinkets in his borrowed pockets and, ignoring the dangers of the place and hour, began to sing. He 24 h^ The House on the Heath 25 was not conscious of a knowledge of either the words or tune; but they came to his brain and tongue as required, with no apparent effort on his pan. He sang it to an end, and then, thinking to try it again, was amazed to discover that he remem- bered not a word of it. " My head is playing me queer tricks." he murmured. In distress, and fallen completely from his mood of a moment before, he began to rack his brain for some memories of the past. " A hint might lead to everything," he reflected. " Just a name, or the picture of a place, or the re- membrance of a voice, and maybe all that I have lost will return to me. But are things to flash into my mind, only to slip away again like the song I sang a moment ago? God, that would drive me to madness. Nay, but I must unearth that ditty again, though it crack my skull." So letting his horse continue to walk forward at its own pace, he set himself laboriously to refind the words and air of that sentimental song. Though the effort was untimely, it was heroic. The charm of the night and the open road called to him, and dangers beset him, like as not; and yet he sat slack in the saddle, with downcast eyes, and applied himself to the schooling of his wayward :i ij I! i' I i: 26 Captain Love mind. Other songs came to him — amor, j them the rhymes concerning the queen of London Town — but he brushed them aside. At last the gray horse stopped short. " Hi, there, Barney, get down an' come inside. The drink is ready for you." cried a shaking and unpleasant voice. The nameless gentleman sat straight and looked about him. He was in a muddy yard, with low buildings in front and on one side. He slid his rig'i; hand to the butt of a pistol. "Drink? By gad, that's the very word," he said; and without shifting his position he sang. " Drink to me only with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine." A door shut violently and bolts were shot; but he finished the song. "I'll not forget that again," he said at last. Greatly relieved, he gave all his attention to a swift survey of his surroundings. "A dirty hole," he thought, "and a nest of rogues, I'll swear. Well, as I am learning the ways of the world, I'll look into it, if possible." He reined the gray close to the building, which showed not so much as a chink of light and was now silent as the grave, and clattered a stirrup-iron against the door. M The House on the Heath 27 " Now I am ready for that drink," he shouted. A window opened above his head, with slow and furtive creakings. He touched a spur to the gray and wheeled aside. " Who comes to my poor house at this ungodly hour and demands drink?" asked the same harsh voice that had accosted him before. " A traveller who is both athirst and weary," he answered, keeping a sharp eye on the direction of the window. " That's a fine horse you are sitting on," re- marked the unseen guardian of the house. " It is a good horse," replied the gentleman. At that moment a lighted candle appeared in the window, as if suddenly uncovered, and the face and shoulders of a m'>st repulsiv^looking old woman were disclosed to the horseman's view. " Come closer, that I may see your face," she said, leaning forward from the casement. " If you can tell me who I am. I shall be glad to hear it," replied the gentlem?n, and at the same time he removed his hat and rode into the candle- light. The hag studied his face without any light of recognition in her bright and evil eyes; but at sight 28 Captain Love K i\ II r I'll of his clothing and mount a low gasp escaped her. But in a moment she was smiling. " You are a stranger to these parts, sir, an' that's true enough," she said. " This poor house is not often honoured by gentry like you. The great travellers go posting by, with never a thought for poor honest old Meg, who has kept this decent place for fifty years. I'll wake the gaffer, to stnble your fine charger, sir, an' I'll lay out a bottle of claret, an' a cold joint, an' air the best bed for you. So get down, sir, get down." " Nay. dame, I'll stable the nag myself," replied the traveller. He found the hovel that served for a stable, and three horses already in it. The place was in com- plete darkness, but he felt his way about and learned, by cautious feeling, that all the horses were saddled and bridled. " This place is a highwayman's retreat." he de- cided, and discretion urged him to mount and gal- lop away. But the spirit of daring, which burned in him like a flame, would not hear of so tame a course. In the manger of an unoccupied stall he found a box of grain and an armful of hay. These he promptly lifted, and still leading the gray, he left the hovel and advanced upon the open heath. The House on the Heath 29 VVithir a hundred yards of the building he came to a small tree and a clump of bushes, and here he tied his steed, loosened its girths, and fed it. Then, very quietly, he got the other horses and fastened them in the same place. " So far, so good," he remarked to himself, and after removing two primed pistols from the hol- sters of a saddle and placing them in his pock- ets, he returned to the house and knocked on the door. The room was wide and low, and imperfectly lighted by two tallow candles on the table and a lanthorn hanging by the chimney. Despite the saddled nags outside, the room showed no signs of the presence of guests. The old woman stood by the table, on which were displayed a bottle, a platter, half a loaf and an unattractive fragmwit of cold mutton. Beside the chimney sat a very ancient maji, gazing at the ashes on the hearth and tiodding foolishly. He wore a shawl about his bent shoulders, a red woollen night-cap on his une.isy head, and his thin legs were bare. " You do a lively business, dame," remarked the traveller, as his glance searched every shadowed comer of the room. " With four horses in the stable, and four hungry and thirsty men inside wtmmm 30 Captain Love h i'll ■ if you must make a pot of gold in the run of a year." '* Not so, your Honour," replied the hag, eying him sharply. " The house is as empty as the gaf- fer's head, an' the three nags you saw in the stable were put there but an hour ago by three strange j^entlemen who, I'll swear, are up to some devil- ment or other. They were London gentry, I take it, and very frisky with liquor. They went run- ning ofif across the heath like schoolboys, without so much as tellin' me nor the gaffer their names, nor when they'd be back for their hordes." The traveller seated himself on a stool near the table, with one shoulder to the old woman, one to the old man, and his face to a ladder which led from a corner of the room to the loft above. " Men act very queerly, when in liquor," he said, pretending to believe the hag's feeble lie. " For my own part, I never drink except when I am flat on my back, in bed." he continued, pleasantly. " It's a trick I learned in the Low Countries, when I was soldiering there. Then the liquor lies quiet, midway between your head and your feet, and is comfortably digested by reveille. But when a man drinks standing, the stuff goes to his feet, and gets shaken about, and soon the bubbles are rising and J r The House on the Heath 31 bursting in his head, and making him act like the gentlemen who left their nags in your stable." The woman eyed him suspiciously, but his face was as innocent as a child's. The old man turned from his contemplation of the cold ashes on the hearth. " Rip my innards," he piped. The traveller was busy with the bread and mut- ton and paid no heed to his host's exclamation. " Of all the whopfy • I ever did hear — an' I've heard a-plenty." "Don't you begin a-talkin'. You shut your mouth," snapped the woman. " Nay, now, Sue," objected the old fellow. " Nay. now, wouldn't you let me join in a social talk, ril let nothin' slip, girl, that'll get you an' the gang into trouble." The woman skipped across the room and fairly snarled a word in his ear. Whatever the word was, It reduced him immediately to his former silence and foolish contemplation of the hearth. " Bill has been a good husband to me," she said returning to the Uble, " but his head isn't right,' an' gets more an' more wrong every day, an' full of all manner of queer notions. He's been a soldier too, has Bill, and fought for his king an' country, f '1 I: i .1' 32 Captain Love like your Honour. But you haven't drunk your wine, sir. That's good wine, too, what I keep a few bottles of for gentry like yourself." " I'll take it along to bed with me, dame — and two more like it, if you'll be so kind," said the traveller. He took a gold piece from his pocket and laid it on the table. " Two more bottles like this," he said. " and you can keep the silver. Hurry it along, dame, for I am ready for my bed." The hag snatched the coin from the table, ex- amined it closely and popped it into a bag at her girdle. " I'll be back in two shakes." she said, and hastened from the room, closing the door behind her. The old man immediately turned in his seat and beckoned to the traveller, who, needing no sec- ond bidding, stepped noiselessly across to him. "Don't you get into that bed," mumbled the gaflfer. "Don't so much as touch it, for God's sake." " What d'ye mean ? " whispered the gentleman, with a break in his voice. But the gaffer would say no more, and motioned him to return to his seat. " This is buying experience at a high price." re- rS\'>m •aE^M«ITO.'i^-t'.:5!W .-^'^^-ft'^lt^ii The House on the Heath 33 fleeted the traveller. " This is worse than I ex- pected, and cursed uncanny. The old woman is a devil, I do believe — and I'd give half my bagful of gold to be safe out of it. Lord, what a fool I was to thrust my head into this damnable hole." But upon the return of the old woman with the two bottles of wine, he seemed as bland and un- shaken as ever. With a smile and a bow, he re- lieved the hag of the bottles. "Now, dame, I am ready for a good night's sleep," he said, " I'll show your Honour to as fine a bed as there is in the country," she replied. " I always keep it clean and fresh, for such as you." The gaffer stirred uneasily by the cold hearth. The dame took one of the candles from the table, and led the way down the full length of the room,' to a door in the wall beside the ladder. The trav- eller, who had expected to be asked to ascend to the loft, with the chance of receiving a blow on the head as he popped it through, felt decidedly re- heved. On the threshold he took the candle from the dame's hand, but cast an apprehensive glance ciround the interior before stepping within. What he saw was a fair-sized chamber, very neat and M',A,''.''*^^iL.' 34 , r. Captain Love clean, with one window, furniture consisting of a chair, a table, and a great bed with curtains of silk. It all looked innocent enough. Heaven knows. " 'Tis the chamber I keep for the quality," re- marked the hag, following her guest's glance with an evil smile. " An earl has slept in that bed, an' a general officer, and two fashionables from Lon- don — an' they made no complaints." "I am sure it is fit for a duke," replied the traveller. " A duke? Is your Honour a duke? " " No, dame, I am a poor soldier." " Good night, colonel, an' sweet dreams to you." " Good night, dame." 1 1 CHAPTER IV A FACE AND A DREAM The nameless gentleman set his candle and wine on the table beside the bed, then returned to the door and cautiously shot the bolt. The words of the old man by the hearth nad stirred him to un- easmess verging on fear, and to a sense of the danger of his position more keenly than had the three saddled horses in the stable and the sinister eyes and behaviour of the old woman. In the warning against the great bed was something that chilled his marrow. He was not afraid to take chances with the owners of the nags in the stable; but to suspect danger from a piece of furniture - that was the very devil. It came to his mind that somewhere and sometime, he had heard tales of travellers vanishing suddenly from lonely inns • of strange and terrible contrivances set in wardrobes and bedsteads; of floors falling from under one's feet, and ceilings descending and smothering- of sweet potent drugs at one's rostrils and knives stab. 86 ;i I'll il I ' 36 Captain Love iN bing a man from his sleep and stabbing him back to a longer slumber. Such thoughts, in that still and dim-lit room, rasped his nerves and bedewed his body with the sweat of fear. With shaking and fumbling hands he removed his boots, and drew forth his pistols. He made a slow circuit of the chamber, searching the walls for a peep-hole or hidden door. Failing to discover anything of the kind, he crossed to the window. It was unbarred and unfastened, and opened low on the side of the tavern toward the stables. It possessed no inner fastenings by which it might be held against an attack from without. Even should the bed prove a safe resting-place, the owners of the horses in the stable would have but little trouble in dealing with the sleeper. Dawn was growing, pale and gray, between the edge of the sky and the edge of the desolate heath. The nameless gentleman placed his boots and pis- tols on the floor, close to the window. Then, mov- ing on tip-toe, he parted the curtains of the bed and gazed fearfully within. He could see nothing but the sheen of fine linen, and the bulking of white pillows at the head. A fragrance of sweet herbs stole across his face. With the greatest caution, he lifted the table and laid it in the middle of the bed; " STRUCK HIS HEWILDEKEU PURSUER TO THE GROUND." 4 i. V I ( f' i*«i' >-.-t ^- «» .hK .'jmaoi^ %•:» r A Face and a Dream 37 then returning to the window, he drew on his boots, recovered his pistols, and waited, keeping a sharp watch both within and without, and his ears as alert as his eyes. He had stood so for ten minutes, perhaps, when a thin, clicking sound from the bed caught his at- tention. This was followed immediately by a sharp, metallic clang, a jarring underfoot and a loud splash in hidden depths beneath the floor. A brief silence followed, which was broken horribly by a peal of shrill and devilish laughter from some- where in the interior of the house. The nameless traveller threw open the window, leapt out and ran at the top of his speed for the thicket in which he had left the four horses. He had not covered more than half the distance when the sound of hoofs reached his ears. Looking eastward, he saw a horseman spurring forward a jaded nag, as if to cut him off from his goal. He dashed on, reached the thicket, unfastened all the horses and mounted the gray. Slapping one of the other nags across the rump, he sent it plunging into the open, where it was greeteu and missed by a charge from the belated highwayman's pistol. Setting spur to the gray, he galloped out, and struck his bewildered pur- suer to the ground. Still at the charge, he bore 38 Captain Love fc down upon that iniquitous tavern. A window flew open ; but instead of the hag, he saw the pale, hor- ror-stricken face of a girl. As he galloped past he kept his eyes upon her, wide with astonishment and admiration. In a moment the clay of the by-road was under his horse's feet, and he was speeding toward safety, and daylight, and the king's high- way. The nameless gentleman was weary, hungry and sleepy, but for all his physical discomfort he could not keep his mind from dwelling upon the pale, terror-stricken face at the tavern window. What was a young and beautiful woman doing in that den of thieves? " Damn it, I'll find out," said he. " When I get more firmly established in the world," he added, remembering what an unpleasant night he had just passed through, and that, for all he knew, he had not a friend in the land. " But here is a little friendship," he said, rapping the leathern bag of gold with his knuckles ; and he fell to pondering on the value of money, and trying to remember something of his past experiences with it. " My friend of Nullwood Lower Farm worked hard for a very little of it," he reflected. " I and A Face and a Dream 39 my lost friend were knocked on the head — and that was for our money and our rings, I'll swear. I overcame a robber, took his bag of gold, and ex- perienced a very comfortable sensation at the touch of it. I bought wine from that devilish old hag with a piece of metal ; and, for the lust of more of that metal, she sought to drop me into a tank of water beneath her accursed house. Gad, but this money is a strange thing, and a man seems to be in as great danger from having it as from lack- ing it." These philosophical reflections, however, failed to keep his mind, for more than a few minutes, from the face he had espied at the window. Though it had gleamed upon his view for so brief a time — for five seconds perhaps, as his gray charged past — it remained bright and clear-cut to his inner vision. The expression of terror had deprived the pale features of nothing of their beauty. " I wonder," he murmured, and then swore vio- lently. " Such a thing could never be," he added, and drove the suspicion from him with another oath. The sun was clear of the horizon when he entbred a village on the outskirts of the great town. Here, 40 Captain Love ! \fi u at a neat inn set beneath the shade of elms, he breakfasted at his ease and then retired to an honest bed in a bright, cool room above the fragrance and soft noises of a little garden. For a long time he lay in a half-doze, deliciously comfortable, his limbs extended at their full length and every tired muscle relaxed. The stirring of a little wind at the lattice, the droning of bees and the light move- ments of birds in the garden foliage and from somewhere in the village street the voices of old men, softened by distance, soothed his half-heedless ears. The sheets of the bed felt cool and smooth to his body, the very skin of which was tired. The adventures and terrors of the past night slipped from his brain, leaving it at peace. In a sweet half-consciousness, he felt himself sinking into slumber as into a magic sea, from one bright depth to another. And, at last, it was as if fathoms of sleep, clear and alive like the waters of a tropic sea, were over him. Faces, at once strange and half-familiar, crowded about him. Presently he walked alone in a rose-garden, at about the time of the falling of dusk, and his heart was eager and glad. The path turned among the roses and clipped shrubberies and, following it. he came to a bench under an arbour of honeysuckles. And there, with A Face and a Dream 41 averted face, sat the object of his eager search. He knew that she was waiting for hi/n; and so mad was his joy at finding her that the dusky garden seemed to waver, like a tide, in his vision. He paused for a moment, to steady himself, and the scent of the roses was sweet on the still air. He stooped and plucked one of the blooms; and then it came to him that the roses had been only in bud when he was last in the garden. As he stood, with the flower in his hand, the girl in the arbour turned her familiar, incomparable face to him. " Is it — you? " she asked, scarce above a whis- per. For answer, he ran forward and knelt close to her, snatching one of her hands to his lips. "I have waited here, night after night, and prayed that you would forgive me — and come back," she said. He raised his head at that, and gazed at her face. " I could not stay away any longer," he said. " My heart brought me home to you." " Tt !s like a dream," she whispered. And then — ' i-erhaps it is a dream." The woman, the arbour and the garden whirled away in blackness. He felt an ungentle hand on his shoulder and a voice bawling in his ear. He 43 Captain Love i - ■ 1 I 3*1 flung out his arm, uttered a low cry, and opened his eyes upon the bright httle room above the inn- ^'irdei . The landlord was stooping over him, shcmtinif that 'twas past noon, a?