The Yeoman Adventurer

by George W. Gough

  CHAPTER XXV

  I SETTLE MY ACCOUNT WITH MY LORD BROCTON

  Of how I fared the seas with Jonadab Kilroot, master of the stolidbarque, "Merchant of London," I say nothing, or as good as nothing. MasterKilroot was a noisy, bulky man, with a whiff of the tar-barrel ever abouthim and a heart as stout as a ship's biscuit. He feared God always, anddrubbed his men whenever it was necessary; in his estimation the office ofsea-captain was the most important under heaven, and Master John Freakethe greatest man on earth.

  The ship remained at anchor in Dublin harbour while tailors and tradesmenof all sorts fitted me out, for Master Freake had given me guineas enoughfor a horse-load. I did very well, for Dublin is a vice-regal city, with aParliament of its own and reasonable society, so that the modes andfashions are not more than a year or so behind London, which did notmatter to a man going to the Americas.

  From Dublin I wrote home. I had laid one strict injunction on Margaret.She was not to go to the Hanyards, or write there, or allow anyone else todo either. I would not suffer her to know, or to run any chance ofknowing, about Jack. She was greatly troubled over the matter, but I wasso decided that she consented to my demand. It cost me a world of pains towrite. I wrote, rewrote, and tore up scores of letters. Finally I merelysent them word that I was going to America to wait till the trouble wasblown over, and that I should be with them again as soon as possible. Igave them no address. It was cowardly, but I could not bring myself to it.The nightmare that haunted me was my going home, home to our Kate, thesweetest sister man ever had, with her young heart wrapped for ever inwidow's weeds. I used to dream that I rode up to the yard-gate on Sultan,and every time, in my dream, the Hanyards looked so desolate andwoebegone, as if the very barns and byres were mourning for the dear deadlad who had played amongst them, that I pulled Sultan round and spurredhim away till he flew like the wind, and I woke up in a cold sweat.

  On a Wednesday morning in the middle of February the "Merchant of London"swung into Boston Harbour on a full tide and was moored fast by the LongWharf. Master Kilroot hurried me ashore to the house of the great Bostonmerchant, Mr. Peter Faneuil, to whom I carried a letter from MasterFreake. It was enough. My friend's protecting arm reached across theAtlantic, and if it were part of my plan to tell at length of my doings inthe New World, I should have much to say about this worthy merchant ofBoston. He was earnest and assiduous in his kindness, and so far as myexile was pleasant he made it so.

  Mr. Faneuil was urgent that I should take up my abode with him, but thisI gratefully declined, and he thereon recommended me to lodge with thewidow of a ship-captain who had been drowned in his service. So I tooklodging with her at her house in Brattles Street, and she made me verycomfortable. She had a daughter, a pretty frolic lass of nine, whopromoted me uncle the first day, and one negro slave, who was the autocratof the establishment till my coming put his nose out of joint, as we sayin Staffordshire.

  Master Kilroot unshipped most of his inward cargo and sailed away forCarolina and Virginia to get rice and tobacco. Then he would come backhere to make up his return cargo with dried fish, to be exchanged atLisbon for wine for England. This was his ordinary round of trade, and avery profitable traffic it was.

  When he had left, I settled down to make my exile profitable. By a greatslice of luck there was at this time in Boston an Italian, one SignorZandra, who gave lessons in his native tongue openly and in the art ofdancing secretly. The wealth of the town was growing apace; there was aleisured class, and, speaking generally, the Bostonians were alert of mindand desirous of knowledge above any other set of men I have ever livedamong. In the near-by town of Cambridge there was a vigorous littleuniversity with more than a hundred students. Moreover, there was a risingpolitical spirit which gave me a keen interest in the men who breathed thequick vital air of this vigorous new England. In many respects I foundmyself back in the times of Smite-and-spare-not Wheatman, captain of horsein the army of the Lord-General. The genuine, if somewhat narrow, piety ofthe Bostoneers reminded me of him, and still more their healthy criticalattitude towards rulers in general and kings in particular. They had theold Puritan stuff in them too, for some eight months before they hadcaptured Louisberg from the French, a famous military exploit which thegreat Lord-General would have gloried in.

