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■\fSIK.Wr' ..." ■^'3Mi^f

MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART

lANSI and ISO TEST CHART No 2]

1.25 iu

1.6

A APPLIED IIVl/IGE

^f' ' East Watn Sf'eet

R-j-'tjster. Ne» >ofi. '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."

■'af€^ «V

'^>

i I

... 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. <PAQE &
COMPANY ^ mOCCCCVIII

Or-*,

227233

By L. C. Page & Company

(incokpokatbd)

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

All rights reser<'ed

First Impression, April, 1908

COLONIAL PRESS
EUctrotyped and Printed by C. H. Si„onds b- C.
totten, U. S.A.

C. W. B.

AND

®. B. mtLt^.

CONTENTS

<'UAPTBB

II.

III.

IV.

V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.

On the Highway

The Nameless Gentleman

The House on the Heath

A Face and a Dri^am

The Nameless Gentleman Finds a

Sir John's Town Establishment

Pi-ows AND Friendship

Confidences

The Kigh Adventure

More about the Rescued Lady
The Meeting

The Hell -rake .

Thk Beggar

The Captain's Outbreak

Trouble ■'.vith Creighton

In the Dark

The Day After .

The Captain's Temptation

Parson Love

Disclosures

FARiiWELLS .

At the White Heron
"Expectant Equito"
A Busy Night .

Mr. Chester's Change ok Plans
Julia ,

Nam

PAOR
I

35
44
52
60

71
79
94

122

»34

»45

'57

160

178

190

200

209

222

231

24S

25s

268

276

■*■

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

— -♦• —

"At last a few lines were accomplished"
^^^^"P-g'm) Frontispuce

"The FOOTMAN'S MUSKET bellowed OVERHEAD"

"Struck his bewildered pursuer to the
ground"

" Man AND WEAPON thumped upon the floor " ' 8q
"Laid a hand on his arm and smiled up at
him"

"The forlorn man of the sea shuffled into
the room " .

139

CAPTAIN LOVE

CHAPTER I

ON THE HIGHWAY

At about the fall of dusk of a rare June evening
m a country of bosky woodlands and fat meadows'
a travelling carriage rolled, with sedate celerity'
along the highway. The vehicle was large and well
appointed, with fine arms emblazoiied on the doors
tour portmanteaus in the rumble with the guard
and four horses in the harness. The postilions and
the fellow behind were in liveries of buff and blue
and each wore that air of massive calm which pro-'
claims a trusted servant of the great. Inside the
carnage sat two gentlemen at their ease, talking
vv.th animation, laughing now and then, and hon
estly enjoying the fading landscape and the clean
tragrant air that blew through the lowered win-
dows^ Their talk was as the talk of old and tested
friends, comfortable, unforced and sincere
The elder of the two gentlemen in the carriage

Captain Love

looked to be of about forty years of age. Though
lie was of no uncommon bigness for an English-
man, there was that in the bearing of chest and
shoulders suggestive of great strength. His com-
plexion, by its dusky tint and innumerable fine
wrinkles, told of exposure to alien suns; and by the
level regard of his eyes and the set of his jaws, the
dullest fool would have known him a commander
of men. Courage, manliness and a zest for adven-
ture were marked honestly upon him; and some-
where about the eyes and mouth was a play of
tenderness that told of a gentle heart under that
alert and tempered exterior. He showed no points
of lofty genius ; but that he was of the salt of the
earth a discerning stranger would acknowledge at
a glance.

The younger of the two gentlemen was taller,
handsnmer. and of a slighter build than^is com-
panion. His face wore an air of gentle melancholy
when in repose, but his smile was quick and whim-
sical and set his dark eyes gleaming. His long,
claret-coloured coat was more richly laced than hts'
companion's; his slim hands were elegantly gloved
and — for such was the taste of the day — a deli-
cate perfume exhaled from the frills of his shirt
and the laces at his wrists. In his cheeks was some-

On the Highway

thing of the pallor of the student and his voice,
even when raised in laughter, was ftly modulated
and clear as a bell.

" Old London is the pick of the world." said the
elder of the two travellers. " I've drunk my liquor
in many cities, Harry, but nowhere have I caught
the taste and the comfort of it as in this same old
town to which we are now rolling along. Give me
an English inn. lad, and that in the thick of Lon-
don, and the devil may have all the foreign places,
and welcome."

"And yet those foreign places are not to be
lightly considered." replied t.e other. " Three or
four such come very pleasantly to my mind, even
at this moment."

"Like enough, like enough." cried his com-
panion; " but do not forget that you saw them as
a rich traveller, rolling from town to town like a
prince, while J, sight-seeing and looking for rest
between campaigns, was of but little more conse-
quence than a private soldier. But in the London
taverns I know of — nor the highest, mind you.
but the most comfortable- a poor devil of a cap-
tain is as good as a duke, so long as he has the
com on the table and a voice with which to make
himself heard."

Captain Love

The other, sunk in reverie, made no reply to this
praise of London taverns. His quick spirit hac'
passed back to the north, and the wounds in his
young heart were blee(hng again. The soldier,
noting and understanding, set himself to lift the
mood.

" I can scarce believe this to be your first trip
to London," he said. " You have the best air al-
ready, lad. if I've ever seen it. Many a dandy who
has spent years in the old town would give a plump
fortune for your grace of manner. Manners is the
cry nowadays, and t'hell with the morals! The
higher you climb, the lower you go, I've heard it
said."

"Damn their morals!" exclaimed the other.
Then, smiling. " Might it not be," he asked. " that
Paris and the cities of Europe, the halls of Oxford
and the training of my parents, are as fit polishers
for a gentleman's manners as the courts and coffee-
houses of London ? "

" You are right there." replied the soldier. " but
you do not v;atch the nicest shade of my meaning.
You are not only what no child of your noble
father and lovely mother could help being — an
aristocrat, a scholar, and a sportsman — but, as
surely as you are all these and a poet beside, you

■fwr"^'

On the Highway

are a type of the most select and most modern Lon-
don dandy. Harry, the thing is a chance gift of
the gods and has but little to do with your trav: a,
your education, or your imposing ancestry."

Again the gentleman addressed as Harry smiled ;
but now with a touch of indulgence.

" Jack, you are a wonderful fellow," he said.
" Not content with winning medals and scars in
half the kingdoms of Europe you must prod into
my origin — which, Heaven knows, is plain as a
pike-staff — until you find that I am begotten of
the gods, polished by inspiration and educated by
fate — with no credit at all for the wise doctors at
Oxford. Jack. I have hitherto looked upon you as
nothing but a hearty friend and a dashing soldier;
but now, I fear me, you'll be writing a book."

For a moment Jack looked puzzled. Then ne
laughed doubtfully. "Yov.e right, Harry; an
humble friend I am, and a battered soldier, God
knows," he said. *' It's the wine we drunk at
luncheon that's making an Oriental philosopher of
me — and d devilish silly flatterer to boot. If you
prove but half as witty as your mother and half as
brave as your father, then I'll expect great things
of you in London Town."

" We'll expect some rare sport, whatever I

Captain Love

prove," replied Harry. "How goes that song.
Jack?" ^

" Which song? " inquired the honest soldier.

For answer, Harry hummed the opening bars of
a tune familiar to his companion.

'• Ah, now I have it," he cried. " I invented it
this very morning, in bed at The Royal Oak.
Stand ready. Jack, to support the chorus."

In an expressive tenor, he sang :

" Nancy's brow is white as snow.
Nancy's lips are cherries.
Nancy's little teeth, arow,
Gleam like candle-berries.

Here's a health to Nancy, then

Our Queen with eyes o' brown —
For she'll be wed to Parson, Jack.
E'er we get back from town.

« Rolling up to London Town,
Merry boys together !

Never think of what's to pay

Never mind the weather !

" M'Lady's brow is white as milk ;
Her Grace's teeth are coral ;
The marchioness is robed in silk ;
The countess points a moral.
So here's to all the ladies. Jack,

With eyes of blue or brown

For we'll be wed to some one, Jac'T.
E'er we get back from town.

song,

rs of

ed it
Oak.

On the Highway

" Rolling up to London Town,
Merry boys together !
Never think of what's to pay —
Never mind the weather ! "

The soldier, sitting very erect, lent a ringing bass
to the chorus. The postilions grinned as they heard
it. The fellow behind rapped out the air on the
stock of his musket and hummed it deep in his
throat. Harry struck up another verse : —

" Sweet, your name I do not know —
Queen of London village.
I'll lay siege to brows of snow
And 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 ?

" Rolling up to London, Jack,
Merry boys together !
Never reck if we'll get back !
Never mind the weather ! "

" Very good. Very good indeed," remarked the
soldier. " A deal better, I swear, than the verses
of many a London poet. But I take exception, my
dear Harry, to the alteration in the chorus."

" I did that on the spur of the moment," replied
Harry.

" And I have an objectioa to roaJce to the senti-

Captain Love

ment of your song," said Jack. " I, for one, am
not going up to town to find a wife — Heaven for-
bid! A soft military command is what I have in
my mind's eye. After twenty-two years of the
knocks of a soldier's life I am now looking out for
some of the nuts."

" And you deserve them, my dear fellow," said
the other.

" As for this queen of London Town," continued
the soldier, ignoring his friend's remark — "be
sure she is queen of your heart, as well. It's a big
town and a bad one, lad, with many a black heart
behind white breasts and many a false tongue be-
hind those red lips of which we sang. Take a sol-
dier's word for it, my noble friend — a sure sword,
though of little comfort in days of peace, is a safer
mate for a young man than a ravishing beauty."

Harry's smile was grim as he laid a hand on
his friend's knee. " Do you expect me to admit,
even to you. that I've learned a lesson ? " he asked.
Then — " You take my song too literally — and I
do believe you have inherited a taste for preach-
mg.

" If I preach," replied the soldier, " I assure you
the taste for it is not inherited. My father, worthy,
reverend and beloved man, depends on a dog-eared

X
H

On the Highway

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."

The Nameless Gentleman

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

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

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."

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

" 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

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

The Nameless Gentleman

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

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

" 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

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

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.

Captain Love

ill

■f

" 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

¥.

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

i)»

CHAPTER III

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

The House on the Heath

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 i:

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.

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

Captain Love

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

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

Captain Love

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,

.1'

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

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.'

, 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.

I'll

I '

Captain Love

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."

I (

i*«i' >-.-t ^- «» .hK .'jmaoi^ %•:» r

A Face and a Dream

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

Captain Love

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

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,

Captain Love

\fi

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

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

Captain Love

- ■

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 <lream. Or
was this tl, dream? — this and the adventurous
night, the events oi which came nain fully back to
his memory? He felt the linen sheets, between his
fingers, and looked at tlie dood of noon sunshine
on the floor. He sat up and poked at the landl' "d's
vast waistcoat with an ir-nuring foreiliiger. No,
these things we-" real.

" To the devil vith you and your dinner " he
cried, in sudden pa;,sion. ' Out of here, you rogue,
or I'll lay a whip on you for disturbing my eep."

The big inn ceeper drew back fron the bed in
injured amazemer.t.

"What ails you?" he asked. " Yc to'd o

wake you at noon, an' have your pi ready m'
dinner on the table. I've done your idding. i'm
a man of substance, I am, an' 'ill not i e cursed 'ly
even whipper-snapper who spends a si in' at my
house." i

A Face and ^ Dream

But the nainelesii gentleman hearr< not a word of
that indignant and indepenaent eply. His spirit
was harking back —his mind was searching for
some fidgment Oi uie lost dn n, only the divine
fragrani.c of u h remained to him.

"B G 4, I have forgotten her face already,"
he CXI r^ a shaking voice.

CHAPTER V

ii ) •

hit

THE NAMELESS GENTLEMAN FINDS A NAME

For a week the nameless gentleman lived very
quietly in London. On the eighth day, and about
three hours past noon, he left the quiet house in
which he lodged and took his way to the Strand.
Would the lass of Nullvvood Lower Farm have
known this dandy for her unfortunate charge, I
wonder? What miracles the tailors and barber had
accomplished. He wore a light sword and carried
a cane of the latest mode. From his three-cornered
hat to his buckled shoes he was garbed in the rich-
est materials and the nicest taste. The fine lace at
his wrists almost hid his slender hands. On one
finger he wore a signet ring which he had found
among the coins in the highwayman's pocket. The
design on the stone was a charger trippant. The
motto rea<l. " Expectans equito."

" Who can say that it is not my own ring and
my own crest." he had said, when first considering
it. " And the motto, ' Waiting, I ride,' surely suits

Finds a Name

my uncommon case. It comes back to me. It is
familiar."

He strolled along like one in a glorious dream.
He met the eyes of other gentlemen attired as mag-
nificently as himself. Ladies went by in their
chairs; and he caught glimpses of a bewildering
variety of faces. The noise and the colour rang
around him like the music of a song ; and, smiling
a little, he murmured : —

" Sweet, your name I do not know —
Queen of London village."

Presently, on the heels of three other exquisites,
he entered what he correctly surmised to be a place
of public entertainment. It proved to be a no less
fashionable resort than " Babcock's." With a fine
assurance, he walked the length of the room and
sat down at a table already occupied by a short,
rotund gentleman in a lilac waistcoat. A servant
approached and stood deferentially at attention.

" Cocoa," said the short gentleman.

" Cocoa," said the nameless gentleman.

The other eyed him with a near-sighted squint.

" There you are wise, sir," said he. " No one
else in town serves that good beverage so desirably
as does our excellent friend Babcock. But my own
fellow has a fair hand at it."

Captain Love

Just then a third gallant seated himself at the
table. His air suggested a curious blending of
pride, affability and sadness. " How goes the
great work, Percy?" he inquired.

" As fast as I can lay pen to paper," replied he
of the lilac waistcoat.

" What? With no time given to research? "

" The whole matter is in my head. Sir John."

The gentleman who had put the questions in-
dulged in a pinch of snuflf and a smile of skepticism.

" My dear Percy," said he, " though your head
is large, I doubt if it can hold th? armorial bear-
ings of all the gentlemen in England."

The conceited scribe tapped his forehead.

" I assure you they are all here," he said.

At thi> 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

'«
^

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

Captain Love

«^'

" 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.

.-.:VV

Finds a Name

" 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-

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

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.

CHAPTER VI

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

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,

i '.

, '

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

( I

I 1

r
i

il f

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 <nt 67

old serving-man. sir. with the chill in ye bones an'
yer master a-ringin' of ye up past midnight — an'
you not even knowin' his name — then ye'd know
what ailed ye, I'm thinkin'."

"My poor fellow," said the gentleman, "your
complaint has a core of reason to it. That nothing
is so painful to the small of intellect as unsatisfied
curiosity, I have heard or read somewhere or other.
I am sorry that you and your good dame have had
to suffer so for the past week, and now I hasten
to relieve you. My name is Love — Captain Rich-
ard Love. My father is a country parson in the
North. Here is something for you, my good Tom
— and now i -^ away and tell your wife."

The servr lit i.t, j the gold coin close to the candle.

" Thank'er >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

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

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

Blows and Friendship

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-

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

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

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

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-ke<?T)ei's
face.

" I mi^t have knowed it from the first," replied
the fellow, " when you rode up so early in the
momin' on that there gray, an' with the bag o' gold
on your saddle. Honest men sleep by night an'
ride by day — an', if they be wise, they leave the
bulk of their coin at home, iiien you jumped as
if you thought the hangmen had you, when I woke
you sudden." He gazed reflectively at the horse.
" I've heard queer tales about that horse, in the
last few months. Many's the solid squire a-cursin'
them four legs o' his."

Captain Love

, ,- 1' -

"I am Captain Richard Love," said the other,
quietly.

" Oh, ay," said the landlord. " You'd be a cap-
tain, for sure. One of your kidney — he was
strung up last February — called himself a colonel."

The gray, at a hint from his master's knee,
stepped closer to the innkeeper.

" You are a liar," said the captain, in a voice
sweet as honey. " You are a filthy, overfed, scan-
dalous swine. Yov. have no sense of decency or
honesty. If my groom were with me I should tell
him to whip you."

The big innkeeper gaped with amazement ; then
his ruddy visage turned, in hue. from salmon to
purple. His hands clinched and his dull eyes flashed.

"What's that?" he cried.

" Fellow," replied Love. " if it were not for the
tenderness of my heart, I would ride you down
where you stand or knock in your thick head with
a pistol butt. It is what you deserve, you rascal.
But I pity you. You were born a fool, no doubt,
and have never learned manners. If you were a
gentleman — yea, even a poor excuse for a gentle-
man — I'd meet you with swords, and let a deal of
bad blood out of your great carcass. As it is, I
will descend to your own level and give you a sound

Blows and Friendship

drubbing with my fists. I'll teach you to mistake
gentlemen of the first quality for highwaymen."

" D'ye mean you'll get down on your two feet
an' let me have a whack at you? " asked the rustic,
his amazement renewed and his rage somewhat
abated.

" That is what I mean," replied the captain,
easily. " You are larger than I am ; but I have
a feeling that I know sc«nething of the art of this
clodhopper method of fighting that may surprise
you. But, first, bring me a pint of your best claret,
for my mouth is dry with talking."

"Nay, nay," said the other, shrewdly. " Ye'd
set spurs to your nag, an' gallop away, the minute
I turned my back. Nay, nay, my fine cock. I'll
just keep my eye on you till I get my hands on
you."

" I am feeling quite kindly toward you, now,"
said the captain, " so please do not make me angry
again. It may be worse for you if you do. If I
entertained any desire to ride away, I'd do it as
easily with your face toward me as your great slab
of a back. But you can hive your own way and
I'll have my drink, too; so call a servant and give
him my order."

The claret was brought in a pint mug; and as

dM^

Captain Love

' . I,

■ iM'i'.
Iff

I r " t

\ » I"

the captain raised it. he said, " You should take a
quart of it, my mau, to fill up your veins — for I'll
tap 'em, by way of your nose."

The innkeeper tried to smile, but the coolne.?s
with which the gentleman made the extravagant
assertion daunted him not a little. Was he in a
fair way to catch a Tartar? he wondered. He
watched the strange young man drain the mug of
claret, and felt both uneasiness and curiosity.

"If ye're not a highwayman," he said, presently,
" then what are you doin' a-ridin' 'round or a high-
wayman's horse? "

" You are full of questions," replied the captain,
pleasantly, as he returned the mug. and tossed a
piece of silver to the man who had brought the
wine. " But you'll not be feeling so interested in
my affairs when I am done with you," he added,
without heat.

He walked the gray around to the stable-yard,
dismounted, took off his sword, coat and hat, and
turned up the sleeves of his linen shirt. He felt
no fear, though the fellow he was about to engage
with must have weighed fully four stone more than
lie. An inner consciousness that he had learned
many tricks of iising his fists, both in attack and

Blows and Friendship

defence, gave him a fine sense of security. A dozen
blows and parries, learned he knew not where, were
clear in his mind. He would avoid the other's rush
by stepping aside, and plant a light jolt on tne bull
neck, below the ear. He would take a swinging
blow on his left forearm and, at the same time, ad-
minister a smart prod in the rustic's eye. Gad. he'd
done it before, as sure as the sun was shining! He
felt no more doubt of the outcome of the affair
than if the engagement were with swords or pistols.

" Come on," he said, with a pleasant smile.
" The sooner we begin, the sooner you'll be com-
fortably in bed."

The innkeeper rushed at him, with his hanvlike
fists a-whirling. The captain side-stepped, and
smote him in the neck; but one of the flinty
knuckles cut his cheek and quite spoiled his mood
of pleasantry. On the other's stumbling return he
met him briskly, dodged, avoided a frantic swing,
and then set to work like a smith at his anvil. In
a minute, mine host lay prone and bleeding in the
muck-heap.

