XXXIII. THE DISCOVERY OF FAMILY PAPERS BY WILDFIRE NED…

XXXIII. THE DISCOVERY OF FAMILY PAPERS BY WILDFIRE NED

The first thing which Ned did, when he arrived in London, was to report himself at the Admiralty, where many old naval officers of great reputation met and congratulated him on the great success which had attended him and Lieutenant Garnet in fighting against the Skeleton Crew.

Honours were showered on him everywhere he went.

Yet he was not happy.

He had neither father nor mother, nor any single relation in the world.

Sir Richard Warbeck he knew, and felt in his heart, was only a friend to him, and not an uncle.

Who was he, then?

“Am I lowly or highly born?” he thought.

He felt that he must have sprung from a superior stock.

Yes; but how?

Was he entitled to any great estates in his own right?

He felt that there was some dark, deep mystery hanging over him.

He would have given the whole world to unravel it.

But he could not.

Sir Richard’s manner had always been very kind, good, and fatherly.

But still with all that it was strange.

His manner, it might be said, was like that of a man who knew some grand secret, and yet would not reveal it!

“When King Charles the First was beheaded,” Ned thought, “the Cromwellians drove many rich and powerful nobles from the land, and confiscated all their great estates.

“Suppose that my father was one of these!

“He might have been a noble! Who knows?” thought Ned; and as this conviction flashed across his mind, he resolved to let no chance pass by in order to find it out.

“Who was my father?” Ned had often asked of Sir Richard.

The old man smiled, but answered not.

The more he repeated this question and was put off, the more he resolved to find out the grand secret.

All he could find out was this:—

“I do not wonder that you and Phillip Redgill can never agree,” old Sir Richard would say; “for your families have always been at daggers’ points for centuries.”

“Indeed!” Ned would say, “how?”

“How I cannot explain yet,” was the invariable answer. “When you are twenty-one years old, you may know more; but this much I will tell you, Ned, that old Redgill, Phillip’s father, hated your father much worse than you do Phillip.”

“How I cannot explain!” repeated Ned often, when in the cosy library at Darlington Hall, conversing with the old knight in long winter evenings. “How! Why, tell me all.”

“You are too young yet; one day you will find out all if you live to be old enough!”

“If I only live to be old enough,” thought Ned; “often and often those words sound ominously; but if I am spared I’ll find it out before I am twenty-one years old. I am man enough now for anything; and if any wretch still lives who has acted the traitor towards my father, let him tremble.

“There has always been bad blood between the Redgills and my father’s family, eh! so the old knight says; then my name is not—it cannot be Warbeck!”

Wildfire Ned was almost driven mad at the thought of this grand family secret.

“Why do they conceal my real name? Who knows, I might be the son of some lord!”

With these thoughts ringing in his head Ned Warbeck directed his footsteps to the town house of the old knight, which was situated in Mayfair.

The servants rejoiced at his return, but Ned was moody.

Sir Richard was out, but where he had gone to no one could tell.

He heard the news about his brother Charley, and of Redgill’s villany, and he swore like a true tar thereat.

He paced the library up and down, and cast his eyes first to one old dusty book-shelf and then to another, but he did not care to remain in the place; it was so cold and comfortless.

“I always thought that this old library was haunted,” thought Ned, “and I never liked it.”

He was about to leave when his foot struck against something in the floor.

To his amazement one of the boards of the flooring sprung up.

He had trod upon a secret spring!

To his still greater astonishment he discovered a small old oak chest.

It was bound with clasps and bolts of brass.

It had six padlocks on it.

“This is some hidden treasure,” thought Ned.

He pulled out the small chest, and, after locking himself in, began to prize open the chest.

With much perseverance and labour he succeeded at last in breaking it open.

It contained nothing but a packet of musty, dusty papers.

“What can this mean?” thought Ned.

He eagerly seized the bundle, and on the outside read,

“Family papers; not to be opened until the death of Sir Richard Warbeck. They then belong to the heirs of the celebrated Sir Edward Lancaster, who was banished from the kingdom by Cromwell. The enclosed is a short sketch of his rise and fall in the state, and of the origin of the Skeleton Band; how, and when, and where it was formed. Some of the names mentioned are not the right ones. The key to the proper names can be found elsewhere on the death of Sir Richard Warbeck.”

“Strange!” thought Ned; “why, what mystery is here? Some grand family secret. It may be useful for Charley and myself to know this.

“Sir Edward Lancaster,” sighed Ned; “I have heard of him. But surely that is not my name? I wonder if any mystery hung over my father’s early career, like my own?”

In great mental excitement he locked and barred the old library doors, tore open the packet, and read, with a trembling hand,—

A STATE SECRET. THE KING’S BASTARD.

“The evening sun was flashing in the west, shedding streams of many-coloured glory on the forests and plains surrounding one of England’s fairest villages, and the red brick walls and tower of a quadrangularly built military college threw a deep black shade on the grassy sward and gigantic trees, through which grand walks and carriage drives intersected and united at the heavy iron gates.

“Equestrians galloping along the dusty roads would wheel and halt, or form their position on the hill, gazing intently towards the quiet college grounds.

“But as the gates were yet closed, they resumed their riding, chatting in twos and threes, seemingly impatient for the evening bell to toll.

“One of the boldest and most fearless of the equestrians turned her head frequently to the silent distant tower, and spurring her noble animal into a sweeping gallop, dashed past the sombre gates at headlong speed, her face aglow with the ruddiness of health, and her auburn tresses flowing in girlish negligence upon her shoulders.

“The porter at the college gates, with grey hair and stooping gait, slowly unlocked the ponderous portals with solemn movement, and as he furtively looked at the fearless girl, with whip on high, galloping through the dust at break-neck speed, he devoutly prayed for her safety.

“Despite the pious porter’s fears, Lady Emma Bray rode along the road, turned up the forest carriage drive of an elegant neighbouring hall, and without stopping, leaped the gate, to the great astonishment of several rustics at the plough, and suddenly halted before the door.

“Throwing the reins carelessly over a gate-post, she tucked up her dark-green riding habit, and laughingly tripping along the grassy sward, advanced towards a grey-haired old gentleman, who, with coat unbuttoned and slouched hat on head, sat under a peach tree, with his legs resting against the trunk, reading and puffing a clay pipe.

“‘Wake up, colonel!’ she said, laughing, lightly touching him across the shoulder with her riding-whip. ‘I’m come to see Clare. I want her to go with me to the parade. What say you, uncle?—will you escort us?’

“Before he could reply, Lady Emma kissed him, and passed into the house singing; and going into the parlour, sat down to the harp, and dashed off ‘Long live the King,’ with great gusto.

“‘Where’s Clare?’ she asked of a maid—‘Gone to church! Bother! disappointed again. Why, Clare’s always at church. Heigho!’

“She flung the music aside, and sat tapping her boots with the whip, while rocking and rolling in an arm-chair, which was in perfect keeping with the costly and elegant rosewood and blue with which the apartment was furnished.

“Lady Bray was re-adjusting her brown gauntlets, and about to depart, when Colonel Temple sauntered into the room with a hound at his heels, which immediately began to caress the young lady.

“‘A penny for your thoughts, lady,’ said he, laughing. ‘There, don’t look so cross, pet, or I shall imagine we are not friends.’

“‘I’m not cross, uncle; but you know it is so provoking to be disappointed.’

“‘Well, well, pet, cheer up! When the college breaks up for the season, we’ll have plenty of fishing and hunting, and picnics without end. I didn’t know that Clare was out until you inquired—gone visiting some poor folks, I suppose, as usual. At church! Well, well, what a girl she is. She’ll soon be back again.’

“‘No, I’m sure she won’t, uncle, if she’s gone to church, for she’s the greatest girl for praying I ever saw.’

“‘I know it’s all very admirable in one’s character,’ said young Lady Emma, moving about the apartment, and arranging her disordered hair in the mirror; ‘but I could not kneel so long as Clare does—no, not for all the world. Come, uncle, you mustn’t laugh and go away in that manner; I want you to escort me to the parade this evening. I’m sure you’ll not refuse—besides, we shall be sure to meet Clare. I’ll go into the cathedral and fetch her, if we don’t meet her on the way. I know where to find her; in a snug little pew, shut out from all observation.’

“As blue-eyed, oval-faced Emma, with her radiant looks and careless manner, took the old colonel’s arm, and proceeded, with laugh and joke, through the forest-path towards the small town lying in the valley, they soon came to the cathedral, and the colonel stopped.

“The great door being slightly ajar, Emma stepped lightly in, and its quiet calm and beauty arrested her hurried, impetuous gait.

“Evening service was over.

“The sinking sun shed its rays through stained-glass windows, and streams of blue, white, orange, purple, and pink fell in varied beauty upon its doric columns and tiled floors.

“The slightest sound was audible, and as the boughs of chestnut trees swayed against the windows, and the birds warbled their even-song, each rustle and note echoed through the edifice.

“Emma slowly closed the creaking door, and, stealthily stealing forwards, discovered Clare, whose pale face and dark eyes were raised in deep meditation.

“A touch and gesture were all that passed, and Clare rose slowly and left the place with noiseless step.

“‘Not go to the grand military parade, child?’ asked the colonel, when Miss Clare had joined them. ‘You used to be amazingly fond of such things a few months ago. Come, Clare, Lady Emma has been waiting for you ever so long.’

“Lady Emma looked inquiringly into Clare’s face, as they walked side by side, and seemed grave and vexed.

“‘Well, then, cousin, as you are indisposed, the colonel, I know, will excuse you. I shall call about seven, and spend the evening with you.’

“Lady Emma and the colonel walked on in silence, until the latter remarked,

“‘She’s the only one left to me now. Sons and daughters have gone from home—some are in the clay, others are married. My whole life and soul are centred in her, Lady Emma, and it grieves me to see her looking so thoughtful of late. I wish she was as gay a romp as you.’

“Lady Emma did not speak, but seemed deep in thought until they reached the college parade-grounds, where numbers of gay visitors, broken up into small groups, gave variety and animation to the scene.

