I have had ever an eye for a doxy, and in the course of my life have happened upon a variety of the sex such as falls to few men. Some have been fine ladies, brave with their lace and powder, and others again have descended upon a scale to the common Kixsywinsy; but in the end I would wager Polly Scarlet against any of the pack. Yet I will confess that there were some that have mightily tickled me, and one or two that went near to turn my head for their looks alone, to speak nothing of their state and grace. Not but what I have long learned the measure of beauty, and how far it may go—a man is a fool to surrender to that on the summons; yet I will not deny how greatly it disturbs the midriff, and, coming home so sharp, does thus affect the bearing of us all. Madam or miss, there was no handsomer lady in town on that summer night when I encountered her than Sir Philip Caswell's ward, and 'twas that, I'll be bound, influenced me in my behaviour subsequently. Nevertheless, I vow I did not care two straws for the pretty puss in my heart.

[122]

'Twas after a long evening at a gaming house in Marylebone that I was returning on my two legs through the fields for Soho. I was in a pleasant temper, having filled my pockets with king's pictures, and I had drunk nothing save a bottle or so of good burgundy since dinner. The hour, indeed, was past midnight, and I was casting up the chances to find supper at the Pack Horse, or the Golden Eagle, or some other house known to me. "Well," says I, as I came out in the hedgerows, "'tis nearly one, and rip me if I do not sup and lie abed by two, and live virtuous," for I was pleased with what I was carrying, and loth to lose it. A bird was calling in a flutter from the hedge, and just upon that another sound came to my ears, and on the still air arose the clamour of swords in engagement. This was nothing to me, for I am not used to intermeddle in such affairs as nocturnal brawls, unless, indeed, I am gone in liquor, as sometimes happens, or am led off by troublesome company. But to the sounds of the fight succeeded the voice of a woman, crying, but not very loudly, for help. This, as you may believe, was upon another footing, for there was never a petticoat that appealed to Dick Ryder in her trouble in vain, as my records will prove on any road in England. So off I set at a run in the direction[123] of the sounds, which seemed to stream out of the entrance to Windmill Street. The houses here were black and silent (it being so late) and there was no sign of any interest on the part of the inhabitants of the quarter. But the moon, which had been under a scurry of clouds, struck out of her shelter and showed me plain the scene of the struggle. There, in the roadway, stood the body of a chaise, with two trampling horses, while about it was a melley of figures, two of which were engaged, hammer and tongs, upon each other. I was not long ere I had seized the situation, and interpreted it properly; and, whipping out my blade, I made no ado about falling on the assailants of the chaise. 'Twas easy to make out who these were, inasmuch as one of the men wore a mask across his eyes. I ran upon him and those behind him, while I was aware of the woman's cry that still issued out of the chaise but now suddenly stopped.

At that I lunged, but on that same instant the scum about him came at me from the side, so that I was forced to keep my eyes and weapon in two places. The man in the mask had not ceased to ply his point on the gentleman whom I took to be the owner of the chaise, and this seemed a sturdy, obstinate fellow enough, for he puffed and grunted hard at my ear, but fought like any dragon. One[124] of those that came at me I winged in the arm, and, swiftly dodging behind my ally, I came upon the masked man and ran him through the shoulder without advertisement. He dropped his arm with an oath, and, as he did so, the mask fell from his face, which showed clear and lean in the moonlight. But that was no sooner done than the big man by me lurched and staggered, so that it was plain he had taken something in his vitals. Well, here was I now all alone with that evil pack about me, pressing on me like birds of prey, for although I had pinked one and his master, there was two more able-bodied culleys left, to say nothing of the master himself, whose wound, to judge from his language, was more painful than serious. I am quick at a resolve, and know when to withdraw from in front of odds. There was a man fallen wounded, and maybe dead, and no signs of the watch; while from the chaise peered, as I caught a glimpse, a white and terrified face in the moonlight. The coachman, it was clear, had taken to his heels already, and the horses stood champing and trembling and swaying in their alarm at the noises. What does I, then, as there was a little lull in the fray and the others temporarily drew off, but stoop and lift the big man from the ground and bundle him rapidly into the chaise. Bang[125] goes the door and, leaping to the coachman's seat, I lashed the horses with the flat of my blade. They started in a panic, and the chaise went plunging and rocking down the narrow way.