^'1 dinner spoiling. The ;^ar .eless gentleman lay quiet for a second or t-Ao, star ng wide-eyed at his bn'ky host, his sou! loajT!! hack U the dusky garden of roses and his heart and mind still enthralled 1 y the our nameless gentleman, in a very reck- less spirit, extended the hand upou which he wore the signet. " Five pounds, sir, that you fail to tell me my name," he said. " Ha, my dear Percy! " exclaimed Sir John. Percy examined the ring. " This is yours ? " he queried. Our hero nodded assent. " Then your name is Love," said the other. Finds a Name 47 '« ^ The gentleman from Nullwood Lower Farm arose and bowed. " Captain Love, at your service," said he, with- out a tremor in his voice; and he laid five gold coins on the table. The others got to their feet and bowed in turn. " Sir John Petre," said the compiler, indicating his companion with a wave of a fat hand. " Mr. Percy Hyde," said Sir John. The three resumed their seats and drew their chairs closer together. "A son of Sir William Love?" queried Hyde. The alleged captain's wits bestirred themselves. "No, I am of a younger branch." he replied. " My father is a country parson. I am but lately returned from the Ea.st. My name is Richard." He was inwardly amazed at his own power of invention; but nothing of the amazement showed in his face. "Of what regiment, Captain?" inquired Sir John Petre. "Of the Sultan of Turkey's Hous^'hold Guards," replied Captain Love, with a rare smile. "Lord, a Turk!" exclaimed Mr. Hyde, and swallowed his cocoa. ■WBwr 48 Captain Love «^' f " You do not look like a Turk," he added. " You've not seen me in my turban and — and slippers," said the captain. " In that costume — with, I presume, a few ad- ditional garments in between " — said the baronet, " you would take the town by storm." "By Heaven," cried the captain, with a fine show of heat, " no man alive shall ever again see me drex?ed like a Turk — my exile is at an end." "And how long do you intend to remain in town ? " asked Mr. Hyde. "Until I tire of it," replied the other, good naturedly; but with a quick lifting of the brows that did not escape the observant eyes of Sir John. " Then we'll see that you do not tire of it within a year," said Sir John Petre, kindly. His liking for this son of a parson — this ad- venturer out of the Orient — was as strong as it was sudden. Mr. Hyde nodded. " U Sir John says you'll not tire of it, then spit my vitals if you do," said he, " for there's not a beauty nor a wit in the town to whom he cannot open you the door." " And Percy will give you their pedigrees," said Sir John. A_ .-.:VV Finds a Name 49 " I cannot promise you that," retorted Mr. Hyde, with a shrewd wink. ** Tut, tut," exclaimed the baronet, with a shade of displeasure in his fine face. Hyde turned to their new acquaintance. " We have done our duty by this excellent but uninspiring drink," said he, " and now I suggest that we step up-stairs." " Very good," said the captain, without the least idea of what stepping up-stairs might lead to. On the second floor of " Babcock's " were eight rooms. These were devoted to piaying-cards and dice, the weapons of that ancient goddess. Chance. " Here is the devil's own den." said Sir John, in the captain's ear. " Shall we play or Icxak on ? " asked Mr. Hyde. " Why," said Captain Love, " I have nothing against the dice." Sir John Petre smiled pensively. "You are young, my friend, and fresh from Turkey," he said. " But let us first see how Buck- ley is faring to-day." They followed him over to a table at which two men were seated. Lord Buckley was a large man with an imposing presence and a bloated face. His companion was younger, smaller, and pale as death. M- ! 50 Captain Love He g *: up from his chair on the approach of the three. " Finisheu, by God," he muttered, and left the room without a word of farewell to the earl. Six hours later, Sir John Petre and Captain Love stepped out of " Babcock's." A fog had come in with the night and the street was like a pit. " I believe we have Buckley's winnings for a week in our pockets," said Sir John. " So we'll let my two fellows here walk behind us, and this lad with the link lead the way." " The earl did not lose like a gentleman," said Love. " Gentleman ! " cried Petre. " My friend, he has never done anything like a gentleman in all his ugly life." They walked for a few minutes in silence. The captain leaned to his companion. " You are wonderfully good to take me home to supper — and only on Mr. Hyde's word as to my respectability." " And your word, Dick, which is more to me than Mr. Hyde's," replied the baronet. The captain felt a twinge, and his heart prompted him to make a true statement of his position to his new friend. But his brain argued that he was ;$£$', V^^;; Finds a Name 51 honest in naming himself a gentleman, and that he who plays a game with Fate must let no ntage slip. As to " Love " — why, a man m nvt a name; and if this were not the true namt, ten to one his was a greater. But the fiction of the Sul- tan's body-guard stuck in his crop. It was an in- artistic lie, at best, and he blushed to think of hav- ing befooled Sir John with so silly a tale. i CHAPTER VI .M SIR JOHN S TOWN ESTABLISHMENT Sir John Petre lived in a rented house in a street oflf the Strand ; but his home was in Dorset. His widowed sister, a Mrs. Padding^on, of Somer- set, and a younger sister, M'ss Dorothy, managed his town establishment for him. They had but lately come to London; and had left Lady Petre, the witlow of the late baronet, and her younger son, at home in Dorset. Sir John was a man of good estate, scholarly habits and distinguished appear- ance. But he had not attained the age of thirty- four with an unscarred heart. Seven years previ- ous to his meeting with Captain Love, he had wooed and won a lady of his county and had lost her, in a fatality of the hunting-field, just a fort- night before the date set for their wedding. This tragedy had wrought many changes ' the young baronet's mind and life. From a somev. 'at boister- ods blade he was become a quiet and reserved scholar. It had turned him from his own affairs a Sir John's Town Establishment 53 to the copsideration of matters concerning his mother and sisters. The shock received by his own heart had inclined it to the sorrow of other hearts; and charity toward all men had taken the place of the former spirit of jovial good-fellowship. Some- thing of the tenderness that he had lavished upon the poor lady of his choice he now bestowed upon his younger sister, Dorothy. It pleased him to fancy a resemblance between the living girl and the dead beauty ; and one morning, years after his loss, on meeting his sister in the great hall at Willing- ton, slender and bright and eager for the saddle, he had turned away in an agony of tears. This was the man to whose heart and board Cap- tain Love had won so swift a passage. Supper was served in a small room ofif the dining- hall. The table was oval, and of ruddy mahogany. The lights of the shaded candles threw pools of liquid fire deep into the polished surface. The rare china and chaste silver were lit to star-shine at a dozen curves and angles. A fire burned on the bright hearth, against the chill of the fog. One noiseless servitor was in attendance. Sir John sat at one end of the oval table and Mrs. Paddington at the other; and opposite Captain Love, with her dainty shoulders against the light, f4 i '. , ' 54 Captain Love sat Mistress Dorothy. To the eyes of the young gentleman who had so lately been nameless and friendless, she was a very miracle of loveliness. To describe her as she appeared to him — a poet flushed with new adventures — is beyond my art. The conversation was light and cheery, and Cap- tain Lx>ve maintained his share of it with wit and grace. But when Sir John put him a question con- cerning Turkey, he flushed guiltily. " Let me forget it," he said, recovering himself. He fancied that a smiling glance passed between Mrs. Paddington and her brother. In certain things the reputation of that country was then even worse than it is to-day. The bare thought of it, to the young gentleman, under the existing circum- stances, was as if he had played at dice on the altar of a cathedral. He inwardly lamented the indis- cretion of his story. What evil genius had set his tongue to that accursed country, when all the kingdoms and empires of the earth had been as equally at his service. He raised his eyes and between the branched candlesticks encountered the grave and curious regard of the young girl. For a moment their glances held, then wavered shyly; and the young gentleman of the world was the first to bow his head. His diffidence must have been due i f Sir John's Town Establishment 55 to instinct rather than shame ; for surely, with only a few weeks of Hfe to look back upon, he could afford to carry himself with better assurance, even under the eyes of so young and fa.r a woman as Dorothy Petre. The evening passed all too swirtly ire Captain Love, He sat in a glow, like ore who finds the hearth of home at the end of a winter's journey — like one pinched with hunger who is of a sudden ushered in to a banquet. But they were the hands of the spirit that warmed themselves at the glow, and the cravings of the spirit that were satisfied at the banquet. For an hour he sat in a shadowy corner and listened to Dorothy's singing and Mrs. Paddington's playing on the spinet. After the music, a card-table was drawn forth and the liitle company sat down to a game of whist. Fate, in the cutting of the pack, made partners of Dorothy and the captain, " Penny points," said Mrs. Padilington, as she dealt the cards. Captain Love, with no recollection of ever hav- ing seen the game before, found himself speedily acquainted with the rules. He pla)ed his cards with less coolness than he had displayed earlier in the day when fortunes were at stake. Silence seemed to be the presiding genius of whist, and 56 ( I 1 I 1 i r i rl il f n 1 n I ? 1 ' ? It) 1' !! ! Captain Love when tongues are quiet eyes must serve as means of communication. So it happened that the girl often raised her eyes to her partner's, now in de- fence of some doubtfully advantageous play, ag^in in question. He, poor fellow, soon found himself anticipating these glances rather than the turning of the tricks. It was late when Captain Love pulled the bell beside the door of that narrow and empty house, the second floor of which he had occupied for the past eight days. Old Tom, whom he had engaged with the apartments, and who served indifferently as both valet and groom, drew the bolts and ad- mitted (lim. In his left hand the old fellow held a candle at so eccentric an angle that the flame leaped and sputtered against the rim of tallow. His woollen nightcap was all awry on his gray head. He groaned and grumbled as he closed the door and shot the bolts. The captain pauset' t the foot of the stairs. " What ails you, Tom." he inquired, with a foot on the lower step and a hand on the banister. " Ay, ye may ax." mumbled Tom, " ye who lays abed 'til noon on the finest feathers, an' warms yer young blood with good wine. But if ye was a poor / ' x.-f-^ i.m Sir John's Town Establishn p';. Mighty civil of your Hon- our, I'm sur He looked his master up and dow ; " Lord, but I'd take 'e for the son ot a dook, sir. Kate, she said that, when first she set eyes on ye; but I was thinkin' maybe your Honour was a high- wayman." The captain frowned. " My man," he said, coldly. " surely you do not expect me to explain to you the reason for my 58 Captain Love ( week of namelessness. There are difficulties and pits to be avoided even in the paths of gentlefolk. Let that suffice you." Thereupon he took the candle from Tom's hand and ascended the stairs to his own rooms, leaving the impudent old servant to knock his shins in the dark. Safe in his own sitting-room, which was of fine proportions but scanty furnishings, he emptied his pocket of the money he had won at Babcock's, and mended the fire on the hearth. Then he laid aside coat and sword, lit three candles on the table, and sat down. The incidents of the day passed be- fore him, clear-cut pictures astir with the spirit of romance. A fever was upon him — a fine, reckless, singing fever of the heart and brain. He took up a quill and dipped it in the ink. It has been truly said that inspiration is largely a matter of application — that the Muse is a lady who must be ridden down and captured by fo.ce of art. But sometimes, even in these sober times, she comes to a man's door of her own accord, and he has but to open and lead her in to the fire. Un- expected, even unsolicited, had she come to Captain Love. Perhaps she had been beside him all day, holding his vision clear and setting all things to )smtam Sir John's Town Establishment 59 music. Now she leaned over his shoulder, a gracious shade, and the inevitable word was ever ready on the point of his pen and the pictures stood bright and true before him. He drew them in rhymes — for that seemed the easiest way. He re- called and caught the spirit of gray streets crowded with horses and sedan-chairs, and foot-passengers of various degrees. The whole cheery scene was set down to the most delightful rhythm ; the beau- ties in the passing windows, like portraits in their frames; the dandies with sword and cane; the statesman in his periwig, and the hurrying appren- tice. He showed the elegants crowding together in the coffee-house; the players up-stairs, seated at the little tables; the rattle of ivory and gold; the set, red faces and the white ; the falling homesteads and the full purses. And last, in flowing cadences, he wrote of that which gives a zest to all the vary- ing phases and adventures of life — for a full hour he wrote of love. Then, of a sudden, a chill flooded over his spirit, and the zest of rhyming went out like the flame of a candle in a wind. His heart, quick as thought, was turned from warmth and gladness to a most bitter longing. Trembling, he wondered if ghosts from his lost past were crowd- ing around him. CHAPTER VII f ft BLOWS AND FRIENDSHIP Captain Love spent a restless and unrefreshing night, tossing until dawn midway between sleep and waking. Hints that struggled to become mem- ories — vague things that whispered and fled his mind's grasp — haunted him through the dark hours. The successes of the day were forgotten, as v.'ere ihe fa^^e of Dorothy Petre and the rhymes he had written. An awful sense of unreality daunted his spirit; and frequently, from half-slumber he would bestir himself, leave the bed and gaze into the night from the open window. He even lit a candle, and set himself to reading aloud from a bool' of plays; but immediately a heaviness of the brain and eyelids drove him back to bed, only to leave him, next instant, wide-eyed and aching with unrest. He longed for dawn, and the wakening of the town. He tried all the old, time-honoured methods of tricking his mind to inaction ; but the weight of nameless apprehension would not lift and 90 Blows and Friendship 61 sleep refused to come. He recalled every incident of the brief portion of his life of which he had any knowledge, and in none of them did he find any comfort. He had accepted the hospitality of a yeoman, and had given nothing in return. He had cracked the heads of a couple of highwaymen and appropriated their ill-gotten gold to his own false existence. He had played the man of