“Lady Bray was soon recognised by acquaintances, who laughed and chatted round the white-haired colonel as if they were all his children.

“The bell tolled the hour, and soon there issued from the various wings crowds of military students, tired with the lectures of the day.

“The drums beat, the band assembles, and soon there come upon the ground hundreds of students in gay uniforms, who, with sword and musket, fell in, and immediately go through a series of battalion movements, in quick and double time.

“The precision of step and erect soldierly bearing of the collegians elicited applause; and as platoons filed past and wheeled into line, broke into columns of company, and marched in quick or double time, the glittering of the bayonets, the waving of banners, and harmonious strains of the band, was a spectacle that called forth the applause of all present.

“So that when the whole line advanced, halted, and presented arms to numbers of the fair sex screened under the colonnade of trees, enthusiasm reached its height; and the drill and parade passed off with much éclat.

“As soon as the troops marched out of the quadrangle to the armoury at the rear, the visitors slowly dispersed.

“Many of the students obtained a few hours’ leave, so that when all dispersed to their residences in town or in the outskirts, there were but few ladies unaccompanied by relations or friends in uniform.

“Colonel Temple and Lady Bray were the object of much attention; and as the old hero was an especial favorite with all, he insisted upon taking some half dozen or more of the young ladies to his house to supper.

“Each lady was gallanted, so that as the white-headed old soldier went along the forest walk, he looked more like a patriarch leading forth his children’s children, than a gay-hearted, brave colonel of dragoons.

“‘Here we are, girls,’ said the colonel, opening the gate and admitting his young friends, here we are, young gentlemen, make the place your own as much as you like, only don’t hurt my conservatory, else Clare will never forgive you.’

“‘Now, then, Nance,’ shouted he, calling to the housemaid.

“‘Now, then, Dick, bestir yourselves; tell Miss Clare there’s troops of friends come to see her; make supper ready quick as possible; and one of you go down to town and bring up a band to play for us. I know the girls’ll like a dance.’

“While the good old man was thus bustling about, frightening the big cook and the butler with a multitude of orders, pale-faced Clare came forth to welcome her many friends; and from the fondness of caresses bestowed upon her by the females, and the hearty gallant behaviour of the gentlemen, her manner became embarrassed.

“Her hair fell loose from continual hand-shaking, and her face was all radiant with blushes.

“‘I’m really glad to see you all; this is quite a surprise. Come in Mollie. How do, Lizzie? Ah! Josephine, dear. Come in, gentlemen,’ said Clare bustling about. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come.’

“And while she bustled about, giving orders to various servants, Lady Bray helped her to do the honors of the house (for the colonel was a widower), and made every one at home.

“Music was the order of the evening, and ere long, harps, flutes, violins, and voices were good-humoredly engaged in quartettes and chorusses.

“The colonel was in his element.

“He was here, there, and everywhere; ordering this, and arranging that, for the evening dance.

“His anxiety was so great to please the young people, and he seemed so flurried with his preparations, that he was red and perspiring, while two or three ‘merry imps’ of young girls, were following him about, doing their utmost to confuse or amuse him.

“The large and small drawing-rooms were thrown into one; numberless wax tapers were arranged in groups, with vases of newly plucked flowers, and all bade fair for a pleasant party, in which English youth so much delight.

“Cook, with some half dozen assistants, was squabbling over her numerous pots and pans.

First one dish was upset, and then another, until the whole culinary department seemed in a state of haste, noise, bustle and confusion.

“As soon as it became known that the band was going to Colonel Temple’s house half-a-dozen or more couples of both sexes hurried thither uninvited, for the colonel’s friends never waited for invitations in those good old times, and kept dropping in until the fine old gentleman sat under the verandah laughing and smoking his pipe in a state of bliss.

“Supper had long been over, and here and there along the garden walks couples strolled, laughing in the moonlight, while the sounds of music were issuing from the drawing-room, at the windows of which, opening on the lawn, stood here and there, one or two, enjoying the cooling breeze of the lovely summer night.

“All was gaiety and pleasure; servants were flying hither and thither with trays, decanters, and every sort of refreshment, and more than one rogue of a servant hid behind some door to pay his respects to a half-emptied bottle of wine.

“Clare, with noiseless step and busy air, was studying the comforts of her friends and companions, while Lady Bray, all animation and gaiety, was the life and soul of the party.

“Clare was beloved by all for her gentleness and exalted virtues, while Lady Bray was admired for dashing manners and beauty of feature.

“The lady guests would cluster round Clare, and kiss and toy with her as if she was their sister, while gentlemen took pleasure in courting the company of Lady Emma, who, perfectly conscious of her charms, was pleasantly teazing them with coquetry and wit.

“There was one other of the party, however, who treated the attentions of all with indifference. She moved hither and thither, preoccupied in thought, and at last sought the verandah, where her father, Lord Cavendish, was smoking with the colonel and other old people, discussing politics.

“Taking a foot-stool she sat between the colonel and her father, resting her head on the farmer’s knee, looking at the cloudless sky.

Josephine Cavendish was the great favorite of Clare and Lady Emma, but somewhat younger than either.

“She was timid in strange company, and, except when seated at her harp, studying alone, was perfectly out of place. She was, in truth, a child-like contemplative, who blushed at the rustle of her own dress.

“Hour passed hour, and so the party continued, and stragglers dropped in one by one, until, by eleven o’clock, the rooms were filled with dancers, card players, and persons promenading up and down the wide verandahs, vine walks, orchard shades, or the long stone passages of the house.

“It seemed a family gathering.

“Every one knew every one; no introductions were necessary; all were at home, and everything proceeded harmoniously and pleasantly.

“The lights of the village had long flickered and died.

“The college chimes tolled the hour of midnight; the broad landscape of field and forest lay bathed in moonlight, and one by one the visitors dispersed.

“Some on horse, others on foot, and more in broughams and carriages—all had disappeared down the carriage drive into the forest path, and the receding sounds of their gaiety and ringing laughter fell faintly on the ear.

“The household had long retired to rest.

“All was still.

“Clare alone was awake.

“By her open chamber window the pale-faced girl sat, gazing abroad upon the silvery landscape, deep in thought.

“Boughs of lofty chesnut-trees, swaying in the breeze, swept against the house.

“Perfume from gardens and orchards filled the air.

“Time passed slowly on; troubled with thoughts and misgivings that cankered her heart, she wept.

“Rousing from melancholy lethargy, she rose, and in part disrobed, as she gazed in the mirror upon her pale and thoughtful face, half concealed by heavy masses of raven tresses, loose about her shoulders. In dishabille as she was, she sat beside her snow-white bed.

“She rose, and, deep in thought, with dishevelled hair and flowing garments, clasped her hands and moved her lips, as she gazed on the dark and lofty towers of the distant college.

“How long she sat communing thus alone, or the nature of her thoughts, none can know.

“But as the moon was dipping beyond the trees, her door noiselessly opened, and closed again, and there flitted across the floor towards her a figure in white. It was Lady Bray.

“‘A thousand pardons, dear Clare!’ she said, embracing her. ‘I could not sleep—you seem so changed of late, I fear you are unwell, and wish to conceal it from both your father and me! Oh, Clare, if you only knew how much I love you—how your father idolizes, and every one doats upon you—I’m sure you would be more happy.’ (No response). ‘Come, Clare, my dear, dear cousin, tell me what it is. There is nothing in the world that is too good for you; all that wealth and affection can do is already yours, and yet you, to whom the best and wealthiest have bowed and begged—you, my cousin, who are the idol of all—you who should be the happiest of all—you, dear Clare, seem unhappy—sorrow is gnawing at your heart; make me your confidante, darling, tell me all!’

“Clare spoke not, but smiling at the downcast eyes of her cousin, kissed her on the forehead, and soon retired to rest.

“‘Tell me nothing!’ thought Lady Emma, when in her own room, pondering; ‘yet it cannot be; but if it should be so—oh, poor, poor Clare! Heaven forgive me. I would not thwart you, my cousin, for all the world.’

“Lady Emma remained long awake, revolving all manner of schemes to enliven her cousin, but the same expression came repeatedly to her lips, ‘If it should be! Poor cousin, poor Clare!’

“And even her strong nature bent under some secret mental weight, and tear-drops flowed freely upon her weary pillow.

“The dark and lofty college tower visited Clare in dreams.

“She once more strolled through its grand quadrangle, and saw the students march, with band and banner.

“She walked in its vineyards and orchards, amid fruit and flowers.

“And then her footsteps strayed into a grassy court, with fountains rising and falling, and splashing in the quiet of a summer afternoon, and there saw, sitting at his window, a handsome, book-worn youth, with desk and pen, absorbed in study.

“A faint smile for an instant lit up her marble features, and she sighed.

“Her lips murmured inarticulate sounds, and she moved restlessly, unconsciously throwing the spotless covering from her heaving bosom, on which reposed a tiny gem of jet, resting as if set in alabaster.

“But, while thus wrapt in sleep, there was an unhappy and restless one pacing, with measured step, in his lonely college chambers, whose mind was tossed with pain and constant thought.

“He had passed all examinations with honour, and now only awaited his degree to go forth into the world to strive for wealth and fame.

“His room was small, and scantily furnished.

“No signs of luxury were there.

“Books and papers lay scattered about; a small study lamp shed its light upon a worm-eaten desk; an old oak chest stood open in the corner.

“A violin, pistols, belt, and sword hung from a rack in the wall.

“Pipes, and slippers, and papers were everywhere; and even as he paced the room, noiselessly and long, he puffed his pipe, and looked forth into the court-yard beneath, where nought was heard but the cool and mossy spray-splashing fountains, sparkling in the moonlight, and throwing up jets of diamond and ruby-like spray.

“‘And now,’ he thought, ‘the present is the most momentous moment of my life! How I have longed for it through long and tedious years of mental drudgery and toil! And yet, now I go forth to the world fatherless, friendless, and moneyless. I begin the battle of life alone!’”

