'Twas two o'clock of a bright mild March day that I cleared St Leonard's Forest and came out upon the roads at the back of Horsham. I was for London, but chose that way by reason of a better security it promised, which, as it chanced, was a significant piece of irony. Horsham, a mighty quiet pretty town, lay in a blaze of the sun, enduring the sallies of a dusty wind, and feeling hot and athirst after my long ride I pulled up at an inn and dismounted.

"Host," says I, when I was come in, "a pint of your best burgundy or canary to wash this dust adown; and rip me if I will not have it laced with brandy."

"Why, sir," says he, "a cold bright day for horseback," and shakes his head.

"Damme, you're right," says I. "Cold i' the belly and hot in the groin. Here's luck to the house, man," and I tossed off the gallipot, though the brandy barely saved exceeding thin swipes that he had the impudence to pass for wine. "Why, goodman, ye'll make your[282] fortune on this," I said with a laugh and flung open the door to go out, when all of a sudden I came to a silence and a pause.

"'Tis the officers," says the landlord, who was at my ear. "Gadslife, 'tis the sheriff's men from Lewes."

"Lewes!" says I, slowly. "What be they here for?"

"Why," says he, in a flutter, "there was him that was taken for a tobyman by Guildford. He was tried at Lewes, and will hang."

"If he be fool enough to be taken, let him be hanged and be damned," says I, carelessly.

When I was got upon my horse I began to go at a walk down the High Street, for though, as was according to nature, I was inquisitive about the matter I was too wary to adventure ere I was sure of my ground. And this denial of unnecessary hazards, as is my custom, saved me from a mishap; for as the procession wound along, the traps and the carriage between 'em, there was one of them that turned his head aside to give an order, and, rip me, if 'twas not that muckworm traitor and canter, the thief-taker Timothy Grubbe. I had an old score with Timothy, the which I had sworn to pay; but that was not the time nor the opportunity, and so I pulled in and lowered my head, lest by chance his evil eye[283] might go my way. As I did so, something struck on the mare's rump, and, looking back, I saw a young man a-horseback that had emerged from a side street.

"Whoa, there!" says I, cheerfully, "are you so blinded by March dust as not to see a gentleman when he goes by?"

He was a slight, handsome-looking youth, of a frank face but of a rustic appearance, and he stammered out an apology.

"Why, I did but jest," I said heartily, "think no more on't, particularly as 'twas my fault to have checked the mare of a sudden. But to say the truth I was gaping at the grand folks yonder."

He stared after the traps, and says he in an interested voice, "Who be they? Is it my Lord Blackdown?"

Now this comparison of that wry-necked, pock-faced villain Grubbe to a person of quality tickled me, but I answered, keeping a straight face,—

"Well, not exactly," says I, "not my lord, but another that should stand, or hang, as high maybe, and shall some day."

"Oh," says he, gazing at me, "a friend of yours, sir?"

He was of a ruddy colour, and his mouth was habitually a little open, giving him an[284] expression of perpetual wonder and innocence, so that, bless you, I knew him at once for what he was at heart—a simple fellow of a natural kindliness, and one of no experience in the world, and a pretty dull wit.

"Not, as you might call him, a friend," said I, gravely, "but rather one that has put an affront upon me."

"You should wipe it out, sir," says this innocent, seriously. "I would allow no man to put an affront on me, gad, I would not."

"Why," said I, dryly, "I bide my time, being, if I may say so, of less mustard and pepper than yourself. Nevertheless, it shall be wiped out to the last stain."

"Gad, I like that spirit," says he, briskly, and, as if it constituted a bond betwixt us, he began to amble slowly at my side. "If there is any mischief, sir," says he, "I trust you will allow me to stand your friend."

Here was innocence indeed, yet I could have clapped him on the back for a brick of good-fellowship and friendliness, and, relaxing my tone, I turned the talk on himself.

"You are for a journey?" says I.

He nodded, and his colour rose, but he frowned. "I am for Effingham," said he.

"So am I," said I, "at least I pass that way," which was not so, for I was for Reading,[285] and had meant to go by Guildford. Yet I was in no mind to risk an encounter with Grubbe and his lambs, who were bound for Guildford, if what the innkeeper said was true, and the way by Effingham would serve me as well as another. He looked pleased, and says he,—

"Why, we will travel in company," says he.

