As I wheeled the mare out of the gateway into the gloom of the night the lighted windows of the inn winked on me with yellow eyes. A cold sleet was falling, very piercing to the flesh, and I rolled my collar higher about my neck. It came upon me then that I was a fool to leave that warm and comfortable tavern on such a savage night; but 'twas Christmas Eve, and seven of the clock, and I was for Bristol on the following day, where was a doxy that I knew, as pretty a parcel as ever I did see, saving Polly Scarlet, and she was in London.

The landlord had joined me in a bottle well-laced with brandy, and being of a lively and generous disposition had furnished another himself. 'Twas a lonely inn that stood on the border of the moor, and says he that he was mightily gratified to be in company.

So 'twas with a full belly and a merry heart that I turned into the welter of the night. 'Twas rarely cold, and I whistled as I went, though the breath of my nostrils went up like reek. Now[258] I was in the mind, being amply loaded and light-spirited, to be amiable with the devil himself, if so be he should come that way, though 'twas, for sure, not the night for him. Certainly I was not thinking of rumpadding any mortal man, but would have taken him to my bosom for a fellow-traveller. For 'tis a vulgar error to suppose that gentlemen of the road are for ever with an eye to goldfinches. Money is muck for us as often as not, at least to such of us as maintain a proper dignity. But as for Dan Creech and his lousy pack, or that much-boasted Jeremy Starbottle, why, they are no better than common cutpurses or tally-thieves. No; to ride the high toby has its obligations as well as its privileges, and on that Christmas Eve, damme, the whole world and his wife might have gone secure for me.

Well in this humour, despite of the night, I rode on, sometimes at a jog, but mostly at a walk, for the snow was heavier as I reached the moor. Upon the stretch of broken land it lay uneven, for I suppose 'twas caught by the rough winds on that upland heath and blown into the hollows, and upon the furze and thorn. But the continuous spread of whiteness had absorbed the road, and Calypso had to feel her way mighty patiently. 'Twas thus we arrived at the cross-roads near the middle of the moor,[259] where the ways divide 'twixt Bollingham and Messiter; and reining in on the impulse, to make sure of my path, I perceived even through the blackness another figure on horseback under the sign-post.

"Is't anyone?" says a voice, pretty clear.

"Ay," says I, "'tis a traveller."

"Is there a village near by?" says he out of the dark.

"Within three miles two upon either road," said I.

"I am bound for Bath," says he, "and have met with a mishap this cursed night," and began to deliver oaths as they had been sword-thrusts in a duello. Now I can tolerate a man that has been put to sore discomfort and is enraged, and as for a few mouth-filling oaths, why, they are neither here nor there. But there was something in the way of his voice, manner and address that grated on me, and so I answered him pretty coolly.

"Well, you can take your choice of roads with an easy heart," I said.

"Look ye here," says he, after a moment. "From what I catch of you through your voice, my man, you should be a sturdy fellow. What think you of carrying a message for help to the village for a guinea-piece. 'Twill serve[260] you with good wine, mulled ale, or a doxy, I'll warrant."

That maddened me for all my good humour, to be taken for granted as a common fetch-and-carry, and to be so addressed like a footboy by his grace. I heard insolence and overbearing in his accent, and I would have sworn patronage and contempt was in his face.

"Be damned!" says I, angrily, "I am no lackey. Find your own village," says I.

At that he uttered an oath. "You are impudent!" said he, and moved his horse nearer, as though he would take action. But, Lord, I was awaiting him, and this muckworm would have eaten snow in two minutes had he so ventured. But prudence came to him, so he hesitated. "Ye're the sort of man that is the better of the whip and the pillory," says he. "Rogue, were it not for the darkness I would beat you for your insolence."