fashion very prettily, and won a considerable sum of money and an honest man's regard — ay, and he had found himself a decent name wherewith to cloak his nakedness — and yet the thought was sour in his mouth. On what dark sea was he adrift, with no memories to guide him, and a longing in his heart such as exiles must suffer? An exile! Yes, for was he not torn from twenty good years of life, — from twenty years of love and friendships, of ac- complishments and innocent pleasures. With the loss of memory might it not be that some things of priceless value were gone for ever? " Why must I suffer? " he cried, rolling his head on the pillow. " What have I done that Fate should bludgeon me thus ? God, it were better that I had died, along with my brave and unremembered friend." For a little while his heart was black with re- 62 If Captain Love 1 1 i / bellion; but soon repentance came, and he n:nr- mured that he was a wicked and ungenerous fool — that he had done nothing, since his awakening from the mists, that any fool could not have accomplished — that he was as useless to the world as he was alone in it. Of a sudden the pale, frightened face which he had seen in the window of the tavern flashed clear to his inner vision. It struck him like a blow. " There was work ready to my hand/ he cried, sitting straight up between the tumbled slieets. " There was a soul to help, if ever the world held such, and the way pointed fair to an honourable and humane deed." At that moment he saw the first lights of dawn gleaming pale across the windows, signalling him to hope and lifting the shadows. He lay very quiet, turned to the windows, and watched the light spread and brighten, through the great room. It washed away his vagiie but terrible apprehensicMi and, presently, sleep descended upon him, dream- less and deep. The morning was well advanced when the cap- tain at last awoke. The room was flooiled with sunshine, and the candle which he had lit to dispel the ghosts of the night burned with a colourless Blows and Friendship 63 flame close to the socket of the stick. He sprang from the bed and nipped and strangled the poor flame between thumb and finger. The great town, the sunshine and the zest of life called to him. With a smile, he recalled his weakness of the daric hours, and wondered why his spirit had been so disturbed. Why had he trembled, he asked himself. Youth was his; gold was on the table; and i; world full of adventures lay outside his door. The captain dressed, with care, in a dark riding- suit, and breakfasted heartily. Then he ordered the gray to be saddled, drew on his boots of Spanish leather on the heels of which rang silver spurs, and selected a long and serviceable blade from the col- lection beside his bed. With his own hands he loaded his pistols — a brace of fine weapons for which he had paid heavily. In spite of the return of his self assurance and high spirits, he could not forget the promise he had made his conscience to prc^e the mystery of that beautiful face at the win- dow of the inn on the heath. " That v.'ill keep me very pleasantly employed for the day." he reflected. The gray, which he had named Victor, was fairly skipping wrth ambition and good living. As the two went down the narrow streets, so gallant and 64 I > Si! Captain Love m^^ 'in young, great folk and small folk looked after them with brightening eyes. In the village through which he had passed on his entrance to London, cottagers stared and children waved their caps, and old men, humped on shaded benches, felt a vague stirring in their dull dreams. One had been ser- geant in a troop of horse, years and years ago, and once for one glorious hour (the captain and lieu- tenants being dead) he had rallied the fragments of the command and led them back to the fray. He had ridden a gray horse. He had looked almost as fine as that young gentleman. So, in remem- brance of that gallant hour, he put down his beer mug and knuckled his forehead to the captain. And the captain turned to him, smiled and waved a gloved hand, leaving the old soldier in a fine glow and the belief that he was still a person of con- sequence. At the door of the tavern in which he had slept from early morning until past noon after his night of adventure, and where the sweet dream had found him, he drew rein and called for a stirrup-cup. The bulky landlord himself appeared in answer to the summons. " I have the wines of Spain and France, white and red," he gabbled. " Likewise Canary and Blows and Friendship 65 Sherry wines, brandy and claret. Our home-brew is the best in these parts, and drunk largely by the quality. You can't name a Christian drink, sir, that don't lay in my cellar — not even red rum, from the Carib Islands, nor the juniper liquor that the Dutchmen get fat on." He paused, breathless, and looked fairly at the youth on the big gray. " Stap me," said he, " if it ain't the little highway- man." The smile faded from the captain's face. " What d'ye mean b-by that? " he asked, almost stammering in the eflFort to control his voice. At the same time, he leaned forward in the saddle and fixed his bright, dark eyes on the inn-kei- - 5989 - Fa« ** 70 Captain Love promptly ; and the victorious gentleman, after wip- ing the blood from his cheek, hastily rearranging his toilet and ordering that the g^ray horse be stabled, followed into the house. 'i CHAPTER VIII CONFIDENCES In the excitement of the fight with the innkeeper the captain's mind was turned, for awhile, from his high intention of inquiring into the interior econ- omy of that other house, out on the lonely heath. He was so interested in life that, childlike, ue was diverted by every passing phase of it. Though anger had pricked him to engage with the inn- keeper, he had punrhed him without malice; and now, when the need for punishing was past, he helped put the fellow to bed and then bandaged his brow and ch'"n and bathed his eyes, all with the most aflFable tenderness, the while the stable-folk and the kitchen-maid (mine host was a widower) looked on in admiraticHi. " Where is he? " the battered one inquired, pres- ently. " Here I am," replied the captain. " How are you feeling?" "Feelin'? Lor', sir, I'm past feelin'," said the n ; '-'W 11 * i* ^S, 72 Captain Love sufferer, through his bandagf ,. " Sure as my name's Joseph Clark, I'm bashed to a pulp. Pistol- balls wouldn't hit no harder than them f^sts of yours." " I am sorry, Joseph ; but if I had not hit you hard, you would have hit me, most undoubtedly," replied the captain. " Didn't I touch you, sir? " " I got one scratch." " Tom, bring up claret for the colonel. The best ve have, mind you." " Captain," corrected the gentleman. " If you ain't a colonel, then you should be." re- plied Clark. " Bring the drink, Tom, and hurry about it. Then you can draw beer for everybody that saw me get whipped, and drink to the health of the gentle- man that done it. An' I want to say — you hold on, Tom, and listen — that I was a fool for what I said to the colonel, an' that I eat every last word of it, an' that I got what I damn well deserved." " That s handsome said," remarked the man Tom, an i hastened for the liquor. " You have an honest and generous heart," said the captain, " and the unfortunate things you said M 1 Confidences 73 to me are forgotten, as, I hope, are my hasty and ill-mannered retorts." The innkeeper chuckled painfully. " You laid your tongue to me, an' that's a fact," he said ; " but I hope you'll forget both ends of that business, sir. When the wine comes — I hear Tom's step now — drink hearty an' call for more. An' if you don't think it will harm me, nor heat my blood too much, after the brandy you've poured into me, then I'll just make so bold as to take a gill o' the stuff myself an' drink your Honour's good health an' my wishes for your happiness." " 'Twill do you good, my friend," answered Love. "And I'm highly flattered, I'm sure, and return your generous compliments with pleasure. Here, let me ease your head a bit from the pillow, and steady the glass. Sound wine never hurt an honest man yet, my dear Joseph." The two spent the remainder of the morning (the one in bed and the other in an armchair close by) in an exchange of compliments and toasts. The spirit of good-fellowship danced in the air and its outward and visible form gathered, in dusty shapes with long necks, on the table beside the bed. The landlord's oldest friend would not have known 74 Captain Love h' m ■fi i' If* fl f lik n I this be-bandaged» talkative and kindly fellow for the same Joseph Clark. The two dined together at noon ; and though the host found some difficulty in negotiating mouth fuls of the size t^^ which he was accustomed, he managed a very respectable meal. " I tell you, captain," he said, after dinner, " I haven't felt so warm an' clear about the heart in two years — no, not for ten years, maybe. 'Twas ten years ago, come Michaeln us, I lost my woman; an' it was two years ago, Christmas night, my daughter run away from me. She was as fine a lass as any in the land, sir, an' her dear mother over again for looks an' mamers. By God, captain, thrt was a hard blow to me when she run away with some young buck I didn't so much as know the true name nor condition of. I was a good father to her; an' I defy any man to say nay to that — but she left me, sir, without so much as a kiss, for remembrance, as if I was no more to her than Tom Sprat. It wa.s snowin' when I missed her, an' close on to midnight. I rode over the coun- try till dawn, an' froze a foot an' damn near killed my black geldin', but didn't so much as sight her. That was a stiflf blow, captain ! You'll know how it would feel when you've a child of your own, sir. Friendship, nor sport, nor liquor, haven't warmed El Confidences 75 my heart since, an' I'm gettin' the name of a surly fellow. But to-day my heart feels sort o' warm, and free the ache, an' the liquor has a taste an' glow to it, like it had of old. You must have let some old, stale blood out of my head that was pressin' on my mind, sir." The captain was sympathetic, and questioned him kindly about the loss of his daughter. Qark knew little that he could swear to, and had neither seen her nor heard from her since the night of her van- ishing. All he knew, for certain, was that she had gone away in a closed carriage, with a stranger who had visited the inn many times before that and never afterward. ** She may be dead, for what I know," said Jo- seph Qark. " Nay, doubt not but she is alive and happy," replied the captain. " A lass of discretion and hon- esty, you may be sure, would leave her father only for a deeper love — and such a lass would love none but an honest man. Women are wiser than men, my friend — at least, so I have read, some- where or other. For my own part, I do not believe I know a great deal about them." He leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin between his hands, pondering. " What I remember about wMnen 76 Captain Love It Ji ] ^^ would not amount to — that," he said, after a brief silence, leaning back in his chair again and snai>- ping his fingers. "The farmer's lass; Dorothy Petre ; the girl at the window — ay, there's the full story. But I'll swear that I know more than I re- member. I think it must be that my ' eart retains many things that my brain cannot re " Captain, you are a wonder," re^^arked the inn- keeper. " A man of less wit than me, a-listenin' to some of your sayin's, might call you a fool — not out loud, mind you, but to himself. I watched you close, sir, till you shut my eyes for me, and ever since I've listened to you close, an' you sound to me, sir, like a gentleman in two minds. You may not understand just what I mean, captain, for I'm damned if I do myself; but that's how you seem to me. You've had a blow, maybe, of one kind or another — it might be in fortune or it might be in heart — an' when you are gossipin' o' something else, an' feelin' warm with wine, all of a sudden the old pain stabs you an' throws your mind on to the old trouble." " Do I act like a fool? " asked the captain, mus- ingly and with a note of bitterness in his voice. " Ah, Joseph, I am more than half -convinced that, in so doing, I but act the part to which Fate has Confidences 77 ordained me. Do I seem a man in two minds ? — or in none at all? Oh, my honest friend, you have guessed shrewdly in guessing that I received a blow — that pain stabs me — that my mind turns, ever and anon, to the bitterness of an old trouble ! You have lost whom you knew and loved — a fond wife — a lovely daughter — and the warmth of sunlight, the glow of wine, the comfort of friendship have slipped from you. I have lost years, and loves and memories — God, I know not what I have lost! My mind goes back to June — but my heart goes aching back to the days of my childhood. You would say that I have lived twenty years — or, per- haps twenty-two? Yes ; but I remember no farther back than June. It may be that I was loved by a beautiful woman; but a robber hits me over the head, and the littlest memory of that affection is "o me. Had I comrades? Now I am comrade- ' ,i! Had I fond parents? Now I am an orphan! Had I a place that knew me, and standing therein? Now I am a man without a country. And yet — and yet — this love, these comrades, these parents, may be even as they were. Death has not touched them all, I think, nor change, nor any disaster. It is I who have lost them, in losing myself. Do they call me false, I wonder — a light lover, an ungrate- * I- ii I' 78 Captain Love ful child, a careless friend? Then God enlighten them, for the thing is beyond my power." "Drink," whispered Dark, in a voice of awe. " Drink, captain. Warm your heart with the liquor," But the captain paid no heed to the invitaticMi. He had already imbibed extensively, though his face remained unflushed and his hands steady. Leaning forward again and staring across the bed with his bright eyes, he told all that he knew of his strange story. He told it slowly, in a voice often broken with emotion ; and when he had finished, he bowed his head in his hands. " By God," whispered the innkeeper. I 1 III ? i Hf* b m CHAPTER IX THE HIGH ADVENTURE The captain did not leave his new friend until the next morning, Even then, the innkeeper begged him not to go, and, above all things, not to risk his life in a second visit to the house on the heath. He worked himself into a fever at the idea. " What call have yo*i to go back to that place? " he cried. " They are devils there. The house is the very porch of hell. Every murderer and robber in the country knows that place, else I'm a fool. A face, you say? A woman's face at a window. Fie on you, sir, for such tomfoolery. She is part of that devil's trap, I'll swear. Damn me, but I never heard such madness ! Surely there are faces enough an' to spare — lasses' faces, pretty faces — without a gentleman runnin' his head into that jaw of leath for a little amusement. The woman'*' a baggage, sir, mark my word." "Joseph, t) re is reason in your view, for you 79 ii fv I t f 80 Captain Love have not seen her," returned the captain. " But I have seen her, man, and I swear she was suffering the pangs of hell. I care nothing for her beauty, mind you, but I have sworn to my own soul that I will learn how she comes to abide in that house of blood and devilish devices." " I tell you, lad, she'll not thank you for your trouble, unless she mana^^es to lure you to your death," said Clark, mournfully. " Heed not her tears, lad. Shut your ears to her words. Do not enter the house. If she wishes to leave it, she will spring to you from the window." " Don't worry Joe," replied the captain. " I'll be back before sundown, sound in body, an' easier in spirit, and the danger drawn from that house of blood. I'll strike the fear of death into that old hag." And so he rode away, all his courage returned to him and his heart strong with the high ambition of righting wrongs and overthrowing the wicked. He felt actually gay, what with the freshness of the morning, the glow of the new friendship and the noble cause in which h'r was riding. He enter- tained no fear of „word, or pistol, or hidden trap; and the vague terrors which haunted him in the k The High Adventure 83 dark hours were forgotten. He remembered the pitiful, fair face at the window, and his spirit was hot for the rescue. Captain Love pressed forward at a good pace, arriving at the lonely tavern while the -^ orning was still young. The group of dilapida 1 buildings stood in a wilderness, out of sight oi any cottage or farmhouse, though at a distance of scarce half a mile from the great highway. Thousands of acres of unprofit.i Jie heath and rough pasture spread to every point of the compass. For ten miles or more, north and south, ran a dif* ict so perilous to travellers that it was known as Ready- Trigger Heath. Many a solid gentleman had is- sued from the passage of it with shaken nerves and a slit purse. Throats had been s'it there, as readily as purses (though w'th less prof*-), and brains had been blown out and skulls era d, all up and down that notorious country ide In the fair light of day, the loPi-iy tavern and its outbuildings impressec one eve:i more deso- lately than at night. The walls were gray-black with the stain of foul weather. The roof of the house was of dark slates, the chimney of black stone. The thatchings of the stables were black 82 Captain Love [i with rot and age. The yard was devoid of that homely bustle of poultry which is so cheering in country places. The brisk air and lively sunshine spent themselves upon that dreary habitation in vain, unable to lift so much as a shade of the vague and haunting gloom which enveloped it. Captain Love skirted the place riding with un- wonted caution. Near the stable, in which horses stamped and no?ed their forage, stood a large and sleepy-looking man in the orthodox smock and gaiters of a farm-labourer. His head was bound 'round, from jaw to crown, with dirty linen. His hands, though large and muscular, showed no wear or disfigurement of toil, and his red-brown eyes were at once bold and sly, daring and unsteady. All this, the gentleman noted at a glance. " A fine morning, my good fellow," he said, drawing rein and looking swiftly about him, and then back at the man's face. " Fine enough," replied the man, with his eyes fixed upon the gray. Then he knuckled his fore- head, awkwardly, like one playing a part much against his taste. " Ay, sir, a rare day it is," he added — " for them as is able to enjoy it." He shifted his gaze wmm The High Adventure 83 from the horse to the rider, instantly lowering it again. " What is your business? " he asked. " I'll tell that to your master," replied Captain Love. " I am master here," >aid the fellow. " Honest folks has hard farin' these days, so I keeps no man. The old folks live with me, an' are at the house. If you would have a glass, or a snack to eat, I'll take your nag." " Very good," said the captain. He dismounted, and tossing the bridle to the ostler, followed through the narrow doorway of the stable. Once within, he clapped a pistol to the back of the fel- low's neck. "If you let so much as a whisper out of you, I'll blow your head off," he said. For about ten minutes he employed himself in binding the man with rope and gagging him with sacking. " I suspect you of grave crimes," he remarked. " I could even make a guess as to how you came by your broken head. Lie quiet, or I may put you. beyond the hope of bandages." He led Victor outside again, mounted and rode toward the tavern. A twist of smoke arose from the chimney, but neither the windows nor doors r f! V \ 'I . 