This fetched me into King Street, and, in fear of pursuit, I stood up and banged at the nags, so that I had them bumping at a gallop round into the Oxford Road and on the way for Tyburn. When we had run some distance I brought 'em to with an effort, and, hearing no noise of the enemy, descended and opened the door of the chaise. The moon shone sufficiently for me to make out the humped body of the man I had thrust in so roughly, and opposite, white, shrinking, and in an evident state of terror and agitation, a mighty handsome and engaging miss that stared at me helplessly.

"Is—is he dead?" she asked hoarsely.

"Faith, miss," says I, "I cannot say. Yet I hope not. He's not for worms, I'll warrant. Best get him home and have a surgeon fetched; and if you will acquaint me with the house, I will make so bold as to take you myself."

She waited a moment and then spoke, giving a street in St James's, at which I made her a congee and got upon the box again. I am better astride a nag than with a whip in[126] my hand, and moreover the night was now pretty dark, yet 'twas not long ere we had reached the house, and, the bell being rung and the servants called, the fat gentleman was got in safely enough. Upon that someone flies for the surgeon, and there was I all alone with the lady, and not loth to clap my peepers on her more nearly. She moved with a style, but had a fearful air, yet it was her face that took me most. She was young and slender and nothing too tall—large-eyed and round of limb, and with a mouth that budded in repose and opened like a flower in speech. But she was very still and white just then.

"I am Sir Philip Caswell's ward, sir," she says, very tremulously, "and we are much beholden to you."

"I am honoured, madam," said I with a congee again, "to have been of some small service to you."

"The scoundrels fell upon us by Windmill Street upon our way home," she continued, with a pretty shudder. "Sir Philip stepped out to face them. I begged he would not, but he is very obstinate."

"Faith, miss, what could he do less?" said I.

"We might have whipped up and so escaped them," says she, with an air of some petulance now, "but that our cowardly man took to his heels and left us helpless."

[127]

As she spoke she eyed me with more coldness, I thought, than the occasion warranted, for all she was so shook, and though she had made me her compliments quite prettily, she had spoke as if she were thinking of something else; which, as you will conceive, nettled me not a little. It was as if she wished me away, for she fell silent and cast glances at the chamber clock that hung at the wall. But seeing I had been at the pains for her and the old fat man, why, says I to myself, rip me if I will go like any discharged lackey. I will tire her out, says I, and let Beauty yawn or pay in gratitude. So I sat on in the saloon, making conversation as it seemed fit to me to serve one of her class and age. No doubt she was tired, for the hour was about two in the morning, yet her pretty yawns, which she feigned to cover with her hands, vexed me. But indeed I might have gone forth and left her there and then for very shame as would have been natural, had it not been that an excuse came to aid me in a message from Sir Philip, who had recovered under the attentions of the surgeon. He had learned, it seemed, that his rescuer was in the house and begged that he might be allowed to thank him in person presently. This set me in feather, but miss in the sulks, as I thought, which maddened me the more that the hussy should[128] prove so ungrateful, particularly at a time when she should be showing concern at her adventure or, at least, grief for her guardian. Yet as I watched her, perish me but she charmed me with her petulant prettiness the more. Such a dainty head and a mouth so pert and alluring I had never yet clapped eyes on, which I say for all that followed.

There, then, were we set, awaiting Sir Philip, in the big chamber, she yawning without disguise, and me racking my wits to attract her. I'll warrant she must have taken an idea of me as a buck of Town, although she feigned coldness then. I spoke of the play and the Court, of both of which I knew secrets, and I talked on a level proper to the sex.

"D'ye not love the play, miss?" says I.

"Lard, it is pretty well," says she, and covered up a yawn with ostentation.

"I doubt not but you have seen Love in a Tub?" said I, for I would not be beat by her impudence.

