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Show he babbled cheerf the virtue on the road of many things | “Hush, man,” said I, most of love and gone’? He looked at me d ίΜ 4 of Effingham| trembling Come said M gone down gold in λ he j i t 8 he t e Ww t ΕΙ nd fi 5 that tl ent i this and toward weald } view was κ love home t it. is ca lis wine. the jod willing, Amen t had gone 1@ to my heart, My Anne’s, He - nee came looking aid for tue boy 9 0 forward [ from to the with other captain, young plover that plucking the By a of us (Copyright, by Joseph B, Bowles.) and to this Lord, α brandy barely saved exceeding thin Thank you,” says he heartily, and | then thrusts a hand into his bosom and rapidly struck at me a document | Read that, sir,” said he, impulsively. “If he be fool enough to be taken, let him be hanged and be damned,” says | carelessly I opened it and found ‘twas writ | in a woman's hand and subscribed Anne Varley; and the moral of it was | fond affection; why, ‘twas but a com | mon love billet he had given me, of the which I have seen dozens and re ceived very many some from persons of quality that would astonish you But what was | to do with this hon est ninny and his mistress? 1 had no nose for it, and » said I, handing back | his letter: “It has a sweet smack and ‘tis pret side street “Whoa, there!” says I, cheerfully, | ty enough inditing “Ah,” says he quickly, “’tis her na “are you so blinded by March dust ture, captain—'tis her heart that as not to see a gentleman when he speaks. Yet is she denied by her par goes by?” ents They w have none of me.” He stared after the traps, and says “The more to their shame,” I said he in an interested voice Who be | ahorseback they? that had emerged from Is it my Lord a | Blackdown?” “Oh,” says he, gazing at me, “a friend of yours. sir? “Not, as you might call him, a friend,” said I, gravely, “but rather one that has put an affront upon me.” “They aspire high,” says he, “as Anne's beauty and virtues of them selves would justify Yet she does love me, and I her, and we are of one spirit and heart See you how she loves me, poor thing poor silly puss! And they would persuade her to re nunciation. But she shall not—she shall not, I swear it,” he cried in excitement. ‘She shall be free to choose whom she will.” “Gad, I like that spirit,” says he, briskly, and, as if it constituted a bond betwixt us, he began to amble slowly at my side If there is any| “Spoken like a man of temper,” said mischief, sir, says he, “lI trust you | I approvingly You will go win her will allow meto stand your friend.” forthright?” “You are for a journey,” says | “Tam on myj rney to accomplish He nodded, and his color rose, but that now,” says he She has wrote he frowned “Il aw for Effingham,” in this letter, as you have seen, that said he. her father dissuades her, and she “So am I,” said I, “at least 1 pass signs her renunciation, adding sweet that way,” which was not so, for | was words of comfort t her affection for Reading, and had meant to go wiil not die—no, never never; and to Guilford. Yet 1 was in no mind to that she will die virgin for me Say risk an encounter with Grubbe and you not, sir, tha beautiful con his lambs, who were bound for Guil duct, and say, am | right to ride ford if what the innkeeper sai¢ was forth and seize her from her unnatural true, and the way by Effingham would parents, to make her mine? serve Me as well as another He “Young gentleman, said I, being looked pleased, and says he struck by his honest sincerity and “Why, we will travel in company.” his bubbling over were you brother to me, or | to Miss Anne, you would “With all my heart,” said J] have my blessing “You mind me,” said 1, drinking to At that he glowed, and, his spirits him, for I liked the fellow, “of a lad | that I knew that was in the wars having risen with this communication, |! look ther heads the north low and so that short—a but rest (God deliver And I break I whistle road, and behind Came on the Of we the be, and threading the London but the road ruts as fast were as but a The quit and a-swing ht of the leaving unhappy the news And carriage where it 5ο, stood, in Mud, and the carriage jolted and rock the long lane that gave entry to the Village, White | Ye¥ reigned up by Fron and the inn streamed a clam- and without well-ni the blocking tangled with the thickets of nut and | 8° door it was with a coachman 1 was not for And presently I was forced to &t trees, a foot pace, so abrupt was the the moon struck through the and peered on us, and Grubbe put his need forth of the window, | Why go you no faster, d—n ye? 4¥8 he, being much in liquor Who are you, sir, that intrudes on | two gentlemen? » demanded wi gentlemen?” he demanded