" Wash him oflF, and carry him to bed." the cap-
tain commanded of the men and boys who had hur-
ried to the yard to see the fight. They obeyed

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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.

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

; '-'W

11 *

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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

Confidences

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

Captain Love

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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

Confidences

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

Captain Love

] ^^

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

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-

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.

III

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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

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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

The High Adventure

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

Captain Love

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

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

V \

1:|

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!

P«*!

The High Adventure

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

Captain Love

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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

"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 '

Captain Love

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,"

.' f
I

The High Adventure

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

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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

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

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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

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."

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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 ■

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*^'

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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

Captain Love

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]

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

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

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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-

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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.

III.

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

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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

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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,

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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

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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-

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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-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

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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

114

Captain Love

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.

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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-

116

Captain Love

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

111-

't,

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

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 ! "

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.

CHAPTER XIl

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'

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

";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

^^sap

126

Captain Love

m ■'11
» I ;»

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<s, she hadn't her equal in
town; and it was well known that she possessed,
in her own right, a fair property near Willington
that had come to her by way of a great-aunt.
There was no doubt in Buckley's mind as to the
outcome of the venture. The lady would be flat-
tered; the baronet would be flattered; the whole
town would feel that the young lady had made an
excellent match. For a time, the earl had played
fast and loose with the idea — then a word in his
ear. from one of his intimates, that the young ad-
venturer, Captain Love, was exhibiting a prodigious
friendship for Sir John, sent him about his errand.
In his most gorgeous apparel, and eminently
sober, Buckley drove in state to the door of Petre's
house, descended from his carriage and pulled the

128

Captain Love

1 i;

I I

it I ;h

.-I

bell himself. In the hall he was met by Sir John.
They bowed to one another with a deal of cere-
mony, Buckley feeling that he could show a trick
or two of breeding to any damn baronet in England.

" I have the honour," began the earl — "ah — I
have taken the honour — and pleasure — upon my-
self of calling to pay my humble respect to your
sister."

He made this speech with visible effort. Petre
eyed him with a chill and inquiring half-smile.

" My sister? " he inquired.

"Ay, your sister. The little one." replied the
earl.

" This is vastly polite of you." said the baronet.
" I'll remember to tell her that you called."

" I want to see her." exclaimed the earl. " Gad,
man, d'ye think I came to exchange the time o' day
with you ? "

" You cannot see her," said Sir John.

"D'ye know who you are speaking to," cried
Buckley.

" Only too well," replied the other. " Good day
to you."

" You'll suffer for this." exploded the earl. " I'll
have your damn watery blood for this ! "

The Hell-rake

129

For the moment his discretion was lost in rage
and injured vanity.

" In the meantime, my lord, I'll trouble you to
get to the devil out of my house," said Petre, in a
tone which began very softly but thickened and
quickened dangerously at the end.

So the eari went, quite forgetting, in his haste,
to make any arrangements concerning the time or
place or manner in which he was to satisfy his out-
raged feelings by spilling the blood of the baronet.
He went to Babcock's and strove to drown the
memory of the rebuflF in a quart of wine ; and the
quart was no more than comfortably put away, and
the fire of it just beginning to glow and pulse within
his skull, when Captain Love entered the place.

The captain looked pale and preoccupied. He
had gone through a disturbing time, what with the
meeting of Clark and his daughter, just after
breakfast, the lady's subsequent accusations that
he, Love, had tricked her into her father's hands, —
and after that, hysterics. At last, however, father
and daughter had gone quietly away to the White
Heron, in the captain's own carriage. The young
woman had made several honest efforts to tell
her story, but, though Clark had seemed satis-

130

Captain Love

i f:

fied and enlightened, the captain nad not gathered
any clear impression of the matter. She had run
away with one man, been kidnapped by another
and, for two years, had been a prisoner in the house
on the heath. She said that she did not know the
name of the man who had kidnapped her, or what
had become of the lover from whose inadequate
protection she had been so rudely torn within a few
hours o. the elopement. Clark, for all his bluster
before her entrance, had forgiven her and taken
her into his arms as soon as he had recovered from
the first shock of the meeting. Indeed, he had
asked very few questions, and had forced no an-
swers. But question after question, unuttered by
the voice, rang through the captain's brain. He
strove to put them away from him ; but, even after
the departure of the father and daughter, the little
devils of curiosity and supposition continued to tor-
ture his mind and heart. Even in his own house
they did not leave him. She was so beautiful. She
was so fine. He was a fool, a blackguard, to let
his thoughts dwell on that awful imprisonment.
And who was the man who had kept her in that
house for two years? And what had she intended
him — Love — to understand by her caresses ?
When the captain entered Babcock's, seeking

The Hell-rake

131

diversion from his thoughts, he felt as dejected as
he looked. It seemed to him that every new expe-
rience proved, more and more conclusively, that li^e
was out-of-joint and the world upside-down.

" Tis a blind game," he reflected — and at that
moment, in glancing about the room, his eyes met
the heated and insolent regard of Lord Buckley.
He returned the stare for a moment with cool in-
difference, then chose a seat at an unoccupied table
and beckoned to a waiter. He had no more than
tasted his liquor than Buckley came to his table.

"Don't you know me?" asked the earl.

The captain looked him up and down. " Why,
yes, I believe I do," he replied.

" Who am I ? " asked the other.

" The Earl of Buckley."

"Yes," cried the bully. "T am the Earl of
Buckley. And who the devil are you ? "

"Don't you know me, my lord?" inquired the
captain, raising his eyebrows.

"No. I don't. Who are you, an' where d'ye
come from ? "

" I'll tell you who I am," said the captain. " T
am the man who. u. all probability, will pull your
lordship's nose before many seconds are past. You
are drunker than usual, sir. Go back to your seat

132

C'aptain Love

1, '

lUl 'ii

i^i,

and attenrl to y**! '• own affairs, for I'm not in a
mood to stand any more of your insolence."

"You — you upstart! You landless dandy!"
began Buckley.

" Go back lo y it 5tat," said Love, "or else I'll
whip you now. aiul shcxi; you to-morrow morning."

The earl's in-: hcctiiK. purple from the pressure
of futile rage wthin l^iip. Now. for the sec ad
time within the ?h ur. ..l found himself in a position
from which there seetiic I i- be no way of graceful
escape. His bubble of insolence was pricked .md
the eyes of the young adventurer surveyed hsm
steadily and expectantly, a> 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 <ley w< n't fight you, sir; hut he won t
torsive. n< ither. He has queer followers, has his
lor iship- so be careful, sir, how you go about

The aptaiii
uphtairs vhere.
lia'f fh mind
fui .)- go 1. li.
with se', il fr-
self b *we-i b*^

|(|'?V1

n the

IS h

fri

'k night."
TV :ij)i..in thanked him warmly and rejoined his

t Hi:

CHAPTER XIII

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

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.

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.

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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

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

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

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<en utterly. And now I will thank you for
your charity and condescension, and go my way."

The captain stepped up to him.

" Perhaps we have caught a glimpse each into
the other's heart," said fie, " and if I see something
in yours better than ycu yourself know of, why
consider it a liberty on my part? If I prefer you
in your true manner mther than assumed, why
force the latter upon mc ' Come, sir, it is Christ-
mas morning, — a season in which a man must
treat even himself with charity."

He drew a small purse from his pocket. " That
the world has hit us both some shrewd clouts, it is

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144

Captain Love

more than likely," he continued ; " but, putting the
blundering:: of the world aside, here is a Christmas
present from one sinner to another,"

llie stranger took the purse with a trembling
hand and bowed low.

" We have both failed at our play-acting," he
said. " You will not believe rne an ignoramus and
I must respectfully doubt your pretensions to sin."
He raised his head and looked steadily into the
captain's eyes. " God bless you," he said, gruffly.

' .1

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CHAPTER XIV

THE . XPTAIN's outbreak

These were days of high Hving in Merry Eng-
land. Though people of fashion, with but few
exceptions, drank their cocoa in bed, the breakfast-
tables continued to display an undiminished variety
of hearty dishes. Dinner was eaten early in the
afternoon, and supper (a meal as elaborate as din-
ner) came on at about the fashionable dining-hour
of ttvday. And in the merry Christmas season the
eating and drinking were doubled.

Captain Love was invu H to dine and sup at Sir
John Petre's. So, short > 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.

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146

Captain Love

ii -I

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" 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.

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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-

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.

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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

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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

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Captain Love

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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.

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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

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.

:<i-

• I

168

Captain Love

But the affair must go on, though it part me from
every friend in the world, unless Crcighton gets
down on his knees and begs my pardon. I may
be landless; but I'll swallow no man's insult."

"If the lady should ask you not to fig-' .?" in-
quired Hyde.

" She has nothing to do with it," replied the cap-
tain. " I judge for myself in these matters. No
woman is concerned in my affairs."

1-' i

'yi

' .1' '

£■1 IT '

fs fli'i

" m -

■ I

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE DARK

Dawn was but a gray, cheerless thinning of
gloom along the eastern horizon when Captain Love
and Mr. Hyde stepped into the closed carfirj^'e
which was to take them to a ^eluded spot of Mr.
Hyde's selection. Love folded his cloak about him,
for the air was bitterly cold, and closed his eyes.
Shreds of slumber c'ung to his brain despite the
exciting and desperate venture on which he was
bound. Hardly realizing the peril awaiting him,
he grumbled at the jolting of the carriage and
looked back on his warm bed with peevish regret.
Mr. Hyde, seated with a case of pistols on his
knees, was deeply impressed by the other's attitude.

" You are surely a cool hand," said he. " And
I'll make so bold as to ventur. ihe assertion that
this is not your first aflFair of t'le kind."

" If I have foug-ht other duol;," f'pHed tl ::c.p-
tain, fretfully but with truth, " I'v clean forgot
them."

119

170

Captain Love

! I.

ir I

" That's pushing the heroic attitude a trifle too
far to be convincing," said Hyde. " A man must
be either a fool or an immortal to let such matters
slip his memory."

" Call me what you please," murmured the cap-
tain ; " but an you love me, take the comer of that
damn box out of my ribs."

By this time the carriage was out of town, rat-
tling and jolting along over ruts of frozen mud.
The gray light pressed against the windows like a
fluid. The breaths of the gentlemen congealed in
frosty vapour on the air. The captain drew his
cloak more snugly around him. Mr. Hyde nursed
the great box on his knee, in which lay the silver-
mounted instruments of death, and cursed softly at
the weather and his friend's unresponsive mood.
The carriage stopped softly, as if at its appointed
destination, the doors were snatched open on either
side and masked men hurled themselves upon the
unready gentlemen within.

The struggle was brief. The captain's arms
were still in the folds of his cloak when he was
overpowered, gagged, blindfolded and bound. The
only resistance he was able to make — a vicious kick
— had affected no one but the innocent Hyde, and
had so suddenly deprived that indignant gentleman

^l I .1 i

In the Dark

171

of his breath that he was captured without so much
as the utterance of a protest.

Captain Love felt strong hands prop him, with-
out violence, in the seat from which he had been
so unceremoniously hurled. A strong shoulder
pressed him cwi either side. Again the carriage was
set in motion, and for a few minutes rolled smartly
forward. Though the captain could neither see nor
hear, he was able to follow something of what was
taking place by the sense of feeling. He sat very
quiet (what else could he do, with his wrists tied
behind his back and his ankles crossed) and strug-
gled with his scattered wits. He had been handled
softly, though surely. Not a shot had been fired.
He had not received so much as a blow from a
pistol-butt. What by all that was miraculous did it
mean? It could not be of Buckley's planning, or
he'd have received no such gentle treatment.

Suddenly the carriage came to a standstill with a
violent jolt, and Captain Love felt himself being
lifted from the seat, and carried a short distance.
He could hear nothing, so ponderous was the cloth
that had been tied around his head to blindfold
him. But his nose was clear. He caught the odour
of tobacco smoke and gin-toddy. Then he was
laid gently on a bed, the gag was removed from

172

Captain Love

his jaws, and food and drink were forced on him by
an unseen hand. At first he resisted these atten-
tions; but soon realizing that if his captors wished
to put an end to him they need not go to the trouble
of poisoning his liquor, and feeing honestly hungry,
he swallowed all that was put to his lips. Feeling
much better for the strange repast (though he was
no great admirer of the Holland drink), he asked
to be set up a little higher against the pillows and
to have his hands tied in front instead of behind.
Being obliged in both requests, he took heart.

" I have ten pounds in my pocket," said he, " and
will pledge myself to the payment of twenty more,
without question, if you will but free me and set
me on the road to Dipper s Common. I have an
engagement — an affair of honour — and my repu-
tation is gone if you delay me a minute longer."

He felt the fumbling of hands behind his head
and straightway the bandage was pushed clear of
his ears.

" Don't worry about your engagement, my lord,"
said a gruff voice, " for t'other gentleman be in a
like plight."

He expressed his relief at the news, and his won-
der at the meaning of the whole affair. Highway-

]'t ' J

In the Dark

173

men, as he knew to his sorrow, were not always
so considerate in the treatment of their victims.

" Then what d'ye want of me, if not the money ? "
he asked.

He heard the murmurings of a stealthy conversa-
tion, and presently the same gruff voice replied that
the money was the thing, after all. Immediately a
hand went through his pockets and relieved him of
the ten pounds and his big, gold repeater.

For many hours the captain continued to recline
on a bed that he could not see, and to carry on a
fragmentary conversation with his invisible jailors.
He took refreshment from their hands more than
once, for his own remained bound in his lap. He
even smoked a pipe-full of tobacco whi'- one of the
hidden robbers held the bowl,

" I tell you frankly," said he, " that I mistrust
this affair entirely and lay it to the credit of some
personal grudge rather than a desire for spoils on
the part of any ordinary thief and murderer of the
road. I make no doubt but 'tis the boasted Dorset
manner of giving and receiving satisfaction — and
a damn safe one, too."

An uneasy silence followed this frank statement
of suspicion. It lasted until some one clattered on

174

Captain Love

a door with a cudgel; then the captain was again
gagged and deafened, lifted from the bed and
thrust into a carriage. He made not the slightest
movement of resistance ; but inside his passive be ly
he nursed his wrath againt-t Mr. Creighton, hav-
ing decided that the Dorset squito was, beyond
question, the instigator of the cowardly business.
He vowed in his heart that blood alone should wipe
this indignity from his conscience — that even his
dearest friend would not play such a boorish game
upon him witli impunity — and at that thought Sir
John Petre, as he had last seen him, flashed into his
mind. Could it be, he wondered, that the baronet
had a hand in this postponement of the duel? He
recalled, with agitation, his friend's anxiety to stop
the aflfair and his evident displeasure at the failure
of the argument he had advanced to that end. He
set his teeth on the gag in his mouth. The rage of
humiliation shook him like a chill of fever. Name-
less he might be — nameless and landless, and with
only the gaming-tables between himself and starva-
tion — but such treatment he would not receive sub-
missively from any man under the canopy of God's
heaven.

At last the carriage came to a standstill, a door
was opened, and strong arms again lifted and car-

In the Dark

175

-£

ried the helpless captain. Hands had him by the
shoulders and the feet. He marked the slow ascen-
sion of a flight of stairs, and again felt himself de-
posited on a bed — but this time a bed of fragrant
linen sheets and yielding mattresses.

For several minutes the captain lay quiet, at full
length, glad to be out of the jolting carriage and
raw air. He was desperately sleepy; but it would
never do for him to give up without some further
effort towards winning his freedom. Though he
no longer entertained any fears of violence, he felt
that the sooner an end was put to his equivocal posi-
tion the better for his dignity. He raised his im-
prisoned hands above him and openly pulled wrist
against wrist. As this demonstration passed with-
out protest, he decided that he was alone. So he
strained again at the bindings, and, to his intense
satisfaction, soon got free of them. In a second the
bandage was snatched from his eyes and ears, and
the gag of linen from his weary jaws. Then, be-
fore attending to his feet, he sat up and looked about
him, fully expecting that the cowardly jc^e had
ended in his own room. But a glance discovered
to him his mistake and added bewilderment to his
anger. The room upon which he looked out
through a slit in the bed-curtains was as large and

176

Captain Love

as comfortable as his own, but it was not his own.
A fire burned low on a wide hearth, and the pulsinj;
light touched here and the- e on gilt and silver. He
stared about him, with the most anxious scrutiny,
and listened for some sound of life with an intensity
that seemed to strain his ears. But he was re-
warded by neither a sight nor a sound to denote the
presence of any occupant, save himself, of the
strange and shadowy room.

After a minute spent in nervous contemplation of
his surroundings, the captain h^^tily unfastened the
cord from his -nkles and slipped noiselessly to the
floor. At the same moment something slid from
the coverlet and struck his foot. He recovered
promptly from the shock, for he was not a coward,
and, stooping, put his hand on his own gold repeater.
" Honest robbe -s," he muttered.
He turned to the bed and felt up and down the
sheets until the ten pounds which those remarkable
robbers had divested him of were collected under his
fingers. He slipped them into a pocket without loss
of time, and tiptoed cautiously from the room. The
passage without was in darkness, but a lanthom,
burning in the hall below, sent a faint glimmer half-
way up the staircase. The captain could hear no
sound save the furtive whistling of his own breath

In the Dark

177

and the dull flutter of his own heart. With a glance
over his shoulder, he set his hand to the rail and
fled down the polished stairs. The doors were un-
fastened, and gave to his hand. In another second
he was in the middle of the street, running west-
ward as if the devil were at his heels.

At last, after futile wanderings, the captain
reached the narrow portal of his own house. The
whole city seemed to be either dead or sunk in
slumber, and sky and pavements alike were black
as the muzzle of a cannon. The captain shoved
noiselessly at his door. To his surprise he found
it unlocked. He entered on tiptoe and ascended the
stairs without a stumble. In his bedroom the fire
was out. He struck a light and soon had the candles
on the mantel palely Eiflame. Taking one in his
hand, he stepped over to see thai; his bed was ready
for the night. He pulled back the crimson curtains
— and t'lere. gagged and bound and with a brace of
pistols on his chest, lay Mr. Creighton of Dorset.

CHAPTER XVII

THE DAY AFTER

Captain Love freed his rival in short order.
They laced each other with flashing eyes and set
jaws.

" What in is the meaning of this ? " cried

the captain.

"By , do you dare ask me that? " stuttered

Creighton, his tongue dry with wrath.

" Coward," cried the other, who was past rea-
son. " Is this the way affairs of honour are set-
tled in Dorset ? "

Creighton stared blankly.

"You chicken-hearted rascal," said he, at last,
one would think that it was you who had been
gagged and bound and trundled over the country,
to hear you talk."

" You fool, and who else was it? " cried Love —
then, in a flash of common sense, he realized that
he had. but a moment past, relieved his rival from
the same predicament from which he had so lately
helped himself.

178

The Day After

179

" I beg your pardon," he hastened to say, and
briefly related his own ad entures.

Mr. Creighton, looking vastly pale and shaken
in the candle-light, lowered his feet to the floor and
extended his hand.

" We've been made fools of," said he, " and by
an intimate, I'll swear. But the thing was bungled
at the end of it, and here I am in your house — and
you, no doubt, were in mine."

The captain, who had the hand of his enemy in
his, led him over to a chair. His heart was soft-
ened to the gentleman from the south. He pro-
duced wine, and they drank t«..gether with the sin-
cerest expressions of friendship. The common in-
dignity had wiped out the hostility and the insults ;
and not once, while they bemoaned the misadven-
tures of the day and cursed the unknown kidnap-
pers, did the absurdity of their present position
occur to them. Here they were, knee to knee and
glass to glass, pledging each the other in the loyalest
terms and vovving to unearth and bring to confu-
sion the rogue who had kept them from engaging
together in mortal combat.