  My days were all twins to each other. Every morning, after breakfast, Iwent abroad and always the same way: past the quaint Town House, down KingStreet, and so on to the Long Wharf to see if a ship had come in fromEngland, and to ask the captain thereof if he had brought a letter for oneOliver Wheatman at Mr. Peter Faneuil's. I got no letter and no news. Then,always a little sad in heart, I strolled back, and looked in at Wilkins'book-shop, where some of the town notables were always to be found, andwhere, one May morning, as I was higgling over the purchase of a fineVirgil, I made the acquaintance of a remarkable young gentleman, Mr. SamAdams, a genius by birth, a maltster by trade, and a politician by choice.We would discuss books together in Master Wilkins', or slip out to aretired inn called "The Two Palaverers" and discuss politics over a glassof wine and a pipe of tobacco. I liked him so much that I was afraid totell him I had been fighting for the Stuarts, and was content to pass inthe role Mr. Faneuil had assigned to me of an ingenuous young Englishgentleman who had come out to study colonial matters on the spot beforeentering Parliament. Our talk over, I went on to Signor Zandra's andworked at Italian for two hours. Most days I took him back to my lodgingfor dinner and read and talked Italian with him for another hour or two.The rest of the day I gave to reading, exercising, and, thanks to the goodmerchant, to the best society in Boston.

  Occasionally, when I knew for certain that no ship would clear for homefor two or three days, I made little shooting journeys inland, but in themain this is how I spent my days, filling them with work and distractionso as not to have idle hours for idler thinking. Spring passed, summercame and went, and the leaves were turning from gold to brown when onemorning, as I was at breakfast, Mr. Faneuil's man came in with a letter.It was from Master Freake, summoning me home as all was put right. Itcontained a few lines from Margaret, written in Italian. A ship wassailing for London that day, and I went on her.

  * * * * *

  Jonadab Kilroot had found his way across the Atlantic into Boston Harbourmuch more easily than I was finding mine across London to Master Freake'shouse in Queen Anne's Gate. It was after nine at night, at which latehour, of course, I did not intend to arouse the inmates, but I meant tofind the place so that I could stand outside and imagine Margaret within,perchance dreaming of me. At last I observed that men with torches wereclearly being used as guides through this black maze of streets, and Istopped one such and offered him a guinea to do his office for me. He wasa lean, shabby, hungry-looking man, who might be forty by the look of him.He stared vacantly at me for a few seconds, and then hurriedly led theway, holding his link high over his head.

  This trouble over, another began, which put me in a towering rage. Agaudy young gentleman bumped into me and, though it was clearly his fault,I apologized and passed on, leaving him hopping about on one foot andnursing the other, which I had trodden on. He swore at me worse than aboatswain at a lubber, and but for the exquisite pain I had caused him Ishould have gone into the matter with him. I found my linkman leaningagainst a post and laughing heartily.

  "Never you mind, sir. He'll not take the wall of you again in a hurry."

  "Take the wall?" I said.

  "Done on purpose, sir, to pick a quarrel with you. The young sparks do itfor a game."

  Not much farther on, we met a sedan, with an elegant young lady in it,and an elegant gentleman walking along by her close up to the chains, shebeing in the roadway. There was ample room for me to pass between him andthe wall, which was also the courteous thing to do; but as soon as mylinkman had passed him, he shot clean in my way. I gave him all the wallhe wanted and more, bumping his head against it till he apologized humblythrough his rattling teeth. The lady shrieked viciously a
t me, and one ofher chairmen, my back being turned, pulled out his pole and came to attackme. My man, however, very dexterously pushed the link in his face as hewas straddling over the chains, and he dropped the pole and spat andspluttered tremendously. I stepped across to the lady and apologized fordetaining her, and then my man and I went on, easy victors.

  Arrived at Queen Anne's Gate, another surprise awaited me. MasterFreake's windows were ablaze with light, and the door was being held openby a man in handsome livery to admit an exquisite gentleman and a moreexquisite lady who had just arrived there in chairs. I gave my man hisguinea, and after dousing his link in a great iron extinguisher at theside of the door, he sped happily away. After watching the arrival ofthree or four more chairs and one carriage, I summoned up all myresolution and gave a feeble rat-tat with the massive iron lion's-headwhich served as knocker.