"Maybe," says she, "I have a poor memory."

"There was one played in it t'other day like to you, miss," said I, with significance, thinking to rouse her.

She lifted her eyebrows. "Well, indeed," says she, indifferently.

[129]

"As handsome as I might wish to see—so she was," said I, persisting.

"Why! do you say so?" cries miss. "What a fortunate lady!" and stifles another yawn.

"You favour her, miss," says I, giving her an eye.

"Lard, I favour none, sir," said she, tartly. "I am cross like two sticks that could beat myself," and ere I could find a word in retort she had gone from the room.

If I had followed my first temper I should have marched from the house forthright, being sore to be so used by the minx; but I will admit she had a fascination for me, and wherein my teeth are set there I hold; so that I paced the chamber once or twice and "Faith," says I, angrily, "I will make the little cockatrice sing another tune afore I've done."

And no sooner was I come to this conclusion than the door at the foot of the room opened, and in walks an elegant gentleman. The sound made me turn, and I watched him till he came into the light of the candles, when I cried out sharply—for the face was no other than that which had lain behind the mask in that nocturnal attack. I took some steps across the room and halted by him, so that he might see me as clearly as I saw him.

[130]

"Well, sir," says I, "I'll make bold to say you recognise me," for I was amazed and disordered by his remarkable appearance in that house.

He looked me up and down. "Not the least in the world," says he, coolly, and arranged some nice point in his sleeves. "Who the devil may you be?"

"Rip me," says I, angrily. "The question is not that so much as who be you and what audacity brings you here? But if you want it you shall have it. My name is Ryder."

He paused again before he replied to me, and there was no manner of irritation in his voice, but merely languor.

"Well, Mr Ryder, one good turn deserves another; so my name is York, and I am a friend of Sir Philip Caswell."

"What!" said I, mightily taken aback at this rejoinder, as you may suppose, then I laughed. "S'blood," I said, "'tis a pretty demonstration of friendship to be for striking your bodkin in someone's belly, as you was an hour ago, you rogue."

York's eyebrows lifted at this, but I will admit he had a fine command of himself, which took my admiration, toad as he was. He was a healthy, ruddy man, of looks not displeasing.

"Indeed," says he to me, "why, here is news. Have we Simon Bedlam here,[131] madam?" and he turned to miss, who had entered at that moment. He bowed very low to her, and the colour sprang in her face.

"Mr York," she cried, in a fluttered way.

"Why, you did not look for me so late, madam," says he, pleasantly. "But I spied lights, and thought maybe Sir Philip was at his cards and would give me welcome, and the door was open. But I find only," he concluded, with an indifferent glance on me, "a Merry Andrew who talks brimstone and looks daggers."

"Sir Philip has been attacked," stammered miss; "the surgeon has just left him."

"'Tis not serious, I trust," says the fellow, gravely, and when she had faltered out her negative, continued very polite, "Footpads, I doubt not. The streets are abominable in these days, and the watch is ever asleep."

But that was too much for me, and I burst forth.

"Footpads!" said I. "Hear him, miss? Why, 'twas the dung-fork himself. The mask fell from his face as he fought me, and I saw him plain. I would have you and Sir Philip know what manner of man this is who calls himself friend."

"Softly, softly; you crow loud," said he, as impudent as ever, and smiling softly. "Who, d'ye suppose, would credit this[132] cock-and-bull story? I profess I know none. Would you, madam?" he asked, turning suddenly on the girl.

She hesitated ever so little, and showed some confusion.

"I—I think the gentleman mistook," said she. "I cannot credit such a story. 'Tis monstrous."

"Why, miss," said I, "'tis true as I am a living man. And as for this muckrake here, why, I will prove it on his skin if he denies it," and out I whipped my iron, ready for an onfall. But it seemed that he would not budge, and smiled as indifferent as ever. And miss, too, though she showed no colour, regained her composure, and says she, firmly,—

"'Tis monstrous. I cannot believe it. This gentleman is a friend to me and Sir Philip. He is on terms of intimacy. Lard, sir, you surprise me to make such rash statements. Your eyes deceived you, or the dark."