1:| 84 Captain Love showed any sign of life. He pressed close to the front door and rapped on it with gloved knuckles. He heard a movement within, the rattle of a chain and rasping of bolts, and, next moment, looked into the upturned face of the old hag, framed in the narrow space between door and casing. Impotent rage flamed in her eyes, for they gazed into the muzzle of one of the captain's pistols. " Throw open the door," said he, " or you d''e with your sins on your soul." She hesitated. " You need not look for help from the fellow in the stables," said Love, " for he cannot so much as help himself." With an oath, she drew the door open and stepped back a few paces. The captain bent low in his saddle and peered within. He saw the frag- ments of a meal on the table, the old man nodding by the hearth, and a man in shirt and breeches snatching a blunderbuss from the wall. The old woman turned, following his gaze. " Haste," she cried. " Make haste, you fool ! Spatter him out of his saddle ! " The man swung around and raised the slow weapon to his shoulder; but the captain's pistols bellowed in the doorway, and man and weapon i^f! m P«*! The High Adventure 85 thumped upon the floor. At that the old woman fell also, rolling and screaming hideously. The captain reined back from the doorway, and looked sharply about him, expecting some danger- ous response to the hag's outer}-. But neither man nor beast appeared from the shelter of the out- houses or the thickets on the heath. Dismounting, he ran into the tavern, a pistol in his left hand, his sword in the right. On Mie instant of his entrance the old woman rose on her elbow, a clapping report stunned his ears and his hat went spinning from his head. He reeled against the jiimb of the door, for a second, somewhat shaken in nerve. The smoke of the pistol hung in the still air of the room, and beyond it he heard the triumphant and fiendish laughter of the hag. And then, quiet as a bird, something sped past him, and ran into the sunlight ; and the laughter of the old hag changed to screams of fury. Captain Love ran from the house and gave chase to the young woman ; and as he ran he wondered if, after all, she were a willing part of this evil com- pany. But, remembering the look on her face when she gazed from the window on that earlier morn- ing, he pttt the thought away from him as unjust and dishonourable. She ran swiftly, in her thin 86 Captain Love . i H ' i i ; I i^i II: i r f. If! gown, while he was retarded by his jack-boots and great spurs and skirted riding-coat. But he came up to her at the edge of the thicket in which he had once hidden four horses. " Fear nothing. I am your friend," he gasped. He flung forward his left arm (his sword was in his right hand), encircled her pliant waist and, halt- ing suddenly, drew her back against his shoulder. With her face averted, she struggled to get free, twisting her slender body and striking with her little hands. " My dear young lady," he expostulated, mildly, holding tight and doing his best to avoid her blows. " Calm yourself, madam. I am not one of these, I assure you. Easy, madam, easy, or you will do yourself a hurt. I have come to save you. remem- bering your face at the window. Madam, madam, do not struggle so, for God's sake! I am a gentle- man, my dear young lady." At that she ceased her battling and turned her face to him — a face drawn and thinned by terror, eyes afire witi many terrific emotions. A flash of hope sprang from brow to chin, as her eyes met his, and the pitiful brow and trembling lips were beau- tiful. The High Adventure 87 "You are he — who escaped?" she whispered, scarcely above a breath. " And I have cotne back to take you Irom this place," he answered, gently. At that moment he felt a touch on his right shoulder, and found his horse nosing him. And now the woman sagged on his arm, and her face was white as paper. " Will you come? " he asked, bending close. For a second her eyelids fluttered up; then drooped again. Her he-ad sank against his shoulder. Her tre. ^bling lips breathed " Yes." People stared to see the big gray clattering along, carrying a hatless gentleman, and an inert lady in a white gown. A shepherd-boy bellowed after the flying spectacle, shaking his staff in impotent rage. " One o' they young bloods up to his devilments," he cried, and cursed furiously, affirming that, even in God's daylight, decent people were not safe from the wickedness of the gentry. The woman lay in the bondage of the captain's right arm, her head, with its wealth of bright and disordered hair, at peace on his shoulder, and her eyes closed as if in sleep. She breathed quietly, and already it seemed that the blood was brighten- I ' ^4 88 Captain Love U ing beneath the pallor of cheeks and brow. Her lips, which were red as fire, had ceased their pitiful trembling. The captain looked down at her, ever and anon, with a fine lifting and quickening of the heart. To bring such peace to a woman — to carry her thus from momentary terror — was surely a great thing, he reflected. God, what lips and brow and chin ! And what a crown of hair, hauntingly fragrant ; and so lithe and soft a body at rest in his embrace. For a second, a vague fear and distrust assailed him, and his arm slackened ever so little. At that, her lids fluttered up and her eyes gazed into his with confidence and gratitude and a wistful wonder. " Lie still," he said. " Lie quiet, madam, and fear nothing." His arm tightened again, and she closed her eyes. He slowed Victor to a walk, and with imperious regard beat down the rude and curious glances of the folk whom he passed on the road. He bent low to her upturned face. " You do not question me," he whispered. " You do not ask to what place I am taking you." " You will take me to a safe place." she said. " You are brave and kind. I have been in hell," i .' f I The High Adventure 89 she added, iti a voice so low that he scarce heard the words. " What is it on your breast? " he asked. " I see a glint of metal." She shifted her position a little, and drew a short knife, encased in leather, from the top of her bodice. " I have lost years and years of sleep," she said, '• that the hilt of it might not slip from my hand. I can draw it very swiftly. I have cheated the devil with that little knife." " Madam, madam," cried the captain, softly, in a voice of keenest distress. She thrust the knife into one of the pistol holsters. " You will kill him ? " she asked. " I have already killed one of your tormentors, I think. I will kill them all," he replied. " Nay, those were but his hired rascals to keep guard upon me," she said. " Name him, and I will kill him," he said. " I do not know his name," she whispered. " He is big and foul. He is a coward. I will tell you of him, later. Let me forget him, now, as if he were already dead." " He is." said the gentleman, with the ring of inexorable fate in his voice. " It but remains for 1 1 90 m I. L., i ! I I Captain Love me to see him, aiid watch the foul spirit leap, in agony, from the foul body." " You hate him? " she questioned. "As if he had tortured a woman of my own blood," he replied. For some time she looked up at him, in silence, with a great and beautiful wonder in her eyes. " Let me sit up. I feel stronger, now," she said. Without a word, he helped her change her posi- tion. His left arm felt like lead. " You have named me — with — with women of your own blood," she whispered, her face turned aside. " How do you know ? How is it that you understand ? " " Hush, madam," said the captain. " I have read in books of old legends, of knights and gentlemen such as you," she said. " Nay, madam, I beg of you," he cried, modestly confused. " You have risked your life for me, knowing me for nothing but the inmate of that fearful house — not even knowing — oh," she cried, " it is as if God liad heard my prayers and sent one of his strong, bright angels to my rescue." " My dear lady," exclaimed the captain. " An angel of God ! Ah, madam, it is but in your own The High Adventure 91 generous heart that I have any claims to virtue. No man, having once seen the pity of your face in that window, but would have returned to help you. As for risk, it was nothing — and no one to care. I am no saint, madam." The young woman scrutinized his face with a bright and insistent regard. " Was it altogether for my sake — for the sake of the nameless woman — that you returned to that place of peril ? " she a^ed. " Or was it for ven- geance ? " " It was at the better prompting that I returned. It was for your sake," he replied. " For my sake ? " " For the sake of the nameless woman in dis- tress." The captain felt a fine glow in his blood and yet something of uneasiness. Beyond a doubt, he was deeply stirred by the pleading beauty and remark- able misfortune of this young woman who sat so close before him, in the hold of his arm. He knew what a bright spirit had been hers, seeing the core of it still unquenched. Her pliant body to iched him, her shoulder was against his breast, and the clean fragrance of her hair was like a breath across his face. The good^ gray trotted strongly; the 92 1\ i v. l\ ■I 1 1 * Captain Love roads and meadows were bright with sunshine ; the magic of romance was over his heart, his adventure and the whole wide world. And he was young, was the captain! But he remembered Dorothy Petre, and he remembered his haunting dream ; so he answered, in a steady voice — " For the sake of the nameless woman in distress." For fully two minutes they travelled in silence, and the lady's face was turned from him. " Where are yoit going? " she asked, suddenly. " I am taking you to a safe place." he replied. " I know of a quiet and decent inn, not more than a mile from here, where you may dwell in peace until — until the mending of your aflFairs." " No, no," she cried, turning and clasping his arm. "Not to the White Heron! Not there, I beg of you! You are kind and brave. You would not treat me so." "Madam." replied the captain, "I swear I do not understand you. It is a good house, is the White Heron, and the landlord is a particular friend of mine." " Not there ! " repeated the lady. " Oh, that is more than I could stand ! " The captain drew rein. " Why do you object to that decent inn? " he asked. The High Adventure 93 She lifted her hands to her face. " Nay, let it be as if I had not asked you," he whispered. " I do not wish to put you to any new distress, God knows." ! ri i I 3! !' mi ! I I ij I' ^ I ! I \ h^ CHAPTER X MORE ABOUT THE RESCUED LADY The gray horse Victor, still carrying his double burden, was turned into a narrow road which skirted the village. He did not relish the thought of thus avoiding the mid-day corn at the inn ; but for all that he did not sulk, being a good horse. " Your wish, my dear lady, is my command," said the captain. " God knows you have suffered enough for a lifetime! I will find you a safe lodg- ing in town." " Why are you so kind to me ? " she asked. " And I do not even know your name." " My name ? " said he. " Why. madam, it is of small account. I am Richard Love, a poor soldier." " Love ? " she asked. " And poor? " Her glance, moving slowly and with something of gay tenderness, flashed from his face to his fine clothes. " I take you for a duke." she added. " Nay, I am a plain soldier," he said. More About the Rescued Lady 95 " You ride a highwayman's horse," she ventured. " That, madam, is a story which I shall tell when you have told me yours," he replied. " As yet, you have asked me no questions," she said. " All in good time," said he. Quick as thought, a desolate mood had overcast the young man's spirit, like the shadow of clouds over a bright lake. Life, the road he travelled, the fields and gardens, even the woman before him and the gray horse between his knees, had become more unreal than dream. He could picture this and that — the inn and Joseph Clark, his apartments in town, the coffee-house, Petre and his sisters — and yet with no more conviction of their reality than if they were pictures which he had seen in a book. He knew they were so — and yet, had they slid from his mind and his view, would he have felt any amazement ? " What does it matter? " he reflected. " I am the plaything of Fate, as a leaf twirled before the au- tumn wind. I ride as in a dream." He withdrew the glove from his right hand. " Expectans equito," he read, inwardly. " For what do I wait ? God, on what quest do I ride ? " The lady felt his change of mood. 1 ■ li u Hi 96 Captain Love " You, too," she whispered. " Have you, also, been hurt ? " " I am an exile," he replied. " But, madam, I beg your pardon most humbly for remembering it." " An exile," she said. " Outcast from some great and lovely home ? " " From my past, madam," -aid he, with unusual bitterness. " Oh, sir, forget it," she rried. " You are a man, with daring and wit. With adventure, — in war- fare and gaming. — a man may drug his memory. Make a new life. Forget the past that has hurt you." " Nay, I only wish I could remember it," said he. Now a disturbing doubt assailed the lady's newly acquired peace of mind. Could it be that her knight was a madman? Could it be that Life had played her another cr el trick, and that this fine youth, whom she had tnought a champion sent by God, was no more than a half-v,'it for the moment en- acting a noble part by the chance of a whim? She turned and gazed at him with wide and fright- ened eyes. He met the look steadily and, reading the question, smiled with pensive tenderness. " Do not fear me, madam," he said. " Even iiCvSiv*^' ,^-^i. More About the Rescued Lady 97 though I talk somewbat vaguely at times, I believe myself to be perfectly sane. At least I shall act with circumspection and sanity in my care of you. Trust me." " I do trust you," she said. " It was but for a moment that my trust wavered." They rode into the great town, through narrow, dirty streets and the hubbub of trade. It was a moan part of the city which they had entered, and they were hustled by all manner of low people, some with wares to sell and others with jibes to offer at the expense of the captain and his charge. But the captain was wise enough to pay them no further attention than a few tossed coins and good- natured oaths. Presently they came safely to a small tavern standing midway an alley which seemed a back-water thrown off the main stream of tumult. The tavern-keeper himself rart to the gray's head. He was a small, red complexioned fellow, with quick blue eyes and a purple birth- mark on his temple. " Welcome, milord," he cried. " Sam, come see to this noble charger, while I attend to his lord- ship an' her ladyship. This way, your worships, this way. As neat a house, this, as in the whole of m 11 98 Captain Love \ I. If' ! ] London, an' fit for a king. Youth is youth, milord, with high as well as low; and here's as quiet a little inn as one could find." The captain, evidently paying no attention what- ever to the landlord, dismounted and helped the lady to the ground. " This place will serve us for the moment," he whispered in her ear. " We must eat, and we must consider our next step." " Th.s way, your excellencies, if you please," rattled the innkeeper. " Here's a room as private as any young sweethearts, high or low, could wish, and a roast on the spit fit to serve in five minutes — ay, an' wine that your lordship's own cellars couldn't equal." Captain Love, still holding his companion's hand, turned upon the little man a severe but calm regard. " My friend," said he. " do you take me for a baron, a viscount, or an earl? " " An earl, my lord, an earl," cried the other. " You are a man of keen discernment," said the captain. " But the fact is, I