  The man in livery opened to me, and I was inside before he could observethat I was an intruder. True, I was in my best clothes--my Sunday clothes,as I should have called them at home--and they were none so bad; but theyhad been made in Boston, where fashions ranged on the sober side. Here Ilooked like a sparrow in a flight of bull-finches.

  "Can I see Master Freake?" said I.

  "No," said he, with uncompromising promptness.

  "Is he at home?"

  "No," he retorted.

  "This is his house, I think?"

  "It is," he assented.

  "Then I suppose all these people are coming to see you--and cook," said Igravely.

  The sarcasm might have got through his thick skin perhaps but for theintervention of another liveried gentleman, who briefly asserted that Iwas "off my head," and proposed a muster of forces to throw me out. My ownfeeling distinctly was that I was on my head, not off it; but hissuggestion interested me, as I do not take readily to being thrown out ofanything or anywhere. Luckily, a fresh arrival took their attention off mefor a minute or two, and while I was standing aside to admire the lady,who should come statelily down the grand staircase into the hall but DotGibson. He too was in livery, but of a grave, genteel sort.

  "Hello, Dot," said I, accosting him quietly.

  It bounced all the gravity out of him. He shook my outstretched handvigorously, and then apologized for doing so, saying he was so glad to seeme. "Jorkins, you great ass," cried he to the first servant, "what do youmean by keeping his honour waiting?"

  Jorkins looked apprehensively at Dot and the suggester of violence lookedapprehensively at Jorkins; but Dot was too full to bother with them, andwent on: "Mr. Freake will be delighted, sir, and so will Miss Waynflete.They're always talking of you. Come along, sir! Allow me to precede you."

  He took me upstairs into the library, and left me there alone. In a fewseconds Master Freake burst in on me.

  "My dear lad," he cried, wringing my hand heartily, "welcome--a thousandtimes welcome!"

  "Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be back," was all I could say.

  He put a hand on each shoulder and stood at arm's length to examine me.

  "And we're glad to have you back, looking as fit and brown as a bronzegladiator. Come along to your room! It's been ready for you this threemonths, for that silly Margaret set to work on it the very day we sent offyour letter."

  "How is Mistress Waynflete, sir?"

  "You'll see in five minutes if you'll only bestir yourself. The wits saythat there's no need for George to furnish the town with a new queen as Ihave provided it with an empress."

  He hurried me off to my room, as he called it, and it was so grand that Icrept about it on tiptoe for fear of damaging something. There waseverything a young man could want except clothes, and Master Freakelaughingly assured me that they (meaning Margaret and himself) had puzzledfor hours to see if they could manage them, but had given it up in despair.

  "I declared you'd pine and get thin," he said, "and she vowed you'd getlazy and fat."

  I felt very doltish and unready as I followed him to the drawing-room. Itwas very clear to me that no meeting on level terms was in front of me,and when I got into a large, brilliant room where some dozen splendidladies and as many elegant, easy-mannered gentlemen were assembled, I feltinclined to turn tail.

  "Empress." It was the exact word. Master Freake put his arm in mine andled me towards her. She was sitting throned in one corner of a roomy,cushioned sofa, with half a dozen young men--the least of them an earl, Ithought bitterly--bending round her as the brethren's sheaves bent roundJoseph's. And, as if she were not overpowering enough of herself,everything that consummate skill and the nicest artistry could do toenhance her beauty had been done. Juno banqueting with the gods had notlooked more superb. "On level terms," I whispered to myself mockingly, asMaster Freake led me on, for one of the circling sheaves, with whom shewas exchanging easy, lightsome banter, was my finely chiselledacquaintance, the Marquess of Tiverton.

  Except that she cut a quip in two when she saw who it was that MasterFreake was bringing, Margaret gave no sign of surprise. She neither palednor reddened, nor gushed nor faltered. Empress-like she simply added me toher train.

  "I bring you an old friend, Margaret," said Master Freake, for whom, as Isaw, the worshippers round the idol made way respectfully.

  "And my old friend is very welcome, sir," she answered, holding out herhand. I bowed over it and kissed it. I thought that it trembled a littleas it lay in mine, but it is at least probable that I was the source ofwhat fluttering there was.

