When the nineteenth century was still a puling infant scarcely able to stand alone, and not yet knowing what to make of the strange hurly-burly into which it found itself born, Abel Ringwood and Sarah his wife were respectively landlord and landlady of the King\'s Arms, a noted commercial hotel and posting-house at Appleford, a town in the North of England, on one of the great coach roads from the south to Scotland. All His Majesty\'s mails, which travelled by that route, stopped to change horses at the King\'s Arms, and, as there was a great deal of private posting by noblemen and rich commoners in those days, the hotel stables had seldom fewer than from twenty to thirty horses in them at one time.
In view of the fact that Appleford--was and is--on the high-road from the south to Gretna Green, it was hardly to be wondered at that a week seldom passed without one or more runaway couples stopping to change horses at the King\'s Arms, and then hurrying on again, helter-skelter, as hard as they could go. Thus there was nothing out of the common when, about six o\'clock on a certain December evening, a post-chaise dashed up to the hotel door containing a runaway couple and a lady\'s maid.
The gentleman, although he seemed in a desperate hurry to get on, induced the young lady to alight in order to relieve her cramped limbs while fresh horses were being put into the chaise, and the lamps freshly trimmed. She declined all refreshment, but he partook of a glass of sherry and a biscuit, while a glass of steaming negus was handed to the maid inside. The young lady, who was dressed from head to foot in expensive furs, was exceedingly pretty, with large, pathetic-looking eyes, and a wistful smile. The gentleman was enveloped in a long military cloak, and was evidently connected with the army. In three minutes and a half they were on the road again. Everybody there, down to the stable-boy, wished them God-speed and a happy ending to their adventure. The evening was clear and frosty; there had been a slight fall of snow in the afternoon, which still lay crisp and white on the hard roads; the moon would rise in less than an hour.
No long time passed before it was known throughout the hotel who the runaways were. The post-boy whispered the news to John Ostler, who, a few minutes later, told it to his mistress. The lady was Miss Dulcie Peyton, the niece and ward of Sir Peter Warrendale, of Scrope Hall, near Whatton Regis. The gentleman was a Captain Pascoe, the heir of an old but impoverished family.
According to report, Sir Peter had set his heart on his niece\'s marrying some one who was utterly distasteful to her, and, with more anger than politeness, had shown Captain Pascoe the door when that gentleman had called upon him to ask permission to pay his addresses to Miss Dulcie. It was further reported that for the last three months or more the poor young lady had been virtually a prisoner, never on any pretence being allowed outside the precincts of the park; and that Sir Peter vowed a prisoner she should remain till the last hour of his guardianship had struck, which would not be for three long years to come. But "bolts and bars cannot keep love out," nor in either, for that matter. The pretty bird had escaped from its cage, and everybody devoutly hoped that it would not be recaptured.
The runagates had not been gone more than forty minutes when up dashed another post-chaise, out of which bounced a very irascible-looking, red-faced, middle-aged gentleman, presumably Sir Peter Warrendale, who, with much spluttering and several expletives, ordered fresh horses to be instantly put into the chaise, and then, perceiving comely Mrs. Ringwood where she sat among the glasses and bottles in her little snuggery, he strode up to her, and in his arrogant way demanded to know whether she had seen anything of a runaway couple, who, so he was credibly informed, had passed through Appleford a little while before on their way to Gretna Green.
Now, the conscience of the worthy landlady was of that tender kind that it would not allow her to tell a lie, but, in order to give the fugitives a few minutes more start, she asked him to describe the two persons to whom he referred. This he did in very few words, and nothing was then left Mrs. Ringwood but to confess that she had seen the young people in question, and that they had changed horses there about an hour before.
On hearing this, the red-faced gentleman indulged in more bad language, ordered a glass of hot brandy-and-water, which half choked him in his hurry to swallow it, and then, still growling savagely in his throat, was shut up next minute in his chaise, and driven rapidly away. One small service Mrs. Ringwood had been able to do the runaways. She had secretly told John Ostler to let them have the two best horses in the stables, and the latter, of his own accord, had supplied the red-faced gentleman with the two worst. Unless something unforeseen should happen, there was not much likelihood of the fugitives being overtaken.
Everything was going well with them, they had left Appleford about a dozen miles behind, and had pretty well got over the worst part of the fells, when one of the horses fell lame, and it quickly became apparent that the poor animal was unable to go at any pace faster than a walk, and that only with difficulty. What was to be done?
