The amazed post-boy was now directed to put the lame horse back into its place and go slowly ahead, while the highwayman himself took the captain\'s place inside the chaise.

"Don\'t you be frightened, my dear," he said to the trembling waiting-woman, whom her young mistress had done her best to reassure before leaving her. "I love your sex far too dearly ever to harm one of you. With your leave I will ride part of the way with you, and should anybody ask my name, you may call me Mr. Darke."

He removed his mask as he spoke; but it was too dark inside the chaise to allow of his features being distinguished, even if the waiting-woman had not been too terrified to do more than glance furtively at him.

They had gone on slowly for about a quarter of an hour when it became evident that some other vehicle was approaching them rapidly from the rear.

"Keep your veil down and don\'t say a word," said Mr. Darke to his companion after a backward glance through the open window.

He drew his hat down over his brows and turned up the collar of his redingote about his ears, so that even had it been daylight little of his face would have been visible. It was not unlikely that the Sir Peter of whom mention had been made might do the same as he had done--throw the light of a lantern on the inmates of the chaise.

Presently the pursuing chaise came up at a great pace, the post-boy lashing his horses freely, and, passing the other one, drew up suddenly some dozen yards ahead, straight across the narrow road, so as effectually to bar its progress and bring it to a stand.

Mr. Darke put his head out of the window. "Post-boy, what is the meaning of this stoppage?" he called. "Why don\'t you go on?"

"Can\'t do it, sir--road blocked by t\'other shay."

Before more could be said, Sir Peter himself came stalking up trembling with rage, followed by his servant with a lantern.

"So, so! sir, your nefarious scheme has not succeeded; your villainous plot has miscarried, as it deserved to do," he stuttered, his words tumbling headlong over each other in his passion. "I\'ll have the law of you, sir, for this! You shall be taught that you cannot run off with a gentleman\'s ward with impunity! You shall be cast for damages, sir. Five thousand pounds--not one farthing less--damme!--But where is that niece of mine--the shameless hussy? I will----"

"May I ask, sir, the meaning of this singular outrage?" demanded a grave, stern voice from the interior of the chaise. "If His Majesty\'s liege subjects are to be stopped on the highway by every inebriate brawler, it is indeed time for the hand of authority to intervene. I am myself in the Commission of Peace, and I must demand from you your name and address, sir, in order that further inquiry may be made into this most discreditable proceeding."

But by this time the servant had directed the rays of his lantern into the interior of the chaise. Sir Peter stood like a man petrified. In the farther corner sat a plainly-dressed, thin, angular woman, bolt upright, and as rigid as a ramrod, who, although her face was hidden by a thick veil, no one in his senses would for a moment mistake for Miss Dulcie Peyton, and it was doubtless owing to the veil that he failed to recognize in her that young lady\'s maid, with whose features he was presumably not unfamiliar. Of the person who had addressed him little could be seen save a large aquiline nose and a pair of fierce black eyes. It was equally impossible, however, to confound him with Captain Pascoe.

"I crave your pardon, sir," said Sir Peter, in a tone of almost abject apology, as he took off his hat and made a ceremonious bow. "I shall never forgive myself for my stupid blunder; but the fact is I mistook your chaise for the one in which a niece of mine--confound her!--is at the present moment on her way to Gretna Green. We had tidings of her at the place where we last changed horses, and I made sure that the first chaise we should overtake must be the one of which we were in pursuit."

"Sir, your apology makes ample amends," responded Mr. Darke in the most gracious of tones. "Your mistake was a most natural one. No doubt the flight of your niece has been a source of much annoyance to you."

The scowl on Sir Peter\'s face was not pleasant to see.

"If once I clap hands on her, she won\'t escape me again. Bolts and bars and bread-and-water--that\'s the only treatment for refractory wenches. But pardon me for not introducing myself. I am Sir Peter Warrendale, of Scrope Hall, near Whatton Regis."