  "I trust you have had a good voyage, Mr. Wheatman?" she questioned easily.

  "Excellent, madam," I replied, with imitative lightness of tone. "It waslike rowing on a river."

  For a moment her eyes steadied and darkened, then she said with a smile,"That being so, even I, who am no sailor, should have enjoyed it alongwith you."

  This was how we met. Whether on level terms or not, who shall decide?

  "I say, Mr. Wheatman," broke in the pleasant voice of the Marquess, "youdon't happen to have any venison-pasty on you, I suppose? I've got somerattling good snuff, and I'll give you a pinch for a plateful, as I did upin Staffordshire. I vow, Miss Waynflete, it makes me hungry to see him."

  This speech caused much laughter, and Margaret said it was fortunatesupper was ready. She then introduced me to the company around, and whenthis was done, Master Freake fetched me to renew the acquaintance of SirJames Blount and his lady, so that I was soon full of talk and merriment.

  Supper and talk, wine and talk, basset and talk--so the time went by tilllong after midnight. Then one by one the guests dropped off. The Marquesslingered longest, and on going, pledged me to call on him next morning.

  "At last," said Margaret. "Beauty sleep is out of the question to-night,Oliver, so tell us everything about everything. It's glorious to have youback."

  It is not my purpose to dwell on my life in London. After a few days itbecame one long agony because of, but not by means of, Margaret. She didher best for me, and was all patience, kindness, and graciousness, and wasplainly bent on living on level terms with me according to her promise andprophecy. It only required a day or two to show me that she had many a manof rank and wealth in thrall. As wealth went then, the Marquess ofTiverton was, by his own fault and foolishness, a poorish man, but he waslost in love of her, and he was only one of the many exquisites who werefor ever in and out of Master Freake's fine mansion. It did not become aWheatman of the Hanyards to cringe or be abashed in any company, and withthe best of them I kept on terms of ease and intimacy. I dressed as well,and perchance looked as well, as they did, and if my accomplishmentsdiffered from theirs they differed for the better in Margaret's eyes,which were the only eyes that mattered.

  Brief as I intend to be, I must set down a few jottings on things thatbelong to the texture of my story. To begin with, the Colonel, thoughpardoned, was still in France, looking after his affairs there, for beforestarting to join the Prince he had wisely shifted all his fortune over toParis.

  Davie Ogilvie had got clear away after Culloden, and his sweet Ishb
el,though taken after the battle, had been permitted to join him there. Itwas a great comfort to know they were safe, for there were sad relics ofmy escapade in London--the row of ghastly, grinning heads over Temple Bar.

  Soon after my arrival, Master Freake had sent for his lawyers anddelivered to me in full possession the Upper Hanyards and the huge tale ofguineas which the rascal old earl had disgorged as the price of theletter. Master Freake kept a rigid silence over the contents of thatfamous document "about lands," and I had no wish to know. It was worth athousand acres and near ten thousand guineas to the Earl. I was satisfiedif he was. I put my guineas in a bank of Master Freake's choosing. What adowry I could have given Kate if--

  My Lord Brocton was in town. I saw him several times, in the street or atthe play, but took no notice of him. He was said to be eagerly huntingafter a lady of meagre attractions but enormous fortune. Twice when I sawhim he had with him the fellow I had bumped against the wall, a notoriousshark and swashbuckler, by name and rank Sir Patrick Gee. Tiverton, whohad his own reasons for being interested in Brocton, told me they werehand and glove together.

  In a little while a month may be, a change came over the relation inwhich Margaret and I stood to each other. We both fought against it but invain. We could not travel on parallel lines, we two. We must eitherconverge or diverge, and fate had given me no choice.

  I used to pretend I was going out, to ride or lounge with the Marquess orsome other acquaintance, and then slip upstairs to the quiet old library,bury myself in a windowed recess cut off by curtains, and try to forget itall in a book. Fool-like I thought I could solve my problem so. TheHanyards was calling me and I dared not go. I should leave Margaret, and Icould not leave her.