with 4leif no better be fore I took the road iavaaaiiat μας “the aaa” over the downs to Effingham. But I || °°" Ms theut pounds wind” upon eave the “theroad private room. “Softly, man,” τῶν dae 0” oe en Yard, thinking to drain a tankard I'll have you know this is a τῳ ο of he ον gi ls ἃ | να oo | . W@8 scarce turned into the yard ere | lls the wind,” says I, “that comes light flung through the window peered ΟἿ the valley, and makes play among Get you gone says Grubbe in an in. I’m Hons in my skull uanesd ‘alll ta ae τὶ πο τ l'was Grubbe rapped loud on the door “'Tis shrewish to-night “Ay,” says he, in a grumbling, surly voice, “I would the country were in| ᾱ--]].” “Why, so ‘twill be in good time,” said I, cheerfully; and then to the| man that came: ‘Fetch me two quarts well-laced with gin,’ said I, “for to keep the chill o' the night and the fear of death.” feathers? The coachman laughed a little stoutly, for he knewthat this was his invitation. “Whence come you then?” said I, @®vering him the pot that was fetched out. He threw an arm out. But Grubbe turned on him satirically. “As for you, you cockchafer,” said he, “it bodes no good to find you in his company But as you seem simpleton enough I'll give you five minutes to take your leave of this gentleman of the road. Dick, you're a fine tobyman, and you have enjoyed a brave career, but your hour is struck.” “Lewes,” said he, “under charge with a tobyman that was for chaing yonder.” He nodded towards the downs and drank. I cast my eyes up and the loom of the hill just t’other side of the village was black and ominous. “Oh,” says I, “he hangs there?” “At the top of the London road,” says he, dipping his nose again. “There stand the gallows where the roads cross and near the gate.” I rose, but ere I could get to him young Masters had fallen on him. “Gallows Gate,” said I, laughing. “Well, ‘twas a merry job enough.” “Defend yourself, d—n ye!” he said, “you that insult a gentleman that is my friend Put up your blade, curse you!” and he made at him with incredible energy the πηνποιιουη He sank back in his seat. oe 7 σσοας ΗΝ eer th 1 ; ht . nl > and we It Is an Omen—My Wedding Night. With the cropning patient horses, that the onraes) 1 soounted were the mare and began to go down the long span of the downs to the north. "τα, "Twas late near midnight when I reached '316 Hear midnig 1 Pace Ef- fingham and found my way to the Manor. I rapped on the door, leav- ΠΝ - a ing Calypso and t'other In the shad- seein: anvantaiek i aS on Ῥ ows of the house, and presently one answered my knock What is it?” pA “There is a horseman behind,” he “What does he there?” “’Tis a traveler, your honor,” I, “that goes no doubt by our and is bound for London.” “He shall be bound for h—1,” he, and falls back ‘\gain. says | says road, The horses wound up foot by foot and emerged now upon a space of bet ter light. I looked round, and there was Grubbe, with his head through the window and his eyes cast backward. “What fool is this,” says he, “that rides so awkwardly and drives a spare horse? If he ride no better I will ask him to keep me company, if he be a gentleman. gaye sho, is a stranger,” says I, “that has news of great import for Miss Anne Varley whom I beg you will call.” “She says Many gentlemen have rode along of me, and have rode to the gallows tree, and he chuckled harshly. “Maybe he will ride with you to the Gallows Gate, sir,” says I. “Why, Crossway,” says he, laughing aloud, “you have turned a wit,” says he; and once more withdrew his head. By nowwe were right to the top of the down, and I could see the faint shadow of the Triple Beam. With that I knew my journey was done, and that my work must be accomplish ed. I. pulled to the horses on therise and got down from myseat. “Why d’ye stop, rascal?” called Grubbe in a fury, but I was by the door now and had it open. “Ay,” says he, “but this we might have been far towards London town, whither most of us are already gone. But ‘twas not his meaning. He must Uttering a curse, Grubbe thrust come back with the Lewes sheriff and with his point and took the first on rush swerving it aside; and ere “Timothy Grubbe,” said I, “ye’re a I} drink him farewell.” could intervene they wereat it My| “Leaving a poor likely young man d—n rogue that the devil your master as yourself to starve of cold and an young friend was impetuous and, as wants and he shall have ye.” I saw at once, none too skillful, and | empty belly here,” said L Well, I He stared at me in a maze, his nos Grubbe kept his temper, as he altrils working, and then says he in a low voice: ways did. He stood with a thin ugly “So, "tis you?” smile, pu aside the opponent's blade for a moment or two, until, of “Your time has