shall not be an earl until a certain cousin of mine is gathered to his fathers. This lady is my sister. My cousin, the present earl, expects to marry her next Saturday. We have run away together, my sister and I, for a hi More About the Rescued Lady 99 reason which I shall be delighted to explain to you at dinner, if you will be good enough to join us at that meal. And now show the lady to your best chamber and call a fellow to me whom I may send on an errand." As the landlord moved away, fairly muddled with delight at the stranger's invitation to dinner, with curiosity and with suspicion, Love stooped to the lady's ear. " I shall tell the fellow many strange lies. Do not judge me by the game I play with him," he breathed. " I know that what you do is for the best," she replied. The landlady, who was as abundant as mine host was scanty, led her to a clean and well-lit chamber, decently furnished and with a few potted flowers in the windows. The captain looked at Victor in his stall, refreshed himself with a glass or two of claret, and then sent the landlord himself (with gold coins in his hands and his ears full of flattery) to make certain purchases at a certain shop which he had noticed, during a former walk abroad, in another part of the town. His adopted and tem- porary sister must be clothed in something more serviceable than the travel-stained white gown in HI ^ n Mji'. !»' ' ',1 f : 100 Captain Love which he had rescued her from the house on the heath. Having dispatched the landlord, with a fairly clear idea of the kind and quality of the gar- ments desired, he called for French brandy. " Gad." said he, " I seem to be in a fair way of becoming a toper. But what would it matter? It would hurt nobody but myself." He drained his glass. " I am a man without a past ; without a name ; without a place. At a whim, I do mad things. My heart is as unstaple as water, as shifty as the wind. I play a game against a hidden player, with dice of which I know not even the count. Perhaps, over- come with liquor, Chance or Luck — the gods of the drunkard and the child — may befriend me." He called the drawer to him. " You must get better liquor than this, if you ex- pect me to drinK," he said. " 'Tis the best brandy wine out of France, your Honour," replied the man. " Tut, tut," cried the captain. " Take it away. Do not argue with me." Then he sat in silence, brooding over his own extraordinary case, and the case of the young woman up-stairs, until the landlord's return. The landlord brought a great parcel to the cap- More About the Rescued Lady 101 tain, containing two gowns of silk — one small and blue, the other large and green — two pairs of slippers with silver buckles, a plumed hat and six pairs of stockings like spider-webs for fineness. Also, he placed a fair amount of change at the gentleman's elbow. " The footgear an' stckings an' hat I got where your lordship sent me," he said ; " but as for gowns, Pollock had nothing made up. So I went to a lady T know, who is my wife's cousin an' who buys such things from the maids of ladies of quality, an' here is a green gown that was worn by the Countess of Exe no longer ago than Sunday, an' a blue gown that Mistress Dorothy Petre has danced and supped in. They are new an' clean, your lordship. My wife's cousin is very particular about such things. She deals only with the lady's-maids of the very best ladies." " Why do the ladies sell their garments? " asked the captain. " 'Tis the maids that sell," replied the other. " An' a rare thing they make of it, your Worship, a-robbin' their mistresses' wardrobes." " We are all robbers, high and low," said the captain. " The heir robs the dead, even as if he despoiled a tomb. The footpads and mounted ras- 1' I I- 11 102 Captain Love cals work the game like beasts, in blood and lust. The gentleman sits at cards and steals a farm or a fine horse from his friend. The ladies rob us of peace; of our hearts; of honour, like as not. Death robs us of friends, and daylight robs us of dreams. Soldiers rob in God's name and the king's. So what matter if the maids slip a few vanities from their mistresses' closets. Send the gear up to my sister's chamber, with my compli- ments." Half an hour later the lady appeared, arrayed in the blue gown, which was the smaller of the two and had once belonged to Dorothy Petre. Her beautiful and abundant hair was freshly dressed, but unpowdered ; her cheeks showed a tinge of red and the low V of the bodice disclosed a neck and throat of incomparable whiteness and texture. Her beauty was startling and at the same time appeal- ing. The captain, after bowing, gazed at her in frank wonder and delight. She, in her turn, laid a hand on his arm and smiled up at him. " Thank you." she said. " I do not think there is another man in the world who would have known that I needed these things. And, you see, the gown suits me very well, does it not? " rr^'ifcj^i^ " LAID A HAND ON HIS ARM AND SMILED UP AT HIM. V h III. I More About the Rescued Lady 103 " Well ! " J the captain. " Madam, it sets off your beauty amazingly ! " At that moment the tavern-keeper entered. " Dinner is served, your Worship," he said. He stared at the lady. " 'Tis a poor dinner for such quality," he continued, and then — " If your Lord- ship will excuse me, I'll not dine with you. Sarah, my wife, says 'tis very good of your Lordship to ask me, but she says she knows my proper place, if 1 don't." When the two were seated at table, in a snug dining-room c« the ground floor and not far from the kitchen, with the best of the inn's table-ware, napery and cooking between them, the captain felt freed of his sombre . jod. Here he was, the accepted protector of a woman who must surely be one of the beauties of the world. Dorothy Petre was beautiful, — ah, yes, — but as silver to gold in comparison to this stranger. And there was a flame in her eyes, and on her lips; rnd the shadow of fear had left her brow. " This is very wonderful, madam," he said, lean- ing forward to pour some wine in her glass. " Yes, it is wonderful," she replied. " My poor heart already feels something of its old strength ^L \i ■ r ' nf.' f 104 Captain Love and joy Evil and terror seem but shadows now, — and with every moment, in the light of your kindness and protection, the shadows are dwindling. Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!" " You are beautiful, madam," said the captain. She hid her eyes with their lashes, disclosed them full at his for a heart-beat, and hid them again, with drroping lash and lowered head. " And a man would be a fool to deny it," said the captain, who had been hit fair by that marvel- lous glance. The landlady removed the dishes; and only the wine and two glasses, and a branched candlestick remained on the table. The candles were lighted.' for dusk was filling the room. " Madam," said the captain. " I shall take it as a great favour if you will tell me something of jiow Fate brought you to the strange pass from which you escaped this morning. I do not ask as one who has a right to question, nor as one entertaining any thought of judging or criticizing; nor do I ask for yoti- story in idle curiosity. But as your pro- tector, fur the time. I request your confidence. In knowing something of how your misfortunes came about — of how your enemy got you in his toils — I shall be able to plan your immediate movements. > More About the Rescued Lady 105 as your temporary guardian, with the mi>rc assur- ance." " You speak," she sighed — "you speak as if — as if you were already tired of your charge." Her face was averted ; her voice shodc. " The danger of the adventure is past — and so — and so — you have lost interest in it — and me." The captain felt a shock at that, despite the reck- lessness of his spirit, but he let nothing of it show in his face. He turned and let his gaze rest kindly upon the lady. She did not meet his eyes, however. " Perhaps you know my family ? " she continued. " It is an Essex family." She shot a swift glance across the candle-light — a furtive, questioning glance. " I do not think I know anybody in Essex," he replied. " The name is Hollingstun," she said. " My father is a man of very considerable property, a high temper and almost incredible pride of blood and position." " How long is it since you have seen him, madam ? " inquired the captain. " It is almost two years," she answered. The captain had nothing to say to that, but re- flected that many things might have happened in ' I t1 h f . "if m 106 Captain Love those two years. Time has strange tricks to play with both property and pride — to say nothing of Death. He felt no little wonder at the lady taking her father's present condition and attitude so en- tirely for granted. Also, he felt a touch of wonder at her self-possession. She had certainly made a remarkably speedy recovery from her weakness and terror of the morning. " My mother died when I was seven years old," continued the lady. " I was the third and youngest child. Two years ago, on the morning of my sev- enteenth birthday, I met a young gentleman who was visiting in the neighbourhood. He was very handsome and charming, and caught my interest immediately; and he, poor boy, fell desperately in love with me at first sight. But my father, proud and violent man, threatened to whip the boy, and to fasten me in my room, if we ever tried to meet each other again. It appears that the young man was of a comparatively modem family and of modest fortune. I was intended to marry some one of family pride and acreage equal to my father's. But that was not to be. My lover was not as modest as his fortune ; and so, in that dark- est hour before dawn, I descended from my chamber window by help of the ivy on the wall, lui' More About the Rescued Lady 107 stole through the dew-wet gardens and shrubberies, entered a carriage ' ' the turn of the avenue and drove away witl .he man o' Tiy choice. We had ten miles to go ? eure reaching a certain inn where a parson and a s.\.:'\-'^f 'vf horses awaited us. But not more than half of that first stage of our journey was accomplished when our carriage came to a sudden stand-still, cries and pistol-shots rang about us, doors were wrenched open and sashes broken — and I fainted away." " Gad, it is like a story in a book," exclaimed the captain. The lady, evidently too busy with remembering her adventures, gave no heed to his remark. She sat with one hand shading her eyes in an attitude of deep thought. " When I r^ained the use of my wits," she continued, " I found myself lying on a couch in a small, unfamiliar room, bound hand and foot. I screamed ; whereupon the door opened and a masked man entered, unfastened my hands and gave me wine and food. I asked him a hundred questions — I begged him to return me to my home — I clasped his hands and prayed him to take me to the young man from whom I had been torn — but he answered not so much as a word to all my plead- ings. I shed tears; I screamed and sobbed; I i I .^ m> » • hi. «'• ,1^ 108 Captain Love prayed to him in God's name. But the beast only stared at me through the holes in his black mask. Soon I was blindfolded, lifted in strong arms and carried and deposited on the seat of a carriage. But why describe the horrors of that journey. At last it ended, and T found myself in that fearful house on the heath — in that hell from which you rescued me only a few hours ago." For what seemed to them both a long time, they sat very quiet and silent. The captain felt an un comfortable conviction that he had been listening to a tremendous lie. Just what this conviction was founded upon, he could not say. At last he pushed his chair back from the table. " Thank you, madam. It was a most remarkable experience," he said, quietly. The lady sprang from her seat. Her thin face was flaming and her fine eyes were like stars. " You do not believe me! " she cried. " Oh, you do not believe a word that I have said ! You think me false to your kindness." " Nay, by God ! " exclaimed the captain, des- perately confused. " Nay, my dear lady, I assure you — I assure you that I think nothing of the kind." " Oh, you are cruel," she sighed. Mce About the Rescued Lady 109 " That — that is unfair," he said, looking every- where but at her pleading lips and eyes. She sank back er seat and hid her face in her hands. He noticed jewels on her slender fingers — jewels that flashed red and white fire at the movements of her sobbing. His heart smote him with emotions of tenderness and reproach. But he held his ground, gazing down at the weeping woman with a face of dismay and pain. " Why did you ask me ? " she whispered, without changing her position. " And why did you expect me — to tell you — the truth; — when you knew — you must have known — that the truth was so bitter?" *• Madam," said he, " I beg you to forgive me. From my htiirt, I beg your pardon most humbl; Consider it, if you can, as though I had asked nc questions and you had made no answers." He paused, and stepped closer to her. " I must go now," he said. " You will be safe and well cared for here, and I shall see you again to-morrow. Good night, madam." She did not move or reply, and he saw the glint of tears, like more jewels, on her fingers. " Please do not think unkindly of me," he said. " It was in stupidity — In ignorance — that I ques- Sit » > 110 Captain Love tioned you." He touched her bright hair very lightly with his fingers. " Good night, madam," he whispered. Like a flash she was standing before him. Quick as a breath her arms were about his neck, and for a brief mad second her lips burned on his. And then, swift as light, she was gone from the room. The captain continued to stand there, for a little while, like one stricken by a bolt of lightning. " By Gad ! " he whispered, presently. ** By Heaven ! Well, I'll be damned ! " By her own confession, the woman had lied to him; also, by her own confession, she was — what she was. But his blood raced in his veins, his head was in a whirl, and unmeaning oaths continued to issue from his trembling lips. At last he rang for the innkeeper. " Take good care of ^y sister," he said, laying money on the table. " See to it that she lacks noth- ing, and — and keep this matter quiet. I shall re- turn to-morrow." Then he left the snug, candle-lit dining-room, stumbled along a dark passage, and issued blindly upon the alley. it, ■ 1^ It 1-VlWi?J CHAPTER XI THE MEETING Captain Love, forgetting all about his good gray horse, tramped home on his own two feet. Though he walked straight enough, his head was in a maze. Was ever a man in a stranger predica- ment? Did ever a man live a shiftier manner of existence? he wondered. His nameless state and the risky nature of his livelihood were bad enough, surely ; but the state of his heart troubled him more than these. He wondered if the blow which the robber had dealt his head had not weakened or in- flamed his heart in some way; for here he was (he could not deny it) at one and the same time shaken and fired by Dorothy Petre and by the woman whom he had rescued from the house on the heath, and enraptured also by a vague dream. And this dream disturbed him most of all, for it seemed positively insane for an active man, with living beauties before his eyes, to be in love with a dream. The dream was so vague — a garden, a woman, ill i I! " '■ft •■ 112 Captain Love and a forgotten face. And yet his heart had felt no other ecstasy to compare with the ecstasy of that dream. " Love ! " he exclaimed. " Gad, but my heart is a pulp ! The Fates must have tossed me that name with their tongues in their cheeks." He reached the door of his house without ad- venture, and found his old servant awaiting him on the threshold, lantern in hand. " So you're home at last," exclaimed the old man. " We've been in a fine way, a-worryin' about you. An' you've lost your horse." " My horse ? Well, upon my soul. I'd forgotten all about him," replied the captain. " But he is safe enough in a very comfortable stable." " My old woman's mournin' you for dead," said the servant, in a milder voice. " She couldn't have carried on worse if it had been me she thought was killed. Snc's been in her bed all day, she feels that bad." " I am perfectly well." the captain assured him. " An' there be a fellow here, a-waitin' to see you since afore sunset," said old Tom. " He says his name is Qark, an' that he owns a fine inn, an' is a particular friend of your Honour's. I couldn't get him out of the house, so I locked away all the valu- The Meeting 113 ables and have kept my two eyes on him ever since he come." " Well, now you can go to bed," said the captain, and brushed past him and ran lightly up the stairs. He found Josej^': Clark in his room, seated by the table where burned one candle in a pewter holder. Old Tom had evidently hidden away the silver candlesticks. The innkeeper sprang to his feet and advanced with extended hand. " I've been in a bad way," said he. " I thought them devils had made an end of you. I went out to the place, colonel, but it was quiet as death, an' the windows an* doors all fastened. So I came straight to town to look for you." " That was very good of you. I am sorry I caused you any uneasiness," said the captain. " I have had a most remarkable day of it," he added. " I'll swear you had, sir. Your face shows it," rejoined Qark. The captain set a decanter of spirits, and glasses, on the table, and also a jar of the Virginian leaf and two tobacco pipe? " Your face shows it, sir," continued the inn- keeper, as he stuffed his pipe with his thumb. He lit it at the candle. " The light's not overgood, but 1^ 114 Captain Love I" it's enough to show the glow and weariness of