“Why, that is my case exactly,” said Ned, thoughtfully, as he read on. “I wonder who this chap turns out to be? Surely not my father! If so, I have gone through all that sort of thing exactly as he did.”

He turned over a leaf of the manuscript, and read on:—

“He thought of the long distant time when, as a boy, he played and rolled on the grass plats, forgetful of books and lessons—of scaling the walls, and rambling in the forests.

“Yet year followed year, and he ripened into youth, and passed the collegiate course, a credit to his tutors and himself.

“Fatherless and motherless he knew he was.

“But who had fed and clothed and educated him, were questions he could not answer.

“He never wanted for aught that a gentleman required, yet he felt a pang of pride to think he might be a ‘charity student,’ for in answer to all inquiries the grey-haired President always smiled, took his arm, and said,

“‘Edward, ask no questions—at least not yet; finish your studies as creditably as you have begun—ask for anything you require—know that you are a gentleman by birth, and not a subject of charity, and when you have obtained your degree, put as many questions as you wish. They shall all be fitly answered, and to your satisfaction.’”

“Why, this is my case to a dot,” said Ned, as he still read on.

“Commencement day at the college was always a grand affair, and its many attractions were such, that not only parents and friends, but strangers from all parts flocked thither to hear the orations, inspect the prizes, and see the troops reviewed.

“Such were the crowds that always came on that occasion, that hotels were crammed, and the college theatre was far too small, so that the exercises were always held in the open air.

“The whole of the quadrangle was decorated with flags and banners, and tiers of raised seats, sheltered from the sun by awnings, while in the centre arose the stage, formed like a Grecian temple, with columns of imitation marble, on which, in a semi-circle, the faculty sat in solemn state to confer degrees, while round about the cadets formed a guard of honour, with bands and flags, and brilliant uniforms. Graduates, one by one, had delivered their orations amid great applause.

“Gold and silver medals were bestowed for conduct, excellence, and diligence, while richly engrossed diplomas with triple seals were handed to the military graduates amid deafening cheers.

“Then followed a grand review, with its marching, counter-marching, volley-firing, smoke, dust, and noise.

“After which a grand banquet took place in the college theatre, at which two thousand or more assisted.

“With its frescoed walls hung with tapestry and banners, the banquetting scene was imposing; the Faculty, with invited guests, sat at the head of the long tables on a raised dais, while to the right hand and to the left were lords, ladies, divines, officers, lawyers, farmers, and others, who had sons in the college.

“Toast followed toast, and speech succeeded speech, bottles popped, and glasses clinked in good fellowship and humour, while jest and joke and laughter almost drowned the music of the band, which in a side gallery discoursed very sweet music during the repast.

“Lawrence left the table early, and retired to his room to write a letter, and make arrangements for his departure, and as he stood reflectively before the mirror, in a dark blue uniform faced with red and gold, with sword by his side, and French cap jauntily placed, he looked fresh and gay in the prime and vigour of youth.

“He gazed about him at the confusion of his room, and smiled.

“His books and papers and numberless effects were untouched, and Livy, Sophocles, Blair, Danté, works on fortifications, tactics, &c., lay strewn over his desk just as he had flung them days before, when he had emerged triumphant from his final examination amid the shouts of his fellows.

“Nothing had been touched, and as he looked at the dusty aspect of everything, with a cat in the window sill blinking in the sunlight, the silence of the quadrangle was only broken by the distant noise and cheers issuing from the banquet hall.

“A dainty note lay on his desk, which read,—

“‘The Willows, July, 4 P.M.

“‘EDWARD LAWRENCE, ESQ., M.A.

“‘SIR,—Uncle desires the pleasure of your company this evening to meet some mutual friends, and trusts that the fatigues of the day will not prevent you gratifying his wish.

“‘Your friend, “‘EMMA BRAY.

“‘P.S.—I forgot to add that Cousin Clare is unwell. She went to the ‘Commencement’ this morning, and heard your oration, and was much pleased, as indeed all of us were. The heat and dust, however, were too much for her, and she was obliged to return home. Call early in the afternoon if you can, for we are all excessively dull and moping.’”

“‘Colonel Henry wishes to see you, Mr. Lawrence,” said a messenger, entering the room, ‘he is walking on the vine terrace.’

“‘Ah, Edward,’ said the President, shaking the young man heartily by the hand, ‘allow me to congratulate you upon your really excellent graduating speech.

“‘But this is not the subject of which I wished to speak; it is of yourself. For the last ten years past, with us within these walls, you have been lectured enough, daily and hourly, hence I shall not inflict an oration upon you to-day, which is the most important of your life.

“‘There is much in genius, but there is more in courageous industry.

“‘You have done yourself credit while with us, and I doubt not your general conduct through life will be the same as that which has characterised you as a student.

“‘Of your worldly prospects I know but little.

“‘At twelve years you were placed in our hands by Lord Somers, who claims to be your uncle, with these words, “This boy, I leave with you to be educated for the King’s army; every cost will be defrayed by me. If he acquits himself with honour I will own him, if otherwise he shall never know me. In every instance, let him be taught to depend upon himself; for he has no expectations other than those he may, perhaps, derive from me.”

“‘It seems very unnatural that an uncle should never have seen you for so long,’ continued the president, ‘if he is your uncle, but he never let you want for anything, which speaks well. As to his injunction about us teaching you to depend upon yourself, without having dreams of wealth, &c., I fully indorse; for it is my experience that those who look forward to, or are sure of inheriting riches, make very indifferent students. It is the poor lad, who has little or nought to expect, who sheds honour on his college in after life, for, having nothing but his own energy and talent to depend upon, he developes both at school, and the habits of industry and self reliance thus generally attained increase with age, and brings success as its necessary and natural reward.’

“Lawrence, with sword jingling by his side, took a field path to the ‘Willows,’ and as he gaily strode along, puffing a cigar, soon struck through the woods, and came within sight of the house, from which a horseman had just then departed by another road.

“Colonel Temple met him at the door, and heartily shook him by the hand. ‘Allow me to congratulate you, my boy; you have got through it at last, with honour, and no one feels more pleasure than myself, for you have striven nobly for it.’

“‘I received your note, colonel, and——’

“‘My note?’

“‘Yes, uncle,’ said Lady Bray, opening the long window, and stepping on to the verandah, laughing, ‘your note, I wrote it; don’t you remember? You don’t? Well, then, I wrote it on my own responsibility. I knew what a favourite you were with uncle, and as he had no company, I thought I would entice you up to the house to enliven him.’

“‘Oh, you rogue. I——’

“‘And as you were so naughty, Mr. Lawrence, as not to come and see us the other night when the other graduates came, I thought we must have offended you, and so wished to learn all about it before you left college. We all heard your speech this morning, didn’t we, uncle? Oh, such a fine one—long sentences and big words. Oh, I couldn’t comprehend it all; and then Clare was unwell, and I was dull, and I didn’t know what to do, so as we have known you for years, and you have been such a bad, bad boy as not to come and see us for ever so long, I thought I’d ask you to call in uncle’s name, so that’s all; and now uncle’ll forgive me, and give me a kiss, I know he will,’ and the dashing Lady Emma, merry as ever, threw her arms around the old colonel, and went back to the parlour singing and laughing.

“‘Oh, that’s a funny rogue, Lawrence.’

“Lawrence met Clare in the entrance-hall, and although her hand shook perceptibly in his, a blush tinged her cheek as she bade him welcome, and opened the drawing-room door.

“‘Now, sir truant,’ began Emma, in mock heroics; ‘deliver up your arms. Let me unbuckle your sword, sir knight—that’s it. I’m sure you don’t want it clanking at your heels while with us. Now, Edward Lawrence, Esq., M.A., you are at our mercy; and if you don’t ask pardon for your long absence, and promise to be a better boy for the future, prepare for the block,’ she continued, flourishing the sword with both hands. ‘Clare shall be the parson, and I the executioner! You will be better, eh? Then this time you are safe.’

“‘I was extremely sorry to hear of your indisposition, Clare,’ remarked Lawrence, with the air of one very intimately and long acquainted. ‘Even now you look fretted and thoughtful.’

“‘Do I? how complimentary! I will reverse it by saying that you appear remarkably well, Edward, if a ferocious captain of cadets, and a profound Master of Arts will allow me to call him by familiar names.’

“‘Oh, bless you, cousin, we must not be so familiar now, you know. No more blind man’s buff, and kiss-in-the-ring, as we used to. He’s suddenly become very grand; just consider being created a Master of Arts and a captain, all in one day. Dear me, ain’t we very grand!’

“‘Come, come, girls,’ remarked the colonel, entering the room and seating himself on the sofa; ‘don’t badger the captain; two to one is not the thing—fair play! You’ll be a graduate yourself next year, and—’

“‘Oh, won’t that be fine! In white satin, and crowns of flowers, and all that!—Oh, how I envied Clare last year; she looked so pretty that——’

“‘Cousin, cousin,’ broke in Clare, blushing and hanging down her head, ‘really I never heard such non——’

“‘I dare say you haven’t, but you did look nice, everybody said so, the ladies said so, for I heard ’em, and the gentlemen too; one said ‘oh how pale; another ‘what a sweet voice’ and a third, whose initials are E. L. said ‘how modest!’

“While they were engaged in music, Clare retired to superintend some domestic duty, and the colonel falling asleep, Emma and Lawrence were left alone, and proceeding towards the windows looking into the gardens, she stood nervously pulling the curtains and thus began, rather seriously:—

“‘You must not joke Clare to-day, Lawrence. I heard you, if I was making a noise at the piano. She was not well this morning. She has had unpleasant visitors, and it surprises me she is half so gay as she is. I don’t know what it is, but I think it was an old beau that displeased her; he insisted upon escorting her home, and after he went away she seemed very much vexed and annoyed.’

“‘That is easily accounted for: perhaps she is partial to him, and it is but natural she should feel annoyed at his hurried departure.’

“‘Nonsense, Edward; you know she has no such liking, or I should have discovered it long ago. It was a Captain Redgill, one of your old students, living now in Birmingham; you must know him well, and judging from his looks at parting, I’m sure his visit could not have proved very satisfactory or pleasant. What makes you look so solemn?’