come, Timothy,” said I, flinging off my clo: a sudden, he drew himself up and let my sword. Out with you, worm drive very low and underthe other's guard The sword rattled from MasHe said never a word, but stepped ter’s hand and he went down on the | forth and looked about | im He wa floor. I uttered an oath sobered now, as I could see from hi face, which had a strange look onit “By God, for this you shall die, you swine,” said I, fiercely, and I ran at “Ye're two rascals to one, Dick,” him, but being by the door he swept says he slowly, looking on the dead it open with a movement and backed man and his horse which had come into the passage to a stop in the shadows “The boot “No, says I. “This gentleman will is on t’other leg, Dick,” see fair play for us.” ays he mal iciously “"'Tis you are doomed and closing the door sharp- | Grubbe took a step backward. “Sir,” says he, addressing the dead man, but ly behind him, he whistled shrilly. | at that moment Calypso and her com- | I knew what he intended, and that panion started and cameinto the open his men were there, but 1 stooped over | and the moon shoneon thefaceof the | the boy’s body and held my fingers dead. Grubbe uttered a cry, and turnto his heart twas dead and still. T | ed on me. His teeth showed in a cursed Grubbe and started up If I grin was not to be taken there was only cannot hear you,” said she, ‘tis her wedding night.” “What!” said I, in amazement, and instantly there flowed in upon me the meaning of this. D—n all women save one or two, thinks I. And I turned to the maid again with my mind made up. “Look you, miss,” said I, “this is urgent. I have an instant message that presses. And if so be your mis- tress will bear with me a moment and hold discourse, I'll warrant she shall not regret it, nor you,” says I, with a crown piece in my palm. At that she seemed to consent, and with my coin in_her hand she disappeared into the darkness of the house. It must have been some ten minutes later that a light flashed in the hall and a voice called to me. “Who is it?” it asked, “and what do you want at this hour?” She was of a pretty face enough, rather pale of color, and with eyes that moved restlessly, and measured all things. I have known women all my life in all stations, and I would have pinned no certainty on those treacherous eyes. She was young, too, but had an air of satisfaction in herself, and was in no wise embarrassed by this interview. I had no mercy on her with her oaths of constancy writ in water that feigned to be tears, and her false pretenses “Madam,” said I civilly, “I hear you wed to-day a gentleman of standing.” ‘What is that to you, sir?” she asked quickly ‘Tis nothing for sure,” said I, “but to a friend of mine that I valued deeply, ‘tis much.’ “You speak of Mr. Masters?” said she sharply, and with dis omposure ‘Sure, if he be a gentleman, he will not trouble me when he knows.” “Anne!” eried a voice from the top of the stairs. “Anne!” ‘Twas her bridegroom calling Well, she should go to him in what mood she might when I had done with her says I, “un“He will never know,” less he have it from yourself.” ‘Anne!” says the voice above the stairs > cried “He shall not—I will not “I will not be per ecuted; ‘twas all a mistake.” I whistled and Calypso emerged from the night, and behind Calypso was the horse with its burden. An angrily. } “No ghost shall haunt me, Dick,” | says he, “rather shall another ghost keep him company | anxious look dawned in her face. “J I pointed upwards where the tobyam insulted,” says she, and paused man hung in chains, keeping his sheep Why, Good Man, Ye'll Make Your Forquickly, “Edward!” she called, and | by moonlight. “There's your destiny,” tune on This. put her hand to her bosom. said I. “There's your doom.” Now “Anne, my dove!” cried the voice, would learn such a one manners in defend ye, d—n ye, for I'll not prick “where are you? Come, child, ‘tig your place; and you shall have anothanother at a disadvantage.” late.” er tankard of dog's-nose for your He drew his blade, for no man | The horses came to a stop before pains,” says I, whereat I called out the could say that Timothy Grubbe, timethe door, with the body in the saddle, innkeeper again, but took care that he server, pander, traitor, as he w lackbound to the crupper. οφ» had myshare of the gin, in addition to ed courage Suddenly he sliced at | “What is 151 she cried in alarm, his own. By that time he was garrume, but I put out and turned off the and suddenly she shrieked out, clutchlous, and had lost his caution, so blow ing at the door post. “It is an omen— keeping him in talk a little, and drag“If you will have it so soon,” said f, my wedding night.” ging his wits along from point to point, in God's