It was not ten minutes thereafter that the kindly innkeeper was thrown
into such a flutter by the arrival of his expected guests, that he
quite forgot to rouse the stranger sleeping in the deep chair by the
hearth.
"We've the house to ourselves, as I commanded, good Marmaduke?"
demanded Lord Farquhart.
"Quite to ourselves, your honor," answered Marmaduke, "save, oh, bless
my heart! save for this idler asleep by the chimney. I meant to send
him about his business ere you came!"
"Send him now, then," said Farquhart, indifferently, "and, gentlemen,
I can welcome you as to my own house."
"Why waken the lad if he sleeps?" demanded young Lindley, who had
seated himself astride of the arm of the chair that the innkeeper had
deserted. The young man's Irish blue eyes rested carelessly on the
sleeping lad. "Why throw him out, Percy? Is he only a chance patron or
a friend, Marmaduke?"
"A friend," answered that worthy--"leastwise a friend of a year's
standing, and he's slept like that since his last draught of wine."
"Why not let him sleep, Percy?" It was still young Lindley who was
interceding in the boy's behalf. "Only two things can induce sleep
like that--one's good wine, the other's a good conscience. Why
interfere with either? Sure, we're lacking in both ourselves."
"Well, let him sleep for aught of me," answered Farquhart,
nonchalantly. "In truth, it's so long since I've even seen sleep like
that, that it rests me somewhat to be in the room with it."
"If Marmaduke'll vouch for the wine the boy's had, I'll vouch for the
conscience," asserted Lindley, again taking sides with the unknown. He
laid a careless hand on the boy's head. "He's a likely lad, and it
seems to me that neither wine alone nor conscience alone could induce
sleep so deep. What's his name?"
"That's what I wish I could tell you, gentlemen," Marmaduke answered,
with some hesitation. "As I said, I've known him for a year or more,
and he's always promising me that next time, or some time, he'll tell
me who he is. But he's only a lad, and I was thinking just before your
honors came that perhaps I was doing wrong to let him drink away his
fortunes here--that I ought to be telling his family, if I could but
find out where and what it is."
"But does he drink so heavily, then?" demanded Ashley, crossing over
and looking down upon the lad. "A boy of his age and girth could not
carry much, I should say."
"No, not much, sir," Marmaduke answered, hastily; "leastwise not here,
but----"
"Oh, don't bother your conscience with a thing like that, my good
man," cried Treadway. "Bring us another round of wine, and charge me
up a cup or two for the lad when he wakes. Then his bibulous fortune
will not be all on your head. And"--he turned to Farquhart--"if the
roads to Camberwell be as good--God save the mark!--as the roads from
London here, Mistress Babs will not be calling for our escort until
midnight. Gad! I never traversed such mire. I thought my horse was
down a dozen times."
"And, of course, the Lady Barbara's coach must move more heavily than
we did," agreed Lindley. "As I remember them, the old Gordon hackneys
move as deliberately as old Gordon himself--that is, if horse flesh
can move as slowly as human flesh. Has your lady a large escort from
Camberwell, Percy?"
"Only her servants, I believe." Percy Farquhart's tone was quite
lacking in a lover's interest. "Her father has no faith in the Black
Devil who has haunted our London roads for the past six months, and he
declared that he'd not insult the peace of his majesty's kingdom by
sending an armed escort with his daughter when she entered his
majesty's town. That was why he asked me to meet her here."
"Oh, oh!" rallied his companions, and one of them added: "So, it's at
the father's request that you meet the Lady Barbara. Ah, Percy, Percy,
can't you pretend affection, even if you have it not, for Lord
Gordon's daughter and her golden charms?"
"I'd pretend it to her if she'd let me," answered Farquhart, still
indifferently. "And I'd pretend it about her if it were worth while.
But I'm afraid that my friends know me too well to suffer such
pretense. I'm with friends to-night"--he glanced only at Treadway and
at Lindley--"so why taint tone or manner with lies? The Lady Barbara
Gordon knows as well as I know that it's her lands that are to be wed
to mine, that her gold must gild my title, that her heirs and my heirs
must be the same. Old Gordon holds us both with a grip like iron, and
we are both puppets in his hands. She knows it, and I know it. She is
as resentful of pretended affection as she would be of love--from me.
But come, let us forget the Lady Barbara while we may--after we have
drunk a measure of wine to her safe conduct from Camberwell to The
Jolly Grig. From here to London her safety will depend on our swords.
To the Lady Barbara, I say, to her daffodil hair, to her violet eyes,
to her poppy lips, to her lily cheeks! Is that lover-like enough? Eh,
Clarence? And I'll add, to the icicle that incloses her heart. May her
peace be unbroken on the road from Camberwell to London."