“Lawrence did remember Redgill; he had occasion for never forgetting him, and remembering the past, he blushed scarlet.

“‘Nothing, Lady Bray. I was only thinking of a presentiment that has disturbed me all the morning, and which continually recurs, that some mischief will befal me ere midnight.’

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“‘What mischief can befal you here? Oh! how silly, Edward; if I had made such a speech, you’d have laughed at me. Why, even good cousin, with her wonderful ghost stories, would smile at you talking of ‘presentiments.’

“‘Still, such is the fact, Lady Bray, and, if it must be confessed, I am very much depressed at moments.’

“‘Oh, what a fine fellow to be a captain of cadets! Why, if I were a man, I’d fear nothing. Oh, Clare, do come here; here’s Lawrence discoursing of presentiments, and is certain that something very horrible is about to happen to him!’

“‘Well, think as you may, cousin,’ said Clare, ‘I myself rose with forebodings of coming unpleasantness this morning; and it has come strictly true.’

“‘Forebodings, Clare! Well, I know that a gentleman called to day. I hope it was that. It couldn’t have been so very unpleasant, judging from his animated appearance when escorting you home; but both of you appear to agree so well upon the subject of presentiments, I shall stroll in the garden and allow you to discuss its merits at full.’

“‘But, how extraordinary it is,’ said Clare, ‘that so many great events should have befallen you on one day. To think, that after so many years, you should have discovered your relations; that on the same day you should have graduated and resolved to change your residence.’

“‘But if I go, I shall still be near all my friends,’ replied Lawrence, ‘for you always go to France for the winter months.’

“‘True, but I can assure you it is greatly against my will; there is too much gaiety there, and as father has extensive acquaintance and relations, it throws me into much bustle and distraction I would willingly avoid. I love quietness and rusticity.’

“‘You were always timid, Clare. I have known you long now, and think you are unnecessarily so; you are the only one at home now; your father doats upon you, and, with all due respect, let me add, there are few who are greater favourites with all, or who has had so many in supplication at your feet.’

“‘You flatter me. I have never given any one reason to think that I ever encouraged their addresses, but, on the contrary, have ever taken the earliest opportunity to dispossess them of any such idea, when it became apparent. A coquette is abominable; one cannot have two hearts, and when that is already dedicated, all is staked.’

“Visitors called, and this conversation ceased. Lady Bray was busy in welcoming them. Clare was superintending the household; and, left to his own thoughts, Lawrence mused long, walking up and down the garden walks thinking of the future.

“Some twenty persons sat down to supper, and during the meal a horse was heard galloping up the drive; the bell rang, and a note was handed to Miss Clare, which, being read, was passed to her father. It was an invitation from Lord Stoner to a ball for all then present, which each one willingly accepted, as Lord Stoner’s mansion was but a short distance away.

“Clare did not go at the moment, and, as Lawrence was to escort her, she preferred the cool of evening and the lonely forest path with its birds and flowers to the heat and dust of the circuitous road.

“Lawrence paced the cool stone entrance hall, and Clare soon tripped lightly down from her room with her hat hanging on her arm. She had changed her customary silk tissue for a dark blue silk, and her mass of jet black hair, looped up by simple white and blush roses, was in striking contrast to her large sparkling eyes and pallid face. Her maid followed with a Cashmere shawl, which Lawrence insisted on placing on her shoulders, which unexpected piece of gallantry and attention brought crimson to her cheeks.

“‘Well, then, now I am ready, and sorry for keeping you so long, Edward. Mollie, bring my cloak with you.’

“Arm in arm they sallied forth through the orchard and across the fields, until they reached the wood, and as they walked through its shade, the perfume of flowers and song of birds were consonant with the thoughts and feelings of both.

“‘This is a very familiar walk to me, Clare; I often come hunting here in the winter when you are away in France; there are plenty of rabbits and pheasants; the corn-fields abound in partridge; and, altogether, it affords fine sport.’

“‘Yes, I often hear when we are away that you collegians destroy all papa’s game; but he only smiles, and says, “Let ’em blaze away, there’s plenty for everybody.’”

“From where they stood, they distinctly saw, twinkling in the cloudless twilight, numberless Chinese lanterns hanging in the trees round the house; rockets of many colours were ascending and bursting in varied showers in the calm, breathless air; while strains of music broke upon the ear in delicious dreamy waltzes, and flags on the house-top lazily flapped with every passing gust.

“‘How pretty!’ both exclaimed, as they stood on the brook bridge gazing, while the ozier banks were rippling with passing waters.

“‘Yes, ’tis pretty and pleasant, Clare; I shall never forget this day, this pleasant walk; and all I regret is that I have not courage to present myself there this evening,’ he added, with difficult articulation; ‘you know that Lord Stoner has ever displayed antipathy to me.’

“‘Lord Stoner an antipathy to you? What can be the cause?’ asked Clare.

“‘I know not, Clare, but I cannot go. You will excuse me; I shall be here in waiting precisely at twelve o’clock, and I dare say the colonel will take this path homewards.’

“Miss Temple here became unusually animated and colour came and went as her companion occasionally looked in her face with pleasure. A hound, which had followed her footsteps, suddenly darted into the forest and growled.

“But no one was visible, and now they had passed through the wood and were at the edge of the meadow-land which intervened between them and Lord Stoner’s estate.

“While gaiety reigned at Lord Stoner’s, and all thoughts of care were banished by old and young, a strange scene occurred within gun-shot of the house.

“Lawrence had returned to Colonel Temple’s and spent several hours there, and leisurely strolled back to the brook bridge to meet Lady Bray and Clare with her father.

“He stood upon the bridge looking down into the moonlit water gurgling over its moss-covered rocks, heeding the gold-backed perch and trout disporting on the surface, and heard the church tower chime hour after hour.

“The sounds of merriment were clearly audible, the merry laugh and joyful shout fell upon his ear in the natural calmness of the spot.

“The moon in silver streams poured through openings in the forest, and the leaves rustled with every gust.

“He felt depressed and melancholy, and every unpleasant circumstance of his life came full upon him.

“Time passed, and still he pondered and thought of Josephine, who, in the whirling excitement of the dance, was oblivious of his existence.

“While he stood leaning on the hand-rail, gazing on the shiny surface of the deep, broad brook, hasty steps approached. He looked up; a stranger with shaded face stood gazing on his moonlit countenance.

“‘Edward Lawrence, by my soul!’ he said, and after a long pause, hoarsely continued; ‘give place! move from my path, snake! You have thwarted me for years. Move, I say, or I’ll send you into eternity!’”

“‘Phillip Redgill?’ said Lawrence, in amazement, disbelieving his senses, adding in a scarcely audible voice, ‘heaven help thee!’

“‘Help you, you hypocrite. Out of my way, I say, or I’ll slaughter you where you stand. What have you done? why, everything; you have robbed me of honours, position, place, aye, love. By your pale-faced lies, you have come between me and one that was dearer than life. Yes, yes, don’t be puzzled. Not have any pretensions there, you penniless impostor? You know you have. Didn’t I see you this very day fawning to her in this wood? There, don’t stand canting, but listen to me; I always hated you from the moment I first saw you. Lying tutors called you a model of living, now show yourself a model of dying.’

“‘Dying?’

“‘Yes, of dying; I have resolved to rid the world of you. You pale before me, eh? You will be paler still ere morning. Take that hand from your hilt, or I’ll send a bullet whistling through your brain, you bastard.’

“Lawrence listened with nervous philosophic courage to all the enraged man had spoken, and he resolved not to draw arms whatever might befall him.

“But the last word exploded all his good resolutions.

“The slur on his unknown mother’s honour maddened him.

“The sabre leaped from its scabbard and flashed in the light.

“But instantly Redgill drew back and fired.

“Lawrence fell upon the bridge covered with blood.

“The stranger gazed for a moment on his prostrate form, and muttered, ‘I am satisfied. It was to be; it is done! Pale cadet in pretty uniform, you are now food for worms, fitting end for a pennyless cur; no one will ever miss you.’

“And with main strength he flung the body into the deepest part of the brook where the willows grew, and it disappeared beneath the eddying water.

“Carelessly lighting a cigar, he examined himself to see that no blood bespattered him, and coolly passed through the meadows and presented himself at Lord Stoner’s.

“He was known and welcomed. Josephine was all gaiety and danced with him; but Lady Bray and Clare, by common instinct, avoided his company.

“‘You are ever talking of Clare, Mr. Redgill; how many times have I not told you that she is perpetually speaking of young Captain Lawrence.’

“‘Is he here?’ asked Redgill, with a smile.

“‘No? I dare say he cannot come,’ he added with emphasis.

“‘In truth, I’m glad he has not; I’m sure I didn’t wish his company, however much some people may desire and seem to prize it. Oh, there’s Clare passing into the grounds looking for her father, the colonel.’

“Redgill followed instantly, and overtook her on the lawn.

“‘Mr. Redgill!’ she said, in surprise.

“‘Yes, Miss Clare; pray be seated.’

“‘You will excuse me, Mr. Redgill; I was looking for my father, it is time for us to go.’

“‘Only for a moment, one second only.’

“‘As you desire it, certainly.’

“‘Clare, listen. I am going away, I know not whither; I have known you long, and I have only known you to love you.’

“‘Mr. Redgill, do not cause me to give you humiliation; twice before I have told you that your feelings are not reciprocated; they can never be. You will bear witness that I never gave the slightest cause for you to suppose that I liked you other than as a friend. No, I can assure you there have been none to counsel me; I follow the dictates of my heart; your worldly station is fit for any lady, but it is not that. I cannot explain the cause; but, to speak frankly and for the last time, I am sorry if I have caused you an uneasy moment, it has been foreign to my thoughts, and I now say unreservedly that I do not and never can look upon you with feelings other than those of acquaintanceship. My heart is no longer mine; you can never share it, and I feel certain you are too honourable to ever trouble yourself or me again by referring to so distasteful a subject; good evening.’