The man that called himself York nodded impudently. "That is it, madam," he says. "'Twas his eyes, no doubt, and the blinking moon. This gentleman, whom I have not the honour of knowing, is doubtless much excited by the event and must be excused. Otherwise...." he shrugged his shoulders significantly, "I am honoured by the resemblance[133] he detects, and, my faith, I shall be seeing my double kick the Triple Beam—so I shall, and curse him for a rogue."

But you may guess that this was too much for me—to stand there quiet and see the cully talk so suave and false, and the girl so credulous, and perilling herself and the house by blind faith in such a villain. Upon his features, moreover, there was a faint grin that spread and counterfeited civility, almost as it were, a leer, and that maddened me; so that I spoke out pretty hotly.

"'Tis very true what you say, sir," said I, "and there was no witness of what happened save me and old Oliver, the moon. And so the law shall go free of you. Indeed, I have no particular fancy for the law myself. But, perish me, sir," says I, "I detect a mighty resemblance in you to a wheedler that cheated me at dice this night, and, rip me, if I will not run you through the midriff for it."

There was my point towards him, with that little menacing twist of my wrist, such as has served me often in good stead, and he must have seen what sort of kidney he had to deal with, for he gazed at me in surprise, laughed slightly, and made protest with his shoulders, exhibiting some discomposure.

"I would remind you, sir," said he, "that there is a lady here."

[134]

"Faith," says I, "but she will not be outside, then, and thither you shall go."

York frowned at this and stood for a moment as though he was at a loss for answer. I was not to be put down by a naughty fop like him, with his punctilios, more especially as I was acting in the interests of the lady, so I pressed him with the naked blade.

"Come," says I, "let's see your tricks out of doors."

But at that a voice broke in and stayed me, coming from the door behind.

"Pray, sir," says this, very level and quiet, "what may this scene mean?"

Round I whipped, and there, on the threshold of the room, was the tall big man that had fought by me, Sir Philip himself, with his arm in a bandage, a cap on his iron-grey hair, and on his face a stern, commanding expression. Out of the tail of my eye I saw miss shrank back against the wall in a posture of alarm. But York was no whit abashed; he saluted most ceremoniously.

"Good evening, Sir Philip," said he. "Your servant. You are come in time—perish me, in the very nick. Here's a most impudent and amazing case," and he cocks his finger at me. "I have never heard of a more shameless, audacious fellow. Faith, it has made me laugh—so impudent is it!"

[135]

"I should like to know what it is, Mr York, so that I maybe might share the jest," says Sir Philip, with some dryness of tone.

"Why, naturally," returned t'other cheerfully. "Having had the good fortune to rescue you and your ward from a pack of villains, cutpurses or worse, what is my surprise to find installed in your house the very chief of the villains, as impudent as you please. Faith, if it were not so grave 'twould tickle me still."

I must admit that the fellow took me back, and for all I was furious I could not but admire his cool bearing and ready wit. Sir Philip stared at me with a black frown, for I could find nothing for the moment to counter this monstrous brazen charge, but at last I broke out, only with an oath, for sure—so amiss was I.

"You damnable rogue!" said I.

But York goes on as calm as ever. "'Twould be a good thing, sir," says he, looking at me with a kind of wondering interest, "if perhaps the watch was called. For he is a man that can use a weapon, as your arm bears witness, and, indeed, my own skin, too," with which he stroked his elbow gently. Sir Philip had come forward and now began in a formidable voice of anger.

"What!" he cries to me, "you are the ruffian—"

[136]

But I was not going to put up meekly under this, and broke out myself.

"Rip me," said I, "if I have ever heard or seen the like. Why, yonder stands the fellow that was in the assault on your carriage, and 'twas me, Dick Ryder, that thrust him through the elbow as he fell on you."

Sir Philip's eyes went from one to t'other of us, under his bent black brows, but York's eyebrows were lifted in a feint of amazement.