  Why, I asked myself a thousand times, was I so poor a cur compared withDonald? He had done what I had done, and he had seen his way at once andfollowed it. He would not live, having, in all innocence and with the mosturgent of all reasons, killed his friend. Not that I felt that hissolution was my solution. My duty was to leave Margaret and to go to Kate,to help her, to the best of my ability, to live down her sorrow, and toshow by my life and conduct that I would pay the price. And here I was,hovering moth-like round the flame.

  Then again I would say that I would wait till the inevitable hadhappened, and Margaret was married to Tiverton. Anything to put it off,that was really all I was capable of.

  To me, in my recess, Margaret came one morning.

  "I thought you'd gone out, Oliver," she began.

  "No," said I. "I altered my mind, and thought I'd like reading better."

  "You puzzle me. Are you quite well?"

  "As fit as a fiddle," said I cheerily, and rose to give her my seat, forthe recess would only hold one.

  "You're not to move, sir."

  She fetched a couple of cushions, flung them by the window, and curled upon them. I wished she wouldn't, for she made a glorious picture.

  "Now, sir, I am going to have it out with you," she said severely andsmilingly. I smiled back, and pulled myself together.

  "I hope 'it' is not a very serious 'it,' madam," I replied.

  "It may be. Does your head ever trouble you?"

  "My head ever trouble me?" I gasped, taken aback.

  "Yes, your head, sir. When you fell down those stairs you received a veryserious wound on the head. It gaped open so that I could have laid afinger in the hole. Are you sure it doesn't trouble you, Oliver? Blows onthe head are dreadful things, you know."

  "Look at it," said I, popping my head down, and very glad of the chance.

  Her beautiful fingers parted my thick, short, bristly hair and found thespot.

  "There's nothing wrong with the skull, is there?" I asked.

  "No," very doubtfully. "It's healed splendidly."

  "Now, madam," said I, "talk to me in Italian!"

  It was the first time, by chance, that I had thought of it.

  For ten minutes she questioned and cross-questioned me in Italian on allsorts of subjects, and I came out of the ordeal pretty well--thanks toSignor Zandra.

  "Point one," said I in English. "The outside of my head is all right.Point two: are you satisfied with the inside?"

  For a full minute she gazed in silence at her feet, twisting them aboutswiftly and somewhat forgetfully. It was trying, almost merciless, forshe was very beautiful.

  "Yes," she said at length, but without looking at me. "You've donemarvellously well."

  "In the only language one can love in," I said bitterly.

  The words had no apparent effect. She still stared at her twinkling feet.Suddenly she lifted her eyes up to mine and said, almost sharply, "Thenwhat did happen to you between the Hanyards and Leek to change you?"

  It was clean, swift hitting, and made me gasp, but I managed to escape.

  "Madam," said I, "I set out with you from the Hanyards to serve you andfor no other purpose whatsoever. In my opinion, speaking in all modesty, Iserved you as well after Leek as before it. At least, I tried to."

  She leaped up, and, with great sweeps of her arm, flung the cushions intothe library. She said briefly, "And you succeeded, sir!" Then she left me.swiftly and passionately, without another word or look.

  After this, the gap between us became obvious.

  Meanwhile the Marquess of Tiverton was doing his best to give me acompetent knowledge of the Court-end of the town. He had a spaciousmansion in Bloomsbury Square, but this was now let to a great nabob, andhe himself lived in close-shorn splendour in a small house in St. James's.Here I saw much of him, for commonly I would stroll round late in theforenoon and rout him out of bed. By an odd turn we took to each othergreatly, and while he drank chocolate in bed or trifled with his breakfastwe had many talks on the few subjects that mattered to him.

  Our favourite theme was Margaret, whom he outspokenly worshipped. Herhapsodized over her in great stretches, calling me to testify with him toher divineness, and rating me soundly if, in the bitterness of my heart, Iwas a little laggard in my devotions. And, at irregular intervals, likeSelah in the Psalms, he would intone dolefully, "And I can't marry her!"

  It was no use my protesting that an unmarried man could marry any womanhe liked if she would have him.