“Shaking hands she left him.

“‘My heart is no longer mine, eh? Oh, if the hound had fifty lives, one less would not have satisfied my revenge. Pass on, proud Clare; if love freezes into hate, you will have cause to remember and regret this hour.’

“Moodily sauntering into the hall, he bowed to the host and hostess and departed.

“While this conversation was transpiring under the lamp-lit trees, the moon was bright and cloudless, and the ozier-banked stream looked innocent and pure.

“It flowed on as usual with gurgling sound, but eddied near the willows.

“No signs of violence were visible, and ere long a man was heard approaching, whistling and carrying a lantern. Presently he shouted to some one still behind him in the wood, and both lingered on the bridge while a hound descended to the brink and began to drink.

“‘This is the place for trout, Ike,’ said he with the lamp. ‘The colonel often says to me, Jack, says he, go and catch a few trouts. Miss Clare allers has fish on Friday.’

“‘Hello, what’s that, Jack? What is the dog howling about?’

“‘Pink, Pink, come here.’

“‘What’s that?’ said both, simultaneously, as they heard a faint moan, and rolled their eyes in the moonlight.

“‘Pink, Pink, Pink, come here!’ shouted Jack; but still the hound stood in the broad light, howling at something in the shade; and when a second moan, louder than the first, caught the rustic’s ear, ‘By golly, Jack!’ said he, ‘it’s nothing but a ghost! this youth is off, sure!’ and he hustled away from the bridge in a hurry.

“Ike, however, more courageous than his companion, went down to the brook side and discovered a student lying almost submerged, with his head saved from sinking by a cluster of willow stumps.

“Horrified at the discovery, he knew not what to do, but shouting at the top of his voice, induced his companion to return.

“After much difficulty, they dragged the inanimate form from among the willows; but mud had so disfigured him that they knew not who it was.

“Blood flowed freely from the left breast.

“One of them staunched the wound with a handkerchief, and both rustics carried the body towards the house in front, Pink having the lantern suspended from his neck.

“Had a thunderbolt crashed through the roof, it could not have caused a more sudden cessation of festivities than did the arrival of Lawrence, borne as he was in the arms of the servants.

“The news spread rapidly.

“The company were electrified.

“Every one was anxious to learn the particulars.

“But all was wrapt in mystery, which only heightened curiosity still more.

“The collegians rushed from the ball-room, and taking up the body, swiftly conveyed it to the house.

“‘This way, gentlemen,’ said Lord Stoner, as he and Colonel Temple led the way upstairs.

“‘Enter the first room you come to—there, that’s it; never mind (to his wife) if it is your daughter’s room; there’s no time to stand upon trifles; place him upon the bed—that’s it.’

“And the wet and muddy youth was carefully laid on the spotless counterpane, and the doctor immediately began to ply his art.

“‘Ike,’ said he, ‘fetch my instruments, and gallop instantly into town and bring Dr. Newman with you; tell him there mustn’t be a moment’s delay.’

“‘It is a desperate case, gentlemen,’ said he, addressing a few who were allowed to remain in the room; ‘’tis naught but life or death; every moment is invaluable. Gentlemen, you will excuse me, I know, when I say it is necessary that you all retire.’

“And the door closed on Lord Stoner, Colonel Temple, Harry Ashton, a collegian, and Susy, the chambermaid.

“The sudden calamity had stunned all present, and one by one the visitors departed.

“Clare and Belle had heard the news.

“But neither spoke.

“They sat apart in silence, waiting for the colonel, who at last appeared, and the carriage drove off to the ‘Willows.’

“‘Don’t ask me any questions, girls,’ said the old man, as they rode home. ‘I am full of passion, and might say things to offend your ear; but let me tell you, this is a dastardly outrage; it was not a fight, but deliberate assassination, and old as I am, I would walk a hundred miles for the pleasure of putting a bullet into the precious scoundrel who did it.

“‘No, we can find no clue to the affair. The collegians have been down to the bridge, but there are no traces of the struggle, and the poor lad himself is insensible.

“‘I don’t know how the case stands, but it looks an ugly wound, very, and the doctor shakes his head ominously. I would give ten thousand pounds on the spot to “string up” the rascal who did it.

“‘Here we are, girls, home at last. I know you must be fatigued, both of you;’ and as he handed them from the carriage, he kissed them affectionately, and they immediately retired to their room.

“‘Jack,’ said the colonel to a servant, seating himself on the moonlit verandah, and lighting his pipe, ‘bring me a cup of wine—that’s it. You acted well to-night, and I shan’t forget it. It was “Pink,” you say, who first discovered him, eh? Lucky it was so, or he would have sunk for a certainty. Well, look here, Jack, you and Ike sit up to-night. I’m going to Lord Stoner’s again, and if Miss Clare wants to see me in the morning, tell her I shall be back by breakfast.’

“Calling the hound, ‘Pink,’ the old man shouldered his double barrel shot gun, and went to Lord Stoner’s by the forest path, lingering by the bridge for some time in deep thought.

“The breeze of early morning began to blow, and early cocks crew salutations that echoed far and near on the quiet landscape.

“Hour followed hour, and neither Clare nor Lady Bray could sleep.

“Clare had prayed longer than usual, and courted sleep, but it came not.

“Lady Bray, on the contrary, had sat in an arm chair, thinking of all manner of things, and pacing her room to and fro.

“At last she went to Clare’s door, and tapped and entered.

“‘Oh, Clare,’ she said, seating herself on the bedside, ‘I feel so miserable! I cannot tell why it is; but that poor youth is always before my eyes! Oh! I am glad you did not see the sight (Clare had done so), it was awful! All his clothes were wet and dirty and bloody, and his face like marble. Oh! what a horrible crime it was! I cannot sleep for thinking of it! Let me lie with you, Clare.’

“And both cousins lay side by side.

“‘What is the matter, Clare?’ said Lady Bray, who felt tear-drops falling on her hand. ‘You are weeping!’

“Clare, who had not spoken, was struggling desperately to conceal her emotion; but nature was strong, and she burst out passionately in sobs.

“‘Oh! cousin, forgive me! I cannot be a hypocrite longer! You, who tells me everything, would not guess how or what I have concealed. Oh! had it been Heaven’s will I would died rather than this should have happened to him!’

“Lady Bray passed her arm round the sobbing girl, and drew still closer to her, listening breathlessly to all that flowed from her as she went on passionately and rapidly,

“‘I never knew till now how much I could feel; but it is too much. I have concealed my thoughts from all. I have worn a mask, but now it falls from my face in an unexpected and unlooked-for moment.’

“Lady Bray rose on her elbow, and looked at the tear-moistened face of her pale, sobbing cousin, and after some time asked, with unnatural calmness,

“‘Do you——’

“‘Oh! cousin, do not torture me!’

“And, then, in a paroxysm of grief, added,

“‘I—have—for—years!’

“Lady Bray’s breast heaved with strong emotions.

“She conquered them after a quiet struggle, and, smiling with compassion on her cousin, drew her quivering form still closer to her, until poor child-like Clare, wearied with weeping, rested her head on her cousin’s breast, and went to sleep.

“Lady Bray lay awake hour after hour thinking, and could not sleep.

“She prayed for it, but it came not.

“Racked with conflicting thoughts she lived part of her life over again, and resolved to forget all about it.

“‘I thought so,’ she mused. ‘Clare could not disguise it from me. I saw it long ago; but it can never be. No! it can never be, even if he lives!

“‘What pain she must have suffered to-night! How strong is the heart beating in that pale, fragile frame?

“‘No, no, Clare. Sleep on, sweet cousin; but heaven guide your heart aright, and prepare it for disappointments and trials, for they will surely come.’

“And so passed the night until the sun began to gild the eastern clouds, and even then Lady Bray lay awake, watching the curtains moving in the breeze.

“The night had been an anxious one at Lord Stoner’s. All had retired as usual, and, save the lights in his daughter’s room, with moving figures reflected on the blinds, all was still.

“Dr. Newman had arrived long ago, and after consulting, both medical gentlemen began operating on the scarcely breathing, inanimate student.

“After difficulty and much effusion of blood the bullet was extracted, and the wound bandaged.

“Everything had been made as comfortable as possible, and the doctors had retired, leaving Ashton, the student, and Susan, the servant, to attend till morning.

“‘How is he getting on, Ashton?’ asked old Temple, noiselessly entering the room, and whispering.

“‘They didn’t say anything of importance; I only caught two or three words at parting.

“‘Desperate!’ said one.

“‘Yes; but not mortal, I think,’ added the other. ‘He is very young, tough, and strong, and will recover, I think.’

“‘Good news,’ responded Temple. ‘Let’s have a look at him.’

“And he took the candle and looked at the sleeper, who seemed to breathe freely, with his long hair thrown from his forehead, which was as pale as snow.

“‘Look you here, Ashton,’ went on the colonel, drawing his chair very close, and speaking in whispers, ‘this was a foul piece of work, and there must have been some reason for it. You are his friend; you and he have associated for years. Can you guess the person or the cause of all this?’

“‘It is a difficult matter to say. I have very good reasons to suppose it was premeditated; but by whom I cannot imagine.’

“‘You seem to speak mysteriously. Why not talk plainly?’

“‘Well, then, colonel, to speak plainly, I cannot, and must not, if I would. My great surprise is that I was not also a victim.’

“‘You a victim? Why, you speak strangely, as if there existed some conspiracy. I cannot understand it.’

“‘No, I dare say not—at present, perhaps; but you will, ere many years,’ said Ashton, smiling.

“‘Well, you may talk in riddles as much as you like; but, if I knew the scamp who did this, he should have to pay dearly for it.’

“‘I feel certain of that. You may rest assured he will never die a natural death, if he lives a hundred years.’

“Ashton spoke in parables to the old man, who did not comprehend; but there was so much earnestness and solemnity in his few words, that Colonel Temple was curious to divine his meaning, but could not.