name have it,” and I ran | “Aye,” says I, “which be your bride I presently called to him: upon him groom, he that calls out or he that Come down,” said I, ‘and stamp My third stroke went under his is silent? Call on him and he hears your feet. “Twill warm you without guard and took him in the midriff not.” nin and he did as as the liquor wit hin:” He gave vent to an oath, cursed me in Peal after peal went up from her, I suggest without demur and the house was awake with alarm. a torrent, and struck at me Weakly as Run round to the back,” says I, he went down. He was dead as mut I turned away, leaving her on the “and get yourself a noggin, and if so ton almost ere he reached the ground. doorstep, and mounted the mare. As be you see a gentleman on horseback I have never been the man of the I cantered off into the night, I cast a at asleep, why, tis only 1 friend of mine church, nor do I lay any claim zi behind mé, and a group gathto own more that is weary of his long journey I religion than such as to ered at the door, and in that group lay will cail you if there be occasion make shift by when it comes to the Mrs. Anne, fal in a swoon with end He hesitated a moment, t I set No, nor do I de that I have the sleepi figure on the horse be‘ @ Crown on his palm and his scruples sundry offenses on conscience, fore her. the window looking on the deeps of the descending valle I’ threw back | the casement and leaped overthe sill Grubbe should perish, I swore, and doubled now my oath, I could have wept for that poor youth that had died to avenge my honor But myfirst busi- | 1e¢8S Was my safety, and I crept down | as far as I might and dropped. By that time the catchpols were crowding | into the room above I struck the slanting hill, and fell backwards, and getting to my feet, which were very numb with the concussion of the fall, I sped briskly into the darkness, maling for the woods I lay in the shelter of the woods an hour, and resolved on a circumspection. It was not my intention to leave the mare behind, if so she had ved Grubbe and his creatures, and mor eover, | had other designs in my head So.I made my way back devi ously to the inn and reconnoitered Stillness hung about it, and after a time I marched up to the door mighty cautiously and knocked onit The innkeeper opened it, and, the lamp burning in my face, started as if I were the devil. me might still deep Tis the hill, your honor,” said I. maybe took her | a. ο healing ST can ae says but it I astride his horse, so I mov« m into the voice and dead man wagging awk | Wardly in his stirrups | I pushed the horses up the steeps | him) presently the beam and lowered the 1¢ moon on Gallows Gate I have said my jc was done, but that was not so > was more for me to do which was to deliver poor Masters at his lady love's and they And then least thinking of It erly “Why,” says he, in a flutter, “there was him that was taken for a toby man by Guildford He was at Lewes, and will hang.’ 1 had an old score with Tim othy, the which I had sworn to pay; but that was not the time nor the opportunity, and so I pulled in, and lowered my head, lest by chance his evil eye might go my way As I did 60 something stfuck the mare's rump, and, looking back, I saw a young man soul at out, I strapped the Leaving the horses by I went back t© the front of the inn and says I to “I knewit,” said he eagerly. “You swipes that he had the impudence to are Capt. Ryder?” pass for wine. ‘Why, good man, ye'll “Capt. Ryder,” said he, abruptly, make your fortune on this,” I said with a laugh, and flung open the door } “you have traveled far and seen much, who might advise one junior to you on to go out, when all of a sudden I a matter of worldly wisdom.” came to a silence and a pause. Sink me (thinks I), what's the boy “Tis the officers,” says the landafter; but says I gravely from a mu Jord, who was at my ear. ‘“Gadslife, tinous face: “You can hang yourfaith ‘tis the sheriff men from Lewes.” on me for an opinion or a blow, Mr “Lewes!” says | slowly What be Masters.” they here for?” their for bed knew that the mare would heed and | trusted she would bring her compan ion with her Then the whee ro ed out upon the road:and Ἰ Grubbe and I were bound for London stirrup so that he the horse with his the coachman that waited there as | “You have had your company, sir?” he went on in a hesitating voice “Not always as zood company as this,” I replied laughing reac he, faintly on Calypso, the on in the small light. we're Masters,” said I. “D—me, you're right,” says I. “Cold {f’ the belly and hot in the groin Here's luck to the house, man,” and I tossed off the gallipot,” though the κ days on all alone | that talks so bold and has such fine He looked at me shyly. “You have my name now,” said he, and left his question in the air. “You may call me Ryder,” said 1, we made no more ad air he lurched into I pulled out the nags turned whistled in his seat that struck my eyes dimly Heaven brandy.” day for horseback,” and he shakes his head. door and getting drawn up a cart Dick Ryder, rip me if I will net have it laced in “Why, sir,” says he, “a cold bright and ngth of le time to make the exchange. 