  "A man can," he would reply, "but a bankrupt marquess can't. I've got tomarry that jade. Pah! She's as lank as a hop-pole and as yellow as aguinea. But what's a marquess to do, Noll? They say she could tie up theneck and armholes of her shift and fill it with diamonds. Damn her! I wishBrocton would snap her up, but he can't. He'll never be more than an earland I'm a marquess. Curse my luck! Fancy me a marquess! I'm a disgrace tomy order and as poor as a crow."

  The 'jade' referred to was the nabob's only daughter and heiress, whowas, as all the town knew, to make a great match. My Lord Brocton waskeenly in pursuit of her, but she inclined to the Marquess, who could havehad her and her vast fortune any day for the asking. She was certainly notoverdone with charms, but Tiverton in his anger had made her out worsethan she was.

  The morning after my encounter with Margaret in the recess, Tiverton wasmore than usually talkative, the fact being not unconnected, I imagine,with an unsuccessful bout at White's the night previous. We got throughour usual talk about Margaret and the nabobess, and then he struck out anew line.

  "Now if the divine Margaret," he said, "rightly so named as the pearl ofgreat price among women, were only Freake's daughter and heiress, I'd beon my knees before her in a jiffy. They say he made cartfuls of money overthat Jacobite business. Everybody here was selling at any price the stockswould fetch, and he was buying right and left on his own terms. He wasback here, knowing of the retreat from Derby, over twenty-four hoursbefore the courier came, and the old fox kept the news to himself. He'sthe first man out of the city to set up house in the Court-end. OldBorrowdell shifted his tabernacle as far west as Hatton Gardens in myfather's time, and that was thought pretty big and bold, but here's Freakeright in the thick of it, and holds his own like a lion among jackals.Fact is, he's a right-down good fello
w. Being a marquess, I ought todespise him, 'stead of which I feel like a worm whenever he comes near me,and that, mark ye, Noll, not because I owe him close on ten thousand. Iused to owe a rascal named Blayton quite as much, and every time he camewhining round here I either wanted to kick him out or did it. Heigh-ho!I'm in the very devil of a mess but I'll cheat scraggy-neck yet. I'llreform outright, Noll. I'll never touch a card again as long as I live."

  "That's the talk!" said I heartily. "Eat something and let's have thehorses out for a gallop across Putney Heath."

  Next evening, early, being very miserable, I went round to the Blounts,with whom I was very friendly. I forgot myself for a time, it beingimpossible to think of anything while lying on my back on the hearth, withbaby Blount trying to pull my hair out by the roots and cutting a stubborntooth on my nose. He was a delightful, pitiless, young rascal and wouldleave anything and anybody to maul me about.

  I had, however, for once mistaken my billet, for while thus engaged whoshould come in with his mother but Margaret?

  "Aren't you afraid to trust baby with such an inexperienced nurse?" askedMargaret, smiling at my discomfiture, for I had to lie there till I wasrescued from the young dog's clutches.

  "Not at all. When he's with a baby, he becomes a baby, which is what theywant. He'll make an ideal father, don't you think?" said her ladyshiphappily.

  "I think he will," said Margaret in a very judicial tone, but shecoloured as she said it.

  While Lady Blount disposed of baby, Margaret beckoned me aside. "Oliver,you'll do me a favour, won't you?" she asked.

  "Certainly," said I.

  "As I came here in a chair, I saw the Marquess going into White's. I fearhe may be gambling again. He easily yields to the temptation, and soonbecomes reckless. Will you call in, as if by chance, and coax him out? Iwould have him saved from himself, and you have great influence over him."

  "If he won't come out," said I, smiling, "I'll lug him out!"

  I excused myself to Lady Blount and set forth on my errand, willinglyenough, since she desired it and I liked him, but all the way I thought ofher anxious face as she asked me.

  At White's I found Tiverton playing piquet with Brocton. A heap ofguineas was by his side, and he was flushed and excited with success. Thebout had attracted some attention, for the stakes were running high, andeight or nine men were gathered round the players, among them Sir PatrickGee. I waited while the hand was played out. Tiverton repiqued hisopponent, and joyously raked over to his side of the table four tall pilesof guineas.

  It was my first meeting with Brocton. Chance and Margaret had brought ustogether again.

  "Egad, Tiverton," said I to the Marquess, who now first observed me, "youhad the cards that time with a vengeance. Are you playing on? What aboutyour engagement with me?"