"Why, Sir Philip," said he, "you will see from this how an excess of impudence may move a man. It may be that he is drunk that he plays so wildly. You have known me long. Sure, I needn't speak in my own behalf to so preposterous a charge," and dropped silent with a grand air.

"I have known you long, as you say, sir," said Sir Philip, slowly, "and I have known you to be a suitor for my ward's hand."

"I have always had that honour," said York, with a bow towards miss, "which, unhappily, you have not seen fit to allow me so far. Yet, if any witness is wanted, why, here is your ward herself."

At that Sir Philip turned as though reminded.

"Lydia," said he, "what is the truth of this story? We were attacked and rescued.[137] Was this gentleman in the assault?" and he pointed at me.

Miss's eyes fell; she was fluttered and her bosom went fast; and there flashed, I'll swear, a glance from York.

"Indeed, sir," she faltered, "I could not say. The men were masked."

"Ay, so they were," said he, considering.

"'Twas from this one's face that I took the cover," put in York, pertly.

"But certain it is that Mr York rescued us," went on miss in a faint voice.

At that news I could have reeled under the words, so little was I ripe for them, and so unsuspicious of her.

"Why," said I, opening my mouth and stuttering, "why, 'twas I drove off the pack, and fetched the chaise home. 'Twas I lifted you in and took the reins. The Lord deliver me from this wicked puss!"

Sir Philip threw up his sword arm with a gesture of black wrath.

"'Tis plain," said he, "that one here is a villainous rogue, and if we have not always agreed, Mr York, at least I cannot think you that."

Miss leaned against the wall white and trembling, and I gave her a congee, very deep and ironical. Truth to say, as soon as I had recovered I had, after my habit, begun to ply[138] my wits pretty sharply, and already I had taken a notion of how things stood between the two. Moreover, I was not done with yet, and I cast about to be even with the pair. Sir Philip, it seemed, was hostile to the addresses of this York; and as patently, miss herself was not. The attack, then, must have been part of a plan to gain Miss Lydia's person, to which she was herself privy. What do I then but step in and interfere with the pretty plot? This was why she bore me no goodwill, no doubt.

"Well," says I, with the congee, "I cannot contest a lady's word, be she Poll or Moll. Let the gentleman have his way."

Sir Philip, without more ado, turned to him.

"Mr York," said he, civilly, "I beg your pardon for my coldness, which, indeed, had nothing of suspicion. But you must remember that we have never quite agreed. I hope that will mend. I remain greatly in your debt, and I trust you will be good enough to add to my obligations by keeping this man secure until my return. I will have the watch fetched at once."

"Nothing will give me greater satisfaction, sir," says the rogue, cheerfully, and off goes Sir Philip with his black, portentous face, leaving us three there together again. As[139] for me, I had made up my mind and was feeling my way to some action; but says York, looking on me pleasantly,—

"Egad, you're in a ticklish case. Stap me, you've run your head into a noose. Now, why the devil did you yield that way? I had looked for a good round fight, as good, egad, as we had this evening. And I had begun to have my fears, too—stap me, I did."

But I paid him no heed then, for I will confess that I was all eyes for Miss Lydia, whose face was very piteous. She was trembling violently and looked out of tragic eyes, and then it came upon me like a flash that she was no party to the lie herself, but had spoken in fear of that bully. Indeed, it may be that she took a distaste of him, as it were, from that scene which began to show from that minute. How else can be explained what ensued?

"You had better go, sir," said she at last, in a whisper.

"Ay, that's true," says York, nodding. "I had not thought of that. You had better go. The watch will be fetched."

He looked so comfortable and so friendly, rather than what he was at heart, that my gorge rose of a sudden.

"Perish me if I will go," says I. "If I must hang I must hang."

[140]

Miss started. "Oh!" she cried, and "you must go, oh, you must go, sir! Fly, fly, while there is time."

Here were the two culprits in unison for my withdrawal, which would fetch them out of a scrape, yet how far the girl was involved in the business I had not yet determined. So I pushed her further, as, indeed, I had the right. I folded my arms.

"I am waiting my reward, madam," I said, "something in recognition of my efforts on behalf of yourself and Sir Philip."