“‘I do not understand you yet, sir,’ said the old colonel, with a red face. ‘I know that there is a strong party growing up in the land against King Charles; but surely Captain Lawrence can have nothing to do with it? He is too young yet to be mixed up deeply in politics.’

“‘No, colonel, he is not; but, on the contrary, is one of the finest writers of the day, and has aided the king’s cause not a little.’

“‘Indeed.’

“‘Yes. Do you know much of this Redgill, who was at Lord Stoner’s ball to-night?’

“‘Redgill—yes. He is one of the loud-mouthed party who cry against the king, and that, for one reason, makes them enemies. But you do not mean to say, surely, that Redgill did this horrid deed?’

“‘All I mean to say, colonel, is this,’ said Ashton—‘there is a deadly hatred between them, for I believe Redgill has offered his hand to your daughter Clare, and been refused.’

“‘Why, I’d rather have the devil for a son-in-law than him. But what makes your lip tremble, Ashton?’

“‘Because I hold a great secret regarding Lawrence!’

“‘Indeed!’

“‘Yes; but before I tell it to you let me ask you one question.’

“‘Name it.’

“‘Would you ever object to Clare marrying the man of her choice?’

“‘Marrying the man of her choice?’ said the old colonel, in surprise. ‘Why, of course not; if he was a fit and proper person, you know.’

“‘Well, if Lawrence here were to propose for your daughter, I mean.’

“‘I should not; but still I can scarcely understand you, for, if he lives, I think he will aspire to one of rank and station. But if he did propose for Clare I should have no objection in the world. But you must understand, Ashton, that I speak thus in all confidence, for I fancy he would never do so, for, until very lately, Clare has been most distant towards him, and why it is that she shows so much liking for his company now is a puzzle to me.’

“‘Well, then, colonel,’ said Ashton, ‘as you have been so open-minded to me in this matter I will act likewise, and tell you all I know. Do you see any likeness in Lawrence to any great living personage?’ asked Ashton, in a serious mood.

“A likeness to any living personage?’ said the colonel, with an uncertain look. ‘Why, now I come to gaze on him the more, I think I do.’

“And whom does he resemble, think you?’

“‘Why, he is as much like what King Charles used to be when a young man as two peas in a pod,’ said the colonel. ‘I have often heard it remarked before.’

“‘Yes, he is like the king,’ said Ashton, ‘and I have remarked it also, but never named it to him; but certain circumstances have transpired to-day which make me think that there is more than a likeness between them.’

“‘Indeed! how?’ said the colonel, astonished and interested.

“‘At the review there were many distinguished people present, nobles among the number.’

“‘I know it.’

“‘But you do not know that the king was there?’

“‘You are surely joking?’

“‘I am not, colonel, for after the review was all over, the king, disguised as an ordinary gentleman, went boldly up to the principal of the academy, and had a long conversation with him about Lawrence. They did not perceive me, for I was sitting at my window reading, yet, as they walked to and fro, I could hear much of what they said.’

“‘And what did they say?’

“‘The king’s disguise was discovered by the president, and the monarch did not deny it, but in the course of conversation confessed that he had always felt great interest in Lawrence’s progress, for he was his own son.”

“‘His own son!’ said the astonished colonel.

“‘Yes, his own son—illegitimate, it is true, but nevertheless, his own true offspring.’

“‘And who was the mother?’

“‘That I did not then learn; but when Lawrence first came among us as a mere boy to the academy he wore a locket round his neck which was unmistakably the portrait on ivory of the young and fascinating Duchess of Buckingham. (See Cut in No. 13). From this I gather that she must have been his mother.’

“‘I am astonished,’ said the colonel. ‘And has not the king, then, provided for his after welfare?’

“‘Without a doubt. I heard him say that some grand and vast estates in France had been passed over to him, and that a large sum in money would be his when he married?’

“‘Then Lawrence is a false name—he is the king’s bastard?’ said the colonel.

“‘He is,’ said Ashton.

“‘Then he shall never marry my daughter,’ said Colonel Temple. “No bastard shall ever enter my family!’

“And so speaking he left the apartment, with a flushed face, and Ashton remained alone by the bedside of his wounded comrade, who was sighing in his troubled dreams and moaning.

“Memories of years past flitted through his troubled brain, and the image of his adored one, Clare Temple, held supreme possession of all his faculties.

“He had seen and known her when but a child.

“She used to pass the college gardens on her way to school, with books and slate and dimity sun-bonnet trimmed with blue.

“Years had passed.

“She grew into girlhood, and short frocks and sun-bonnet gave place to a seminary uniform of blue-gauze and white chip quaker scoop, and her light and airy manner changed to that of a studious seminarian in her teens.

“He had spoken to her, but met with no response.

“He had anonymously written poems and tales in her honour.

“But all had passed unnoticed.

“She treated him with cold respect, and met his timid overtures with blunt rebuffs.

“He had met her on the road and in the woods.

“But she passed him with a distant bow.

“Yet if in the greatest glee his presence chilled her into unusual coldness, and although unconscious of the cause she could neither sing nor play in his presence.

“Lawrence had often confessed that his case was hopeless.

“Many disliked him from some cause; and, following in their footsteps, Clare, he thought, treated him with marked indifference.

“It must be confessed, however, that although Clare had hitherto disclosed her secret thoughts to no one, yet, when alone, she often thought,

“‘Every one is loved but me! I am not pretty, I know, neither have I many accomplishments. I wish I were like Emma Bray, for everybody loves her.’

“And then she would stealthily draw from her bosom a small gold locket which contained a ruby heart on which was cut a simple love motto.

“She knew not who had sent it.

“It came to her in a bouquet found on the dressing table on her birthday, and was the first present she had ever received from any admirer.

“She mused and pondered, but dared not give utterance to her thoughts; yet as she passed the college gardens, and saw Lawrence walking up and down, her cheeks flushed, and bending her head more lowly than ever, she passed the buildings rapidly, and tried to stay her unnatural palpitations.

“Thus ran the wild fancies of the wounded student about his true love, when a loud knocking and rapping was heard at Lord Stoner’s door.

“‘Who or what can that be?’ thought Ashton.

“But still the knocking continued in the dead of night, and the dogs barked in all directions.

“When the hall porter opened the door, he perceived two white figures on horseback, with long, streaming hair.

“The old hall porter rushed away and hid himself, for he swore that two ghosts had arrived at the hall.

“When the truth was made known, it was discovered that the two arrivals were not ghosts at all.

“They were two handsome females.

“They were none other than Lady Bray and Clare Temple!

“‘Where is my father?’ asked Clare, in great haste and fright, as she dismounted from her foaming horse.

“‘Where is my uncle, the colonel?’ gasped Lady Bray.

“‘What is the matter, ladies?’ asked Lord Stoner, in great alarm. ‘Why, heaven help us! the two ladies have scarcely anything on but their night-dresses. What is the matter? Explain, I beg, ladies, explain.’

“‘Arm yourself and your household!’ gasped Clare. ‘Arm them quickly!’

“‘What means this?’

“‘Arm yourselves, all of you, at once, or you are all dead men!’

“‘Explain,’ said the colonel to his daughter.

“‘You know Redgill, who has proposed for my hand?’

“‘Yes.’

“‘I refused him thrice.’

“‘I know it; what of that?’

“‘He has joined a band of ruffians who have assumed the singular and horrible disguise of skeleton men. Emma and I were sitting at our bed-room window, and could not sleep. We espied two men dressed in skeleton garb hiding in the shrubbery. We heard them conversing together, and learnt that they intended to carry Emma and myself away, and to murder all who opposed them. I did not stop an instant, for I and cousin crept from our room, saddled two horses, and galloped hither for protection. But just as we were crossing the hill-top, I espied a large troop of these demon-like horsemen approaching, and could hear them singing a song, in which they praised Redgill, their leader and chief, and swore to have the life’s blood of some one they called the King’s Bastard, but what it meant I knew not.’

“‘Enough, daughter,’ said the old man, drawing his sword. ‘Ere these bloodthirsty fiends can arrive, we will fly with the wounded youth.’

“In a short time a carriage and four was provided.

“Lawrence was placed in it.

“With a strong guard of mounted men around, in front, and behind it, the carriage drove off towards the sea coast, Clare and Lady Bray, being inside, acting as nurses to the wounded youth.”

Wildfire Ned had read this much of his father’s exciting history, when a side door was suddenly opened.

Before he could say a word, Captain Jack stood before him, laughing.

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Chapter XXXIV

CAPTAIN JACK PAYS NED WARBECK AN UNEXPECTED VISIT—THE REVELATION.

“Who the devil are you?” said Ned, rising hastily, and drawing a pistol. “Who the devil are you? What do you want, and where do you come from? Answer instantly, or a bullet shall whistle through your head.”

“Put down your pistol, my brave lad,” said Captain Jack, smiling. “My name is Captain Jack. I am one of the crown officers; in other words, a detective, and am just come from one of the strongest prisons in the kingdom.”

“Indeed! and what has all that to do with me?”

“A great deal, as you will quickly hear.”

“And how gained you admittance into this library?”

“By a secret door, as you perceive.”

“I never knew that one existed.”

“No; but I did,” said Captain Jack, smiling. “I know all about this house, as well as I do about the ins and out of Darlington Hall.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes; a friend of yours informed me.”

“A friend of mine? Nay, he must have been an enemy.”

“Well, enemy, then, if you like. I daresay you remember his name.”

“I cannot guess.”

“Phillip Redgill.”

“The wretch!”

“Yes; he’s all that, and more; but I think his career of crime is well nigh ended. He is in gaol.”

“I need not ask for what, perhaps?”

“Murder, Ned Warbeck—murder is his crime.”

“And how came you to ferret out all his villany?”

“I have had my eye on him for a long time. When the fruit was ripe we plucked it. Ha! ha! he is safe enough now.”

“And what are the number of charges against him?”

“A dozen or more.”

“And how did you manage to capture him at last, for I have heard you were a long time in finding him out?”