"And the dirty rag they thrust between my
jaws," moaned Creighton, and straightway swal-

I . ii

180

Captain Love

lowed more port as if to wash the taste of it from
his mouth.

Captain Love would not let his late enemy go
home at that uncomfortable hour. He gave him his
own bed and retired, himself, to a couch in the
sitting-room. In the morning the captain's servant
shaved them both, and they breakfasted together
most amiably. As soon as the man was out of the
room they once more threshed out the incidents of
the preceding day. Now the matter seemed even
more outrageous and bewildering than it had the
night before. Could it be that Mr. Hyde and Sir
Charles Dart were at the bottom of it? Captain
Love felt certain of Hyde's innocence, remembering,
with a quick smile, that gentleman's anxiety to have
the fight take place decently and in order. But he
did not feel so sure of Sir Charles ; and Creighton,
for his part, did not consider Mr. Hyde to be above
suspicion. They argued the matter in the most
friendly spirit — and even while they argued the
young footman opened the door, and Mr. Hyde
stepped in.

"Well, by gad," exclaimed Mr. Hyde, starin^r
with open amazement at ihe domestic scene before
him. The break f asters returned his gaze with no

.{■

The Day After

181

lack of interest. His clothing, usually so faul ess,
was rumpled and pulled aslant. His wig wah all
awry and he carried neither sword nor walki tg-
cane. His face was pale and unshaven, and alx ve
his left eyebrow shone a ted and purple lump.
Perhaps never before had the master of pedigrees
paid a morning call in so sorry a pligf *

"And have you, too, been trui,.- d hVmd

folded?" inquired the captain, adva to wel-

come his dishevelled friend.

Mr. Hyde sputtered an oath and at Mr.

Creighton under drooping lids.

" You may speak freely," continn Love
Creighton and I, you may be sure, i lis!
sympathy."

" Do you mean," cried the visi *- " thai Mr.
Creighton also has been dragged fr. m p to fy><;t.
deaf and dumb and blind, and ? Stst t it©

his bed to afford disrespectful ami emen; is /wn
servants."

The captain laughed.

" Mr. Creighton was tumbled into my bees he
replied, " and I into his. Otherwise, the t atment
was the same."

Mr. Hyde sat down at that, evidently somewhat

" for

-iih

182

Captain Love

)•(

yi >

mollified to hear that the outrage had not been
practised on him alone. He even accepted a slice
^f cold beef and a pot of ale.

" I don't understand it," he said, and looked in-
quiringly at Creighton.

The Dorset squire shook his head and reached for
the tankard.

" No more do I," said he, and went on with his
eating.

He was not one to let a mystery spoil his appetite.

" It seems as if they handled you more roughly
than they did either of us," remarked the captain.

Hyde put his finger very tenderly on the lump
above his eye.

"Twas the comer of the pistol-box." he said.

" The d thing was on my knees, and when the

fight began I tried to defend myself with my feet,
and so hove it up against my head."

Creighton chuckled at that, though his mouth
was full ; but as Hyde shot an indignant glance at
him he hastened to mumble that, for his own part,
he'd gone under like a lamb.

" T was as helpless as this round of beef," he
added, and took up the carver to replenish his
plate.

Later in the day the three indignant gentlemen —

The Day After

183

Mr. Hyde had repaired his toilet — set out for the
house of Sir Charles Dart, to inquire if the Wilt-
hire baronet had suffered at the hands of the ki a-
nappers. But Sir Charles had started for the coun-
try early that morning, and had left neither his ad-
dress nor informatior concerning the date of his
return, with his butler. Creighton fumbled his cane
and, with an embarrassed glance at the captain, sug-
gested a call ( John Petre.

"By j'' .IS," replied Love, heartily — then,
catching I. -de's eye, his face hardened. He looked
from one to the other, and laid a hand on Creigh-
ton's wrist.

"What mean you?" he asked; but Crei^, .ton
only shook his head and took snuff.

Mr. Hyde was more at his ease.

" My dear friend," said he, " you told me that
Sir John was a^'ainst a certaiu little affair in which
we three, a short time ago, were all more or less
interested. A thought has come to me — a mere
shadow of a thought."

" I don't believe it," exclaimed the captain,
vehemently. " Petre would be the last man to med-
dle so between gentlemen."

Hyde turned to Creighton.

" Did i.jr mutual friend Sir John Petre try to

184

Captain Love

1)1

I'iFi

dissuade you from — from the little aflfair I just
mentioned ? " he asked.

" Ay, there's no use my denying it," replied
Creighton, guiltily. " Gad, he was stubborn as a
hog about it."

" He would hardly go to such lengths," cried the
captain. " Why, we're all his friends ! Nay, he'd
never carry his whim so far — a man of the world
like Sir John. Come, we shall step into Babcock's
and wash this unworthy suspicion from our hearts."

" Nay, captain," said Creighton, heavily. " I, for
one, will step around to Sir John Petre's. By gad,
now that the thing's in my mind, it itches me like a
flea. We don't mismanage our friend's affairs of
honour so in Dorset."

The captain hung back. He had a gjeat fear in
his heart that the outrage might be traced to the
door of his best friend. If so, could even he excuse
him?

" Petre is a Dorset man," he said, " so you may
be sure he had no hand in that low and treacherous
villainy."

" Under the circumstances," began Creighton,
and blew his nose on a yellow handkerchief, like a
farmer at a fair.

" Exactly," said Hyde. " Circumstances play the

M- i

The Day After

185

very devil with the best of us. Captain, if you will
be so good as to await us at Babcock's, Mr. Creigh-
ton and I, with the nicest circumspection, will look
into this matter. I assure you it is our duty, as
gentlemen, to do so. Honour will suffer, other-
wise."

Captain Love seated himself in the lower room of
that renowned place of entertainment. The wine he
drank might have been water, for all the pleasure it
gave him. What if this suspicion of Creighton's
and Hyde's should prove true? The baronet had
befriended him in a strange city ; and was this good
friendship to be sacrificed to a thing called honour —
a thing of passion and blood, paraded by every
swaggering bully in town ? And what was he, who
was not even sure that the name he bore was his
own, to make such a disturbance in the name of
honour? If Petre were responsible for the affair of
the day before, then it was all for the sake of his
sister. So, if he was forced to bring his friend to
account, then the blame was hers. Ay, for all her
shy glances and blushing cheeks, the blame was hers.
It was for love of her that the Dorset squire had
picked the quarrel; and (if Hyde's guess should
prove correct) it was to shield her name that the
meeting had been so ridiculously perverted. He

186

Captain Love

was conscious of a swift, sneering anger tov.ard the
beautiful girl.

" Oh, Lord," cried the spirit within him, " the
whole world shifts under my fingers. Nothing is
steadfast, nothing sure. Even the unreasonable,
fine madness of love slips from me, though I
masquerade under the very name of it. But a few
days ago my heart was afire with a sweet and
foolish courage; windmills must have tumbled be-
fore my onset ; and now only my brain is alive and I
suffer the most rascally treatment with no more
heroic feelings than those of bitterness and regret.
I face the affairs of day with my heart and brain
befuddled with wisps of dream."

He called for more liquor, drank it eagerly, and
sat for half an hour in an agony of doubt. His
position seemed a mockery, and London a pit of
torment. He forgot his luck at play, his booV of
verses and his unsurpassed wardrobes. He could
only see himself as a loveless, landless and nameless
vagrant on the verge of a quarrel with the one
friend of his heart.

The captain's bitter reverie was disturbed by the
entrance of Hyde and Creighton. A glance at their
faces confirmed his worst fears. They approached

I .

The Day After

187

the table at which he sat, and leaned to him across
it.

" Sir John Petre is out of town," whispered
Creighton.

" They believe he has gone to his place in Dor-
set," said Hyde, " and they do not know when he
intends to return."

" You did not see Sir John ? " queried the cap-
tain, aghast.

Creighton laughed shortly and harshly and
slammed his great palm on the table.

" He's gone," said he. " Run to earth. Damme,
but I've half a mind to spur after him an' hunt him
out of Dorset myself. H he thinks he can play such
tricks on a Creighton, by h , he's mistaken! "

Hyde nodded. " I'm a man of peace, myself,"
he said — " but — but this is hard to swallow."

Love got to his feet unsteadily, like one far gone
in wine. His young face was white as death and
he brushed his hand across his forehead.

" I must go home." he said, and passed 'round
the table and through the doorway.

Creighton looked at Hyde.

" The young cock's put about," he remarked.
" He's lost interest in the hunt, I'll swear, now that
we're away on the true scent."

188

Captain Love

ti<i

1|i

" The circumstances are unusual," replied Mr.
Hyde, with a keen glance at the other.

" Damn the circumstances," cried Mr. Creighton.
And then, in a lower tone, "I'm done with the breed,
sir, and they couldn't call me back if they went on
their bended knees. A baronet he may be — an' his
father before him — but the Creightons were what
they are now when a Petre twanged a bow-string."

Mr. Hyde felt that his friend from Dorset was
here encroaching on his own particular field.

" They've been gentlemen since the eleventh cen-
tury," he said ; " and, to tell you the truth, if I were
in the running for a certain lady's hand, I'd not let
a little matter of family pride turn me from the
contest."

His tone was very dry — though, Heaven knows,
his throat was wet enough. Being of a flighty
nature, he was already tiring of the abortive duel
and everything connected with it.

Creighton stared at him hotly, but with a touch of
uneasiness. He never felt quite sure of this bland
townsman.

" Could it be managed, and a gentleman still keep
his honour clean ? " he asked.

Mr. Hyde laughed softly and leaned back in his
seat.

The Day After

189

" I'll tell you this much, sir," he repliec^ " If you
call Sir Charles to account and Captain Love calls
Sir John, I'll engage the lady — and she, no doubt,
is the most dangerous of the trio."

:'\^ \-i:

1 1 ':. 1 ;

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CHAPTER XVIII

THE captain's TEMPTATION

News of the absurd termination of the affair be-
tween Captain Love and Mr. Creighton went 'round
the town on every wind. Mr. Merton, that other
Dorset squire who had followed Dorothy Petre to
town, was in high feather over the matter. Here
were both the rivals in a very laughable situation
from the world's point of view, and (from what
he heard) both desiring the blood of Sir John
Petre in return for the indignity they had suffered.
Though dull of wit, he was shrewd enough to
realize that now was the time for him to winnow
his own grain from the chaff of his rivals' misfor-
tunes. So, attired in his best coat and wig, with a
new small-£word at his hip, he called on Mrs. Pad-
dington and Dorothy. Upon finding them both at
home and in a flutter of excitement, he rubbed his
great hands together and loosed his tongue.

" 'Twas the most ridiculous affair," he said.
" Here were our valiant fighting men, each in his

190

The Captain's Temptation 191

carriage, each with his distinguished friend beside
him, rolling courageously to the scene of action.
Mr. Hyde, ye'll understand, was sittin' innocent as
a lamb, beside the captain, with Lord Playfair's
rules of duelling in his pocket an' a box of pistols
in his lap. In t'other coach Creighton was countin'
the men he'd shot, on his fingers, and Charles Dart
was grinnin' to himself. Well, presently the cap-
tain's coach drew up, the doors flew open an' in
popped the masked highwaymen. The captain was
caught like a m-use in a combag, but Hyde kicked
one of the kidnappers in the middle afore he was
tied secuiely. In t'other carriage, when the doors
were pulled open, Sir Charles gives a yell of ' Foot-
pads, by God.' and then, bawlin' all the time that
he's fightin' like a hero, helps them put the rcpes
around Mr. Creighton."

" A most dishonourable affair." said Mrs. Pad-
dington. " For my part. I feel that it would have
been better to let the gentlemen shoot at one another.
The late Mr. Paddington. I am sure, would never
have countenanced such proceedings."

For a moment Merton was confused by this un-
expected protest. He looked, in confusion, at the
widow's flushed face.

" But, my dear madam," he cried, " it was a mat-

^ I

SSMBBh

192

Captain Love

*-,-il .-;

ter of duty, I do assure you. I'd have done the same
myself, to protect the innocent name of a lady of
my family."

" My dear sir," replied Mrs. Paddington, " three
duels were fought over me, and I was none the
worse — and neither were the gentlemen, for that
matter."

Mr. Merion turned his gaze upon Dorothy. That
young lady was seated with bent h ad and flushed
cheeks, the picture of girlish embar; assment. Sud-
denly she raised her eyes shyly to her admirer's.

" Why did the gentlemen wish to quarrel ? " she
asked, and again averted her face.

" Ah," replied Merton, with a bow, " you must
ask your mirror that question."

"Fie, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Paddington. "Do
you mean to turn the child's head ? "

Poor Merton looked sincerely disconcerted at
that, and blushed as vividly as did Dorothy herself.
Lord, thought the simple fellow, if I could but
turn both her heart and her head. He looked ap-
pealingly at the widow and blundered along with
his story.

" The three men of blood," he continued, " were
kept in the one cottage all day, each in a separate
room. They gave up their watches and their money

.zrisi-i^' ,5s>«p-

<»««= ■■■itvzy»^''>^::fsewwms»ssiian^emmminii

The Captain's Tem ptation 193

— which, of course, were returned to them — with-
out a word. They were terrified, I assure you —
especially the captain and Mr. Creighton — but they
managed to eat and drink, an' all the while as blind
as puppies."

Mr. Merton was not as wise as he considered him-
self; but, after all, who is. He fairly disgusted
Mrs. Paddington with his story and his satisfaction
in it, and she felt both ashamed and angry that her
brother should have resorted to so mean a method
of stopping the aflFair. " The whole world knows,"
she argued with herself, " that men are fools about
pretty faces and that the most honourable women
may. all unwittingly, be the cause of the most
desperate encounters" — this with a complacent
memory of the havoc she herself had once wrought
in the hearts and pistol-boxes of the late Reginald
Paddington and his friends.

As for Mistress Dorothy, — why, the longer she
gave ear to the crowing of Mr. Merton, the more
her little heart inclined to the romantic and unfor-
tunate Captain Love ; and, in a lesser degree, to the
solemn Mr. Creighton. Whole stanzas of the cap-
tain's verses recurred to her mind; and again she
saw his face and heard his voice as on that Christ-
mas morning when he had givv '^er the book. But

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194

Captain Love

with a caution ,. c. one would not have expected of
her, she showed nothing of her feelings to Mr.
Merton.

No sooner was Merton out of the house than
Dorotiiy went to her own room, locked the door,
and sat down with pen and paper. Her scholastic
attainments were of the mildest type, as befitted a
lady of quality of those good old days. The very
sight of the ink and white paper struck discomfort
to her heart; and the knowledge that the gentle-
man to whom she was about to write was a poet
of distinction did not serve to put her any more
at her ease. But at last a few lines were accom-
plished and the paper folded and sealed.

Captain Love was sitting by his fire, sunk in
pensive meditation, when old Tom hobbled in with
Mistress Dorothy's note. The first reading left him
blank ; the second, impatient ; but soon, as he gazed
at the childish signature, remorse struck at his sus-
ceptible heart. He thrust the sheet into the ire,
watched it blacken and glare, and then set about
the preparing of his person for the street. All the
while he was arraying himself in his fine attire, he
nervously planned his course of action.

" T must remember the indignity to which I have
been put by the head of her family," he murmured.

The Captain's Temptation 195

" 1 must keep cool for both our sakes. She is beau-
tiful, — but I must remember my word to John."

He remembered also the flavour of that imma-
terial dream. He looked at himself with impersonal
eyes but personal knowledge, and groaned at what
he saw. That, after all, the end of his quest lay
not in London, he felt convinced ; and a disturbing
realization that his heart, as well as his name and
degree, lay somewhere back of his broken memory,
was strong in him.

" My God ! " he said, " was ever a man left more
naked to the mercies of the world ? "

And now, fully attired, the captain awoke to the
fact that he was a full five hours too early for the
appointment.

So he walked the streets, looked in at several
shops, and at last entered a quiet inn not far from
the Petre house and called for a stoup of canary.
Mine host knew the captain well by both sight and
reputation, and so allowed himself the honour of
serving him with his own hands. The captain acted
very graciously; invited the good innkeeper to
drink with him. and told several capital stories.
But he looked frequently at his watch ; and shortly
after the falling of dusk he srttled his hat on his
wig, paid the score, and stepped into the street.

196

Captain Love

"A rare, fine gentleman," said the innkeeper,
"an' sociable as a play-actor. John." he added,
to an assistant, " don't forget to tell every gentle-
man v'ho comes here that the great Captain Love is
one of our steady customers."

The captain arrived at the door of Sir John's
house sharp on the appointed minute. The street
was empty. He stepped into the vestibule, paused
for a second to question his heart, and then laid a
hand against the door. The heavy structure of iron
and oak moved at the touch, like a thing of human
wit. In a trice the gentleman was within, the way
closed behind him, and some one breathing quickly
beside him in the dusk of the hall. He felt the
brushing of light fingers on his arm.

" Was it not brave of me to bid you come ? "
whispered the voice of Doro.hy. The captain, feel-
ing that the bravery was his in coming like a thief
in the night, could not fit his tongue to ? reply.
So he put his left hand across his bo<ly and gently
clasped those fingers resting on his right arm.

So they continued for a few seconds in what was
surely a very romantic situation; then the lady
withdrew her hand.

"You think me bold — unmaidenly ? " she
sighed.

The Captain's Temptation 197

The captain denied tlie charge. No gentleman
could do less — and the captain was young and a
poet. Already half the sage advice he had given
liimself in his rooms was forgotten.

" I want you to forgive my brother," whispered
Dorothy.

Under the ciraimstances, that did not seem hard
to do.

" I am your humble servant," he murmured.

Again he felt her hand on his arm. Again he
captured it ; and at that moment the voice of Mrs.
Paddington was heard, calling her sister. He felt
the girl's slim body very close to his side, — the
personification of beauty and youth touching hJM
softly on elbow and shoulder. In a second he had
drawn her to him and kissed those incomparable
lips — and in another second he had opened the
great door and stepped into the night.

For an hour. Captain T.ove paced the dark streets
in a fever of remorse. He called himself many h:ird
names. — false friend and wolf-in-the-fold amorvT
them. — for. after all. he was but an infant in the
world's ways, reckoning from the date of his sec-
ond birth at Nullwood Lower Farm. He called him-
self a weakling and a knave. He had played his

198

Captain Love

friend false, — but, still worse, he had been false
to his dream !

Supperless, he ' ; ned his Mops to Babcock's, and
there strove to f( tify his ui jermined self-respect
with wine. Ac las ho werr ir^-stairs, determined to
find distraction in play. The place was crowded
with gentlemen but just arrived.

Among them was Lord Buckley, red of face and
glassy of eye. He espied the captain immediately.

" Make way," he roared. " The fighter of blood-
less battles — the kidnapped hero — is upon us."

The earl had drunk deep at supper. Now he gave
himself up to loud and jeering mirth, not noticing
that his pleasantry had been received in silence by
the company. Presently his breath was spent. The
sudden silence smote his ear like a slap from an
open hand. His gaze went from one unresponsive
face to another ; and the false courage of his recent
potations evaporated from his heart.

" Is your lordship pleased to refer to me?" in-
quired the captain, unsteadily. His brow and cheeks
were as flushed as the earl's, and his limbs trembled.
Was the emotion under which he struggled that of
fear or indignation ? Wiser men than Lord Buck-
ley have mistaken the one for the other. The earl's
mirthful arrogance returned to him. He had for-

The Captain's Temptation 199

gotten the outcome of his former argument with the
captain.