"And I, Colonel Delnay, of Scowthwaite, by Carlisle." At this point the two gentlemen bowed ceremoniously to each other. "I trust, Sir Peter, to have the pleasure of meeting you on some more auspicious occasion."

"With all my heart, Colonel, I reciprocate the wish. But, ouns-an-codlins! I\'m forgetting all about my runaway niece. May I ask whether anything has passed you on the road at all resembling a fly-by-night couple in a post-chaise?"

"Nothing resembling what you speak of, Sir Peter, I give you my word. Most likely they have a post-boy with them who is acquainted with the short cut across the fells. It\'s a dangerous road for a chaise to traverse after dark, and the chances are that they will come to grief before they reach the end of it."

"I\'d give a hundred guineas, damme if I wouldn\'t, if one of their linch-pins was to drop out! But I may yet be in time to overtake \'em."

And so, with a few more polite phrases on both sides, the two men parted.

No sooner had the other chaise started on its way than Mr. Darke lay back in his seat and gave vent to a burst of hearty laughter. Then, in a full rich voice, he sang as under:--

You may ride through the night, nor draw rein all the day,
Change horse as you list, and--tantivy! away!
But from Humber to Ribble, \'twixt Derwent and Dee,
You\'ll ne\'er find a trace of sweet Ellen O\'Lee!

"Poor uncle! Poor Sir Peter!" he exclaimed. "His pretty niece will have been wed a couple of hours ere he crosses the Border. What a surly old curmudgeon he looks! No wonder his little bird was tired of its cage, and seized the first chance to flutter its wings and away."

When they had gone about a mile further, he called to the post-boy to stop, and alighted from the chaise. Dipping his hand into one of his capacious pockets, he drew out something which he presented with a bow to the maid. "Here\'s a trifle for you, my dear, to keep you in mind of Mr. Darke," he said. "And now I must wish you good-night and bon voyage, with the hope that one of these days you will be run away with by as gallant a gentleman as he who has carried off your mistress."

With that he took off his hat and swept her a low bow with all the grace imaginable. Then, stepping up to the post-boy, he put a couple of guineas into his hand, "just to drink my health with," as he said.

Half-a-minute later he was lost to view in a plantation of young trees which at that point lined one side of the road. The present he had given the maid proved to be a chased-silver sweetmeat box of elaborate workmanship, which had doubtless at one time been the property of some person of quality.

Some six weeks later than the events just recorded, Mrs. Ringwood, the landlady of the King\'s Arms, was drinking a dish of tea with her friend, Miss Capp, who had been from home for a couple of months, and was agog to hear all the news.

"The young people had been three hours married by the time Sir Peter reached Gretna Green," said the landlady, in continuation of what had gone before. "He stormed and raved, as a matter of course, and vowed he would have the law of Captain Pascoe; but it was well known that he would never have dared to go into court and let the world know with how much cruelty he had treated his orphan niece. When the captain and his bride came south a week later they stopped and dined at the King\'s Arms, and it was then I learned all the particulars I have just told you of their strange adventure."

"But what about Mr. Darke? What about the highwayman?" queried Miss Capp eagerly.

"I can tell you very little about him. As to who he really was, nothing has ever come out. He may have been the notorious Captain Nightshade, as the post-boy firmly believes, or he may not. The post-boy says he recognized him by the horse he was riding--a black mare, with a white stocking on the near fore-leg and a white blaze on the forehead. In any case, the act was that of one who had not forgotten that once on a time he was a gentleman."

"It was the act of one who, whatever his other faults may be, has not yet forfeited all right to that title," responded the enthusiastic spinster, who envied Miss Peyton\'s maid her adventure.

"By the way, I mustn\'t forget to tell you that poor Sir Peter was unlucky enough to be stopped on his way back from Gretna Green, and eased of his watch and purse, together with his snuff-box, which latter it seems he set great store by, it being a sort of family heirloom. And I have it from the post-boy in charge of the chaise that as the highwayman was on the point of riding away he lifted his hat and said: \'Colonel Delnay has the honor, Sir Peter, to wish you a very good-night.\'"