The next place where they could hope to obtain fresh horses was five or six miles ahead, and it was almost a certainty that before they could get so far they would be overtaken by Sir Peter, who, they had not the slightest doubt, was in close pursuit of them. The quick-witted post-boy suggested that they should tie the lame horse to a tree by the roadside, leaving it to be fetched later on, and press forward as fast as possible with the remaining horse; but, even so, the chances were that the irate Sir Peter would overtake them before another hour had gone by. It was a desperate chance, but no other was left them.
The post-boy had just tied up the lame horse, and was on the point of mounting the other, when, not more than a dozen yards from the chaise, and as if he had sprung that moment out of the ground, a masked horseman leaped the rough wall that divided the high-road from the fells. "Stand, or you are a dead man!" he exclaimed in commanding tones, as he presented a pistol at the postboys head. Then, turning to the chaise window, which was open, and at the same moment flashing a bull\'s-eye lantern on the travellers: "Good people your money or your lives!" he said. The maid gave utterance to a scream; but the young lady only clung in terrified silence to her lover\'s arm.
A network of filmy clouds covered the sky; but the moon, which had now risen, gave enough light to enable the postilion to see that the highwayman was mounted on a powerful black horse with a white stocking on its near fore-leg, and a white star on its forehead; that he wore a bell-shaped beaver hat; that his mask just reached to the tip of his nose, and that his outer garment was a dark horseman\'s cloak with several capes to it.
"I durst wager a thousand pounds to a farden it\'s Captain Nightshade," he muttered under his breath.
"Sir," said the young captain, bending forward so that his face was in a line with the open window, speaking with much dignity and a ceremonious politeness more common in those days than now, "here is my watch, together with that of this lady, and here are our purses; but if the feelings of a gentleman are still cherished by you--and by your accent I judge you to be one--and if the sentiments of our common humanity have still power to appeal to your heart, I beg and entreat that you do not leave us wholly destitute of the means wherewith to prosecute our journey. I and this lady are on our way to Gretna Green. She has escaped from the custody of a most tyrannical uncle, who is also her guardian, and who would fain force her into marriage with a man whom she detests. That he is in pursuit of us, and no great distance behind, we have every reason to believe. Now, sir, should you be sufficiently hard-hearted to deprive us of the whole of our funds, even should we by some miracle be enabled to reach the end of our journey, the needful gold would still be lacking wherewith to forge that link of Hymen which would give me a husband\'s right to protect this dear girl from all the tyrannical uncles in existence."
The highwayman had listened attentively. The reins lay on his horse\'s neck; his left hand held the lantern, the light from which shone full into the body of the chaise; his right grasped a pistol the barrel of which gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
"Sir, not another word, I entreat," he said when the captain had done speaking, bowing low and withdrawing the light of his lantern at the same moment. "Never shall it be said of me that I took toll of lovers in distress. Rather would I do all that in me lies to aid them as far as my poor powers might avail."
"Sir, I thank you most heartily," answered the captain with as much high-breeding as though he were addressing a duke.
"One of your horses has fallen lame, is it not so?" demanded the robber.
"Alas! yes; and the chances are a score to one that we shall be overtaken by Sir Peter before we can reach any place where we can obtain fresh ones."
The highwayman, who had put back his pistol into its holster, refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff from a box, the jewels in which flashed in the moonbeams, before he spoke. Then he said:--
"In that case, sir, it seems to me there is only one thing left you to do."
"And that is----?" queried the captain eagerly.
"For you and the young lady to make use of my mare to speed you on your journey. Leila will carry the pair of you to Gretna, and be as fresh as a daisy at the end of it. And as for Sir Peter overtaking you----" His scornful laugh rang clear through the frosty night.
Captain Pascoe might be excused if he fairly gasped for breath as he listened to this extraordinary proposition, but it was far too good an offer to be lightly refused. As a matter of politeness he made some slight demur, which the highwayman promptly overruled, and three minutes later he was astride the black mare. Then the highwayman, taking the young lady round the waist, swung her lightly on to the crupper.
"But what is to become of you?" queried the captain.
"Never fear for me, sir," replied the other. "I shall know how to take care of myself."
Then in a low voice he gave the captain certain instructions where to leave the mare, which he would send a trusty man to reclaim on the morrow.
Then the captain held out his hand, which the other frankly grasped. "It is the hand of one," he said, "who, under different circumstances, would doubtless have been a different man."
Then the two men lifted their hats, the lady waved her hand, and half a minute later black Leila and her double burden had disappeared round a turn of the road.