“Some months, for he lived from time to time in all sorts of holes and corners, and under all imaginable names. He treated his wife, Fanny, in the most shameful manner, and led her also into vice and crime; but as long as she supplied him with money from time to time, he seldom went home, and did not care how or whence the money came. I heard all the facts from a spy, whom I employed, and who, for the last three days before his capture, followed Phillip Redgill about like a shadow.”

“Like an evil genius,” said Ned, smiling.

“Just so,” said Captain Jack, smoking a cigar. “Being extremely hard pressed for money, Phillip thought he would visit his home—the first time, he had done so, it must be confessed, for several weeks—and see what could be realised there.

“He was not surprised to see much company present, for that he knew was of frequent occurrence, and had originated with himself.

“But feeling supremely miserable, he was stung to the quick to see his wife in such exuberant spirits, presiding at a sumptuous supper, which he very well knew she was not able to afford.

“Around the table were seated many young men of gay celebrity, drinking wine and joking.

“Madame was decked out in all the fashions of the season, and when her husband arrived she rose very quietly, handed him a chair, and whispered very lovingly,

“‘A few of your friends, dear!’

“When the company had dispersed, Redgill, who was now intoxicated with wine and passion, broke forth into one of his habitual fits of furious brutality, and threatened to kill his wife.

“He tossed over the supper table.

“He struck Fanny a severe blow with a decanter, and then fell upon the floor helplessly intoxicated among the ruins of the feast—eatables, drinkables, plate, glass, and costly etceteras.

“When the moon peeped above the houses, and threw a faint light into the apartment, he awoke in a maudlin state, and staggered up to bed.

“Everything seemed in confusion; the drawers and chests were rifled, and their contents strewn about the floor.

“The bed had no occupant, and by the lighted lamp which stood upon the dressing-table, he perceived a note addressed to him, in Fanny’s handwriting.

“He opened it, and read its contents, which ran something like this—

“‘You have struck me for the last time. Love has long departed from my heart. I, whom you have so cruelly deceived without regrets, bid you farewell.’

“‘Oh! that’s it, eh?’ said Phillip, hiccuping. ‘Gone!—farewell! and all that kind of style, eh? Well, all right, it’s just the thing; it couldn’t be better! I’ll sell off all the things, and make some ready money. I’ll do it this very day. Just what I wanted.’

“Phillip pulled off his boots with much difficulty, and fell upon the bed, and was soon fast asleep.

“The blinds were not drawn.

“The pale moon shed its holy rays upon the disordered apartment, and as morning dawned, the lamplight flickered and died.

“The moonlight lit his haggard face, as he lay half scowling in his sleep, and with fists tightly clenched, and hair disordered, he ground his teeth in dreams.

“The vision of his life passed before him.

“His mother’s face and form appeared as in his childhood, and looked with sadness upon him.

“His schoolboy days and boyish loves caused him to sigh and smile, in unconscious sleep.

“His false and early love for one sinless maiden he had ruined came next in view.

“Following in the train of chiding phantoms wept his injured wife!

“He ground his teeth most horribly, but laughed with demoniacal scorn!

“The moon still lit his features.

“Even in sleep, the spy has told me, his face assumed a look of intense horror and surprise.

“He clutched the clothes convulsively, and shrieked out aloud,

“‘My father! my father!’ and jumped from the bed in fright.

“‘Where am I? Tell me. Fanny!—my wife! No, no; I didn’t do it! It cannot be!’ and he fell, gasping, upon the floor.

“‘What a fool I am,’ said Phillip, with a laugh, when he had recovered his senses, ‘what a fool I am to think of such things—such childish, silly fancies as dreams! Yet that cursed figure haunts me—yes, everywhere, and I suffer all the torments of the damned. Where’s the brandy? that’s the thing!’

“Thus he raved, but he little thought one of my men was concealed in the chamber, and saw and heard all.

“Having found a bottle partly full he readily emptied its contents, and Phillip went from the house to negotiate for the immediate sale of all its effects.

“He was followed by my spy.

“Whither his wife had fled was of little moment to Phillip.

“His whole thoughts were directed to the sale of his goods and chattels.

“He owed money it was true, but this he never intended to pay.

“So that when he had negotiated the sale with a broker, and received a large sum of money therefor, he felt supremely happy, and went to his old haunts, and spent money so grandly and lavishly that many winked, and could not comprehend it.

“The furniture, &c., had scarcely been removed from the premises, together with numberless etcetera, when the landlord arrived upon the scene, but, unfortunately, too late.

“Numerous creditors were advised of the event, and were not slow in preparing very long bills for settlement, but when they reached the house, they simply found the place empty, with several other gentlemen, interested like themselves, standing round the door with long and very serious faces.

“They had been ‘sold,’ they said, but whether this remark applied to the furniture or themselves is doubtful, although from their very blank countenances it is certain they would not have brought much at public auction.

“When Mr. Phillip Redgill was inquired for, he was found at the Royal Racquet Court, elegantly stretching himself in a new suit of clothes, imbibing brandy and water with much apparent satisfaction.

“There was no compunction of conscience in him, and therefore he deported himself very majestically to the crowd of creditors who surrounded him and lustily demanded the payment of their debts.

“These he laughed at, but in a day or two, when he was ‘wanted,’ I easily tracked him out, and laid my hands on him for the murder of old farmer Bertram.”

“Good heavens! you don’t mean that.”

“I do, though.”

“I always thought it.”

“I always knew it,” said Captain Jack, laughing; “but come with me, I want you, Ned Warbeck, on particular business. Come this way, and you shall know all.”

Wildfire Ned and Captain Jack left the library together, and went towards Phillip Redgill’s prison.

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Chapter XXXV

IN WHICH SOMETHING IS SAID OF PHILLIP REDGILL, OLD SIR ANDREW, AND IN WHICH ONE OF PHILLIP’S VICTIMS IS MADE A HAPPY MAN AND A FATHER.

Upon the elegant house, and its fashionably dressed inmates, in Minerva Street, of which Phillip had heard many strange rumours, Mr. Redgill never bestowed a single thought, although he had more than crude suspicions of who the much-talked-of “Madame Fannie St. Claire” might be.

Old Sir Andrew had never thought of asking Phillip anything regarding his daughter.

She had separated from her husband he full well knew, but as Phillip never broached the subject, Sir Andrew, for purposes of avarice and greed, refrained from doing so.

“She has made her own nest,” he would sometimes say to his old and asthmatic wife, propped up in her arm-chair beside the fire, “therefore let her lie in it.

“I don’t know nor care where she is. Don’t bother me with your questions and nonsense, woman. I have something else to think about.

“I don’t care what has become of her—there. Don’t sit there snivelling, you old fool, or I’ll leave the place altogether.

“In a few weeks, I hope, I shall be doing business in the City, and not in this miserable hole, with a crabbed old woman coughing all day and night.

“What’ll folks think then of old Sir Andy, as they call me, when I appear on ’Change again, and with a large banker’s account at my back?

“What’ll they say then to the old president of the Phœnix Insurance Company, whom they refuse to speak to, or even recognise now, eh?

“I’ll show ’em all what money can do. I’m just as honest as any of ’em; it’s all speculation in this world; so long as you’ve got the cash you needn’t care a snap of your finger for any of ’em.

“Don’t sit there prating, you old hag! If you open your lips again, I’ll squeeze the life out of you, I will, you miserable old thing. I hate the sight of you!”

And, from the number of times that old Sir Andrew raised his chair in anger, it seemed probable that at some time, in moments of fury, he really would send the aged and afflicted woman unexpectedly into eternity.

Augustus Fumbleton, Esq., it must be confessed, was not at all troubled with matrimonial jars or grievances.

He was not a married man, but, as he often expressed it, “soon would be.”

“In a month or two, all this business of Phillip’s will be over, and then I’ll settle down,” he thought, “turn over a new leaf, and have his wife for my mistress. What a head old Sir Andrew, her father, has got to be sure.

“He attends church regularly, I hear, and is looked upon out in the country as a perfect ‘saint.’

“Ah, church-going folks ain’t always the best. There’s many a man sits with a prayer book in his hand who’s thinking of something else. Never mind, we’ll do this little trick and then I’ll cry ‘quits.’”

If Messrs. Redgill, Sir Andrew and Fumbleton were situated as we have described, Charley Warbeck, Ned’s brother, was in the greatest sorrow and concern for the safety of his young wife, and very despondent in spirits.

NOW READY, THE BOY SAILOR; OR, LIFE ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.

This will be found one of the most exciting and powerful tales of the day. The scene of the story is laid in Cornwall, and it abounds with the wild legends and strange adventures of the daring wreckers and smugglers that haunt the bays and inlets of that rocky coast.

FOUR ENGRAVINGS, IN A HANDSOME COLOURED BORDER, GIVEN AWAY WITH NUMBERS 1 and 2.

ORDER EARLY. ONE PENNY WEEKLY.

Her health had been very precarious for several weeks, and the anxious young husband was troubled exceedingly for her safety.

For the doctors in attendance in consultation looked very serious and gloomy, and held out but little hope of her recovery.

Dame Worthington and Mistress Haylark were almost in constant attendance both day and night.

But the latter was so much given to long naps in her arm-chair, and so fretful during her occasional attendance, that Dame Worthington thought it advisable to stay up at night herself, now that she had somewhat recovered from the poison Sir Andrew had given her.

Instead of frightening the poor girl with stories and hobgoblin notions regarding her particularly critical position, the good, kind, old lady cheered her with all the funny anecdotes she could remember, and often made her laugh heartily and forget all about her sickness.

Oftentimes when Clara was asleep, this ever-watchful old lady would lean across the bed and kiss her, and then turn away with tears in her eyes.

Night after night she watched beside the poor suffering girl, and her delicate patient could not disturb a single curl upon her pillow without she arose, readjusted the bed-clothes and dampened her fevered brow.

The parting of Charley with his wife every morning ere he went to business, was of the most tender description.

He thought, and with sufficient reason, that perhaps he might never see her alive again; and, it must be confessed, as he leaned over her to say good morning, his eyes were moist as she passionately kissed him.