But at this she fell into a greater exhibition of distress, imploring me to go, and flitting in agitation 'twixt me and the door, on which she kept anxious watch. Well, thought I, if here's not innocence at least she's in a pickle enough, and I believe I would have gone had it not been for York, whose bearing annoyed me. Besides, I wanted to see how far miss would go, and if her resolution to veil the truth would stand out against the watch and a poor victim haled to prison. Not that I wanted the watch or the law about me nearer than was necessary, for sundry reasons, but I can always trust to my own ingenuity and sword if it comes to the pinch. So I listened to her deafly, and made no sign to go.

"Let him be, Lydia," says York, pleasantly.[141] "He's an obstinate fellow, and, faith, deserves his fate. Let him hang; I'll warrant it must have come to that some day."

But this turns me on him, and I whipped out my blade again in a fury at his insolence; only Miss Lydia intervened, and, her face very pale, put a hand on my arm.

"Oh, sir," says she, very low of voice, but clear and earnest for all that, "I beg you will not suffer further harm to come to-night. Indeed, but I am ashamed to look you in the face. I will not excuse myself—I will offer no apologies, yet, maybe, you will not think too hardly of me if you know more. My guardian keeps me close. He stands in my way, and will not allow me what is allowed all women. I am not a schoolgirl, sir. I am grown a height," and she raised herself to her full stature. "Surely I may have that liberty to command, to choose where I will and whom. Sir, he has sought to make himself all the law to me," she cries, with heaving bosom. "And as for his hurt, God knows I did not wish it, and was not privy to it," and she cast a glance, as I thought, of scorn and reproach at her lover. The eloquence of this new attitude struck me to the reins, tender as I ever was to the wounds of women, though not to be frustrated or deceived by vain pretences.

[142]

"He is a hog," says I, "a pig of a man to interfere with you, madam."

But here spoke York, when he had better have held his tongue, yet it was impossible.

"Faith, child," he said lightly, "you have touched him there. Best stop and go no farther. Let it work."

"I will go on," she cried, stamping her foot and turning on him. "I will tell all to this gentleman, all that should be told; for it is his due and meed—a small recompense for the unworthy usage he has had. You have heard him, sir," she says, "and, indeed, your eyes have been witness to his deeds and what he is. My guardian came between us and denied us. And this was his plan—to snatch me away by violence while I stood passive, not refusing nor accepting." She wrung her hands in a transport of distress. "I—I was wild ... I did madly; yet, sir, I would not have you judge me by that. See, it has all ended in trouble, nothing but trouble, and I have gained nothing for myself but shame."

She paused upon the edge of tears, as I could see pretty plain, and says I, bluntly, "You were misled, and by them that should not," and I scowled at York where he stood. But York says nothing, merely lifting his shoulders, and being content, no doubt, to let miss deal with the situation. She sank[143] her face in her hands, which moved me strangely, for she had a helpless look.

"If I have misjudged, sir, and been mistook," she said, "can you blame me if I would bury that shame and not have it flaunted in my face?"

"Not I, madam," said I. "I would I might help you, troth I do."

"You can," she cried, sparkling shyly and eagerly upon me.

"Why ...," says I.

"If you will go, sir, there will be no trouble, no inquiry, and no law will be set in motion. 'Twill die a quiet death, and nothing will be digged up against me. I shall not have to tell the truth, as I shall have else," she cried. Her lips parted in her fever, her eyes burning with a wild zeal.

York uttered a sound, but I was silent.

"Oh, sir!" she pleaded.

"Why," I said, with a laugh. "It seems I must condone wounds and abduction and all."

"'Tis on me the brunt will fall—the shame and scandal," she urged, and, looking in her pretty face, I could resist no longer, for I'll swear she was genuine, and had been misled by that muckrake.

"I will go," says I, and then of a sudden remembered. "But how am I to escape?" says I.

[144]

"By the window," she said, pointing to it with animation.

"Why, to be sure," says I, slowly, for I was taken with a notion, "but there is this gentleman who is my guard."