  The Marquess coloured slightly at my veiled rebuke. He looked doubtfullyat his watch, then at me, and finally at Brocton.

  "Have you had enough?" he asked.

  "Enough?" cried Brocton. "Since you took up with farmers you've gotchicken-hearted at cards. Play on, my lord!"

  "I have told you," said I quietly to Brocton, "that his lordship has anengagement with me. That should be enough. If you want your revenge, whichis natural, there are other nights available."

  "I want my revenge now, and will have it," he said meaningly, "and thisis how I serve men who come between me and my revenge." He was shuffling apack of cards as he spoke, and, with the words, he flung them in my face.

  At most of the tables play stopped, and the players there became silentlyintent on this new game where the stakes ran highest of all. It meant afight, a fight between an expert swordsman and a man who knew nothing ofthe craft. To such a fight there could be but one end.

  Tiverton was beside himself. "She'll never forgive me!" he muttered, andI looked amusedly at him and whispered, "Who? The nabobess?"

  He was the highest in rank there, and as such a court of appeal and asort of master of the ceremonies.

  "My Lord Tiverton," said I aloud, "I am, as you know, a recent arrival intown from the Americas and other outlandish places, and, naturally enoughunder these circumstances, I am not clear on some points."

  "It's clear you've been swiped across the face," broke in Sir Patrick Gee.

  "Hold your tongue, sir!" said Tiverton, looking quietly at him. "Proceed,Mr. Wheatman!"

  It made me smile again, tight as the corner was, to see the play-actingspirit creeping over him. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

  "Therefore, my lord, I should like to ask you a few questions," Icontinued.

  "Certainly, sir," he replied, with great impressiveness, taking snuff ingreat style while he awaited my questioning.

  "Is there any doubt that I am the insulted person?"

  "None whatever," he replied. "My Lord Brocton insulted you wantonly anddeliberately."

  "Then, my lord Marquess, I may be wrong, but I think I have the right ofchoosing the place, the time, and the weapons."

  "Certainly, Mr. Wheatman," he answered.

  "Then if I choose to say, 'On the banks of the Susquehanna, ten yearshence, with tomahawks,' so it must be?"

  A wave of scornful laughter went round the room as the question passedfrom mouth to mouth. Even the most ardent gamblers left their play to jointhe circle around us. English even in their vices, they took a fight forgranted, but were up in a moment to see some fun.

  The Marquess was disconcerted. He obviously felt that I was about toreflect on him in the gravest way; that, in short, I was backing out. Hewould be tarnished by the dishonour that had driven me out of the world ofgentlemen.

  "I think," said he, "that would be overstraining the privileges of aninsulted gentleman."

  "Run away, farmer!" bellowed Sir Patrick raucously.

  Tiverton looked disdainfully at him. "You may like to know, my lords andgentlemen," he said, as grandly as if he were reciting a set piece fromthe stage, "that on the night of his arrival from Boston my friend wasrudely insulted in the Strand by a certain person." Here he stopped,whirled round on the hulking scoundrel, and added grimly to him, "I shallfinish the story unless you leave the room at once."

  Gee thought better of it and slipped off like a disturbed night-prowler.

  "Thank you, my lord," said I very humbly, "for your decision. I hope myunavoidable ignorance entitles me to try again."

  "Certainly," said he, but with unmistakable uncertainty.

  I looked round the intent curious circle of faces and then at Brocton. Onhis face and in his cruel eyes there were the same gloating anticipationsthat were there when, in Marry-me-quick's cottage, he thought he wasbending Margaret to his foul will. You could have heard a card drop inthat crowded room.

  My time had come to the tick. Stretching myself taut, I said slowly anddistinctly, "Here. Now. Fists."

  Brocton went limp and ghastly. I strode up to him, took him, unresisted,by the scruff of the neck, and then said curtly, "Open the door, Tiverton."

  The willing little Marquess ran delightedly to do my bidding, and Ikicked my lord Brocton into the kennel and out of my life.

  Next morning I went round to Tiverton's as usual, and while he was atbreakfast, and we were starting our usual round of talk, in came Sir JamesBlount, a stranger at such an hour.

  "Have you heard the news?" he asked abruptly.