" I'll send for Sir John Petre an' his coach, if
ye put on any of your airs," he cried.

The captain stepped forward, raised a daintily
gloved hand and caught the earl by the nose.
Thumb and finger pinched like iron ; but only for
a second. Then the captain was pulled back with
such violence that his hold on that most crimson
point of the earl's crimson countenance gave way
with an excruciatingly painful slip and twist. The
nobleman roared like a bull, and snatched his sword
clear of its scabbard. In a moment he was over-
powered by half a dozen gentlcnen and forced,
weaponles''-. into a chair,

" I warned you that I'd pull your nose for you,"
said Love.

m '

I' iV

CHAPTER XIX

PARSON LOVE

For more than forty years had the Reverend
John Love, M. A., looked after the spiritual condi-
tions of the people of Dodwater, in B — shire. Two
squires had found him a pillar of strength, each
in his turn seeking the parson's advice on all mat-
ters. Two generations of fox-hunters had seen the
parson's black coat in the front of the field. But
a few old men would sometimes tell of a plague of
sickness that swept through Dodwater; of the death
of the parson'" young wife, who was the old squire'
daughter ; and of two years when there was no fox-
hunting in Dodwater.

Young John Love had been trained until his sev-
enteenth year by the parson and David Frunk.
Then he had ridden away, with an ensign's commis-
sion in his pocket, to return occasionally — some-
times after five years, sometimes after three — to
tell stories of half the kingdoms of Europe.

One January morning the parson called David
Frunk into his study.

200

■f ■^•Jii>. "V ."^.iA.

Parson Love 201

" I'll be setting out for London to-morrow," he
said.

"I^r-. sir." cried David, "ye've not been
a-hearin' of bad news from Master Jack,"

The parson stepped over to the hearth and
knocked the ashes from his long pipe into the fire.

" Ye'll remember, David," he said, " the letter I
got from the captain in August ? "

"Ay, sure I remembers," replied old David.
" Master Jack — the capting — were wisitin' among
the gentry in Northumberland an' were a-goin' up
to London with one o' his friends lO ax the queen
to give he a easier job at sojerin' nor what he's bin
havin'. An' then he were a-comin' home for Cris-
mus."

" Yes," said the parson. He filled his pipe with
tobacco from a jar on the table and lit it with a
coal from the fire. When the ^moke was rolling
about him. he turned again to his faithful servant.

" Well," he said. " that is the last I've heard
from him — and he didn't come home for Christ-
mas."

" He were never much on the writin'," murmured
David Frunk.

^^ " Ay. he was no quill-driver," replied the parson.
" but he stood always to his ward. Neither heat

'fi- . mMiw/. I mi ' u

202

Captain Love

nor cold, hard roads nor soft, would turn him from
a journey he'd set himself to."

" Ay, ye couldn't turn him with a axe, once he'd
got his head sot," cried old David. " He'll get what
he wants in Lunnon Town, I vum, though the queen
herself tells him no."

** He was always a good son," said the parson ;
" and if he was a trifle headstrong, he was not reck-
less. I can't think, for the life of me, what's keep-
ing him."

" Well, sir," replied David, " for all he wam't
much to look at (not takin' arter his blessed
mother), an' a trifle too short i' the shanks to be
shapely, I'm thinkin' he had a way with him what
took the women. Maybe th' queen took a fancy to
im, sir.

The parson looked at his servant.

" David," said he, " you take a liberty in speak-
ing so of her Majesty, — to say nothing of your
master and the captain."

" Sir," cried Frunk, " I'm the last person to
knowingly take a liberty with me betters. An' now
I'll be off to cobble me boots an' clean me blunaer-
bust an' borrow an extry saddle from squire."

" David, my good old friend, I intend riding to
London alone," said the parson, falteringly.

I»»--J.u?!' ■< ■ i- ■«;&»

Parson Love

203

The old servant shook h's head and chuckled.

"Beggin' your pardin', sir," said he, "but we
both goes or we both stays. What would ye be
a-doin' in Lunnon without your David, I'd like to
know."

At an early hour of the morning following the
night of trouble at Babcock's, the Reverend John
Love, M. A., and David Frunk arrived in London.
They had made the journey in safety and compara-
tive comfort, David's blunderbuss assuring them
freedom from footpads during the day, and the
parson's gold procuring them the best of fare and
bed every night.

As they had breakfasted at the little hostel a few
miles from the edge of the vn, where they had
spent the night, they now rode well towards the
heart of things before thinking of a halt. They
were mightily taken up with the scenes of life about
them ; and for a little while the good old parson
forgot his anxiety. For a long time they walked
their horses slowly, each staring to right and left
in childish wonder and delight. David could not
understand what the queen was about to allow such
a rumpus.

"Ye an' squire wouldn't allow it up to Dod-
water," he remarked.

SR2P

204

Captain Love

But the parson was too intent on his novel sur-
roundings to hear.

"Demme," exclaimed David, after a short si-
lence, "if I didn't spy a fellow with his hand in
that old gentleman's pocket Blast me, but we
wouldn't allow that up to Dodwater."

" I fear nie 'tis an evil place," replied Parson
Love. " An evil place, — and yet how stirring, —
how full of action ! "

"Ay, action enough an' to spare," muttered
David. " An' I do hope Master Jack have kep' his
pockets buttoned tight," he added, in a still lower
voice.

" Well," said the parson presently, " we might
ride the streets all day through this multitude of
people, and not find the one we seek," and at that
moment his glance caught the glance of a stout man
in an apron standing in a doorway under a sign-
board, at his left hand an arch leading into a busy
courtyard.

The innkeeper bowed respectfully. The par-
son drew rein. The innkeeper stepped to his stir-
rup.

" I keep an honest house, sir," said he, " patron-
ized by the gentlemen of the Church, the nobility
and gentry. Bright rooms, sir; honest English

i i I

Par son Love 205

fare; home-brewed — and wines — why, sir, only
last night I was compHmented on my wine by Cap-
tain Love."

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed David Frunk, who was
listening with both ears. But the parson asked very
quietly who was Captain Love, though hi., honest
face showed his emotions to the kindly eye of the
innkeeper.

" Who is Captain Love? " was the reply. " Why,
sir, he is the finest gentleman in London. Count-
esses, I hear tell, die for the love of him. an' liter-
ary gentlemen want to stab him with their quills
because his rhymes be better than theirs."

At this news something of the light of hope faded
from the parson's face. It seemed to him rather late
in life for his son to display a talent for versifica-
tion. On the other hand, he recalled a time when
he himself had written rhymes; might not Jack,
too, have fallen in love and recorded the pains and
joys of it in poetry? And if Jack once set his hand
to the making of verses, they would be good verses.
Whatever he did was done with his whole heart.
Five minutes later the parson and the innkeeper
were seated over a flask of canary.

" Is this gentleman of whom you speak a native
of London ? " inquired the cleric.

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206

Captain Love

" No, sir," replied the host. " He's been in town
but a matter of months. He's a great soldier, I've
heard, and has fought in all manner of outlandish
parts."

" His name? " whispered tlie parson.

The innkeeper scratched his head.

"His name?" he murmured. "The name of
Captain Love? Dang me, but it's slipped my nod-
dle. Something short it be, that I know well
enough. Would it be Dick, now — Dick Love? "

" Or Jack? " queried the parson, breathlessly.

" Ay, or Jack." replied the other. " Jack Love?
Dick Love? Captain Jack? Captain Dick? Dang
me, but I believe 'tis Jack, after all."

The old gentleman leaned across the table and
grasped the astonished innkeeper by the hand.

" He's my son, — my only son," he cried. " Ah,
my friend, ye've done a kindly deed this day. Now
tell me where he lives. Send one of your fellows
to guide me to him."

A certain Major Scott was engaged in making
explanations to Captain Love, on behalf of Lord
Buckley (who had meant nothing amiss, I assure
you, sir. and is one of the most good-natured noble-
men in England), when old Tom, eager to get back

Parson Love

207

to the kitchen to ask questions of David Frunk,
ushered the vicar of Dodvvater into the roon and
closed the door on his heels. The parson bowed
low to the gentlemen at the far end of the room.

" Will you be so kind," said he, " as to tell me
if Captain Love is at home?"

" At your service, sir," replied the captain, bow-
ing.

The parsc«i stared.

" I am Captain Love," said the ijoet.

The old man swayed and his ruddy face went
white. Both gentlemen sprang forward to assist
him; but he steadied himself against the back of
a chair.

"^ You," he cried. " Nay. you are not my son."

"Your son," exclaimed the captain, faintly.
Consternation chilled him until he was as pale and
shaken as his visitor.

" I do not understand," he whispered.

" If you have a heart," replied the old man, " tell
me of my son. Tell me of my only son, the'brave
soldier who set out for London six months ago,
with a fine friend from the north."

A light flashed on the young man's brain and a
weight of dread and pity sank to his heart.

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208

Captain Love

" What can I tell you ? " he cried. " My God,
what can I tell you ? "

At that moment the door opened and closed.
Major Scott had departed, unnoticed by the others,
to carry an amazing story to his patron the earl.

^t':^?WSSElKH^»!!3»M^l^'^

CHAPTER XX

DISCLOSURES

The Reverend John Love caught the young gen-
tleman by the shoulders and glared intj his face.

'• What is the meaning of this?" he asked, with
a ring of menace in his voice. " How dare you tell
me, sir, that you are Captain Love ? "

" My dear sir," replied the oiher, " if I have lied
to you, — if I have harmed you, — I have done so
in utter blindness. Calm yourself, I pray, and listen
to me with the charity of a priest of God, and not
the just anger of a father."

At that the parson sank weakly into the chair
against which he had been leaning. The distress
in the other's voice had cleared his heart of anger
and left it open to the blackest forebodings.
" Tell me the worst." he murmured.
For a moment the captain hesitated, bending
above his visitor with a stricken face. Then he
drew a ring from his finger and thrust it into the
other's hand ; but his tongue failed him. The par-

209

k> i

ll'f \

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I
'fi

210

Captain Love

son looked lonj,' at the ring, turning it between his
fingers.

" Yes." he said, wearily, " it is my son's ring.
I gave it to him myself on his sixteenth birthday.
See the dint here, where the hilt of a Spanish sabre
struck it ten years ago."

And suddenly, even while he spoke, tears sprang
out upon the brave old face.

The sight of that paternal grief shocked the cap-
tain beyond words, assaulting his heart with phys-
ical pain. He 'ell on his knees before the olr- an,
and. in broken sentences, told the story of his . t / r
since his recovery at Nulhvood Lower Farm, and
of all he had heard from the farmer's daughter.
Then he bowed his face on his h^nds. his hands
resting on the arm v>f the chair. For a long time
he knelt thus, all his own affairs forgotten, listen-
ing to the half-stifled sobs of the old clergyman.
At last he felt a hand on his head.

" You were Jack's friend." said the gentle voice.
"Now — that Jack is gone from us — you must
be a good friend to me."

Half an hour later David Frunk was sent for.
He looked distrustfully at the captain when he heard
the story ; for his mind, being that of a peasant,
worked slowly.

:oi i'

Disclosures

211

" Old man," said the captain, reading the other's
glance, " you doubt my story now ; but, before a
week is passed, you will believe it. In the mean-
time, bear with me in charity, as your master
does."

David had nothing to say to that ; but the parson
took the young man's hand in his.

" Lad," said he, " I trust you as one of my own
blood. Did not the same hands that shattered my
dreams of the future deprive you utterly of the past.
As I have lost the son, so have you lost your parents
and the friends of your youth. Your reunion of
love will soon be accomplished — and mine in a few
years' time, by the mercy of God."

David Frunk returned to the company of the
captain's servants, fully convinced that, whatever
his private feelings, he must display an unmoved
countenance. Twice, on his way down-stairs, he
had to pause and bru"h the tears from his eyes. So
Master Jack had been killed by highwaymen, and
here was a young fellow calling himself the captain,
and living like a lord, and telling a story that surely
no full-grown man but the parson would believe for
a minute.

" It beats me. it do," he muttered, " an* what's
to happen nex', I'm danged if I knows."

(

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212

Captain Love

In the kitchen he was greeted impatiently by the
inquisitive Tom.

" How d'ye find the capting? " he asked.

"Well enough, well enough," replied David,
" though I'd like to see 'im a trifle shorter an' a trifle
broader."

Tom and his old wife and the young footman
stared at the stranger in perplexity. At last the
old woman said: "Well, for my part, Master
Frunk, I think the capting do have a most elegant
figger."

" Ay, maybe yer right, ma'm," said David, list-
lessly.

The gentlemen up-stairs opened their hearts to
each other. The parson told what he knew of his
son's friends in the north, and promised to help the
captain in the quest of his name and people. He
told of the real captain's childhood, — little homely
incidents glorified by the love through which they
were remembered, — and of his courage and hon-
esty; and. as the young man listened, his heart re-
called the old love for his friend, though his brain
was still bafi^ed.

London held no interest now for Parson Love.
He was anxious to take saddle again and distract
his heart with the perils and discomforts of the

^ ■^t;i.'^myi'twm'^^TmBki''^'^<^'if ^

D isclosures 213

road. He wanted to see Farmer Holt; and then
to ride to Northumberland and see his new friend,
his poor son's intimate, restored to his birthrights'
His wounded heart leaned to the unfortunate young
man. He had a deep knowledge of faces, and read
courage and loyalty and tenderness in the eyes and
features of his host. A hundred ties seemed to bind
him to this youth whom he had never seen before
whose name he did not know, and with every min-
ute the ties strengthened.

On the captain's part, the friendship was as quick
and as sincere. He felt immeasurably grateful to
the old gentleman for his insight and forgiveness.
He loved him for his trust. Pity and loneliness
drew him to that fatherly and sympathetic heart.
The stricken but gallant old priest seemed to him
Hope personified, — a clue to the lost past. — a
hold upon those dear, dead days, the sweetness of
which sometimes touched his dreams.

The parson was for taking the road on the mor-
row; but the captain (we must continue to call him
so for a little) begged him to wait a few days. He
had aflFairs to settle, a few friends to bid farewell
to, and servants to dismiss. He was still in doubt
of the settlement of the Buckley matter, that noble-
man's friend having departed in the middle of ex-

214

Captain Love

planations. He had a number of bills to pay and
two extra horses, a fine carriage, and a sedan-chair
to dispose of. So the parson agreed to await the
captain's convenience in the matter, and David
Frunk and the young footmen were sent to the inn
to bring around the parson's horses and saddle-bags.
The captain went about his business sanely
enough in the afternoon, paying his bills and ar-
ranging for the sale of such of his possessions as
he had decided to part with. But his heart all the
while was in a tumult of conflicting emotions. Now
it suffered consternation that the name he had car-
ried so gallantly — ay, and even the military title
of captain — had been proved, of a surety, to no
more belong to him than to any of his s-rvants.
He could think of himself as nothing but Captain
Love ; and though he had never fully believed that
chance had given him his true name out of the shat-
tered past, the proof of the mistake struck him like
a disinheritance. Then pity for his lost and unre-
mep-' friend, and rage at the thought of his

cru€ ..1, took hold of him. Pity for the good

clerc, ..a depressed him. Shame ran over him
like a wave of heat at the recollection of the scene
with Dorothy, — of his broken faith with Sir John
Petre. And now a wonderful joy possessed him,

Disclosures
and, in broad daylight, he felt

215

- „ . ^mething of that

enchantment that had previously come to him only
in his dreams. In Northumberland his past awaited
him. What a great adventure was this, — to mount
a horse and ride from the misfitted present, with its
shame and cares and loneliness, back to the for-
gotten life, to childhood friends, to his own name
and h.s own people. And what the awaited him
there? Could it be that somewhere in the old life
dwelt the inspiration of his dream? Could it be
that the cloud lifted from his mind during his sleep?
— that the disquieting sweetness that clung to him
on waking from that furtive dream was the half-
memory of a memory? And if a dream could stir
a man like that, what of the living inspiration of
It? If a half-memory, what of the Being remem-
bered ?

While passing the door of a tavern, the captain
was accosted by Mr. Creighton. The gentleman
from Dorset was decidedly the worse for his liquor
and enjoyed a dare-devil moo<l very foreign to his
nature. He grabbed the captain by the arm and
bawled his name aloud in the street. Then —
"Come in! Come in!" he cried. "I've been
drinkin' to Merton — an' IVTerton's been drinkin' to
himself. Join us, Dick, and we'll drain the cellar."

216

Captain Love

"What is it all about?" inquired the captain,
allowing himself to be dragged into the tavern.

" Why, it's for the drowning of sorrow, as far
as you and T are concerned," replied Creighton.
" We're out ot that race, my son, — and damn glad
I am to know it. for 'twould have gone mightily
against my pride to marry into that family after
what happened t'other day."

" Wliat the devil are you talking about ? " asked
the captain.

Mr. Creighton paid no attenticwi to the question,
but led the way to a table where sat Mr Merton,
flushed of face and broadly grinning.

" He has come in for Bullyham and ten thousand
a year," cried Creighton, lowering himself heavily
into a chair. " Look at him grin, the hero! And
he's been around to Petre's — and the ladies have
invited him to supper. What d'ye think of that,
Dick? Are you asked to supper? No, lad, and no
more am I ! "

The captain congratulated Mr. Merton on his
new possessions. The master of Mertonwick and
Bullyham received the congratulations with a
warmth that almost melted him to tears.

" I'm a lucky man. Love," he babbled. " Yester-
day, mind you, I was one of the poorest gentlemen

^I'^irm'M^y''

Disclosures

217

in Dorset — and now, by gad, I'm the richest ! Yes-
terday, or thereabouts, it was all * the captain and
Mr. Creighton ' and ' Mr. Creighton and the cap-
tain,' — but today it is another tune, my lads ! To-
day it is nothing but ' Mr. Merton ' — and that is
worth ten thousand a year, or I'm a liar ! "

"What d'ye mean?" asked Love. "Damme if
I can make head nor tail of your story."

" Oh, it is simple enough," said Mr. Creighton.
" Merton is drunk ; but I see the truth in his eye.
You will have noticed, Dick, that our worthy friend
has seemed, up to the time of our last observation,
to occupy third position in the friendly race in which
we have all been more or less engaged of late. Yes,
Dick, he was a weak third, and a fool to look at.
But now he wishes you to understand that he thinks
he'll win."

The captain gazed fixedly at Mr. Merton. The
honest fellow looked very happy and very drunk.
" Well," said he, " I wish you luck. But be care-
ful that you are in condition to keep your appoint-
ment."

The parson and the captain supped quietly to-
gether at home. The parson ate little and talked
less; and his solicitous host's good wine was fla-
vourless on his tongue.

■\9^A

11^

-I

ii:

218

Captain Love

The captain, understanding the old man's sorrow,
kept silence concerning his own hopes and fears.
When the meal was over he told his guest that he
must spend a few hours at Babcock'a, for there the
gentlemen of the town were to be met with, and
he must tell them that he had decided to go on a
journey. The old man nodded, smiled kindly and
returned to his meditations. The captain left him
seated in a great chair by the fire, his wig on his
knee, his hands clasped together and his gentle eyes
bent on the dancing flames.