"Oh!" says she, archly, "I think your sword is better than his, and he will not stay you."

"True," says I, "but 'tis best to be prudent and to avoid Sir Philip's suspicions. He must have some marks of a struggle. Either I must leave him with a wound, or senseless, or gagged and bound ... or maybe suspicion will come to rest on you, madam."

Her brows were bent in a little frown. "That is true," she said, and turned to York, whose face for the first time, as I could see, wore a look of discomposure.

"He must be bound and gagged," says I, shaking my head.

"Ye-es," she says, hesitatingly.

Whereupon I went forward to the fellow, who gnawed his lip and fidgeted. He looked at Miss Lydia as if about to speak, and then shot an angry glance at me, but paused.

"Oh, very well," says he, at last, with a grin, "but pray make haste or you will be surprised in the middle of your job—" and he had the air of yielding himself with good humour. But I knew what must be his[145] chagrin, though I admired him for his manner. He would have done pretty well on the road if he could have put by his scurvy way with women. Yet I was not for letting him off, after what he had done, so, withdrawing the cords from the window curtains, I tied him pretty quickly in a fast enough bundle. But when, his arms being lashed behind, I approached with a wedge of wood, York cried out in protest.

"I'll have none of that," said he.

"He must be gagged," says I to the lady, appealing to her. She hesitated, and, looking on him, appeared to take pity; or maybe she was afraid of him.

"Perhaps it is not necessary," she said.

"Why, look you, madam," said I, earnestly, "we must convince Sir Philip of our good faith; else he will smell out this trickery and all our pains are thrown away."

She made no answer and with the wedge I moved a step nearer to York, who grimaced and cried out with an oath,—

"May I be—"

But ere he could get it forth I had it between his teeth, and with my knee in his wind threw him in a heap upon the floor. Miss Lydia looked on with open eyes, and with an air of uncertainty.

What she would have said I know not, but[146] at that moment there was a sound without the door, and she broke out.

"Go—go," she cried, running to me. "You can go now in safety."

"Yes, 'tis time I was gone if I am to keep the bargain," said I, looking with a grin on York, who was wriggling on the floor.

I gave miss a congee, and backed to the window. "If you will credit me, madam," says I, "you will think twice ere you take up with York there."

"I know, I know," says she, eagerly, for she was terrified of the sounds outside. "I will be wise, I promise you."

Her skirts swung against me, and that touch on my arm sent through me an amazing thrill, so that, beholding her so vastly handsome and passionate at my elbow, my blood fired at the sight.

"Madam," said I, very grave, "I had thought to do you some good, and that privilege would have been my reward. But I find myself only to have plunged you in embarrassments, for which may I be whipped. What get I for my pains, then? Why, nothing, not even the private consolation to have relieved you; and in this escape what touches me is not so much the ignominy as the deprivation of these eyes of one they would have dwelled on always."

[147]

'Twas not ill phrased, as you will admit, and I got it off with unction, her face being so close to me, and devilish enticing. The sounds were not now audible, and I was at the window, so that I suppose she had forgot her tremors. A demure look crept in her face under my boldness, and says she softly,—

"What would you have me do?"

"Oh, madam," said I, burning on her. "Look up, look up, I pray you, and I'll warrant you'll read me as clear as a book."

"I cannot guess, sir," says she, looking up with her innocent eyes all the same, while from the floor there was a choking sound which, maybe, was the dust in York's nostrils. Miss looked round.

"We are keeping Mr York in an uncomfortable position," says she, sweetly. "'Tis not a pleasant posture to be in."

"Faith," said I, boldly, "I would lie so all night if I might get what I want now."

"What is it you want?" says she, opening her eyes in wonder.

"Why, what I will take, and suffer all risks," says I of a sudden. With which I put my arm about her swiftly and carried her face to mine. Miss Lydia called out "Oh!" and the gag was shaken with uncouth, unintelligible sounds. A noise streamed out of the hall.

[148]

"Go, go!" cries she, pink of face and sparkling, and seeing my time was come I turned and went, leaving the gag still spluttering in the corner.