your features, sir. Did you break up that nest of butchers, may I ask?" " I gave them a shock. I did for one of them," answered the captain. " I shook that damned house to its foundations, you may swear to that, Joseph." " Ay, you'd do that, sir. And what about the beautiful lady?" The captain looked his friend sq arely in the one eye which shone from the folds of the bandages. " Why, as for the beautiful lady, 1 got her safely away," he said, calmly. " May I roast in hell ! " exclaimed Clark. " And you may well call her beautifu'," said the captain. " Stap my vitals ! " cried the other. " And she came away willingly. She rode in front of me, on the gray horse," continued Love. " But I'll vow she took a good look at you, first," said Clark. " A g-irl mi^ht ride away with you, colone' an' still not be a saint. They changes their lovers, they do, whenever they see a chance to better themselves — an* small blame to 'em for changin*, say I." " Nay, you do not understand," said Love. " She was distracted with fear and disgust of that place. jh ; ! •?fe'''«8" The Meeting 115 She would have ridden away with her grandfather. She was in g^eat distress. You do wrong, Joseph, to so readily thiiik wrong of an unfortunate woman." "Ay, maybe you're right," said Clark, with a doubtful smile. For a few seconds he pulled hard at his pipe, his eyes resting on the captain's face with a light of tenderness and amusement. " Oh, you are young, colonel, for ali your skill an' heart in fighting," he said. " You are tender inside, for all your spunk. I take it, sir, that the two things that work on you most surely — and swiftly — are beauty an' pity. After you pounded my mask, you pitied me — so then you felt devilish friendly toward me. But this woman, I swear, was both pitiful and beautiful." " Yes," said the captain, laughing uneasily. " Yes, she is pitiful and beautiful." Qark ponde: d deeply, the while he blew forth great clouds of tobacco smoke. " Where is she now ? " he asked. " She is in a safe and quiet place in town," re- plied Love. " Why didn't you bring her to me, sir ? " " To tell you the truth, I suggested it ; but she seemed to have a very decided objection to my tak- n 116 Captain Love m p> i > ' ing her to your inn. I had quite forgotten the in- cident, queer as it was. Queer things have driven it from my mind. Now that I come to recollect it, we rode a long way 'round for no other reason than to avoid the White Heron." " Who is this woman ? '* asked Gark, leaning forward and peering at the captain, with his one visible eye very bright and steady. " I do not know." replied Love. " She told me a story which she afterward confessed was untrue. She said that she came from Essex — but that counts for nothing — and that she ran away with a young and r'^orming lover, from a proud and in- exorable fatiie .nd was torn from her lover's arms and travelling carriage by masked men, and carried to the house on the heath. But she afterward con- fessed that the whole story was a lie. Yes, she told me it was a He when she saw that I did not believe it." "WTiat — what does this woman look like?" inquired Joseph Clark, in a voice so thin and strange as to cause the captain to stare at him in wonder. Then pity and amazement gripped his tender heart! " I read your mind," said he; " but surely, surely it is running wild ! " «a The Meeting 117 " I ask you a simple question, sir. Pray tell me of her appearance," cr- i the other, feverishly. By now the fire in his pipe was dead and he leaned half-way across the table. " She is frail of body," replied Love, quietly. " Her face is thin, as if with suffering, and yet very beautiful. Her lips are very red." " Yes ! Yes ! " murmured the other. " Her eyes are wonderful," continued the cap- tain. " Her hands are slender — and soft." "Of what colour is her hair? Of what colour are her eyes ? " cried Clark. The captain stared, blushed and stammered. " Well, — upon my soul ! Her eyes? Her hair? They are very beautiful; but damme if I know their colour! No, rip me if I do! " At that Qark sank back between the arms of his chair, but continued to gaze fixedly at the gentle- man. " You must be blind," he murmured — " or bent on fooling me." " Fooling you ? " cried the captain. " My dear man, I would not fool you for a chest of gold. You fool yourself, I think, in entertaining, for a moment, the wild thought that is in your mind. This woman is of the world. Maybe there is a strain of foreign blood in her, though to that I'd 118 Captain Love f* 111- 't, f ^ not swear. She knows her beauty, and uses it to the full of its power. She is sophisticated. She — she is more sophisticated than — than I at first believed." " Ay, that might well be," remarked Clark, in a bitter voice. " My dear friend," said the captain, " you opened your heart to me, not long ago, and in return I displayed my most intimate troubles to you ; so you will forgive me, I trust, if I speak frankly now. You spoke to me of your daughter; and now I am convinced that you entertain some hopes of finding her in the person of this young woman whom I have rescued from the house on the heath. God knows, Joe, that it hurts me to dash your hopes, but I must honestly say that I cannot associate my idea of your daughter with this woman. Your daugh- ter, I take it, possessed the charms of simplicity, modesty and innocence, along with her beauty of person. This lady, though beautiful without a flaw, not simple. I make no statement against her modesty and innocence, for she is maddeningly at- tractive. She is armed, at all points, for the cap- ture of men — God forgive me for saying it! Oh, yes, she is charming; and I believe her heart to be The Meeting 119 sound and generous; but she is full of arts and wiles." "That might well be," said the other. "But tell me, why did she refuse to come to my house? — or even within sight of it?" Captain \x)\e shook his head. " Women have queer whims," he said. " Twould take a wiser man than either you or me to find a logical reason in some of them. It may be that she wanted to come to town the quicker." " ^f you ha.r no objections, sir, '^ see the lady to-morrow." said Clark. " Why. none at all ; and i)erhaps you will be able to advise me as to my course in the matter," replied the captain. " The guardianship of a beautiful woman is not a position to be lightly considered, — and especially of a beautiful woman who has had such — such adventures," he added. Bright and early on the following morning, the two repaired to the quiet hostel in the quiet alley. Clark, having dispensed with a portion of his band- age, displayed more of his visage and looked con- siderably more presentable than on the previous day. Though both his eyes were now exposed to view, one was purple as a plum and tight closed. f:M n 120 Captain Love The innkeeper received his visitors with several skips and bows, ushered them into the private par- lour and immediately took word of the captain's arrival to the lady. *' You need not mention the fact that I am not alone," said the captain. Clark fell to pacing the room, and clasping and unclasping his great hands. " I feel it in my bones," he murmured. " You say she is beautiful. Ay, an' so was my lass, God knows! But my lass was modest as a babe. And this woman? — God keep us! " Even the captain began to feel something of this fever of expectancy and nervousness. " It is a chance," lie thought. " Life i aS full as a play of such things." He faced Clark, with a hand on the big shoulder. "If it is your girl," he said — *' tell me, do you forgive her? " "Forgive her? Yes. I will forgive her all her ingratitude and all her sins," replied Clark. " But I must see her on her knees to me, first. She must shed a tear or two for the years of pain she has caused me — and for the shame she has brought on me — and on her dead mother. Ay, we must not forget that, for all the pity of it ! " >t The Meeting 121 " Be merciful," said the captain. " She has suf- fered greatly." They heard light, swift steps approaching the door. Both men turned, and the captain felt alter- nate waves of heat and cold go over him. As for Clark, his heart shook in his side, his breath dried on his tongue and his l^s trembled. The door opened and the rescued lady entered. She wore the blue silk gown of the night before; her eyes were radiant; her face was tinged with swift- mantling blood. Her glance flew straight to the captain's face and, with no word, but a little, soft cry of welcome, she advanced to him, with hands extended. His eyes wavered under the intimate caress of hers. But he stepped forward (he, too, was oblivious to Qark's presence) and took her hands firmly and tenderly in his. At that moment a muffled and indescribable cry broke the magic that seemed to enwrap the room. Both turned; and the woman's face was suddenly stricken as white as paper. 'i CHAPTER XIl f THE HELL -RAKE The fifth Earl of Buckley was, without question, the most disreputable gentleman in London. He had no reputation save for general rascality; and he had no gentility except his inherited patent of such — for an earl is a gentleman, whether he will or no. This undesirable peer owned lands in Kent, with a fine rental, but Fr^nt all his time in and about London. He had possessed the title and estates for six years; and even his intimate friends were ignorant as to the greater part of his career previ- ous to that time. There was a rumour that he had left England at an early age, under circumstances so questionable that it was with a very sound rea- son, that, even now, he kept away from his own county. It was known, for certain, that he had fought the French in the wilderness of North America ; but even over his brief career as a .soldier there hung a cloud. Some said that he had slain a comrade with a blow dealt in the dark — others, 122 The Hell-rake 123 that he had fled openly from the enemy on more than one occasion and had, at last, been ignomini- ously kicked out of his regiment by his brother officers without any reference to the higher authori- ties. Such a thing might easily have happened at that time and in the North American wilderness. He had, after that, adventured in trade with the red savages of that wild country, and had lived their primitive life for years; but the story of his marriage to a squaw and ultimate ejection from the tribe, for dishonesty, had so frail a ^^undation that it is scarce worthy of consideration. Dishonourably ejected from both the army and the fur-trade, the fine fellow took to the sea and followed it for several years, though in what capac- ity and what manner of craft. Heaven only knows. Rumour had it that ^a was a pirate, not an ounce better than Dead-Eye Silva -'Jid Dick English — worse, perhaps, in so much that he lacked courage and brains. Let it suffice that, when he returned to England to take up the title and estates, he brought from the hazy past neither medals nor fortune nor friends. Even when established in the country of his fathers, with a title, lands and coin, Buckley did not shine in any capacity. Though possessed of a cer- ' 124 Captain Love Mill' mi tain kind of wit — a low cunning — he was no better than a fool as a peer of the realm. As a landed proprietor he accomplished nothing but the spending of the rents. As a gentleman about town — why, there was not a stable-boy in London but could have played closer to the part. Manners he had none; but, instead, a number of gross habits and stupid grimaces. His conversation consisted almost entirely of oaths; and his oaths were as devoid of appropriateness as they were of elegance. Sober, he might be mistaken for a drunken alder- rnan. Drunk, he wis no improvement on the pirate l;e had been. In anger he was vicious, and in mirth, offensive. On more than one occasion since his advent into London life had he confirmed the rumours of his past by proving himself a coward. His adventures in the wilderness and on the high seas had taught him discretion, however, and he sometimes dis- played a positive genius in discriminating between men who could be safely bullied and men whom it was wiser to leave alone. Buckley's attitude toward women of every de- gree was both revolting and laughable, or entirely one or the other. The vanity of the man in this connection was gigantic. He honesily considered If ";j2^''-'13ii?-.- • :i The Hell-rake 125 himself to be a breaker of hearts, though (unless the story of the red squaw was true) he had never so much as touched a woman's heart (except with disgi ^) with anything but gold. In fact, he was the most uncouth and disgraceful figure — be it of noble or commoner — in the whole kingdom. He had a following, however, and never lacked com- panions for a revel nor at the gaming-table. Also, the doors of many presumably decent houses were open to him — which, thanks to the wide lands of Buckley and the standing of the title, would have been the case had the earl been the devil himself. Buckley occupied a sumptuous house in London, kept an army of servants, and went through life at a gallop. His most intimate companions (he had no friends), however, were never sure where to find him. for he had a trick of disappearing from his house at irregular intervals, sometimes for a day and sometimes for a week. Wheti questioned as to where he had been and in what devilment engaged, he either laughed or cursed, according to his mood at the moment, but by no chance made any dis- closure. For all his fine pedigree, this earl detested men of breeding, for in his heart he must have known himself for what he really was. Sir John Petre was « an ^^sap 126 Captain Love m ■'11 » I ;» PI to him what a red cloth is to a bull, though « ve y proper sense of fear kept him from showing his feelings too openly. He feared the baronet's sword and pistols as sincerely as he hated his grave face, modulated voice and polished manners. There were many more gentlemen in London toward whom he felt the same way — and Captain Love had not been long in town before he, too, was on the list. In Love's case, the earl did not exercise the same care in disguisijig his feelings as he did in some of the others, for Love's position was not exalted, nor even clearly known. He admitted that he was a soldier of fortune; the son of a country parson; only distantly related to the substantial county family of the name, so, short of bodily injury, Buckley considered that he had nothing to fear from the little capiain. Believing him to be pos- sessed of neither friends nor property, he decided that here was a safe target for the shafts of his ugly temper; and so. in their frequent meetings in public places, he treated the youth with open rude- ness. For some time it seemed that the captain was not so much as aware of the other's presence. On the afternoon of the day following Captain Love's rescue of the lady from the house on the heath — the lady who, for all her beauty, charm The Hell-rake 127 and sophistication, proved to be none other than Joseph Clark's lost daughter — Lord Buckley called on Dorothy Petre, at the house of her brother the baronet. He had met the young lady some months before, at a ball at the Marquis of Tucknor's, and, deeply impressed by her charms, had kept her in his mind ever since. A man must settle down some time or other, he had at last decided, and as a part of settling down is surely the wedding of a wife, why should he not offer himself and his title to Dorothy Petre. For lod if their owner i)ut waited the signal for the nose-pulling lo begin. Buckley knew that if the affair were allowed to progress to nose-pulling he would havt no choice but to fight; and he shrewdly nspected that the outcome of the fight would be in tlie captain's favour. However that might be. he ha(i not the courage to face the chances. \t last, with a desper- ph- effort, he controlled his voice ind his features. " My young sir," said he, " you have a devilish bad temper. You should keep it in better order. How d'ye expect to make a place in London, if you go about offering insult to noblemen. Every man is liable, at times, to speak a trifle hastily when in The hi ell- rake 133 liqu'^r — so i advise you, captain, to exerc' e a bet- te. judgmcnr. in huch cases, in the future " The captain stare; i for a moment, then neceu openly. • Well. I'n: damned." he exclaimed. " Why, you pjeat ^af you havf ^ the sririt of a pot-boy." But the e had fimeH a ly. pretending: not to hc.ir. Hjs juor ard then we ' 'v .