"With all my heart," said I.

The traps had disappeared upon the Guildford road in a mist of dust, and we jogged on comfortably till we came to cross-roads, where we turned away for Slinfold, reaching that village nearby two of the clock. Here my companion must slake his thirst, and I was nothing loth. He had a gentlemanly air about him for all his rustic habit, and very pleasantly, if with some awkwardness, offered me of a bottle.

"You mind me," said I, drinking to him, for I liked the fellow, "of a lad that I knew that was in the wars."

"Was you in the wars?" says he, eagerly.

I had meant the wars of the road, which indeed are as perilous and as venturesome as the high quarrels of ravening nations.

"I served in Flanders," said I.

"My father fought for his gracious Majesty, Charles I.," says he, quickly, "and took a deep[286] wound at Marston Moor. There was never a braver man than Squire Masters of Rockham."

"I'll warrant his son is his spit," said I.

He bowed, as if he were at court. "Your servant, sir," says he, smiling well-pleased, and eyed me. "You have seen much service, sir?" he asked.

"Why, as much as will serve, Mr Masters," said I.

He looked at me shyly. "You have my name now," said he, and left his question in the air.

"You may call me Ryder," said I.

"You have had your company, sir?" he went on in a hesitating voice.

"Not always as good company as this," I replied laughing.

"I knew it," said he, eagerly. "You are Captain Ryder?"

"There have been those that have put that style on me," I answered, amused at his persistence.

"I am glad that I have met you, Captain," said this young fool, and put his arm in mine quite affectionately. "I have been unhappily kept much at home, and have seen less than I might of things beyond the hills. Not but what Sussex is a fine shire," he says with a sigh.

[287]

"Why, it is fine if so be your home be there," I replied.

"My home is there," he said, and paused, and again the frown wrinkled up his brow.

He said no more till we were in the saddle again and had gone some half a mile, and then he spoke, and I knew his poor brain had been playing pitch and toss with some thought.

"Captain Ryder," said he, abruptly, "you have travelled far and seen much. You might advise one junior to you on a matter of worldly wisdom."

Sink me (thinks I), what's the boy after; but says I gravely from a mutinous face, "You can hang your faith on me for an opinion or a blow, Mr Masters."

"Thank you," says he, heartily, and then thrust a hand into his bosom and rapidly stuck at me a document. "Read that, sir," said he, impulsively.

I opened it, and found 'twas writ in a woman's hand, and subscribed Anne Varley; and the marrow of it was fond affection. Why, 'twas but a common love-billet he had given me, of the which I have seen dozens and received very many—some from persons of quality that would astonish you. But what was I to do with this honest ninny and his[288] mistress? I had no nose for it, and so said I, handing him back his letter,—

"It has a sweet smack and 'tis pretty enough inditing."

"Ah," says he, quickly, "'tis her nature, Captain—'tis her heart that speaks. Yet is she denied by her parents. They will have none of me."

"The more to their shame," I said.

"They aspire high," says he, "as Anne's beauty and virtues of themselves would justify. Yet she does love me, and I her, and we are of one spirit and heart. See you how she loves me, poor thing, poor silly puss! And they would persuade her to renunciation. But she shall not—she shall not, I swear it," he cried in excitement. "She shall be free to choose whom she will."

"Spoken like a man of temper," said I, approvingly. "You will go win her forthright."

"I am on my journey to accomplish that now," says he. "She has wrote in this letter, as you have seen, that her father dissuades her, and she signs her renunciation, adding sweet words of comfort that her affection will not die—no, never, never; and that she will die virgin for me. Say you not, sir, that this is beautiful conduct, and say, am I not[289] right to ride forth and seize her from her unnatural parents, to make her mine?"

"Young gentleman," said I, being struck by his honest sincerity and his bubbling over, "were you brother to me, or I to Mrs Anne, you would have my blessing."

At that he glowed, and, his spirits having risen with this communication, he babbled on the road of many things cheerfully, but mostly of love and beauty, and the virtues of Mrs Anne of Effingham Manor.