The captain made known his intention of going
north, on family matters, to several of his acquaint-
ances; then, with what money he could aflford to
risk convenient in his right-hand pocket, he went
up-stairs. Play was already going merrily forward;
cards at some tables, dice at others, and at some a
game calling for the use of both these agents of
chance. Wines and punches were being served
briskly. Some wigs were awry and not a few were
laid aside. Lace ruffles were turned back over wide
cuflFs. Whenever a candle flared and smoked, a
silent-footed attendant trimmed the wick, the play-
ers not so much as raising their eyes from the busi-
ness in hand. It was a scene that had begun to
pall on the captain — and yet it was typical of his

Disclosures

219

whole existence in London. He would have one
more night of it — and then Babcock's and its fre-
quenters could go to the devil, for all of him. He
soon found an empty table and a gentleman who
was anxious to play.

The stakes were small; but fortune favoured
the captain so persistently that, after a half -hour of
play, a group of idlers gathered about the players.
Major Scott and Lord Buckley joined the specta-
tors; but the captain saw neither of them, for his
mind and eyes were on the game. Presently, after
a whispered word in Buckley's ear, the major with-
drew from the quiet crowd about the table and went
down-stairs. He returned shortly, accompanied by
a tall and lean gentleman with a weather-beaten
and cadaverous countenance. The stranger wore
a serviceable rapier at his side and great spurs on
the heels of his heavy jack-boots. His costume was
of a military style. He elbowed his way through
the rank of onlookers until he stood close behind
the gentleman who was engaged in play with the
captain.

" Impostor!" cried the stranger, in a harsh and
penetrating voice.

Every one within ear-shot turned upon him with
looks of dismay. The gentleman against whose

220

Captain Love

I: 'ft.

•iH

ill

■ f- ■

chair he leaned twisted around in his seat, swore,
and returned to the game. But Captain Love, who
sat in a half -shadow, did not lift his eyes from the
cards in his hand. Not a muscle of his face moved
— though, God know s, his heart leapt like a hare
and then pounded in his side.

For seconds an expectant silence held the room.
Men drew their breaths softly and leaned forward.
Some stared at the dark-visaged stranger; others
followed his penetrating gaze to the bent head of
Captain Love.

" You, sir." continued the stranger. " You who
call yourself Captain Love and say that you com-
manded the body-guard of the Sultan of Turkey.
Impostor, I give you the He."

At that the captain got quickly to his feet and
leaned across the table toward his accuser. He
would face the trouble like a man. .'Xt a glance he
recognized the stranger as the broken mariner
whom he had entertained on Christmas morning.

The recognition was mutual. The mariner
turned with an oath and grasped Lord Buckley by
tlie shoulders.

" You accursed liar ! " he cried. " Hire some one
else to do your dirty tricks for you. gallows bird ! "

The earl pulled himself free of the great hands.

Disclosures

221

staggered, babbled a few incoherent words and fell
on the fl(xjr in a fit. Nobody heeded him.

'• This gentleman," added the stranger, pointing
to Captain Love and turning an angry face on the
company, " is an honest man and a brave one. Be
careful how you lend ear to lies concerning him."

Then, with a look of disgust at the prostrate earl,
he strode from the room.

! ! ! t-

CHAPTER XXI

FAREWELLS

Now the captain found himself more of a hero
than ever at Babcock's. Not only his friends, but
jjentlemen with whom he had hitherto been on the
merest terms of civility, pressed about him and con-
gratulated him on his victory over the dishonour-
able earl.

The captain went home in good spirits, heartened
by the kindness of the gentlemen of Lcmdon and
deeply touched by the loyalty displayed toward him
'»y that strange person whom he had fed, and phi-
losophized with, on Christmas Day. He found the
parson still tip and awake, st-ated by a cold hearth.
He told him of the night's adventure ; and the old
man was quickened from his reverie.

" My dear lad." he said, anxiously, " we must
haste'ii away from town. You are not safe one
moment while you remain in the same place with
so unprincipled an enemy.

" His fangs are drawn." replied the captain.

" Nay," returned the parson, " the fangs of such

222

s«l

IF^fP"^

i i i HUIJl

Farewells

223

a viper are to be feared so long as sin and poverty
exist. With his gold he will buy other ruffians to
compass your undoing. Let us take saddle early
in the morning, for I should dearly love to return
you to the arms of your people — to see in others
that joy which God, in his infinite wisdom, has seen
fit to withhold, for a little while, from me."

" Sir," cried the captain, impulsively, " your care
is all for others, while I concern myself with but
my own aflFairs. And even in realizing this (such
an egotist am I), I must pity myself anew — for
how must I have loved and honoured the son of
such a father."

" Nay," replied the old man, " I love you for it.
Youth is ever an egotist, and old age a nurse and
busybody."

" Then, in your charity, wait for me until to-
morrow," begged the young man.

" I am thinking of your danger," replied the par-
son.

" I have one more affair to deal with," said the
captain.

" An affair? " cried the other, in a voice of agi-
tation.

" Ay. but not of pistols or swords," replied the
captain, pensively. " I would to Heaven it were."

If.!-

]^i^

224

Captain Love

felt bonds eiKK)sing him. an 1 1 -^ spirit st Jfiti^
aj^ainst tiiein. Rtit In > oul p fo- M-: impulse

He would
jinise and

the

vas

SiMwi after ireaktast, on the following mornins^,
the captain valked around ^-i liie h hisc of Sir John
Petre. He could decuie oi n*. plan of acti(»n; but
to act honourably he , as deremnned. Air ady he

" ■ "1"" •"• ■ " ot» '

Rtit In > oul p fo'
of a monient v th a lotic -er 'ce.
fores vear, ii' need be, ev n tli lag-tc
haununi^ s\v('?'tiie of hi drt

To his surprisf ind great! v
told thu! th' ic^ro! t h; ' ''turn
try. Th gruu^e c o\v sat ntleman for the

kidnappi •• afT as ue completely from his

■mber the old friendship
vn broken word. He fol-
e library with timidity and
ce with a fluttering heart,
in. osed the door behind
cap in with a question in
h's pves a a flush u' guilt on his face. The cap-
in returne the r .^e with equal diffidence.
" 1 ," d Petre, at last. " before you upbraid
se, T uTnt you to know that I am will'nt; to beg
your lai don n ousand times for — for the liberty
I to*>k with yoir nevsiW and for my cowardly flight

nind. He couli oi y
and K ndness. and ; is
lowed the - .ant int<
awaited Sir hn's

The baronet s
him. and looked

Farewells

225

the morning after. I'll go down on my knees to
you, Dick ! 1*11 do anything hut fig! it you ! "

"John!" crif the r.iptain, "Join, it is I who
should talk of km ling for pardon,"

The baronet advanced and laid his hands on the
younger man » shoulders.

" Nay," he said. " having heard it long ago, from
your own lips, what care 1 fo Lord Buckley's gos-
sip? Though a cruel fate had made you seventy
times an iniixxstor — seventy times not Captain
Love — you are my friend, Dick."

The captain steadied his wits.

*' So you have heard from Lord Buckley ? " he
asked.

" Bright and early yeste^-day morning," replied
the baronet, " and my heart ached for both you and
the old parson. Will you give me your hand,
Dick?"

They shook hands warmly.

" I want you to let me help you," continued
Petre. "Whatever is in my power, that I will
gladly do."

For a little the captain was silent. He could not
confess the indiscretion that lay so heavily on his
mind without implicating- ♦' lady. Th -ould

l*-HiN-

''f "

.»^

226

Captain Love

surely be an ungentlemanly return for the brother's
friendship and the sister's tenderness. He saw,
alas, that the moment had not yet come for entire
frankness. Evidently the Petre family had not
got news of his triumph over Buckley before the
assembled gentlemen at Babcock's.

" I am going northward in a few hours," he said,
" to look for my home and name. But I shall never
forget your kindness, John, — never, so long as I
live."

His words were sincere.

" But, John," he cr\'.tinued, "can you tell me if

— if Dorothy — if I must give up all hope of her

— her esteem ? "

The anxiety in his voice was real. Heaven knows;
but the baronet was in darkness as to the true cause
of it. He looked compassionately at the agitated
adventurer.

" You are young, Dick, and life is before you,"
he said. " Your true place in the world, I am sure,
is a great one — greater, though not braver, than
this in which you have been forced to masquerade.
Keep a brave heart, Dick, for the world is full of
good and beautiful women."

" What d'ye mean ? " asked the captain, eagerly.

The baronet sighed, and averted his face from

i \

rttaH

Farewells

227

the rnxious gaze of his friend. He did not relish
his duty.

" She had taken the exposure of your position
very much to heart," he said. He drew a small,
flat parcel from his pocket. " And — and she has
asked me to give you back your book," he con-
cluded.

What was the emotion that snatched the colour
from the captain's cheeks as he advanced an un-
steady hand for the packet? Whatever it was, it
moved Sir John to renewed compassion.

" Dick," he whispered, huskily, " this scene pains
me beyond words."

" I was mad ever to think of her," murmured
the captain. "There are men with names — and
property. Oh, yes, I was a fool; but I see my
folly."

" Nay, Dick, do not take it so to heart," beggtd
the baronet.

The captain flushed at that. Then he made a
remark that puzzled his friend — and continued to
puzzle him for many days.

" John," he cried. " 'tis your friendship I would
not lose! Your friendship, that takes no heed of
riches, is the thing I value above all other things
in London ! "

mSssm

228

Captain Love

On returning to his house, Capain Love found
the broken mariner, still in the great boots, the spurs
and the ricing-co^t of the previous night, entertain-
ing the parson with his learning and philosophy.
The captain greeted him cordially.

•' I have come," said the mariner, " to warn you
against Lord Buckley ; and, at the same time, beg
your protection. This reverend gentleman, your
father, informs me that you intend starting north-
ward within the hour. May I ride with you, sir? "

For a moment the captain hesitated.

" Surely," cried the stranger, " you cannot sus-
pect me of still being the tool of the man whom
I so lately exposed to open shame? Nay, captain,
for by .''at act — inspired by your charity to a
beggar — I have turned London into a trap of
death :- myself. Whatever your trouble may be,
the danger is to both of us."

" Forgive me." said the captain. " God knows
I owe you a debt of gratitude for your courage and
honesty of last night. I shall feel honoured by
your company."

" And I, also," said the good parson.
" And ""t," said the stranger, bitterly, " if I had
not seer 1 i ou the friend of Christmas morning,

Farewells

229

I'd have maintained my lie with my sword, and
shed, for hire, the blood ol "he man who fed me."
The captain looked at the parson and met his
troubled regard with a faint smile.

" It was no lie, after all," he said to the big ad-
venturer. " Buckley told the truth when he named
me an impostor. I am not Captain Love. I am
not the son of this forgiving and charitable gentle-
man. I do not know who I am."

The stranger looked from the captain to the ar-
son, and back again. Then he laughed.

" I try not to be overparticular about the company
I keep." he said.

The captain's face became bloodless in an instant.
The spirit of all his ancestors — whoever they might
be — shone in his eyes.

" This priest, the Reverend John Love, is not an
impostor." he said; "but if you are more nice in
your associates than he, you may leave us. Or, if
you wish to try to regain the esteem of Lord Buck-
ley, and earn his money, — why. I do not fear -our
great sword any more than one of the spits in my
kitchen. Though you were as big as Hercules. I'd
tell you the same, for I'm done with play-acting and
lying."

*t> ',

230

Captain Love

■||

" By G(xl," cried the other, " if ever I draw sword
in your presence, 'twill be in your defence. You
may tell me your story or you may keep it from
me ; but only let me share your adventures and I'll
prove a loyal follower. If you have no name in
England, sir. why not cut yourself one in the west
or the east ? We could lead armies and set thrones
tottling, you and I."

His dark, aquiline face glowed with an inner
flame. His mad dreams lifted his whole person-
aHty, like a poet's inspiration. His hand went to
his sword-hilt and his eyes flashed.

But the captain was not tempted.

" I have made one name for myself," said he,
" and little enough of happiness has come of it ;
but I tliink the name (here he bowed gravely to
the parson) has suffered as much as I. Now my
quest is the name of my fathers."

The other came down to earth.

"I do not understand your position," he said;
" but evidently it is very different from mine."

He looked searchingly from the parson to the
captain. Their game was beyond his comprehen-
sion, but his heart was with them and his curiosity
was keenly aroused.

CHAPTER XXII

AT THE WHITE HERON

The captain rode out to the White Heron on the
night before his departure northward. He said
nothing of where he was going to the pprson, not
wishing to excite the old gentleman's anxiety; but,
not knowing how many of Buckley's ruffians might
be lurking in the dark streets, he left his famous
gray in the stables and bestrode a small, black mare.
To Buckley's cutthroats he weald be known by his
horse rather than by his own person; but, for all
that, he kept his right hand on a pistol-butt and his
eyes ever on the alert.

This visit was one for which he had but little
appetite, for even now, on the eve of his departure
in search of his lost past, he feared the young
woman's beauty, and the pleading of her wonderful
eyes, more than the clubs and pistols of all Buck-
ley's followers. But he owed a duty — the duty of
a friend — to both her and her father.

The night was starlit and frosty, and the thor-

231

1.1 il

232

Captain Love

ough fares and roads almost deserted; so the cap-
tain pressed forward at a brisk trot which brought
him, shortly, to the door of the inn. Leaving the
mare blanketed and in charge of a boy, he opened
the door and entered without waiting for word of
his arrival to be carried to his friend the innkeeper.
In the public room he found only one person — a
traveller, evidently, who had journeyed far, for he
sat by the fire in an attitude of extreme weariness,
with his great cloak still on his shoulders and the
collar of it high about his face.

" Sharp weather," said the captain, hoping to
get a glimpse at the stranger's face; for men who
sit close to roaring fires, with their cloaks about
their ears, are sometimes worth looking at — more
especially so if you happen to be in the black books
of gentlemen of Lord Buckley's kidney. For an-
swer, the stranger only hiinched closer to the fire.
The captain gazed at him for a few seconds in si-
lence, — then, " Where is the landlord ? " he asked.
At that the man by the fire turned quickly toward
his questioner and as quickly back again ; and Love
caught a fleeting glimpse of a young, pale face, very
thin, as if from hardships suffered.

" I have not seen him," he said. " I've been here
but a few minutes."

ife

At the White Heron

233

At that i loment Clark entered the room and ad-
vanced on the captain with an exclamation of de-
light and his great right hand extended.

" My dear colonel, this warms me more than hot
liquor," he cried. " Rip me if it doesn't seem a year
since I last set eyes on you."

The captain seized his hand and pressed it
hard.

" Don't think me unmindful of your friendship,"
he said. " I've been busy, of late, with one thing
and another — and now I have come to bid you
good-bye, for I'm going home to-morrow."

" Home? " queried Qark. " Then you've found
yrjr people? "

" I'm going to look for them. I've got the secret.
I know the county they live in," replied the cap-
tain.

" I am glad to hear it, for your sake an' the sake
of your people; but I'm sorry for myself, an' that's
a fact," said Clark. Just then he noticed the man
by the hearth.

"What is your pleasue sir?" he asked.

"I am quite comfonal 'e, thank you," replied
the stranger, without turning.

"If you want food, or drink hot or cold, pull that
bell, sir, an' one of the lads will come to you." said

, ft

• »

234

Captain Love

Clark. Then, taking Love by the elbow, " Come
along with me, colonel," he whispered.

" I can stay for only a few minutes. I'm pressed
for ti.ne, Joe," replied the captain. " My mare's
at the door and I must hurry back to town."

" But you'll say a word to the lass. She has a
heart full of gratitude for you, sir, though she is not
the kind to talk much about it," said Qark.

They found the young woman in the private
parlour, seated very disconsolately with a book in
her lap and her eyes on the fire.

" Here is the colonel," said her father. At that,
she sprang to her feet, uttering a brief, soft cry;
made as if to run forward, but halted and faced him
with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

The captain halted also, looking at her with some-
thing of regret and something of shame in his young
face; then, stepping forward, he lifted one of her
slender hands to his lips.

" Good-bye," he said.

" Good-bye ? " she repeated, in a low and ques-
tioninrr voice.

"I am going home," he said, without meeting
her wonderful and pitiful eyes.

" The colonel is going home to his people, 'way

At the White Heron

235

up north," said Clark, in a voice none too steady and
of forced cheerfulness.

Then the lady pressed her hands to her eyes,
shifted them to her bosom, and uttered a little cry
of desolation. Gark strode toward her; but Love
caught her as she swayed. Her eyes were closed
and her face gleamed white as candle-wax. Dis-
mayed, abashed, he lifted the pliant form and car-
ried it to a couch by the wall. Clark brought brandy
and water, and loosened the front of her bodice.

" Is she dead ? God, what have I done ? " cried
the captain.

" Nay. lad, 'tis but a swoon," replied Clark.
" See, the red is coming back to her cheeks. But
she is not overstrong, nowadays, and that's a fact."

" What can I do for her? What can I get for
her?" asked the young man, desperately. Gark
looked up, his brows puckered but his eyes kind.

" Don't worry, lad ; women have queer ways," he
said. " Now ride along, sir, and God be with you."

The captain hesitated, gazing down at the still
and beautiful face of the woman whom he had
rescued from that house of horror,

" You had better go now, lad, wnile her eyes are
shut," ^ .d the innkeeper, quietly. " For she has
taken a liking to you — you saved her from a living

,fi)
ili

236

Captain Love

hell, remember — am! it's a hard thing to see a
friend ride away for ever."

An unreasonable shame and a keen pity gripped
the captain's heart and flushed his face. With not
a word at his tongue, but a jumble of unutterable
thoughts in his mind, he touched the woman's fore-
head with his hand, hesitated for a moment with his
eyes on her face, and then walked swiftly from the
room. He passed, as swiftly, through the public
hall, without looking to the right or left, stepped
out on to the frosty road, mounted, and cantered
townward.

The stranger beside the hearth had turned and
looked inquiringly after the captain. When the
door had closed ; nd the ringing of the hoof-beats
on the iron road had died away, he got up and pulled
the bell which Qark had indicated to him a few
minutes before. A boy appeared from an inner
room in answer to the summons.

" Who is the gentleman who has but now ridden
away ? " asked the stranger.

" That was Captain Love, ir," replied the boy.
The name meant nothing to the traveller, for he had
but lately returned from France, and had not been
in London within a space of several years.

" I want brandy, hot, with leinon and sugar," he

'F^&OP

At the White Heron

237

said ; and then, as the boy turned to go, he said,
" Hold a minute. Js your master's name Qaric?"

" Yes, sir. Joseph Clark," replied the lad.

"Does he — does he still live here alone?"

" No, sir. The young lady is home."

" The young lady," exclaimed the stranger, facing
squarely around and staring at the lad with a look
of incredulity.

" Ay, sir, the young lady — the master's daugh-
ter," replied the boy, readily. " She was away a
long time," he continued, " and they do say there
was something queer about it — queerer than the
master will allow. But she come home safe an'
sound, but kind of distracted lookin', not very long
ago."

" Is she — married ? " asked the traveller, in a
voice scarce above a whisper and thin as a wind
unde. the eaves.

" That I couldn't say," answered the boy. " Some
hold she's a widder — that she ran away to a
foreign country, with a young gentleman not known
in these parts, an' that he died an' left her without
a penny. Some say she never wed the gentleman
at all, an* that he run away from her. He'd be a
fool to do that, for you'd not find her match for
looks if you hunted a year."

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238

Captain Love

For several seconds the stranger continued to
stare at the fx>y as if he were fascinated. His face
was colourless but his eyes shone like fire. Pres-
ently, he said, "Why d'ye stand there gossiping?
Fetch the liquor, lad. Fetch the liquor."