61 left wh d paid nee in the i i wrong, and you're two of a color, It is an apprentice, Dick, this brave lad the wars?” says he, eag ket and mind your ways A but the carriagé the an, make search, Way, doubt you're If you do not quit,” said I shortly, I will spit your beauty for you in “I served in Flanders,” said I two ticks “My father fought for his gracious “Dick Ryder had always plenty majesty, Charles 1,” says he quickly, heart said he, in his jeering way; “and took a deep wound at Marston || “Dick 6 had always a famous wit, and Moor There was never a braver was known as a hospitable host So man than Squire Masters of Rock | will take the liberty to invite to ham.” his sociable board some good fellows “Tl warrant his son is his spit,” that are below to make merry. We said I. He bowed as if he were at court. shall prove an excellent company, I'll warrant.” “Your servant, sir,” says he, smil Masters took a step towards him, ing well pleased and eyed me. “You have seen much service, sir?” he “Now who the devil soever you may be, you shall not use gentlemen so,” asked, he said, whipping: out his blade. “Why, as much as will serve Mr dismounted, “Host,” says 1, when I was come in, “a pint of your best Burgundy or Ca. nary to wash this dust adown; and the Ι « he says in t calling eyes on me with the dead man Hinuating —=- on at nter As I turned up the London road that Swept steeply up the downs I Jooked back, and behind the moon shon« Horse. Masters at his word had started up. By H. B. MARRIOTT-WATSON grip 8έ tered The horses were safe, as I discovered, for Grul be must have been too full of his own priz ess to or of laughter spirit ania “Was in little up sway ne of which | have narrated in my irs But when it comes to a g make bold to claim rid the he had € imot} the les ffian that id en- I about € e fe ard drink when ( me ( ΄ € Wilderness of the black pine woods for ¢d and swayed as we went. The wind the vale below towards London ; Came now with a litle moaning sound The moon was a glimmering arc from the bottom of the valley, and the across the Hurtwood, as | came out on | "4Ked branches creaked above my the back of Shere, and puiling out of head, for that way was sunken and features, and, sends us good fortune when . A Dick Ryder Tale "Twas two o'clock of a bright mild March daythat I cleared St. Leonard's | forest and came out upon the roads | at the back of Horsham. I was for London, but chose that way by reason of a better security it promised, which, | as it chanced, was a significant piece of irony. Horsham, a mighty quiet, | pretty town, lay in a blaze of the sun, enduring the sallies of a dusty wind; and feeling hot and athirst after my Jong ride, I pulled up at an inn and a distorted respects, ng Were bis boards, and Timothy mask disfigured the με ΣΤ had! ivan τος ς z00d @ man as ever rolled a bar head a-wagging, absurd though he My A the y grin on his -- | 4 3 seat a th har | | | | were on the on guess And this was true enough, for he had a mine of cellars under his int and in the Ly Bat yourf: i?” said he, still wa vering Him that is dead— lad’s body in lay forward Wa feet rang Grubbe's cai nee 1 made my preparations. And just on that there was a noise without the door, the clank of heavy Ten men, about he I ght ΐ with a Υ s He seemed relieved at that, and I en- ‘ T ve his and his senΪ mes in gush, as king at the darken- r s thai take away any decent said I Come, I want have no fancy for pre e . “They said you were a Surry despite the οἵ | emerge s he h 15 κ τε of wt anx bus ss for me this night,” he com ky as Masters “Nay said I r I will rid your in the upstairs | premises of myself and friend, by your t He had leave or without it.” says I gra WI nents wher said he 568 And viftly 1n the f jow unde 4 11 ate of ou nt that νο κο i ve t away pi At They will man's name my 8 y for re ses stallNow that house, ercl in a lonely ΐ } and upon 6] le hill “I 1! st in cended t t jously. head vanished He limped into the dark ness [was no more than two 1 ater t I rd ces in the Ἡ next ¢ Γ hy Grubbe g nt with sor πε revenue.’ “You are a smuggler?” heather still When we had Lane that lies Ε ’ the eeze had 1 knewthe reputation those parts, am from Sh« le was near taken for an offense : Ewhurst and sed way to/| ιο er, i for | |