"Damme, what's amiss with the darkness?" said I. "For sure I can well make out your ugly body against the snow. 'Tis a monstrous, unsightly blackness against so much innocent whiteness." He cursed me, and then dug his rowels into his nag so deeply that the poor beast started and reared. But that was enough for me, for I hate to see a[261] creature that is so kindly in its services so mishandled; and so says I, driving at him,—

"Rip me, you muckworm, I'll give you that which will recall this moor to you. Deliver, damn ye!" says I, "or I'll make you food for maggots;" and I had the barker at his head ere he knew what had happened.

Well, he made much ado, but 'twas of no avail, for I had the mastery from the outset, and he was perforce obliged to plumb his pockets, the which yielded but a score of guineas and a ring or so. But that was of no consequence to me, for I had no care for his money, merely for his discomfiture, along of his arrogance.

As I left him, foully imprecating, I threw a laughing word at him. "Messiter," says I, "lies on the left, and Bollingham to the right. Turn round three times, my cock, and choose which you will," whereat I rode laughing into the darkness, yet ere I did so I saw him savagely wheel into the Messiter Road, cutting viciously at his horse.

As for me, I rode on, singing cheerfully enough, for the encounter had warmed my blood, and I no longer felt the cold so greatly. But I had not got farther than a mile from the cross-roads when I was aware in the pause of my singing of a sound near by, of a voice that[262] called on the unquiet air, very faint and melancholy. I reined in, and listened, and presently the cry came to me again from the right; and so, jumping off the mare, I left her in the road, standing obedient as she was used to do, and walked gingerly in that direction. I did not trust myself in that profound darkness and the treacherous snow, and, sure enough, I was right to be careful, for in a little I was plunged up to my waist in a hollow.

"Where are you?" I called aloud, and the voice, so clearly now a woman's, came back.

I made my way to it with difficulty, and soon solved the riddle; here was a chaise wandered out of the road and buried in a deep drift, and by the body of the carriage a poor lady in the direst state of distress and terror.

"Why, madam," said I, "are ye alone?"

At which she broke out that her husband was gone for help, as was the postilion, but in different directions, and that they had took the horses, and that she, poor delicate creature, was thus solitary on a naked and solitary moor, with never even a wild-fowl to scream with her for company.

"Oh," says I, "we will soon mend that, madam, or call me catchpole," and I took hold of her. "Ye're in a drift, mistress," I said. "I'll give ye company, if ye will have[263] it, until your husband shall return"—and then all of a sudden it flashed upon me that her husband was he who had abused me so grossly, and whom I had rumpadded.

"Phew!" says I to myself, "why, here's a pretty comedy." But the lady was all that occupied my thoughts just then, and so I conducted her to the road, and encouraged her into talk as I did so, for she was in a terrible fluster, what with the loneliness and the cold and the darkness.

"Now," says I, "what you need, madam, is a posset of hot brandy and a warm and virtuous couch," I says, "and with the help of my good nag here 'tis what you'll have."

"Oh, sir, you are very good," says she, tremulously. "You are good beyond Christian seeming."

That tickled me pleasantly, as you may think, and I was the more disposed to take charge of this poor creature thus left to starve of the perishing winds of heaven. It rains not clemency from December skies in this brisk isle of England. So says I, in a cheering voice,—

"I'll warrant you shall toast your toes and warm your stomach with victuals within the better part of an hour. Faith, pin your hopes[264] on me, mistress, and you shall not be disappointed. Tis not the first time Dick Ryder has comforted and succoured the fair. There's Dick's luck, madam."

She smiled in a weak way, but began to take some confidence, as I could see from the new note in her voice.

"Is it far, sir, to shelter?" she asked, and I told her there was an inn some two miles distant, at which she plucked up her heart once more, not knowing (bless her folly) that two miles on that wild moor, and with that drift of snow, was no matter for spoon-fed babes. But as chance had it, she made the discovery pretty quickly, and that through no fault or neglect of mine. For I put her upon Calypso—as gentle a mare, when needs be, as ever was straddled; and, sure enough, she was straddled now. For my lady could keep no seat otherwise, and so says I to her, if she would play the man for the nonce we should maybe be the sooner out of our troubles. 'Twas then for the first time that I saw there was good blood and spirit to her; for instead of crying out in protest that she could not, or she would not, or that she dared not, says she,—

"Oh, think you so?" and over she cocks her foot with the best grace in the world, and[265] a charming genuflexion to boot. "I fear I trouble you greatly," says she.