Then he discarded his :loak, and fell to pacing
the floor, back and forth in front of the fire. He
was a man of about the captain's size and figure
and, though his face showed the wear of sorrow
and scanty living, he was evidently not more than
thirty years of age. His clothes fitted him to a
wish, but were shabby from long and rough usage.
He displayed his own hair, which was dark and
well-cared for and tied neatly. Only his great
boots were new : and the linen at wrists and neck
was fre.-'' and white. In plac . ? a fashionable
small-swoid or rapier, a militai- r.u*; • < 'ragged at
his left side. He walked with . »'• hrao erect, his
eyes flashing, and his hands behi I 'i:; i^ack, clasp-
ing and unclasping.

" Can it be ? " he murmured. " Dear God, can
this be true? Or do I fall again? — go under the
blind wheels again ? "

At that moment both Clark and the boy entered,
the boy carrying a tray on which stood two glasses

Ti'-T-'- :PS

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At the White Heron

269

of steaming liquor. The stranger took one and
Clark the other.

" You have travelled far, I take it, and have an
appetite for the best," said Qark. " Well, sir, this
is the best brandy out of France, and here's your
very good health."

"And yours, landlord," returned the stranger,
and drained the generous glass at a draught. " It
is good liquor," he continued. " I am but just ar-
rived from France, and there I tasted no better.
Boy, bring two more such brews. We'll drink to
each other again, Master Clark for 'tis not every
day that a man returns, out of bitter exile, to his
own country."

" I will join you, sir, with ail my heart ; but you
must excuse me for a minute or two," replied the
innkeeper. "My daughter is but now reco ered
from a fainting-spell, and I must see if she requires
anything."

" Is she ill ? " cried the stranger, in a voice so
earnest and fearful that Claik turned on him with
both perplexity and suspicion in his glance. But be-
fore he could reply, the oucer door f?ew open and,
preceded by a gust of frosty air, Lord Buckley
strode into the room.

"A devilish night," he cried. "Damme, but

240

Captain Love

'twould freeze the vitals of a red Indian. Bring me
your best, fellow, an' bring it hot as hell — an'
quick, too!"

He swaggered over to the fire, flung his cloak
aside and again bawled for liquor, swearing all the
while like a pirate. The stranger stood with his
back to the earl and his face close to the indignant
countenance of the landlord.

" D'ye know that man? " he asked, very low but
cold as ice,

" No," cried Clark. " But though he were king
of this island, he'd not bawl so at me, more than
once. I'm a sound yeoman, I am."

" Keep cool," replied the stranger. " This is my
affair."

Something in his voice silenced Qark and turned
his mind quite away from his own independence and
soundness.

The stranger advanced a few paces toward the
earl, moving sideways a little and halting between
the hearth and the door.

" This is more than I have ever hoped for," he
said. " I have prayed for this. Draw your sword,
you loathly beast."

" What d'ye mean ? " cried Buckley. " Who are
you? Why do you address me so? "

At the White Heron

241

The bully was gone, and a coward stood there,
gaping.

"Fool, are you blind?" retorted the stranger.
" Look at me. Exert your putrid wits."

" My God ! " cried the earl, and pulled out his
sword in a manner of hopeless desperation, like one
who has no choice but to fight the devil.

Something whistled in the air like a gust of hail,
and there gleamed the stranger's great sabre, red as
flame in the firelight.

" On guard," he cried, and sprang forward. By
what seemed a miracle, the earl turned the first
awful cut. For a few seconds, always shuffling
backward, he managed to keep out of the stranger's
reach and, at the same time, maintain a pretence of
sword-play. Then the point of che sabre tore the
breast of his coat. With a choking scream he
turned and dashed around the hall, the man with
the sabre close at his heels.

The earl, unable to muster courage to pause and
snatch open a door, fled aroimd and around the wide
apartment ; and the shabby stranger tore after him.
flashing the great sabre and roaring for the other
to stop and turn and give battle.

'* Hold ! " cried Gark. " Give over, you young
devil ! I'll have • o murder in my house."

242

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'i*

'■}.

H
ry

Captain Love

The young man paid no heed, but made a slash at
his flying antagonist which reached one of the fat
shoulders. Before he could recover his balance
from the stroke, Qark had him tight in his long
arms. He struggled furiously, but hopelessly; and
the earl, bleeding and choking, pulled open the door
and dashed into the night.

"That is the man! Why did you let him get
"wr ? " said a voice behind Clark.

Clark turned ; but the young man did not follow
the earl. Instead, he let his great sabre clatter to the
floor and looked at the young woman who stood on
the threshold of the inner doorway. But she was
looking at her father.

" What man? " asked Clark.

" The man who killed my — husband," said she.
The innkeeper uttered an exclamation of amaze-
ment.

" Beatrice, Beatrice," cried the young man, softly.

The woman steadied herself against the jamb of
the door. Her father, puzzled and enraged, turned
upon the stranger. " And you .-* Who the devil are
you ? " he roared.

The other paid no heed. " Beatrice," he cried
again. "Beatrice, have you forgotten me?"

At the White Heron

243

"I thought — you were dead," whispered the
woman.

The stranger's face became more haggard than
ever and his eyes were dimmed with fear.

" Do you wish me dead ? " he asked.

She hid her face in her hands; and Clark stood
staring from one to the other.

"I paid his ruffians heavily for my life and

they took me to France where I was close guarded
— and 'twas but six days ago that my exile ended,"
he said, his voice grown listless. And then, " if you
would have it so — if the memory is dead in your
heart — I will go back," he added, slowly. At that,
she began to weep, leaning there with her face be-
tween her hands, and her hands pressed against the
frame of the doorway. This was surely beyond any
woman's fortitude ! Here stood the man whom she
had once loved — and whom she had long ceased
to mourn. But she had learned many lessons. It
would be no great matter, perhaps, to learn to care
for him again. There had been a brief season —
God pity her — when even the vile Buckley had not
been repulsed. She had only learned to hate him
for his cruelty — for his personal violence and the
imprisonment he had enforced upon her. Had he

244

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Captain Love

spent money for her comfort, and taken her into the
world, and never struck her — well, who can say ?
But she hated him now; and she had seen him
escape from just punishment. And the fine captain
had also ridden away. To the very last, she had
hoped for another turn to that aflFair. She had
made her plans "hen they had first ridden into
London together; but Fate — or something
stronger — had played against her. Her bitter
reflections were disturbed by the shabby young
man — her husband.

" For God's sake, tell me! Have pity on me! "
he cried.

" I must make the best of things as they are,"
she thought. " I loved him. once. Perhaps that
— that sort of love — may come to me again."
Oh, but she was an incomparable actor. She turned
and moved toward him, her beautiful, wistful face
wet with tears.

"It is for you to he men fnl." she whispered,
brokenly.

Ay, she could act! Sometimes she even fooled
lierself !

■,}(♦

CHAPTER XXIII

" EXPECTANS EQUITO "

Captain Love, the parson, the big stranger who
gave his name as William Chester, and old David
Frunk, rode away at half-past one by the clock. The
young footman had gone around the corner to
spend something of his wages with convivial com-
pany, before seeking a new place. Old Tom and
his wife sat alone in the basement of the house, re-
gretting the generous captain and praying for a
new tenant. Two o'clock had scarcely finished
sounding from a near-by steeple when a great
coach drawn by four horses rolled up the street
and stopped before the door. By the time the foot-
man was out of the rumble, old Tom was bowing
on the step.

" Be this the house o' Cap'n Love? " inquired the
footman.

" It were, a while back." replied Tom. " But

he rid away half a hour aggo, with his f adder the

passon, the old man's man David an' a big black-

246

WWHBWS!??

".i^-MM'/i

246

Captain Love

IL '. J

mif

visaged galoot what looked like a pirate an' the
very spit o' a ragged beggar my master fed on
Christmas Day."

" Rid away? Where'd he ride? " asked the foot-
man. At that moment the door of the coach, with
its arms surmounted by an earl's coronet, swung
open and a wonderful pale-faced gentleman in a
black wig and snufT-coloured coat looked out. His
anxious eyes dwelt inquiringly upon the walnut
countenance of old Tom.

" Is not your master at home ? " he inquired.

" Axin' your lordship's parding," stammered
Tom, " the capting rid off a half-hour ago, with
Parson Love, me lord, who come here oniy yester-
day hisself. a-lookin' for him."

The gentleman's brow wrinkled with perplexity.

" .'Xnd was Lord Verton with them ? " he asked.

" There were a fine, large, dark-faced gentleman
with 'em, your lordship," replied Tom.

" Lord Verton is young and slender," said the
nobleman in the carriaee. with despair in his voice.

The old caretaker hobbled nearer and gazed def-
erentially into the other's face.

" Would your lordship be any relation to the cap-
ting? " he asked.

" No," said the gentleman, shortly. Then, after

" Expectans Equito "

247

a moment's reflection — " Why do you ask?" he
inquired.

" The capting's got your lordship's eyes an' your
lordship's mouth, your lordship," replied Tom.
" Ay," he cried, " an' your lordship's hands."

"Impossible," exclaimed the other, "Captain
Love has blue eyes — light blue. His hand is short
and broad. His mouth — nay, his mouth, I think,
is straighter than mine."

Old Tom eyed him shrewdly. Something of
David Frank's remark concerning the captain re-
curred to him. " Would Lord Verton be slim an'
quick, your lordship?— always ready to give a
poor man a crown an' a bully a kick — with your
lordship's permission ? " he asked.

" Ay, generous and brave," replied the gentleman,
" with a taste for fine clothing and new hooks, and
all that is genrle and lovely."

Tom looked steadily at the great man.
" The capting be young," he said, slowly. " an'
dark of eye; he be quick of hand an' heart; he
be brave as a lion ; he be full of rhymes an' books;
he be dressed like a prince every day o' the week."

"Then there is some mistake," said the noble-
man, wearily, " for the Captain Love who is my
son's friend is squarely built and past forty years

248

Captain Love

of age. Your description, my good man, is of my
son — though God alone knows the meaning of
that."

" Ay, your lordship," whispered Tom, " it be
surely of your son, whatever his name may be.
The riddle's not for the likes o' me to read, your
lordship ; but they has gone northward ~ the young
gentleman who was my master, the old gentleman
who came a-lo<*in' for his son the capting. the
man-servant who looked clean mazed at what he
found, an' the big, hawk-faced gentleman with a
sword like a scythe."

The nobleman leaned forward and caught the old
fellow by the arm. In his face shone hope, dread
and bewilderment.

" For God's sake," he cried, " tell me what you
mean."

Tom drew a paper from his pocket and handed
it to the other. It was a deed of the captain's bed-
stead, silver candlesticks, table and chairs, which
that generous youth had given to the old servitor
as a parting remrmbrance.

*' 'Tis Harry's writing," cried the nobleman.
" 'Tis my son's handwriting."

For a moment strength seemed to leave hi.n and
he fell back against the cushions of the seat ; where-

ij.iV

" Expectans Equito "

249

upon hi

small.

lis companion, a smaii, dry old man, in
twinkling of an eye produced a silver flask. But
the solicitous hand was pushed aside without apol-
ogy ; and the nobleman stepped from the coach to
the cobblestones, patted old Tom on the back and
cried :

" If you would have this riddle read, and that
rig^ht speedily, house these cattle, an' this great,
new-fangled coach, that is but little swifter than
a plough, and bt:y me four fresh horses with sad-
dles."

Within the haU hot the roblt Earl of North-
rend, the two iu. ' ^jstilions and the footman
sprang to their savki(es and rode away. The dry,
little old gentleman, who gave his name as Mr.
Crinklethrope, was left behind, with the coach and
road-weary horses, in the care of Tom and his dame.

" Dang it all, sir," cried Tom, as he brought up
some wine which the captain had left behind, and
opened it for his new guest, — " it do beat all I've
ever see in eighty years come Easter. Here be two
gentlemen — an' one an eari — a-lookin' for their
lost sons. An' there be only one son."

" I cannot so much as guess at what the viscount
has been about." remarked Mr. Crinklethrope.
" And as for Captain Love - w/hy, surely he was

■ IL • '

II.

250

Captain Love

able to take care of himself, even in London. Dear
me. dear me, such things were not allowed when
I was young. I sincerely hope his lordship will not
forget us and leave me to die of homesickness in
this roaring town."

Tom poured the wine, and passed the glass with
a bow,

" Have no fear, sir," he said, absently. " Not
even a duke would forget they fine horses an' that
there great coach."

And now to return to the gentleman whose ad-
ventures and emotions are as the limbs and heart
of this narrative. With his past before him (para-
doxical as it may sound) he pressed eagerly on his
journey. He bestrode the same long-gaited gray
on which he had entered London — the beast he
had taken from the highwayman. The parson
jogged along at his right hand, urging his fat steed
to an unusual pace, and Chester rode heavily on the
left. David Frunk thumped and groaned in the
rear, complaining of the frost that gnawed at his
bones, the saddle that galled him, and his master's
madness that depressed his soul.

" Tf we had stayed at home," he muttered, "like
enough nothin' would hev happened to Master Jack.
He'd hev come home sound an' hearty, like he's done

" Expectans Equito "

251

many a time afore. Them as rides out to seek
trouble bes sure to find it. An' what's to become
o' Dodwater, I'd like to know?"

The mare stumbled slightly and the jolt of her
recovery rattled the old man's jaws.

"Dang it," he grumbled, "if Bess herself don't
see the foolishness of it, a-chasin' off to God-knows-
where with two fellows we never set eyes cwi afore.
They be both robbers, I vum. I don't trust that
young chap no farther nor Bess could kick 'im. The
passon always were mighty soft wi' strangers."

In front, the three gentlemen rode knee to knee,
oblivious to David Frunk's complaints and insults.
The goofJ parson was silent, deep in gloomy medi-
tations. Saddle and spur and the chances of the
road meant nothing to him now. His eyes were
blind to the sights that had filled him with interest
and amazement so short a time before. He did not
feel the cold. He took no heed to either the frozen
way beneath his horse's hoofs or the blue sky over-
head. Twice he pulled off his glove and looked at
the ring that had been his son's and which his son's
friend had returned to him.

" Expectans equito," he read, and reflected that
his long- forgotten ancestor had voiced the secret of
mortal life in those two words. " ' Waiting, I ride '

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252

Captain Love

..fr

— Ay, and though the body may tire and forsake
the quest, the heart must ever spur along until the
last road be travelled and the last adventure accom-
plished. And the last adventure is death. And
then, by the mercy of God, waiting and riding arc
at an end."

The captain had a glow in his cheeks and eyes.
His pulses leapt with high expectations. The cold
wind was sweet in his nostrils, and the frozen world
a paradise of wonderful possibilities in his vision.
Who can blame him if, for the time, both the par-
son's sorrow and the death of his unremembered
friend were forgotten? The youth of a man owes
something to the inevita' e fireside days to come.
If he walk ever as a mourner when his boots are on
his feet and his sword at his side, how are battles
to be won and the world's work accomplished, and
how then is he to hearten his children's children
when age has him by the knees. This life may be
but one stage of a long journey; then accomplish
it with distinction — for will the whole be any
worse if a part of it be well done. The life of a
rran who spends liis days in lamenting the futility
of this world's affairs — the life of one who sits
and waits — is not worth risking for a friend or
a cause. He who lives bravely dies bravely, and

" Expectans Equito "

253

steps into the Unknown with the support of a tested
courage; and to those whom he leaves behind his
memory is a battle-cry rather than a lamentation.

The captain rode on, with youth and hope afire
in his veins. His misfortunes were forgotten. He
explained his unusual position to Mr. Chester, ask-
ing no confidences in return. Then his brain busied
itself with picturing the home-coming — for he en-
tertained no doubt of being able to find his people
— and his eyes were alert to recognize every house
and clustered village that he had noticed on his
journey from Nullwood Lower Farm to London.

Mr. Chester was almost as quiet as the parson.
He had attached himself to this company to serve
his own ends and partly because of his sudden
liking for the captain. He had seen that their af-
fairs were under a cloud and had jumped at the
conclusion that the cloud was of their own making.
Such was the natural conclusion for one of Mr.
Chester's past to jump at. But now, finding them
to be honest and respectable gentlemen, — the par-
son a real parson and the captain a model of inno-
cence, for all his dash, — he was slightly discon-
certed. He had hoped (for even a guilty conscience
longs for the company of its kind) to learn that the
young man had, at the very least, fleeced half the

■ I

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254

Captain Love

gentlemen of London under the protection of a well-
considered disguise, and that the old man had played
the accomplice. To hear that they were guilty of
nothing save misfortunes made his own case appear
unusually hopeless and black in his mind's eye. His
crimes were real crimes. He had sinned against
the laws of God and man ; and though he had per-
formed a few brave and generous actions during his
career, how were they to counterbalance the cruel
and the dishonest in the scales of even that most
merciful of all judges? If, instead of riding with
two honest gentlemen on an honest quest, he were
now hanging by his neck, 'twould be no more than
his due. He had taken toll of the high seas and
the queen's highway, and not always in the gentlest
manner. He had disgraced a good name of his own
and many a name to which he had taken a whim.
Well, this one of Chester was new to him at any
rate, and he would see how clean he could keep it.
But 'tis little wonder that his mood was dark and
bitter, and that he looked forward to a prolonged
association with his present companions with pangs
of apprehension and self-condemnation.

The travellers kept their horses to so smart a pace
that, a few hours after sunset, they arrived at Null-
wood Lower Farm.

CHAPTER XXIV

A BUSY NIGHT

Snow was beginning to fall in soft, whirling
flakes when the four riders drew rein close to the
farmhouse door. Mr. Chester leaned forward and
thumped the panel with the hilt of his sword. A
lattice opened above the group, and a metallic click
caused David Fru.nk to slide from his saddle and
crawl under the belly of his mare.

" Ye'll get nothin' here, me fine lads," said the
voice of Farmer Holt from the upper darkness,
" unless ye be after what a spark from this flint
will give ye. Now be off about yer business,
double-quick. This here blunderbuss be loaded like
a cannon, an' if \e wants three pewter spoons an'
all the buttons off me Sunday coat in yer carcas ;s,
jes' bide where ye be until I takes a fair squint an'
pulls the trigger."

" Stay your hand, good fellow," cried the cap-
tain. " We are honest travellers seeking a night's
lodging."

266

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256

'aptain Love

The farmer chuckled.

" Ay, to be sure," he replied, " but if ye don't
move on there'll surely be one or two honest trav-
ellers the less — an' this road a deal safer to ride
along, I'll swear."

" My good friend," said the parson, " I cannot
believe you to be as heartless as you sound."

" Master Holt," cried the captain, fearing that
the yeoman might pull the trigger to end the argu-
ment, " if you don't let us in you'll not get the
hundred pounds I owe you."

This seemed to tickle the worthy householder's
sense of humour.

" Ay," said he, " a hunder pounds with a cudgel.
I learned that fable when I were a toddler."

" Nay, in honest gold," replied the captain.

" Then what be yer name ? " asked the farmer,
leaning from the window.

" I've not found it yet," said the other, quietly,
" but, s I'm on the fair road to it, I'll pay you the
hundred pounds even now."

" Be ye truly that young gentleman I picked out
o' the ditch?"

" Ay, truly, good William."

" An' ye hasn't learned yer name yet ? "

" Nay, good friend."

A Busy Night

257

" Then how'd ye come by ihe money ? Has ye
turned highw^'yman ? "

"Enough, fellow," cried the captain. "Come
down and open the door or I'll jump my horse
through the thatch."

Holt was impressed.

" But I'll make so bold as to bring me blunder-
bust down with me," he said, as he withdrew from
the window of the loft.