- with but i t. wo ilf a pocket Hig the plai m company s, whtii the notable Rabcock him- e him, to attract his attention. *■ May hi ■ ^c^ur attention for a moment, sir' a-ket the pr- -ietor. ove st^r aside and smiled graciously ^ the stoi ilo- " I v\ . wai you, sir." whispered Babcocl " ■ ord -ii THE BEGGAR As the days went by. Captain Richard Love be- came a well-known figure to the fashionable world of London at large, as well as to all grades of society in the more immediate neighbourhood of his own house. Among the fashionables he was re- marked for his air of high-breeding (which seemed proof alike against the shrewdest reverses and most startling successes at play) ; for his charm of per- son and manner; for his wit, and his romantic, though vague, history. The poor knew him for his generosity and tenderness, and he was spoken of by every beggar and unfortunate person, for blocks around, as " my captain " or " my young gentle- man. Their claims of ownership existed in their love and gratitude toward him ; and it was not long before these humble admirers, had they been forced to choose between the captain's smiles and the cap- tain's shillings, would have taken the smiles, and gone hungry, with warm hearts. He had a way of 1S4 The Beggar 135 stepping into the houses of these people as a gentle- man might look into a cottage on his own estate, with a paper of tobacco, perhaps, or a yellow orange — and, if need were, even a yellow coin. He preached no creed ; he seemed not to be bent upon any mission save that of good-nature ; but a bishop could not have been held in more honour by the sick and poor, than this charming young captain. Also, the doors of the mighty stood open to him, and his place was assured in every drawing-room of distinction in town. At Babcock's he was a leader; and half a hundred gentlemen professed the warmest admiration and friendship for him, in spite of the considerable sums of money which they lost to him at the tables. And Sir John Petre, a man of unusual reserve in such matters, was his open friend. The captain's intimacy with the baronet, and his frequent visits to the house off the Strand, did not pass without comment. People did not doubt, for a moment, but that Dorothy was the attraction: for that young lady was not only an acknowledged beauty but something of an heiress. And the cap- tain would be looking for an heiress; for, by his own confession, he was without property, and lived on such pay and prize-money as he had brought 136 Captain Love with him from Turkey. Many a young blood, with lightened pockets, wagged his head at mention of the prize-money. Since the rescue of Joseph Clark's daughter from the house on the heath the captain's hours of soli- tude had been more disturbing than ever. Thoughts of that young woman were hard to dismiss ; even Dorothy's beauty had not touched him so sharply; and yet he could not let his mind dwell upon her without a certain daunting of the spirit. He re- membered her caress with strong and mingled emo- tions; and the little incidents of that romantic ride with the tenderest longing. But behind every thought of her, like a black cloud, hung the horror of those two years. Though he had set out for the White Heron many times in the few months follow- ing that strange adventure, he had, save on one or two occasions, forced himself to turn back; and on those visits he had seen the lady only in her father's presence. But her wonderful eyes had spoken, even though her voice had been silent; and he had re- turned to town, on both occasions, filled with long- ing and an unreasoning sort of self-pity. It was after the second of these visits that the dream of the garden came to him again, again stirring his m The Beggar 137 spirit to depths below the little merriments and bit- ternesses of the common day. For all his apparent recklessness, Captain Love shaped his course with discretion. For all his gaiety in company he spent many bitter hours in his own apartments. That he and his horse and his servants (he had enlarged his establishment) were all sup- ported by money won at play worried him but little. The world had stripped him, and the world must refund. But that he was forced to receive the com- radeship of Sir John, and the gentle friendship of the baronet's sisters, under siith false conditions, cut his pride to the quick. What if he were dis- covered — held up to the scorn of his friends and t\?. world — the very name he had carried so gal- lantly tossed back in his face for a He? But the rr "»nths went by and brought no day of reckoning. After days of fog, Christmas morning broke bright and frosty over the myriad gables and nar- row streets of London. Snow had fallen during the night ; and now the tiles of the roofs were cov- ered with the shining crystals, steeples were wreathed, and gables wore hoods and garlands of white. Urchins blew on tingling fingers and the p >:jr Slivered over scanty fires. Plumes of smoke 138 Captain Love * ftt' Ir. I i i \\ rose heavenward from the clustered chimneys of the rich, and rags and furs rubbed elbows in the bright streets. Captain Love turned from his hearth and his breakfast-table and looked out of the window. He held in his hand a thin volume, fresh from the printers ; and in his heart was the glow and charity of the season. In the narrow thoroughfare below he saw that which stirred both his interest and his pity. A man of large and gaunt figure, and tattered garments, leaned feebly against the wall of the building opposite. The fellow's feet were wrapped about with rags and his head was uncovered. His black hair was tied in a short, stiff queue; in his ears were rings ; and in his belt a knife in a narrow sheath. After watching him for a few moments, wondering what manner of person he could be. the captain pulled a bell in the wainscoting. Presently a young footman clattered up the stairs and opened the door. The captain motioned him to the window and pointed out the strange figure below. " A seafarin' man, your Honour," said the servant. " And too long from the sea." said Love. " Ay. ye may well say so, your Honour," replied the footman. if^'^mUrtVlS^^. ^^^TS', cd (d (d Cd .1 If' % I ■ li. II !l i i I:.-, if Sit'' fl: fH! •I '.it .41 The Beggar 139 " Ask him in, Stubble, and give him iood and drink," commanded the master. Then he pushed his armchair from the table to the hearth and opened his book again. Now and then he read a lino or two aloud, for it was a hook of poetry. He had been thus employed for more than half an hour when the footman again entered the room. " The mariner wishes to see your Honour," he said. " Show him up," said the captain, still mumbling a verse. He did not close the book until he heard the stranger's rag-shod feet at the threshold. Then, with his finger between the pages for a marker, he turned his chair sideways to the fire and looked up. " Step in," he said. The forlorn man of the sea shuffled into the room, gave a twitch to some imaginary projection from his forehead, and stared around him at the fine rugs, the pictures and the books, with unfeigned delight. Then his gaze rested on the person of his host and, for a second, envy gleamed in his dark eyes. " I hope you enjoyed your breakfast," said Cap- tain Love. " Ay, sir, I did. It was the first meat an' the 140 Captain Love I'' 1.| ,i:i I i first ale I've tasted for three days," replied the sailor. " It would be hard to go empty on Christmas Day," remarked the captain. True he could not remember any former Christ- mas ; but the spirit of the season seemed familiar. The other smiled grimly. " Lord, sir, it's bitter hard to go empty any day," he said, darkly. " The ache in the belly kills a man's courage, sir, as sure as it thins his blood. But what will a gentleman like you understand of hunger and cold ? " he added. " Sit down, my good fellow," said the captain, waving his hand to a chair on the opposite side of the hearth. For a moment his guest hesitated. " Ye'll not be making sport of my rags, sir?" he inquired. " I've been a master-shipman in my day — and, by God, there's a spice of pride still left in me." " My dear sir," cried Love. " was there some- thing amiss with the brew, that you have so poor an opinion of me?" The shipman. now seated, threw out his hands with a gesture adopted from some foreign land. " May I drown at sea," he cried, " if I ever hope to let better ale slip down my throat. Nay, sir," The Beggar 141 he continued, " I have the highest regard for your lordship, if I may make fo bold as to say it. 'Tis little enough I've seen of gentlemen in my rough life — and them broken ones, an' small credit to the names they had the grace not to carry." He stared down at his rag-bound feet. " Tell me something of your life," said the cap- tain. The beggar moved in his chair with a quick shrug of impatience. The mask of servility fell away from his hawk-like features and he looked sternly at his questioner. " 'Tis no Christmas tale," he said, " and I'm far too comfortable to court the danger of being kicked frotn your door." " I beg your pardon, most humbly," said Cap- tain Love. " God knows what one of us — whether seaman or landsman — could disclose the history of his life .with any pride in it. The strong and the wise, the bully, the knave and the fool are equally in the way of some chance disconcertion — are equally the toys of a blundering world." The stranger smiled faintly, and allowed his eyes to wander over the books along the wall. " Sir, I cannot agree with you," he said. " No good man and no wise one would have led such an 142 Captain Love if existence as mine. A man may fall, and rise again, repentant, with something of his honour left to him. Nay, sir, though the world may be a blun- derer, a man's heart works his destiny. What I have done 1 have done — and the sin is mine own." " But circumstances ! " cried the captain. " Surely you cannot deny that circumstances may force inno- cent persons into equivocal positions." ** It is quite evident," replied the sailor, " that we have very different degrees of iniquity in our thoughts. You speak of an equivocal position," — here his voice lowered and his eyes glowed, — " and I am thinking of black, criminal sins for which gallows stand and hell bums." The captain sighed. Then he looked keenly at the stranger. For a beggar in rags and earrings, he surely displayed a remarkable mind and an un- usual fluency of expression. His guest read the look. " I have travelled, sir, and I have used my eyes and ears; and in the long sea-watches I have read books to keep me from my own thoughts," he said. During the remainder of his stay he spoke un- coiithly, with great sea-oaths to garnish the merest trifles, and a deal of foolish laughter. But the u The Beggar 143 acting was ill done, and Captain Love felt offended by it. " What matter if you seem a churl or an edu- cated man to me ? " he asked. " Tis not likely we shall ever meet again. So, for Heaven's sake, be honest for a little and talk with your own tongue and your own mind. Your present conversation does not interest me." The stranger's manner again changed. He got stiffly to his feet and gazed down at his entertainer with his former air of independence. " You are mistaken," he said, coolly. " I am a beggar, — a forlorn mariner cast on a leeshore and brcJ dor r^is interview with the strange sailor, he set ■ i-^^r !iis friend's house. His clothes, his shoes, ano even his wig were new, in honour of the day ; and what a shrewd sum t^.o wig had cost him ! His small-sword had jewels set in the silver hilt. As he threw coins to every beg- gar he passed, his advance was attended by bless- ings and humble salutations. As it was Christmas, he continued the distribution of alms far beyond the bounds of his own district. 14» flMi 146 Captain Love ii -I «;! " God bless your bright eyes, sir," cried an old women, in gratitude for his casual charity. At that he paused, felt again in his pocket, and held out to her a golden guinea. " Here, goody, is something brighter," he said. " Nay, sweet sir," she cried, shaking her old head, " ye've given freely, — three bits of good silver, — an' I'll not be paid for speakin' my mind of your lordship. Bright eyes ye have — brighter than the gold in your boxes or the jewels on your lady's hands — and a heart of gold, I know; for have I not loved you since ever ye came to Lcmi- don." " And what of the jewels on my lady's hands? " he asked, smiling down at her. " Have you ever seen me with a lady, good dame? " The old body laughed happily, for here was food for gossip and vanity to last many a long day. Seven people whom she knew were gazing at her and the fine gentleman, their eyes wide with amaze- ment. "' The sweetest and highest in the kingdom would be yours." she said ; " and though my heart knows her well, I've never seen her with these old eyes. She is young and fair, and proud — ay, she would The Captain's Outbreak 147 be proud of many things. But her heart is tender as your lordship's." " Ah, goody, you flatter shrewdly," said the cap- tain, with a fine bow. " And now tell me — does this paragon of loveliness love me in return ? " " With all her dear heart," said the woman. " In parting and in sorrow her love does not fail." As the captain turned away he managed to drop the guinea into a basket of crusts and broken meats which hung from his admirer's arm. " Now, what the devil did she mean by that last," he wondered. On reaching Sir John's house, Captain Love found two Dorset squires, who had followed Doro- thy to town, already there, eying each other with a growing hostility that took but small account of all the past years of friendship. Dorothy was the only member of the household at that moment in the drawing-room. To her the captain advanced eagerly, but with an air of shyness strangely at variance with his reputation. He bowed low above her hand. "If you will allow me the honour." said he, and gave her the thin volrme in which he had been reading with such absorption earlier in the day. 148 Captain Love He had carried it through the streets unwrapped, pressed against his left side by his left elbow. The lady opened the book without so much as " by your leave " to the gentlemen. The captain watched her anxiously, and the youths from Dorset stared at nothing with absurdly injured expressions on their ruddy faces. The title-page, which read simply, " Songs of London. By R. L." caused the girl to lift her clear eyes to Richard's face with a glance at once so sympathetic and so shy that his heart jumped insanely under his faultless coat. For the young beauty was usually most careful m shad- ing the lights in those bright windows of her soul. Presently Sir John and Mrs. Paddington entered the room. Dorotliy, who by that time had read the first poem twice over, darted from her seat and, pausing at the captain's side, held out the volume to her brother. " A poet has given me his book," she said, smil- ing radiantly. Courage and recklessness flamed in the captain's brenst. Could it be ? T hen what mat- tered his landless condition? What mattered his lr>st past, his insecure present, his uncertain future? The studied ontrol of his emotions so long sus- tained, went the way of the wind. >ij'»'. i^^^S^^^'feS^S^jaa The Captain's Outbreak 149 " And his heart is in the book," he replied, softly and with a desperate attempt at coolness. Then Sir John, stepping forward briskly, took the book from his sister's hand and smiled at his friend. " I am not surprised, Dick, to find you a poet," said he. " I have seen many suspicious- looking sheets on your writing-table." Richard flushed and bowed, and stole a sidelong glance at the girl , but she had already turned her face to Mr. Creighton, and her slim shoulder to both the poet and his gift. Ah, he had been too daring! And that sudden intimate unveiling of her eyes had meant nothing. He had been a fool to forget himself so — and to forget all that the ancients and modems have written concerning the whims and heartlessness of beautiful women. Sir John's voice brought him back to a con- sciousness of his surroundings. He started, and stared confusedly at his friend. "Oh. the.o poetic airs!" exclaimed the baronet, smiling kindly but at the same time treating him to a searching glance. " Must they be acquired so immediately upon the printing of one's verses? " In a flash the captain was himself again. — or. to speak more truly, he was again that graceful and 150 Captain Love II :. undismayed person that the world believed him to be. " They are of the greatest importance," he re- plied. " My friends and the world shall thus know me for a ptjet without troubling themselves with the reading of my verses." " I am sure," said Mrs. Paddington, gravely, " that your verses will prove very pleasant read- ing; but, my dear captain, I think I have never before heard of a poet who was not also a lover." " My dear Mary, how on earth do you know that Dick is not one of the most desperate of lovers? " asked Sir John, with his eyes on the captain. " I am sure v^'e should have heard of it, he is such a well-known figure in the town," replied the young widow, innocently. Richard glanced uneasily at the baronet. Then, to Mrs. Paddington : " A poet, for vanity's sake, often decks out his muse so that she passes, in print, for a mistress of flesh and blood," he said. " Tn truth, tlie poor devil can seldom afford a passion more material, for one's fitness to pay court to a fine lady is measured by lands and gold rather than by affection and rhymes." The Captain's Outbreak 151 Even Mrs. Paddington noticed the bitterness in his voice. Sir John laughed and laid a hand on his shoulder. " Come, Dick, this is hopeless," he said. " The elegant Captain Love must first discharge his serv- ants, sell his wardrobe, ay, and change both his skin and hi-^^ manners, — before he can hope to pass for a gentleman of Grub Street. Even then I doubt not his muse would find a rival of flesh and blood." The captain looked steadily and earnestly into his friend's face. Sir John returned the gaze as gravely; and each saw that shadow which the world had forgotten in the one case and did not suspect in the other. Suddenly they felt the eyes of Mr. Merton, one of the Dorset gentlemen, fixed on them inquiringly. " After all, Dick, it is Christmas Day. Let us pledge it," said the baronet quietly. They took Mr. Merton along with them to the dining-hall. Mr. Creighton scarcely noticed their departure. Petre filled the three glasses. " Long life," said Mr. Merton, with all his atten tion on his glass. " Faith," murmured the captain. " Hope," said the barcmet. 