He raised his wine cup high, glancing frankly at Lindley and at
Treadway, but passing hurriedly over Ashley's scornful lips and
hostile eyes. For Dame Rumor had been right once in a way, and The
Jolly Grig tavern was not the only stronghold that she had invaded
with the assertion that young Ashley had found favor in the Lady
Barbara's eyes; that he had possessed her heart. And an onlooker might
have seen that Ashley's nervous fingers had played an accompaniment
upon his sword-hilt while the lady's name had been on the lips of her
affianced lover and his friends. But not only had the Lady Barbara
commanded Farquhart to have Ashley much in his company, but she had
also commanded Ashley to accept whatever courtesies were offered him
by Lord Farquhart. Each was obeying strictly the lady's commands, one
for the sake of policy, the other for the sake of love.
A short silence fell after the toast had been drunk. The men had
ridden hard and were tired.
"I'm sorry we did not meet the Black Devil, or one of his imps,
ourselves," observed Treadway, yawning and stretching his arms above
his head. "We're not in fashion if we can't report a hold up by this
representative of his Satanic majesty."
"But he'd hardly attack a party as large as ours," cried Lindley.
"Eight against one would be too unequal a fight, even if the one were
the devil himself."
"Have a care, my good Cecil," laughed Farquhart. "You mention the
enemy's name somewhat freely, seeing that we are to escort a lady
through his haunts."
"Ay, but my fingers are crossed, you see, and that closes the devil's
ears. If it really is the devil, we'll have nothing to fear from him."
"The last report is that he held up the bishop's carriage, mounted
escort and all," interrupted Treadway.
"No, no," corrected Lindley; "the fellow merely stopped the bishop's
carriage, escort and all. Then he begged for alms, and the episcopal
blessing! Then he drew the ring from the hand that bestowed the alms
and blessing, and slipped away before the ponderous escort perceived
that the bishop had fainted with terror."
"They say he returned the ring the following day," added Treadway,
"doubling the alms bestowed by the bishop, requesting that the gold be
used for the good of the church!"
"A devilish good joke, I call that," laughed Lord Farquhart. "And they
say, too, that the poor old bishop is actually afraid to use the money
for fear it--why, I really believe he is afraid that his Satanic
majesty did have some part in the prank."
"And old Grimsby swears he saw the fellow's tail and cloven hoof when
he was waylaid by him," commented Lindley.
"I'd not heard that Lord Grimsby had been attacked by this
highwayman." This was Ashley's first entrance into the conversation.
"Attacked!" the three men cried in chorus.
"Why, he was held up in his own garden," explained Treadway. "It was
just after it had been noised abroad that he had disinherited Jack.
Poor Jack was bemoaning his luck and his debts in prison, and they say
that Lord Grimsby spent all his time pacing the walks of his garden
cursing Jack and those selfsame debts. That is to say, that is what he
did before the episode of the highwayman. Then the man--or devil,
whatever he is--appeared quite close behind Lord Grimsby, gagged him
and blindfolded him, and would not release him until he had signed a
promise to reinstate Jack, pay all his debts and present him with
money enough to live like a prince of the blood for a year. Hard as it
is to believe, old Grimsby signed it, and afterward he was afraid to
go back on his signature, for fear--why, simply for fear that the
devil would come for him if he did. Jack, of course, is all for
worshiping the devil now, and swears if this gentlemanly highwayman
proves to be human, and ever comes near the gallows, he'll save him or
become highwayman himself. So, in reality, old Grimsby will have to
use his power to save this thief, if ever he's caught, to keep his own
son and heir off the road."
"And Lord Grimsby's power is absolute, is it not?" asked Ashley.
"As absolute as his majesty's command," agreed Treadway.
"Has it not been whispered in certain circles that this highwayman is
some well-known London gallant, merely amusing himself with the
excitement and danger of the game of the road?" asked Lindley.
"Somewhat too dangerous an amusement, in spite of its profits,"
sneered Ashley.
"Ah, but that's the most curious part of it!" cried Treadway. "The
fellow never keeps anything that he takes. There are some two-score
robberies laid to his account, and in each and every case some poor
fellow down on his luck for want of funds has received, most
mysteriously, the stolen wealth."
"He fights like a fiend, they say," commented Lord Farquhart, "whether
he is a gentleman or not. And yet he has seriously wounded no one. Sir
Henry Willoughby confessed to me that the fellow had pinked him twenty
times in a moonlit, roadside attack, then disarmed him with a careless
laugh and walked off, taking nothing with him. Sir Henry himself, mind
you! The most noted duelist in London!"
"Why not drink to the fiend and a speedy meeting with him?" laughed
Lindley. "I promise you that if I meet him I'll unmask him and see if
he be man or devil. To the Black Devil himself!" he cried, lifting
high his wine cup. "To this most honorable and fearless gentleman of
the highways!"
The four voices rose in chorus to the brown rafters of the inn.
"To this most honorable and fearless gentleman of the highways! To the
Black Devil himself!"