The snow fell thick and fast, draping the clus-
tered horsemen in white. David Frunk, reassured,
stood at his mare's head and swore he'd never been
so disrespectfully treated before in all his long life.
The captain dismounted and bent his ear to the
door. He heard what sounded like the dragging
about of a heavy piece of furniture far back in the
room. Then footsteps advanced cautiously and a
bolt was softly withdrawn. The footsteps retreated
with less caution and more haste. Then, "Open
the door," shouted the farmer from within.

" Have a care, lad." whispered the parson, trying
to force himself in front of the captain ; but the
captain pushed the old man gently out of the way
of possible danger, kicked open the door and stepped
across the threshold.

The only light in the low-ceilinged kitchen came

258

Captain Love

^ I

from a tallow dip which had been placed on a stool
close to the door. The captain paused, glancing
uneasily from one shadowy corner to another.

" I be here behind the settle," said the voice of
William Holt, " with me blunderbust pointed fair
at yer honour's head. I don't mean to be un-
friendly, sir, but I owes it to me wife an' darter
to be a trifle forehanded in the matter o' caution.
One at a time is all I ax — an' each gentleman to
hold the glim to his face, so as I can take a squint
at im.

" 'Tis a low way to treat an old friend, William,"
said the young man, good-naturedly.

For a second he gazed over at the bulky settle;
then, lifting the candlestick to a level with his face,
he removed his hat. The light fell clearly on the
fi" rut features and dark eyes framed in the im-
u. riwig, and illumined the commanding fig-

m ..le great cloak and high boots, and the gleam-
ing sword-hilt.

" Set down the light, yer honour, an* step right
in," cried William Holt. " Dang me eyes, yer lord-
ship, but I were only jokin', an' I pray ye to forgive
me. Ho! ho! but that were a fine story T telled ye
about the blunderbust. Why, yer honour, I'd as lief
shoot at me gran'mother, if she weren't already

A Busy Night

259

dead, as p'int a weepin at yer lordship." He ap-
peared from behind the settle, empty-handed and
insufficiently attired. " I'll set the women to gettin'
supper for yer honours," he continued, " an' then
I'll stable the horses."

The dame and her daughter soon bustled about
the room, and the four travellers, with cloaks and
hats laid aside, warmed themselves at the newly
lighted fire. Holt, in garments hastily donned, went
out to attend to the horses.

The women were too flustered, what with pride,
astonishment and consternation at thought of the
late reception, to address anything but curtsies to
the company. Could the wonderful gentleman in
the beautiful clothes, who smiled upon them so en-
gagingly while he warmed his back at the fire, be
the poor young man whom they had nursed and fed
and watched depart in a labourer's smock? The
idea was overpowering. The dame remembered
certain freedoms of speech and the girl certain
dreams, with consternation. The gentleman must
be a duke at least. To hide their embarrassment,
they piled and piled the table with the contents of
larder and cellar.

Suddenly the young man stepped ov to the set-
tle and produced the farmer's blunderbuss.

I i

260

Captain Love

" I'll just put a new load in this," said he, ad-
vancing to an end of the table that was not entirely
covered by food.

The women and his companions watched him in
silence as he thrust a knife down the bell-mouth of
the ponderous weapon. A wad of paper was soon
extracted. Turning the gun muzzle down, he
thumped it on the board until the pewter spoons,
hammerf^d into slugs, and the brass buttons, made
their appearance. Then, taking two neat bags of
canvas from under his coat, he cut them open and
quickly poured their contents into the brass muzzle,
and rammed home the wad of paper. He had
scarce finished this curious performance when the
farmer returned from his task with the horses.

The yeoman changed colour when he saw the
blunderbuFS in the gentleman's hands.

" William," said the captain, sternly. " I'm sorry
to discover you in a He; for what were you doing
with this great piece of artillery behind the settle,
if not pointing it at me? "

" Ah, sir," cried the farmer, " the times be that
hard a poor man couldn't live a day without he
lied now an' then."

" My friend." r-nlied the other, " your greatest
failing, I am convinced, is a lack of trust in your

A Busy Night

261

fellow man. You were doubtful of my honesty
to-night until you saw the excellent quality of my
wig and coat. You doubted my word when I rode
away from you last summer. Now what will you
say when I tell you that T do not happen to have
the hundred pounds I promised v 'U in any of my
pockets ? "

"Why, yer lordship," said Holt, "I'll not say
a word o' objection if ye'll but leave me yer pistols
for a sign o' good faith. Ay, sir, yer word be good
enough for me."

"My pistols!" cried the gentleman, in well-
feigned anger. "Fellow, they are the best that
ever were made in London. Would you ask for
my pistols and let me go unarmed at the risk of mv
life? Maybe you'd like my wig and my hat also,
Master Insolence."

Every one but the farmer stared ir -nazement
at the ca tain. T^nit, r Hous soul, v-.'s torn be-
tween ],is greed and i feai that he might mor-
tally offend this fme $ru<.st. The gentleman had
surely joked when he ' nutsK -. that he had not
yet come to his own. a man be nameless

and without estate, anti attired like that an-

cient Scriptural king in ' his glory? Nay, he
could not believe it.

262

Captain Love

^1)

* !

" Noble sir," he whined, " though I be a poor
man an' migliiily in need o' money, I swear I were
only jokin' when I axed ye to leave me the pretty
pistols."

" Very good," replied the captain. " Jow let
us get to table."

Mr. Chester, with a diffidence that did not tally
with his appearance, made as if to seat himself at
the lower end of the board, with David Frunk;
but the parson and the captain clutched him, each
by an elbow, at the same moment. So he lifted his
great sabre to his knees and squatted on a Stool
between them. The farmer, with something of his
old self-assurance returned to him, sat down oppo-
site the gentlemen, urged them to eat and drink, set
them an example to follow in both perfoimancca,
and praised the dishes and the home-brewed r if
he were a guest.

The company had been about twenty initriites at
table, when a sudden clatter on the '".ter door
brought every man to his feet

" Open to his lordship the Earl of Northrend,"
cried a voice.

The farmer grabbed up his blunderbuss.

" All me fine friends are visitin' me to-night,"

A Busy Niglit

263

he said, grinr>ng; then he roared: " YeVe a won-
derful con-imon sowr.diii* voice for a earl, me lad."

"I be his lordship's coachman," shouted back
the unseen traveller. " Come, pull back your bolt
or ye'll find your cabin about your ears."

The farmer swore and raised his great forearm
o his shoulder, presenting the bell-mouthed muzzle
at the door. The captain sprang forward and seized
his wrist.

"Are you mad?" he cried. "D'ye take every
one who comes to your door for a robber ? "

" More likely a robber nor a earl," growled the
farmer.

Without further argument the captain wrenched
the gun from his hands and stood it against the
wall. At the same moment Mr. Chester advanced
boldly and unfastened and opened the door. An
eddy of damp snowflakes blew into the room. The
man at the threshold — a great fellow in livery —
glanced quickly around the kitchen and withdrew.
Immediately a tall gentleman fair' encased in the
clinging -vhite of the storm ente'-.-d and confronted
the farmer, Chester having retired to the her-"i.
He removed his hat, shook it free of i burden of
snow, and returned it to his head.

tin.. .

f i ;

264

Captain Love

" Sirrah," he cried, " I am not accustomed to
being kept on the cold side of any man's door."

Catching sight of the farmer's dame, he again
doffed his hat, and, this time, bowed gravely.

The dame bobbed an unsteady curtsey.

" You must teach your guo<\ man better manners,
my dear," said Lord Northrend. He turned to the
open door.

" Juggins, bring in the wounded robber," he or-
dered, " and let the others attend to the horses."

At that the big fellow in livery entered the room,
carrying a full-grown man, in boots and spurs, in
his arms.

Holt's anger got the better of his discretion.

"This hain't no tavern," he cried. " It be a
private farmhouse."

" No tavern, say you," exclaimed the earl.
" Then how comes it you keep such genteel com-
pany ? "

He looked at Mr. Chester. With a slight start
he turner' and eyed the parson. He started for-
ward, as if seeking some one, and his glance found
out the captain, who was standing in the shadow of
the chimney.

" Harry." he cried. " My God. is it Harry?"

And there he stood, his haughty face suddenly

A Busy Night

265

melted to tenderness, his eyes gleaming, his hands
outstretched and trembling.

The captain moved forward one hesitating step,
his eyes on the other's eyes, his cheeks and lips
gray as the ashes on the hearth. He tried to speak,
but no sound came from him. The earl's expres-
sion changed. Fear, anger and pain moved, like
shadows, across his eager visage.

"What has happened?" he cried, huskily.
" Harry, Harry, are you ashamed to welcome
me?"

The captain pressed his hand to his side.

"Are you my father?" he whispered. "Dear
God, I cannot remember."

Then, with a faint cry, he reeled and fell into
the parson's ready arms.

In an instant the kitchen became a scene of con-
fusion. The women and Lord Northrend's coach-
man dashed away for water, — the women to an-
other room, the coachman out to a well before the
door. The earl and the parson bent over the un-
conscious youth, one unfastening the collar of his
riding-coat, the other chafing the limp hands.

"The poor, poor lad." babbled the parson.
"Ah. my lord, you were too sudden with him —
too sharp with him."

< !t

^ ;

ill*'
\ It

■a

266

Captain Love

" God knows I meant no harm, sir," replied the
earl, humbly. And then : " I'm blind ! I'm a fool !
I do not understand," he exclaimed, in a broken
whisper.

By the door, on a low stool, sat the wounded
highwayman whom the coachman had carried into
the room. His hands were tied. A bullet had
broken his leg. Mr. Chester stood near him.

" 7*Ji, Bill," said the prisoner, " ye've fared bet-
ter nor me."

" Not so loud," whispered Chester. He stooped
close to the other.

" Did you try to stop the earl and his party ? "
he asked.

The robber nodded.

" I thought you were living honestly," said
Chester.

" I tried to," replied the fellow. " I had a little
farm in Kent; but I got into trouble with the
squire, an' the lawyers skinned me. I've seen pi-
rates on land an' at sea, Bill, but never such pirates
as they danged lawyers."

" Guard your tongue, lad, and I'll get you clear,"
whispered Chester, and opened the door to admit
the coachman with a bucket of water, followed by
two more of his lordship's servants.

A Busy Night

267

The captain opened his eyes full upon the tender
and apprehensive face of the earl.

" I remember now," he whispered. " My heart
remembers."

" Ah, if your heart remembers," replied North-
rend, softly; and, stooping, he pressed his lips to
his son's forehead.

I. >■■ )} ■.

CHAPTER XXV
MR. Chester's change of plans

At last the farmhouse sank to an outer sem-
blance of repose. The fanner and his wife and
daughter ascended to the upper floor. The Earl
of Northrend, Viscount Verton a^.a Parson Love
retired to the gruest-chamber, — the v»»rj' room in
which the viscount, months before, had been
nursed back to life and consciousness. Mr. Ches-
ter, David Frunk, and the wounded highwayman
wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down
by the kitchen hearth. The earl's servants sought
repose in a snug room above the granary.

There was so much to tell and hear — so much
of pity and joy and wonder to shake the heart —
that the gentlemen in the guest-chambc" kept
awake until long past midnight. The parson, brave
.soul, had begun to tell Harry's stor\-. to save the
hero from the exertion. In the middle of it North-
rend had clutched the old gentleman's hands in his
and had begged him to go no further.
^ 268

'^^%

. •«*«

Mr. Chester's Change of Plans 269

" You have already paid the price of our joy,"
he said, gently.

" And for that, I share it with you," replied the
parson; but tears blinded him then, and he turned
aside and hid his face in his hands.

The viscount told of many of his adventures and
misadventures to his father, but said nothing of
Dorothy Petre. He asked a hundred questions of
his home, of his mother, of his past life, of the
dead friend with whom he had set out for London
— and the earl answered them all.

"But you ask nothing of Julia," said North-
rend.

"Of Julia?" queried the youth, wrinkling his
brow. " Then have I a sister, sir? "

"Can it be?" exclaimed the earl. "Can it be
that even Julia is forgotten ? "

" Is it that the fever covered my memvtry over,
as if with a film," pondered the viscount, "or is
it wiped entirely away? I have not lost my schol-
arship — and much trivial knowledge has remained
with me." Then, speaking : " But why, sir, do
Du expect me to remember this lady — this Julia
— when your face was lost to me, and the face of
my mother, and the face of my comrade ? "

The earl smiled.

270

Captain Love

; ,

i i

""■^ U

iv
, f
\l

" Might not the heart hold a picture, though it
were broken in the mind ? " he asked, softly.

" Nay," began the youth, then hesitated.

"Who is she?" he whispered, "that my heart
should hold her face and forget those of my par-
ents?"

" Who is Julia," replied the father, as if he
could scarce believe the sincerity of such a ques-
tion. "Who is Julia? Why, Harry, she is my
ward — my old friend's daughter. There was a
time, lad, — ah, you wer^- writing vastly pretty
rhymes to this same Julia not long ago."

"Rhymes!" said the viscount, blushing. " .\h,
sir. I think my rhymes are scarcely to be depended
upon. I made a whole book of them in London
— and, alas, I promised the printers another vol-
ume."

The other's thoughts were still on the past.

" It seemed no callow loving to us," he said.
** She was the toast of the county — ay, and had
seen London — and you had travelled on the Con-
tinent. Then, I think, something went amiss.
She lost colour and you set out for London with
poor Jack."

" I cannot remember," said the viscount, with
his head in his hands.

Mr. Chester's C hange of Plans 271

In the kitchen David Frunk slept soundly,
though his couch was the floor. Ht could not have
snored with more abandonment of repose had he
been snug in Holt's own feather bed. Mr. Chester
lay very still for a long time, thinking hard. Would
a man be wise in changing his mode of life too
suddenly — in flying completely from one extreme
to another? Had he not better mend his ways
gradually, testing each step and mastering each
degree of virtue, so that, in the end, he could un-
dertake the responsibilities ot honest citizenship
with assurance, with such an appreciation of his
position as a colonel must have who has risen from
the ranks? The idea pleased him; and he decided
that, as for two years he had shed no blood, so,
for a certain period, he would take toll from none
but the rich — and that in the most gentle manner.
During the next stage of improvement he would
confine himself to the practice of law, for which
his youthful studies had qualified him; and. in
time, he would retire to private life with a com-
petency.

David Trunk's snoring had become as inevitable
as the roar of surf on a reef, when Chester at last
crawled over to the wounded highwayman. After
a whispered consultation, they crept to the door.

n««

272

Captain Love

with their boots in their hands. The robber went
at a snail's pace, his face twisted with pain. At
the door, Chester paused, returned to the other
side of the room, and, leaning across David Frunk,
possessed himself of Farmer Holt's blunderbuss.
A puzzled query at the threshold — a sage wag of
Qiester' head for reply ; then a sudden icy breath
across the room, a soft thud of wood on wood,
and David Frunk snored on, alone, in the kitchen.

Snow lay deep on the ground, but the sky was
clear.

" Hold the gun," said Chester to Bill, after the
two had drawn on their boots. Then he lifted his
comrade in his arms, blunderSuss and all, and car-
ried him across the yard to the stables. Ten min-
utes later, two cloaked figures, mounted on horses
that made no noise in the snow, passed softly be-
hind the ricks and outbuildings and headed across
country.

There was a great outcry in the morning when
Farmer Holt, early astir, made the discovery that
Mr. Chester and the wounded highwayman were
gone, and with them the robber's steed and a fine
bay gelding of the farmer's own breeding.

"Dang my eyes." he cried, "but there was a
rare fine gentleman, for sure, a-ridin' with dooks

wm^

Mr. Chester's Ch ange of Plans 273

an' parsons. Why didn't he take the horse he
come on, I'd hke to know? "

He rolled a suspicious eye on the earl's coach-
man.

" I smells the reason of it." he cried " the

reason for that fine, black-faced pirate o' a gen-
tleman to ride away on my pretty gelding an' leave
his own old screw behind."

"An' what be that reason, master?" inquired
the earl's coachman.

" Ye all be fine play actors," replied Holt furi-
ously, "an' I, for one. don't believe ye have a
honest man nor a gentleman among ye. Where
be the hunder pounds that there young cock prom-
ised me? An' where be my pretty geldin', an' him
out o' Queen Sheebee by Dook o' York? "

" Ye've a low, suspicious mind, Master What's-
yer-name," replied the coachman; and, catching
up a stirrup leather from the floor, he warmed the
farmer's hide until the roars of that narrow-
minded rustic awoke the household.

The footman and the postilion were the first
to reach the scene of action ; but they had scarce
settled themselves on the edge of a manger to en-
joy the entertainment in comfort, when Mistress
Holt dashed through the doorway. For a moment

274

. '^

m: '

f > hn-'

hKI

; j

'■;

™;

y ■

Captain Love

she stared in dismay. Then she cried, " Willyum
Holt, what d'ye mean by gettin' into trouble with
the nobleman's gentleman, when ye be dressed in
your best shirt an' breeches ? An' were ye a-goin'
to milk they cows in them clothes?"

The coachman threw down the strap and with-
drew his hand from the gaffer's collar.

" I hope I've not spoiled his fine clothin', dame,"
he said.

At that moment the earl, the viscount and the
parson appeared in the doorway.

" What is the trouble? " inquired the earl.
"This fellow named your lordship for a high-
wayman, your lordship," replied the coachman.

"And did you beat him, Hipshaw, while his
wife was looking on?" cried Northrend.

" Nay, sir. She but just come in," answered the
servant.

Holt gave an account of the theft and the escape ;
and though he guarded his tongue, it was evident
that he still suspected the honesty of his guests.

" Here are ten guineas to pay you for the loss
of your gelding," said the earl, counting the golden
coins into the fellow's hand. He was in far too
thankful a frame of mind to take exception to so
small a matter as the farmer's persistent rudeness.

Mr. Chester's Change of Plans 75

" And the money I promised you, good Willi m,
is in your old blunderbuss," said the viscount. ' I
put it there last night, intending to play a harmle ^s
joke on you."

The farmer's jaw fell and his eyes protruded.

" An' that's stele, too, along with me pretty
gelding," he cried — " an' here I be bf a lather

into the bargain."

The earl tossed him a full purse turned

away.

The parson nudged the viscount.

" Was it money you poured ii the great
gun ? " he asked.

"Ay, sir," said Harry. "And 1 uti gl^d the
poor devils took it." he added.

The parson nodded reflectively.

" And may God turn them irom -^vtl

ways," he murmured.

t i

CHAPTER XXVI

JUUA

Parson Love refused to continue the journey
along the road to Northumberland. He had served
his dead son's friend as far as lay in his power;
and now his duties at Dodwater, and the familiar
faces of his own people, called to him. He longed
for his narrow study, with its dusty books and
shabby chair; for the little church, and for the
Sunday afternoons of quiet companionship with
his brother-in-law, the squire. They would narrate
(as they had been doing these many years) kindly
and tender anecdotes of mutual friends and rr'a-
tives whom death had taken ; but now, in addition,
there would be little stories of Jack to tell and nod
over — of his first ride to hounds, of his first scars
won in battle. And thus, by two old gentlemen
seated in the midst of their dreams and faith and
kindly memories, death would .seem no more than
a present separation, to be mended, all in God's
good time, by a short and easy journey.

276

lurm-

Julia

So the Reverend John Love bade
farewell and. with the faithful but
David, started back towards London,
would meet the s(|uire, by appointment ;
home to Dodwa'er. And not a twinge
the earl's joy assailc(. that brave old
yet a shadow of doubt as to the mercy
kindness of the Go^' whom he served.

277

his friends

bewildered

There he

and thence

of envy for

heart — nor

and loving-

North, party pressed forward, keeping to

their sada " all day and passing each night in
whatever house or inn lay nearest to hand at sunset.