I will confess that after a time his prattle wearied me; 'twas too much honey, and cloyed my palate. If he had known as much of the sex as has fallen to my lot he would have took another stand and sung in a lower key. Well, 'twas late in the afternoon when we reached the hills beyond Ewhurst and began to climb the rugged way to the top. The wind had gone down with the sun in a flurry of gold in the west to which the eastern breeze had beat all day; and over the head of Pitch Hill last year's heather still blazed in its decay. When we had got to the Windmill Inn that lies packed into the side of the hill and woods there we descended for refreshment, and I saw the horses stalled below for baiting. Now that house, little and quiet, perches in a lonely way in the pass of the hill,[290] and upon one side the ground falls so fast away that the eye carries over a precipitous descent towards the weald of Surrey and the dim hills by the sea. And this view was fading swiftly in the window under a bleak sky as Masters and I ate of our dinner in the upstairs room that looked upon it. He had a natural grace of mind, despite the rawness of his behaviour, and his sentiments emerged sometimes in a gush, as when, says he, looking at the darkening weald,—

"I love it, Captain. 'Tis mine. My home is there, and, God willing, Anne's too shall be."

"Amen," said I, heartily, for the boy had gone to my heart, absurd though he was.

And just on that there was a noise without the door, the clank of heavy feet rang on the boards, and Timothy Grubbe's ugly mask disfigured the room.

He came forward a little with a grin on his distorted features, and, looking from one to the other of us, said he,—

"My respects, Captain, and to this young plover that no doubt you're plucking. By the Lord, Dick Ryder, but I had given you up! Heaven sends us good fortune when we're least thinking of it."

Masters at his word had started up. "Who are you, sir, that intrudes on two gentlemen?"[291] he demanded with spirit. "I'll have you know this is a private room. Get you gone."

"Softly, man," says Grubbe in an insinuating voice, "but maybe I'm wrong, and you're two of a colour. Is it an apprentice, Dick, this brave lad that talks so bold and has such fine feathers?"

"If you do not quit," said I shortly, "I will spit your beauty for you in two ticks."

"Dick Ryder had always plenty heart," said he, in his jeering way; "Dick had always a famous wit, and was known as a hospitable host. So I will take the liberty to invite to his sociable board some good fellows that are below, to make merry. We shall prove an excellent company, I'll warrant."

Masters took a step towards him. "Now, who the devil soever you may be, you shall not use gentlemen so," he said, whipping out his blade.

But Grubbe turned on him satirically. "As for you, young cockchafer," said he, "it bodes no good to find you in this company. But as you seem simpleton enough I'll give you five minutes to take your leave of this gentleman of the road. Dick, ye're a fine tobyman, and you have enjoyed a brave career, but your hour is struck."

[292]

I rose, but ere I could get to him young Masters had fallen on him.

"Defend yourself, damn ye!" he said, "you that insult a gentleman that is my friend. Put up your blade, curse you," and he made at him with incredible energy.

Uttering a curse, Grubbe thrust with his point and took the first onrush, swerving it aside; and ere I could intervene they were at it. My young friend was impetuous, and, as I saw at once, none too skilful, and Grubbe kept his temper, as he always did. He stood with a thin, ugly smile, pushing aside his opponent's blade for a moment or two, until, of a sudden, he drew himself up and let drive very low and under the other's guard. The sword rattled from Masters's hand and he went down on the floor. I uttered an oath.

"By God, for this you shall die, you swine," said I, fiercely, and I ran at him; but, being by the door, he swept it open with a movement and backed into the passage.

"The boot is on t'other leg, Dick," says he, maliciously. "'Tis you are doomed;" and, closing the door sharply behind him, he whistled shrilly.

I knew what he intended, and that his men were there, but I stooped over the boy's body and held my fingers to his heart. 'Twas dead[293] and still. I cursed Grubbe and started up. If I was not to be taken there was only the window looking on the deeps of the descending valley. I threw back the casement and leaped over the sill. Grubbe should perish, I swore, and, doubled now my oath. I could have wept for that poor youth that had died to avenge my honour. But my first business was my safety, and I crept down as far as I might, and dropped. By that time the catchpoles were crowding into the room above. I struck the slanting hill and fell backwards, but getting to my feet, which were very numb with the concussion of the fall, I sped briskly into the darkness, making for the woods.

I lay in the shelter of the woods an hour, and then resolved on a circumspection. 'Twas not my intention to leave the mare behind, if so be she had escaped Grubbe and his creatures, and moreover, I had other designs in my............