  "What news?" asked Tiverton, rather sour at being cheated out of hismorning's consolatory grumble with me.

  "Mr. Freake has declared that Miss Waynflete is to be his sole heiress,"he replied.

  I had to thump Tiverton to prevent him being choked by something thatwent the wrong way. We had an excited talk about the news, which Sir Jameshad received direct from Master Freake, which settled it as a fact beyonddispute or change. Margaret was now the most desirable match in Londonfrom every point of view. Blount went away quite pleased with the stir hehad made.

  "Henry! Henry!" yelled Tiverton as soon as we were alone, and in came hisman hastily. "Henry! What the devil do
you mean by putting me into theseold rags? Damme! I look like a chairman. Go and get some decent thingsout, you old rascal! I'm to call on the greatest lady in London town."

  He hurried off after his servant, and I heard him singing and shoutingover his second toilet. I crept miserably out of the house and made my wayto the mews. The ostler saddled my horse, a beautiful chestnut mare whichMaster Freake had given me, and I rode out of town, deep in thought.Mechanically, I went the way we had intended to go, and found myself atlast on the heights that overlook London from the north. Then I pulled up.

  The towers of the Abbey stood out nobly against the steel-blue sky.Within their shadow was Master Freake's house where, by now, Tivertonwould not have pleaded his love in vain. I saw her there, in the splendidroom she always dimmed with her greater splendour, the exquisite Marquessat her feet, happy in possession of the pearl of great price. Over thisvision a shadow came, and I saw the house-place at the Hanyards, with ourwidowed Kate alone in her sorrow. Her flame-red hair was white as snow andtears of blood were on her cheeks. Donald's farewell, _Weird mun haeway_, boomed in my ears like a dirge. With a sigh that was near of kinto a sob, I pulled the mare round and urged her northwards, northwards andhomewards.

  In my fear and trembling I shirked everything, doing childishly and morethan childishly. I was not on Sultan, and when I rode out of Lichfield Ihugged that simple fact to my heart. So much of my dream had at least notcome true, and I gave the lie to more of it by leaving the high road andwandering devious ways till, within four or five miles of home, I lefteven the by-ways and kept to the fields. So keen was I on my littlestratagems that I rode over the Upper Hanyards without once recalling thefact that it was now mine as it had been my father's before me. About fouro'clock on a December day, just over a year since leaving home, I leapedthe mare over a hedge and was at the old gate.

  More of the dream was untrue. The winter sun was dropping down to thehill-tops like a great carbuncle set in gold, and the Hanyards was allaglow in its flaming rays. The gate was open, so that I could at leastbegin by pitching into Joe Braggs for his negligence, and the windows ofthe house-place shimmered a welcome because of the cheerful blaze within.

  Not a soul stirred. I jumped down, threw the reins over the gate-post,and walked stealthily into the yard and up to the window. Still not a soulstirred.

  I peeped in.

  There was our Kate, leaning lovingly over my chair, pillowed as she hadnever pillowed it for me, and in the chair was clearly a man, for I couldsee his stockings and breeches stretching comfortably past her skirts. Shelaughed merrily at something said, and then stooped and kissed the personin the chair.

  This was woman's faith! With a great clatter, I strode into the porch,thrust open the door, and stepped in. There was a shout of delight, ababble of, "It's our Noll! It's our Noll!" and Kate leaped into my armsand rained kisses on me.

  The man followed her, slowly and feebly, leaning heavily on a stick. Whenhe turned his face so that the firelight showed him up, my legs sankbeneath me and my knees knocked together. It was Jack, dear old Jack,nothing but the shadow of himself, but still Jack right enough, and hishand was in mine.

  "Run, Kit!" he cried. "Get some wine! The lad's overcome. God bless you,old Noll, how are you?"

  Kate ran off into the parlour, where our wine was stored.

  "Jack!"

  "Hello, Noll!"

  "I thought I'd killed you."

  "Was it you?" he asked, all amazed at my self-accusation.

  "Yes," I faltered.

  "By gom, Noll, you did give me a sock!"

  He heard Kate tripping back with the wine, and put his finger on his lipsfor a warning. And that was the first and last remark Jack Dobson made onthe subject.