It was on a Sunday morning that they st"" ted
the quiet village, by way of muddy lanes, and won
to the great park. The viscount looked alx>ut him
with eager eyes. He contemplated the ranked
oaks and clustered firs, the sturdy green of holly
in the underbrusli and the tiappled sides of the
deer in the coverts — and tears dimmed his sight.

" I can remember none of it." he whispered to
his father.

For answer, the earl put out his hand and patted
the knee so close to his own, for they rode stirrup
to stirrup.

The weather had softened, and sodden leaves
lay bar" ^ ■•d^'rfoot, and a whisper of trickling

Captain Love

waters sounded from the timber on either side of
the way. Small, sombre-hued birds chirped and
flitted through the high tracery of branches. At
last they came in sight of a wing of the great
house. With every step, the woods receded from
either hand and the view widened, and presently
they saw the whole of that noble and time-stained
mansion, set commandingly above its terraced gar-
dens. At that the earl again leaned from his saddle
and put out his hand. There were tears in his
eyes, so strange are the ways of the emotions.
Welcome home, lad," he said.

At the base of the lower terrace the road swept
around on either side; but the home-comers, with
the two gentlemen ahead, urged their horses
straight up the slope of sward. Harry's eyes were
on the house above. He saw nothing of the sculp-
tured nymphs past which he rode. He gave no
heed to the borders of rare shrubs scarred by the
hoofs of his gray.

A groom appeared at the northern corner of the
house, stared a second, and then shouted and tossed
his hat in the air. A bell clanged crazily from
somewhere out of sight. The great doors flew
open, and a fat old man in livery waved his arms

■^■nHnl* -ATjrkf^HM^B'H

Julia

279

frantically from the top of the steps, and then
skipped back into the shadowy mouth of the hall.
It seemed to the viscount that all the world held
its breath for the time it took him to spur up the
slope of the second terrace. He was conscious of
his father's great roan close at his knee, and of
dogs leaping and yelping on all sides; but eyes,
heart and mind were intent on the open doorway
of the great house. What of his lost past would
come through that wide portal, to claim and to be
claimed — perhaps to touch the dead memories to
life? The woman who had brought him into the
world — the gentle, tender woman of whose very
flesh and blood he was — would appear, and surely
his heart would remember and leap with the old
love. But what of the girl ? — this Julia of whom
his father had told him? He thought of the way
his heart had warmed, so lately, to the baronet's
sister and the young woman whom he had rescued
from the den of murderers — and of how swiftly
those infatuations had dimmed and vanished. He
recalled the heart-aches, the longings and regrets,
the fluttering of the pulses, inspired by the beauty
and charms of these ladies. He had written verses,
with sincerity of spirit and fair art, to the one,

280

Captain Love

in I'

and had risked his life for the other. True, he
would risk his life for any woman — so that was
no great matter! But was such a heart as his to
be trusted to carry a love — even a great love —
across those lost years? These things flashed
through his mind like pictures, quick as light, even
while he pulled his horse to a standstill at the top
of the second terrace. Then a remembrance of the
dream jame back to him, and the doubt fled.

A stirring of life awoke in the gloom of the hall
beyond the open door, and into view darted a lady
of diminutive stature, in sombre, flying skirts.
The small, delicate face showed the havoc of recent
grief, but was now alight with joy. For a mo-
ment she hesitated on the threshold; then, followed
heavily by an expostulating old dame carrying a
pair of goloshes, she ran down the steps and across
the wet sod in her silken slippers. The ear? nnd
the viscount flung themselves from their saddles
at the same moment; but the earl was the first
to catch the small lady in his arms. He held her
close and whispered in her ear ; and, next moment,
her arms were around her son's neck and her small
face hidden against his breast. The young man
clasped her to him and bent his head until his lips
touched her hair.

Julia

281

" Mother — my dear little mother," he breathed.

His heart was sure and joyful ; but his eyes ^d
his mind could not recall even so much as a hint
of ever having seen this little lady before. Love
and tenderness sprang, full-fledged, and his heart
accepted her without fear or question.

Presently the old dame, still scolding, drew the
lady from the viscount's embrace and forced the
goloshes over the silken slippers.

" Ye'll cE.Lch yer death, my lady! One would
think ye was old enough to know better." she mut-
tered. " And as for Master Harry," she added,
" he shouldn't be made so much of, after near
breakin' our hearts with his pranks."

The viscount looked again toward the doorway
of his ancestral home, eager, and yet half-afraid
for what it might disclose. There, at the top of the
wide steps, with the gloom of the hall framing her,
stood a girl looking down at him with eyes at once
dark and bright, glad and agleam with tears. And
her face was the face of his dream — the match-
less, wonderful face that had lurked just beyond
the grasp of his vision during his waking hours,
yet keeping his heart against the lures of the de-
signing and the superficial beauties.

282

Captain Love

And so Captain Love had returned to his own.
And Fate and Chance, that had thought to make
him their plaything, were become no more than
meaningless names whispered against the wind.

-:m!'!

THE END.

^■

ffil

■^i'if

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From

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purpose in the frank expression of a danger so w^ ' understood
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NiQHT Watchers (" The Boy " and Jabe and a Lynx See

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Dam Repairing and Dam Building (A " House-raising "

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Winter under Water (Safe from All but Man).
The Saving of Boy's Pond ("The Boy" Captures Two

Outlaws).

" As a writer about animals, Mr. Roberts occupies an enviable
place. He is the most literary, as well as the most imaginative
and vivid of all the nature writers." — Brookli/n Eagle,

" His animal stories are marvels of sympathetic science and
literary exactness." — New York WorU.

" Poet Laureate of the Animal World, Professor Roberts
displays the keenest powers of observation closely interwoven
with a fine imaginative discretion." — Boston Transcript.

T"^

w^m^m^^^^^^^"^

i>A ' id J

rt"!*!"..--

LIST OF NEW FICTION

Captain Love

The History of a Most Romantic Event in the Life of
AN Enqlish Gentleman During the Reign of His Majesty
George the First. Containing Incidents of Courtship
AND Danger as Related in the Chronicles of the Period
AND Now Set Down in Print

By Theodore Roberts, author of " The Red Feathers,"
" Brothers of Peril," etc. Cloth decorative, illustrated by
Frank T. Merrill jl 5q

A stirring romance with its scene laid in the troublous times
in h.ngland when so many broken gentlemen foregathered with
the Knights of the Road; " when a man might lose part of
his purse to his opponent at " White's " over the dice and the
next day be relieved of the rest of his money on some lonely
heath at the point of a pistol in the hand of the self-same gambler.

liut, if the setting oe similar to ether novels of the period the
story IS not. Mr. Roberts's work is always original, his style is
always gracef il, his imagination fine, his situations refreshingly
novel. In his new book he has exceUed himself. It is vta-
doubtedly the best thing he has done.

Bahama Bill

By T. Jenkins Hains, author of " The Black Barque,"
"The Voyage of the Arrow," etc. Cloth decorative, with
frontispiece in colors by H. R. Reuterdahl . . $1.50

The scene of Captain Hains s new sea story is laid in the
region of the Florida Keys. His hero, the giant mate of the
wrecking sloop, Sea-Horse, while not one to stir the emotions
of gentle feminine readers, will arouse interest and admiration
in men wiio appreciate bravery and daring.

His adventures while plying his desperate trade are full of
the danger that holds one at a sharp tension, and the reader
forgets to be on the side of law and order in his eagerness to see
tne wrecker safely through his exciting escapades.

Captain Haina's descriptions of life at sea are vivid, absorbindv
frank and remarkably true. "Bahama Bill" ranks high as
a stirruiK, realistic, unsoftened and undiluted tale of the aea.
chock full of engrossing interest.

Matthew Porter

L. C. PAOS ± COMPANY'S

2c ^*WiIi'^ BRADroRD, Jr., author of " The Private Tutor "
wL« '^^ * frontispiece in colors by Griswold Tvne 11 fiO

Sfi^neTwIr*''^"'^" ^^^"' ">^ ^'^^ -tho? hla'^at^ffii

Anne of Qreen Cables

of thi, deJighttul tale Mto MoStome™".?,', '^'X™* •j^T
h« ^P^^<*' dned-up spinster sister who adopt her the liithor

5plnster Farm

3l'S^,"h'^K''° I'^P'""'" farm." Starrth ° taSlTand
^mat-^ bit. of biogKphy „t the fam ^itiib S^oihiid

i»-

.■J5f-%^

Selections from

L. C. Page and Company's

List of Fiction

WORKS OF

ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS

leA one 7)oI.. lik^„^.. ... .

lUus.

The Flight of Oeorgiana

The Bright Face of Danger

ratlo„>l and conralg.-HZXf^V^^i.-'^^r ""' "'•"»i»i«g,

The Mystery of Murray Davenport

(40th thousand.)
this praise, which is generous." iS'^^:;, PL\^^^'' *•"' »''""'« »'

Captain Ravenshaw

Or, The Maid of CHEAPsrnir i-^a .u

The Contlnentel Dragoon

A Romance of Philipse Manor Hot-sK m i7,R / .,

thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards " <"d

ne^tr^'Sr *"^^ °^ *'^«' R«-°J"tion. with its scene laid on

f n

.f .

t /..<?. PAGE <&- COMPANY'S

Philip Winwood

(70th thousand) A Sketch of the Domeitic Hiitory of an

»1i?»'"^*" *fT '" "*' ^." °' Independence, embracing evento
that occurrea between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in
New York and London. Illustrated by £. W. D. ftamUton.

An Enemy to the Kln^

(70th thousandO From the " Recently Discovered Memoir* of
the Sieur de la Tournoire." Illustrated by H. De M. Young.
An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describina the
!nr„"nVi," S^^y.^ng/f^nch nobleman at the court of Henry III„
and on th* field with Henry IV. '

(35th thousand.) Illustrated by

The Road to Paris

A Story of Adventure.
H. C. Edwards.

An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account
of the life of an Amencan gentleman adventuier of Jacobite an-

A Qentieman Player

BETH. (48th thousand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill

pa^'VplMenTd""^.^"''"'"*.".^!:" J'""^ Shakespeare's com-
pany Of players, and becomes a friend and proteg<f of the great

Clementina's Highwayman

Cloth decorative, illustrated ^

U ST OF FI CTION
▼ORKS OF

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

Haunters of the Silences

Cloth, one volume, with many drawinw b» rharU. i . • .
Bull, four of which are in full color ' '" ^^for.

besTtTal'Vv S ? Httr "'"' "'* ""-"«>" ^ ^'^ ^Uo.J'Z

-^''^^^^^itV^X:^::^^^ -..y met

are the supreme rulers Mr PnhJrt. k S»'ence8," where they

theticall, „ alway. ^. ^^^l^^T^J^^irT:^^:^:^^-

piac^' H^il^^h"e'rst*Srt;^•;:,f^n^r"''*" t --^'«

Red Fox

The Story of His Adventurous Cawir in th. »,»«»..,
Wilds, and of His Finat Tb.,,L-„ ^^* Rihowaak

His Kind. Wifh fifty fiLT«H„"r°?!i™', ^'*'»*'" »'
color and cover design bj SS'uv n«ton bS """^P'^* '-
Square quarto, cloth decorative '"^"^ "»"•

sp:^t;:'rtgTv^s%x^To^f [h^t^nt'f^" ?h' --^e't*'""

the hunted/'- ^«/./rrr,^°5,f^ ^"*' °' *'** °*

old'a'nTyotg'^XTotn'dl'rfd*?"^ ^ ^*'°"- '» ^^'^ '"*-"'

f i

_L. C. PAGE A' COMPANY'S

! I

!■

%'\

jii

I'll'

The Kindred of the Wild
The Watchers of the Trails

t\^^ZH^%^r.ll^''^'f ""' •"• ^"''•" With

by dhafle, Kvin^Jfton^fiSf. ^ "*"^ decoration, from drawing.
Square quarto, decorative cover . g

In'lh'el^^pJiSioTors^te o^I'/^ "f^™^' "'» ^^^ -^^^
the penUtures /f the'^a^th^l^-'l^ziX^iJi^r' ^"PP'-"""*

The Heart That Knows

Library umo, cloth, decorative cover . .

" A novel of singularly effective «»r»«r,.i,* i *• * . * ^"^^
color, rich in its pasfionat^lSSerat-l^r V^?* &

Earth's Enigmas

t r872.td°ouf of 'nri^t1:r '"*, ^^'""^ '^^ ««=''-• published

Library lamo, cloth, decorative cover *

•E;r\Vs*tig„t'farde?ranl"'r%'^' short 'stori'es. 'i;
dred of the Wi d '"-^I^ / ^^ v '"''J^/'' '*'*" '" ^^^ ' Kin-

Barbara Ladd

With four illustrations by Frank Verbeck.
Library lamo, cloth, decorative covsr

us'Ln'bThS'ra^rdl^v'otion'^lrth^eVt'"^^^ ^^^^ ^'- ^'''^^^^ '--

Lrsr OF r/cr/oAT

Cameron of Lochiel

fTruSiroii^H"? K^w'S''' '^-'^"•*- ""^'^^

Library 1 2mo. cloth decorative

The Prisoner of Mademoiselle

With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill
Library i2nio. cloth decorative, gilt top

-o/f vatnt"o^nglieu\Tnl:t''^^^ "'"-•• '-'*'• A^^

captures and then caJtiS * '"'"°'°" "^<'«''' *"»<> *«»

. " ThiLi is the kind of a story that mako. «n-

innocent, more light-hearted ul H.t ?"* younger, more

It is not every day that t"h', k ""'u? 'l"*'"^ » impeccable,
rary existenci and thi verJ n^m^^f^^^'°"'""^•"^° "«" '«'"P^
cha;m."-C.i;V«;;i;i:,2KS "' "'^ *«"• * "'"^''^

The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Ub«,l",2l''"'^°"' ^y J"""" L. Weston,
library i2mo, uecorative cover

^^One of the most fascinating novels of ;ecen; day,."^ i),^
^Z;^^^" t-entieth^entury romance."- A^«. n^k Comn..rcial

The Forge In the Forest

Library izraa, cloth, gilt top

A story of pure love and heroic adventnre.'

I1.50

By the Marshes of MInas

iJbra^ .amo, cloth, gilt top. illustrated . «

Most of these romance^ are in th- ,. ►u • ',. . ' ' *'"5®
playful vein; each is a unit of ah^f k? ''?"' "k""*" "^^ »<>'•
workmanship. ~^ ** "* •""' «* absorbing interest and ezquiute

L. C. PAGE &' COM PA I^VS

A Sister to Evangeline

?^Mk fJ°'^-,?^ ^^""."^ *'* ' *'""""«• *"d '^o" s»»e went into
enle with the villagers of Gr-. m\ ?^^■

Library 1 2mo, cloth, gilt t . iliustiaud - . . *, «

.nH^.i/K"°"' ^'T^- ^V"*"*' '"■"'''■■ "''■■'^'-s-^Tie purity, deep pawion.
and searching analysis chara/ e.i = this str jm- noveh »* »*™ "•

111 s (

WORKS OF

LILIAN BELL

Carolina Lee

Krifh*'iT**'''^" '" color from an oil painting by Dora Wheeler
Keith. Library 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover . «, rn

A Christian Science novel, full of action, alive with incident and
bnsk wnth pithy dialogue and humor."- ^^../<,„ TranscHpf

A charming portrayal of the attractive life of the South, refresh-
^i^Hhn*' ^^"^ " *'''°"S'* * P'"« forest."- ///^<,„j, Timet-

Hope Loring;

Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.

Library ijmo, cloth, decorative cover . «, -q

"Tall, slender, and athletic, fragile-looking, yet with ner'ves and

sinews of steel under the velvet flesh, frank as a boy and tender a^d

beautiful as a woman, free and independent, yet not bold - sucMs

llT'^^TK^ "^ ""^^V^^ '"'^"«^' ^^'xiy that has yet been
Ti^kL ^"^"""""^ g\r\."~ Dorothy Dix, in tht New York

Abroad with the Jimmies

With a portrait, in duogravure. of the author.
Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . . •, c-

"Full of ozone, of snap, of ginger, of swing aiid momentum "'L
CHtcago Evening Post.

At Home with the Jardines

A companion volume to " Abroad with the Jimmies "
Library i2mo, cloth, decorative cover . * ,

^..K?'w °^ g.»y»»."mor. sunny, whimsical philosophy, knd keen in-
dubitable insight into the less evident aspects and workings of pure
human nature, with a slender thread of a cleverly extraneous ?ove

LIST OF FICTION^

tl-25

The Interference of Patricia

With a frontispiece from drawing by Frank T. Merrill

bmail 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover ^

"There is life and action and brilliancy and dash and deyernels
Si^j Jy^«A?''"°*^°° °* business ways in this story."— Grand

HerM^°^ '"" °' """^ *"** ***^* *»*"*"— Ckitoio Rttord-

A Boole of Qirls

With a frontispiece.

Small 1 2mo, cloth, decorative cover |i.2c

JvJ A.«*°"*^ "^ ^'^ eventfcl and have effective humor." — A>w

" Lilian Bell surely understands girls, for she depicts all the varia-
tions of girl nature so charmingly."— Chicago Journal.

Tht aiovt two volumes boxed in special holiday dress, per set, $sjo
VORKS OF

NATHAN GALLIZER

The Sorceress of Rome

With four drawings in color by " The Kinneys."

Cloth decorative, illustrated . -

basis of various German poems and plays. ^ *

Mr. Gallizier has used it for the main theme of " The Sorceress

of work, describing clearly an exciting and strenuous period ^

Castel del Monte

With six illustrations by H. C. Edwards.

Library i2mo, cloth decorative . . g

A powerful romance of the fall of tli» h^»,^„ » * J * -SO

' 1,

H i-L

L C. PAGE &• COMPANY'S

VORKS OF

MORLEY ROBERTS

Rachel Marr

Library 1 2mo, cloth dec . ve |,ro

"A novel of tremendous force, with a style that is sure, luxuriant,
compelling, full of color and vital ioxce." — Elia IV. Peattie in
Chicago Tribune. '

" In atmosphere, if nothing else, the story is absolutely perfect "

— Boston Transcript. ^ / t- •

Lady Penelope

With nine illustrations by Arthur W. Brown.

Library izmo, cloth decorative $1.50

" A fresh and original bit of comedy as amusing as it Is auda-
aous." — Boston Transcript.

The Idlers

With frontispiece in color by John C. Frohn.

Library 1 2mo, cloth decorative Jirg

" It is as absorbing as the devil. Mr. Roberts gives us the antithe-
sis of ' Rachel Marr ' in an equally masterful and convincing work "

— The New York Sun.

"It is a work of great ethical ioxct." ~ Professor Charles G. D.
Roberts.

The Promotion of the Admiral

Library l2mo, cloth iecorative, illustrated . . . I1.50

•' If any one writes better sea stories than Mr. Roberts, we don't

kiiow who It is ; and if there is a better sea story of its kind than

this It would be a joy to have the pleasure of reading '\\.." — New

York Sun.

" There is a hearty laugh in every one of these stories."— The
Reader.

The Flying Cloud

Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece . . . I1.50

When "The Flying Cloud," wa.i published, the New York Times

Saturday Review said: "It is the drama of the sea : human nature

stnpped naked by salt water alchemy and painted as only the author

or Joseph Conrad could paint it. . . , A corking story, a ripping good

. fl.50
txuriant,
attit, in

Derfect."

is auda-

antithe-
work."

r CD.

11.50
e don't
id than
— A-ew

•— The

I1.50
Times

nature
author
ggood