152 Captain Love K- I The Dorset squire swallowed his liquor and won- dered at his companions' toasts. *' You left out charity," said he. " Then we'll try again," said their host. Having pledged to charity, Mr. Merton hastened back to look after Mr. Creighton with the air of a man who has done part of his duty and would shirk none of it. As soon as he was gone out of the room, Petre turned to his friend. " My dear boy," said he, " let me tell you, as one who loves you as a brother and is old enough to give advice, that no game is lost until death takes a hand or shame puts out the lights." The ] Dunger gentleman caught the other's hand and stood close to him, strangely agitated. " You know nothing of my past, John," he said. " You have told me nothing of it," replied the baronet. " And yet — and yet you trust me?" " As my own brother." Then, ignoring a voice within him, the pretender told the story of Nullwood Lower Farm, and the story the farmer's daughter had told him. The baronet was deeply moved; but moved by pity rather than surprise. 1 4 * Jtry^.*^ / :-*f^^'M The Captain's Outbreak 153 " It was cruel," said he. " Ay, bitter cruel ; but you have faced it like a man, Dick." " Nay, I have not faced it," replied the other. " I am a liar — an impostor. Lord, think of it — a fine gentleman without a name ! " " You have the name you bear, and which you have made for yourself," said the baronet, kindly. " Show me a more gallant or a better known in London." Then, more deliberately, "The name you have lost, through no fault of your own, is yours as surely as Petre is mine. You were robbed. The doors of your coach were carried away, so that the sight of the arms upon them should not set the whole country on the heels of the destroyers. Ah. Dick, perhaps you do too much honour to the simple baronet of Willington." " Forgive me, my friend, if I put you to a test," returned the captain. " Whatever my real name, — great or small, — it is lost, and my assumed name may be torn from me at any moment. And yet, Sir John, I have the presumption to love your sister." " My sister," cried Sir John, changing colour. "Dorothy," replied the captain, with dry lips. His eyes were steady, even proud, in their frank 154 Captain Love ,rK • 1- and challenging regard. The other's wavered and fell. For a full minute they stood in silence at the comer of the table in the great, bright room. "Does she know of this — of your love?" asked the baronet at last. His voice was thm as a whisper. " My lips have told nothing — and God knows I have tried to keep a guard on my actions," was the low reply. " Do you think she feels any aflFection for you other than that of friendship? " inquired the baro- net, with his eyes still on the floor. " I believe her heart is free as the wind," re- plied the other. " Ay, and cold as the snow," he added, bitterly. At last Sir John looked at his friend, and both tenderness and shame were visible in his face. " Dick," he .-aid, " this story of your misfortune has increased my regard for you, for it has shown me the true stuff of which your heart is made. I had thought that you fought some battles of which we knew nothing; and now, dear lad. I view with astonishment the odds you have so bravely with- stood. Say we are friends, Dick, — better friends than ever." mrmam'm'm'. The Captain's Outbreak 155 " You are the soul of generosity," cried the cap- tain, huskily. "Nay, I am a monster," replied the other. " Call me a monster, Dick ! Call me a false friend ! Your forgiveness but makes my duty the harder — for, Dick, I must ask you not to disclose the secret of your heart to my little sister, until — until your affairs are more in order." Richard leaned against the table. Passion, de- spair and pride struggled in his face. " Then you doubt my story? " he asked. " I believe every word you have told me," re- plied the other. " and, God knows, my heart aches for you. But, lad, would you have me speed you on a course that, mayhap, would bring years of sorrow and disgrace to both you and Dorothy? Consider your own fears for the stability of your position. Would you have the woman you love involved in the danger which threatens you ? " " I am a fool," cried the captain, passionately, " and you show amazing self-control in not kick- ing me from your door." The baronet gripped his arm and stared into his face. "Where is your courage?" he asked. "The tttmxtt^r 156 Cat tain Love woman you love is alive and happy. A year, a month, even a short day may set your affairs above any danger. And in the meantime you have friends and distractions; ay, one iriend, whose sword, money and name are ever at your service, and who believes you the truest heart in England. Dick, there is not a man in the world to whom I would give Dorothy more blithely than to you. Ah, lad, is it so bitter a thing to keep so sweet a secret in one's heart for a little while?" i^l J*' ' CHAPTER XV TROUBLE WITH CREIGHTON Mrs. Paddington had never before found Captain Love so gallant and so entertaining as on that Christmas Day and evening. At first she won- dered if John had plied him with overmuch wine during their prolonged visit to the dining-room; but, upon second thought, she put the suspicion out of her head. His stories, at dinner, were quite beyond anything she had ever heard. Even young Mr. Creighton, whose humour was as stiflF and heavy as the clay of his own bean-fields, laughed three times. As for the good Merton, his mirth lasted through the entire meal. But Sir John and Dorothy listened in wonder — Sir John amazed at a spirit that could so cover a wounded heart, and the girl startled by an inner glow of pride — or was it love ? Was there another man in all London like this captain who had given her his poems? another so bright of eye, so quick of wit, so soft of voice? As she listened, her cheeks glowed and 167 MMta MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 2.8 If IIS 1: m I: 1^ 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 ^ /APPLIED IM/^GE ■6^i t'jsl Mqii-! Sireet Rochester. Ne* Vork I -+609 uSA (,^16! **82 - 0300 - Phone {'u>) 288 - "sqsg - fax 158 Captain Love 1 mi » .."! * !|il ^-U* her eyes matched his for brightness. But not once, during the meal, did he look at her with more than a fleeting glance. And that she could not under- stand, for his statement concerning his heart and his book had not escaped her. More guests arrived before supper. Among them was a Lady Anne Oliver, a sturdy, high- coloured young woman, who was frankly partial to Captain Love. Dorothy watched them in a spirit new to her; and, for a wonder, there was some- thing to watch. The captain was in a reckless mood and determined to keep up the play of light- heartedness at any cost to himself. So he accepted Lady Anne's advances with an unusual warmth, whispered in her ear, picked up her fan three times, and sat beside her at supper. And Dorothy, watch- ing covertly, whenever her numerous swains would permit, wondered at the foolishness and fickleness of Man. And, all the time, poor Richard's soul was on the rack. The conversation of the earl's daughter was animated in manner rather than matter. Her eyes were small, and attempted more than her Maker had mtended them to accomplish. And here was the poet — a being of blood and fire and woe — wringing his face to smiles and his tongue to subtil- Trouble with Creighton 159 itics, and the mistress of his madness in the same room. The strain told on him, and by the time supper was over he was in no mood to continue the engagement. So at ten o'clock he went home behind the big footman, and smoker' a pipeful of tobacco by the fire. Then, swearing that he was weary of gaiety, weary of deceit, — ay, weary of life itself, — he retired to bed. The morning sunlight was gold between the cur- tains of the windows when the captain awoke. For several minutes he lay very still, trying to catch and drag the essence of his dream into the common day. His heart was glad and tender. Something haunted him deliciously, and, even while slipping from him, maintained its elusive potency. At last, with a sigh of regret, he sat up and pulled aside the curtains of his bed. Still the sweet consciousness of a dreamland intimacy was his, and though he could recall not so much as the note of a voice or the flash of a face, the magic clung to him like the echoes of the laughter of a comrade who has but just left one's room. But this thing was finer and sweeter than laughter. Old Tom was busy with lather and razor before the shadows of the previous day returned to the captain's mind. Even then he was not altogether 160 Captain Love free of the furtive and happy influence of the un- remembered dream. Yet was it a dream ? he won- dered. Might not some beautiful and gracious spirit have communed with him in his sleep ? Again he closed his eyes and tried to drive his faculties back that fleeting way — to grasp the meaning of that elusive delight ; but the thing was too fine, too subtile, for capture, and the very effort of will, designed to accomplish that end, dispelled it from his mind. The captain was early at Babcock's that day, a trifle paler than usual but spick-and-span as ever. He went up-stairs immediately and found Mr. Creighton anxious to play at any game likely to prove diverting to the mind. The Dorset squire had not sat long before he discovered that the cards div:erted his money even more than his mind. He emptied his pockets with an ungenerous oath. Love immediately laid down the cards. " Do you wish to stop? " he asked. "Damn it," replied Mr. Creighton, "I'm not afraid of the play. Creighton of Creighton Riding can afford to sit at cards with any — with any poet in town." ■ Ah, so there was where the shoe pinched. The captain did not smile at the other's crudity. He put i * i; "^^W Trouble with Creighton 161 his winnings back on the table and rose from his chair. "What d'ye mean by that?" criU the gentle- man from Dorset. " It was my mistake. Take your money," said Love, softly. " By Gad ! " cried the other. " D'ye know who you are speaking to? I'll not take your money, Master Rhymster." The captain's thin young face flushed darkly. He turned to a waiter who stood at his elbow with a tray in his hands containing two glasses of wine. " Here's something for you," said he, and poured the handful of gold on to the tray. Then he lifted one of the glasses, drained it and set it down. He was turning away from the equally astonished gen- tleman and servant when the former clutched the skirt of his coat from where he still sat in his chair. " Not so fast, Captain Love," he said, his voice thick with rage. "Things are not done thus in Dorset." The captain calmly disengaged the fingers from his coat. "And how are they done in Dorset?" he in- quired. H 1 ) ■: ■ • I. l^k! '■■ '•' i! it Mf 162 Captain Love "If you will name me a friend," replied Creigh- ton, " Sir Charles Dart will call upon him ; and I am sure you will be fully informed on the matter." The captain bowed and glanced about the room. He caught sight of Hyde, who sat at another table. " I am sure Mr. Hyde will serve my purpose," he said. " It would be a pity to trouble any one of more pressing affairs with so small a matter." He stepped over and asked Hyde to do him the favour of looking after his interests in the threatened encounter with Mr. Creighton. The authority on pedigrees was only too pleased to connect himself with so fashionable an affair; and shook the cap- tain's hand and called for wine with marked demon- strations of friendship. ** Make your mind easy," said he. " I'll see that you get the fairest chance in the world to remove that clodhopper from your path." Love did not like the implication contained in Mr. Hyde's speech. It awoke in him a sudden, sicken- in*^ wonder at his state of mind of the previous evening. What cared he for rivals — unless it were for some rival in his dreams? Creighton or Mer- ton? — let him have his way. and welcome. " I assure you he is not in my way, but he needs K.- V Trouble with Creighton 163 enlightenment on a small question of breeding," he said. Mr. Hyde winked at L.s wine. He was far too wise to swallow any such stor)' as that ; for well he realized the charms of Dorothy Petre. Captain Love went home and brooded over the dainties of life. He read some of the verses from the little book (which, by this time, had made a considerable stir among the fashionables) and found them flavourless. He wrote a letter to his dear friend Sir John — a very pathetic and beautiful produc- tion — and then committed it to the flames. He wondered how Dorothy would feel if he were shot or run through in the duel ; and again, how such a fate to Mr. Creighton would aflFect her. He strove to call up the lady's image to his mind's eye; and, succeeding, he viewed it with indifference. " What am I? " he cried, in distress. " Nameless ! f olkless ! hot and cold in love ! Dear Lord, I am not fit to be alive ! A night — and I am changed ! A dream — and my heart is turned about ! " Whereupon he fell to wondering if ever, in his lost past, he had faced a fellow-being in any such an encounter as now threatened him. His reverie was broken by the light knock and hasty entrance of Sir 164 Captain Love ;!' I John Petre. With a sigh of mingled relief and shame, he arose from his chair and grasped his friend's hand. The baronet returned the greeting kindly but with a palpable air of discomfort. " I have been at Babcock's," said he, " and the place is full of talk of a disagreement between yourself and Creighton." The captain bowed in acknowledgment. " I was pained to hear it, Dick," continued Sir John. " I had thought that the matter was dropped for the present — in fact, if my memory serves me, I had your word to that effect — and now I find you at open warfare with the gentleman from Dor- set." The captain flushed under his friend's words and glance. " I do not pretend to misunderstand you," he re- plie*^', T take exception to your view of my act! 1 gave you my word concerning a cer- tain muaer, then rest assured that I shall keep it. My trouble with Creighton is due to his damned ill- breeding, — also, it is of his own picking, — and if he were the dean of a cathedral I'd not deny him the satisfaction of a meeting." " Do you mean that the quarrel was without pre- meditation on your part?" asked the baronet. V: !| Trouble with Creighton 165 " Yes," said the captain. " And that you follow it with no other motive save that of redressing an insult ? " " Yes," said the captain, again. Sir John took a turn or two up and down the room. The other watched him with cool eyes; but his cheeks tingled and his lips were dry. "Dick," said the baronet, halting before him, "this aflFair will cause a deal of unpleasant com- ment. 'Twill put an innocent girl in a very un- favourable light before the public ; not to speak of her suflFering if either of you fall in the encounter." " I think you are unreascwiable in thus persisting that the lady you refer to is concerned in the mat- ter," replied the captain. " It is not as a rival," he conti.iued, "but as a gentleman grossly insulted, that I am engaged to treat with Mr. Creighton." Sir John bowed gravely, very pale and with set jaw, and strode from the room. The captain paced up and down, in bitter reflection. " There goes my friend," he cried, and slapped his hands together with an oath. Though con- vinced that his feeling towards the baronet's sister had nothing to do with his share of the quarrel, he could not blink the fact that her shy and beautiful face, working through Creighton's jeaiousy, was at i- ,s *»-• 166 Captain Love !■; : r ll ih. the heart of the trouble. A desperate sort of anger awoke in him. He remembered stories of Doro- thy's coquetry — unpleasant stories that had come to him in shreds, from no particular source. But those were of Dorset and of the few months of her residence in London before his time. But here, under his very eyes, were Merton and Creighton kept dangling, undismissed and wasting their time and money. A day ago she had been lovely enough to die for — lovely enough to kill a man for ! But now he wondered that Creighton could be such a fool — and still more bitterly he wondered that he himself had been such a fool. He flung himself into his great chair and covered his face with his hands. He was aroused by Mr. Hyde prodding him in the shoulder. " Cheer up," cried the visitor, " for you're not dead yet!" Love sprang to his feet and displayed so hag- gard a visage to Hyde's startled eyes that the jovial second retreated with a skip. *' Dead ! " he cried. " I would to Heaven I were dead and buried ! " But he was the first to recover self-cor.ui-ol. Laughing faintly, he pushed a chair against his friend's legs as an in\ . ition to be seated. Trouble with Crcighton 167 " Do not imagine that I fear either lead or steel," he said. Mr. Hyde rubbed his shins and accepted the prof- fered seat " Maybe it is your first affair of the kind," he remarked, not unkindly. " And if so, why, 'tis no wonder you feel a trifle upset." " First or last," replied the captain, " I am no more moved by the thought of what Mr. Creighton may do to me than if he were an old woman with a broom-stick. If I go under the sod — why, there'll be an end to the expense of maintaining an establishment, and the last page of a foolish chapter turned over. If I live — ah, there'll be less satisfac- tion in that, I must admit, though I've not a doubt but that some one in Dorset will be the richer for it." "Come, come," exclaimed the other uneasily, "you mr not talk lik ■ a rascally <. ...• on the b( .rds. Jart ami I ha ieci'ed for the little meet- ing. I met Sir John } \ re a few minutes ago and told him of it. He u 7oo<' longh to say that I displayed my usual taste in the choice." " Petre i.: firm again^ ^.. id the captain. "And 'tis that which troubles t — for he's been a good friend to me — a friend r beyond my deserts. :