But, Lord, with such an one (duchess or doxy, dame or dirty-face) I would have gone to the farthest verge of trouble and made no odds of it. 'Tis spirit that ever has appealed to me.

Well, we were no sooner astir, Calypso pegging slowly along with me at her mouthpiece, than there comes over us a flurry of snow, driving full and hard in our faces, the which blinded me for the time. But when I recovered the mare was gone from the road and had took a step into a hollow. She staggered, and plump goes the lady over her head into the drift. I hauled her forth, breathless as she was, and all she cried out when the wind was in her again was,—

"I fear I did not hold to her properly. I fear I am a bungler."

"Bless your heart, no," says I. "It would have took a king's regiment to have sat that fall. You do mighty well," said I, "and I'd wring his nose that said no to that;" with which I assisted her once more into the saddle.

What with the drift and the darkness, and the squalls of snow, it was an hour and more before we reached the inn which lay on the road to Bollingham. Arrived here I rapped[266] out the landlord, who was surprised to see me returned—"not but what you are wise," says he. But when he saw the lady and heard my tale he was, being a decent kindly fellow, all of a bustle. Madam was all a-wet from her sojourn in the snow, to say nothing of her tumble, and so she was set afore a great fire in the ingle to dry herself, which she did with sincere appreciation, the while the host prepared supper. She sat there, her hands extended, drawing in deep breaths of comfort from the grateful blaze, and I watched her. Twas the first I had seen of her face, which was of a delicate beauty, pink from the whipping wind, and crowned with disordered hair. I judged she was of a quality deemed proper in courts, and she was young withal. Presently says she, looking round at me with bright soft eyes,—

"Do you think," said she, "that my husband has reached safety?"

"Why, yes," said I, "for though he be not here, he may have taken the other road and be at Messiter," the which I knew it was likely he had done.

"Oh!" said she, as if thinking, and said no more.

But nearby after that supper was served, and madam was set to take in company with[267] your faithful servant, by your leave! Not but what I have not often supped with the quality, ay, and made merry with them too, man and woman, and of all ages; for we are served in our calling with strange accidents. Yet I will confess that to be seated there at table with her tickled me handsomely, and I fell to with a will. But the lady showed little appetite, and had an anxious look, and thought I that she was troubled for her husband; but I soon made out that she was not so concerned, for said I, to stimulate her,—

"Maybe he is supping like us in a cosy room at Messiter."

"Oh!" said she, and I saw her mind had come back from another quarter. "He is like to sup and be comfortable wherever he is. He will emerge scatheless;" and there was that in her tone which was all but a sneer.

"Oh, well, damn the husband," says I to myself, "I take no interest in him;" and I gave my attention to the lady. The glow had now receded from her face, leaving it pale, according to what I took to be its true habit, and she answered in a pleasant and engaging way, with an emphasis of her gratitude for my assistance. But this I pooh-poohed[268] in curt terms, for I was more than repaid for my trouble by the figure she cut over against the board, and the honour she did me. And I was in the midst of rebuffing her thanks for the third time when the door opened from the flagged passage and a man entered.

He was followed by the innkeeper, suave and bowing, and the first thing was that madam says, in an even, pleasant voice,—

"So you are behind us after all, Charles." At that I studied him the closer, for it must be her husband, and perhaps he that had put an affront on me, and I knew for certain who he was when he spoke.

"It seems so," said he, scowling at me; and then "Why did you not wait? I found you gone from the chaise."

"It was so cold. I was chilled to death," she answered, "and this gentleman happened upon me, and was so good as to offer me his services for a rescue."

He turned a glowering, arrogant eye on me, but said nothing at the moment, save a demand to the innkeeper to fetch mulled wine. Now, 'twas clear he was in ignorance of............