“Don’t weep, Charley dear,” poor Clara would say, as she passed her thin, white, delicate arms around his neck in unaffected simplicity and affection.

“There, don’t, don’t weep, my good, good, boy, or you will make me worse, darling; there, smile. Oh, how different you look, pet; what a shame it is that you look so solemn. There, go away smiling, and it will make me happy all the day,” she would laughingly add as he bestowed a parting embrace and departed.

While Charley was full of business, one morning at the office—but, it must be confessed, in a very disturbed state of mind—a messenger arrived, saying, “He was wanted at home immediately, his wife was dying!”

If a shot had struck him he could not have felt more pain and alarm.

He seized his hat, and ran down to the ferry-boat like a maniac.

He had to wait fifteen minutes before the boat started.

It was unearthly torture to him.

He could plainly see his house, on the south side of the river, which appeared to be no more than a few hundred yards distant.

He sought for a row-boat, but none was at hand.

He felt as if he could have jumped across the river, and paced up and down, like one demented.

Just as the regular boat was about to leave the ferry wharf, old Sir Richard appeared, and in company with one of the best physicians of the city.

He had been informed by the same messenger of the critical nature of the case, had left the India House on the instant, and had forced his old friend, Dr. Stevens, to accompany him.

“Never mind your engagements, doctor—this is a case of life or death. I would not have her die for thousands!”

Within a few moments the boat started, and the three gentlemen were soon landed on the other side.

Two minutes’ walk sufficed to bring them to Charley’s residence.

Charley rushed upstairs, and would have entered his wife’s apartment.

Mistress Haylark, looking double her ordinary size, stood outside the door, blocking up the door, and denied him entrance.

“Go in there, sir,” she said, pointing majestically to a back room with her right hand, holding a basin of gruel in the left.

“Go in there, sir!” she repeated, with awful solemnity of voice and manner, “and stay until you’re called, and don’t dare come in the room!”

Charley, the young and anxious husband, was stupefied, but mechanically obeyed.

He had not remained long in suspense, when the connecting door between the back and front bed-rooms opened, and Dame Worthington, all smiles and tears, appeared with something in her arms, which, rolled up in flannels and shawls, appeared to be an armful of newly-made muffins.

“Look at that, my dear! look at your own dear boy, and kiss him!”

Old Sir Richard, Charley, and Dr. Stevens gazed upon the tiny face of the babe, who, with its little fists tightly closed, half-opened its eyes and began to cry right lustily.

Dame Worthington gave old Sir Richard a peculiar look, and that respectable old gentleman smiled, shook Charley by the hand, took a pinch of snuff, and turned aside.

Dr. Stevens pronounced it “an extraordinary infant,” and said it must have weighed ten pounds.

While Charley, overjoyed to hear of Clara’s safety, took his first-born from the good old lady’s arms, kissed it, and, going into the front room, placed it beside its mother.

Poor Clara, weak, faint, pale, and suffering, languidly opened her eyes, faintly smiled, and sighed.

Charley kissed her, of course, very fondly, and would have remained by her side, but the merry, laughing old dame, and the august, solemn-spoken mother-in-law bade her daughter dry up her tears, and remember she was “one of the Haylarks,” and quickly hustled poor Charley out of the room.

Full of excitement, he knew not what to do.

For the first time in his life, he determined to pay court to Bacchus, and old Sir Richard, apparently appearing nothing loth, they both sat down to a substantial meal, and beguiled the rest of the evening by paying exclusive attention to a box of havannahs and some excellent cognac.

In his merriment and good humour, he kissed everybody; even his mother-in-law, whom he discovered coming up stairs with medicines and gruel; but that majestic lady, in her cap well stocked with flaming ribbons, frowned, and said he ought to be ashamed of himself, and should have more “dignity,” a quality he would have doubtless possessed in superabundance, only he was unfortunately not one of “the Haylarks.”

Mr. Warbeck had no sooner become a father, than he began to look and act like a much different man.

He was gay and lively as ever, it is true, and, if anything, far more so; but he began to assume the air and bearing of one upon whose shoulders rested serious “responsibilities.”

He went to the office every morning with cheerfulness and alacrity; and there his chief thought during the day was for the approach of evening, when he might hurry homewards, to enjoy the quiet delights of his own fireside, in the company of his wife and child.

Clara, it must be confessed, soon recovered from her illness, and moved about the house with great grace and amiability, looking more comely and captivating than ever.

With “baby” in her arms, she would walk up and down the parlour singing all manner of pretty ditties to solace the child to sleep, and, it had scarcely closed its little eyes, ere she would commence to kiss and hug it, and to talk to it in baby prattle, and wake it again, and then begin to scold some imaginary being for having disturbed its slumbers.

When the day of christening arrived there was much controversy as to the name it should bear. Charles proposed that it should be named “Charles Warbeck,” but to this proposition the mother-in-law made vehement resistance.

It was one of “the Haylarks,” she said, and should be so named; so that to quiet the old lady, and to prevent any more quarrelings, and historical lectures regarding her illustrious relatives, both father and mother agreed it should be named “Charles Edward Worthington Haylark Warbeck.”

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XXXVI. DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND—CAPTAIN JACK’S ADVENTURES

When Phillip Redgill found himself safely locked in his prison cell, deep, dark remorse took possession of his wicked heart.

He could not sleep, he could not eat.

All he could do was to walk about the stone chamber, and curse everything and everybody.

He called the gaoler and spoke to him.

“They accuse me of fearful crimes,” said Phillip, faintly attempting to smile; “but mere accusation will not avail much, they must prove all they say.”

“There can’t be much difficulty about doing that,” said the old gaoler, “when such men as Colonel Blood and Captain Jack take the affair in hand, for Captain Jack can prove anything if he likes.”

“Yes; and perhaps can disprove anything also if he thinks proper, eh?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said the turnkey, with a knowing grin.

“Perhaps not,” said Phillip, with a sad smile; “but I dare say you might give a rough guess.”

“No one has any right to guess about such things,” said the turnkey, “and, besides, you must know he is our superior officer, and I have no right to speak about what he does.”

“Well, you need not fall out with me,” said Phillip; “I have no friends here, but I think I could make one of you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Would you take a note to the post office for me?”

“I dare not.”

“Not for a guinea?”

“I must not.”

“Not for three guineas?”

“Don’t tempt me!”

“Yes, do; give me pen, ink, and paper, and I will give you ten guineas!”

“My life is at stake; I should be implicated as an accomplice.”

“Nonsense. Do as I wish, and I will give you twenty guineas.”

The turnkey left the cell.

But he soon returned.

“Let me see the colour of your money,” said he, “and I will deliver your note.”

“Agreed,” said Phillip, and as he spoke he drew out of the lining of his coat a twenty guinea note, and gave it to the gaoler.

In less than two minutes Phillip wrote a very hurried note, and gave it to the gaoler to post.

He had scarcely done so, and the frightened gaoler had barely time to put the pen and ink into his pocket when heavy footsteps were heard approaching.

The turnkey turned deadly pale as he whispered to Phillip,

“It is Captain Jack, and half drunk as usual.”

“Hillo!” said the captain to the gaoler, “what brings you here?”

“The prisoner wished me to lend him a bible and prayer book, that’s all.”

“Ha! ha!” laughed Captain Jack. “So Mr. Redgill has turned religious all at once, eh? Very good. Ha! ha! it’s time he did something of the kind. Get you gone, and don’t let me catch you talking to the prisoner any more. Do you understand me? If you do, you shall be dismissed.”

“But, captain, I have done no wrong; no offence was meant. You know I have been gaoler here more than twenty years, and a steadier, a soberer, or a honester man never was than myself, though I say it.”

“I dare say,” Captain Jack replied, with a grin. “All men are honest till they’re found out; I’m a real saint myself. Ha! ha! Then leave us, I wish to speak to the prisoner alone. Get you gone, turnkey!”

The gaoler left.

Captain Jack and Phillip Redgill were now alone,

The captain took a seat on the edge of the table, and looked at Phillip much like a wild beast who has got his prey firmly in its clutches.

Neither spoke for some time.

Phillip’s eyes glowed with rage, but he spoke not a syllable for some time.

Captain Jack amused himself with whistling and playing with a pistol.

“May I ask what you want with me?” Phillip began, at length, endeavouring to suppress the rage he felt.

“Me want with you?” said Jack. “Oh! I really beg pardon for intruding—ha! ha! but I thought you might want to see me, that’s all.”

As he spoke he smiled like a demon.

“You have acted the knave towards me, Captain Jack.”

“Have I, though? How complimentary you are!”

“Yes, you have, Captain Jack; you have acted like a black-hearted scoundrel!”

“Go on, go on, I am listening; you can’t hurt anybody with your tongue; you are bound too fast to the stone floor to do much harm.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, of course you are but go on—I want to hear all you’ve got to say.”

“Why did you take my money, and then arrest me?”

“Because I wanted the cash; and, in the next place, I wished to save my own neck. Colonel Blood swore to hang one or the other, so I thought you might do better than myself, you perceive.”

“But suppose I were to tell Colonel Blood what I have done for you?”

“He wouldn’t believe you, that’s all.”

“I don’t know that.”

“But I do, though. If I had not thought and known so, I shouldn’t have captured you alive.”

“What then?”

“Why, would have so arranged it that you would have been a dead man, that’s all.”

“And did you mean that all along?”

“Of course I did.”

For some time neither spoke, but looked at each other occasionally with an expression of fierce brutality in their eyes.

At last, Phillip said:

“Suppose I disprove all your charges and accusations—what then?”

“Oh, but you can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“No—impossible.”

“But if I get witnesses to swear to my innocence?”

“Why, then, I’ll so manage it as to have two witnesses to your one to swear quite the contrary.”

“You are a villain, Captain Jack!”

“Lor’ bless you! Didn’t you know it before? I’m called that name every day—I’m quite used to it now.”

“Tell the truth, Captain Jack—What did you come here for?”

“Have you any money?—answer me that first.”

“Not a penny piece.”

“Then you will as surely die as eggs are eggs, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Couldn’t you manage to get some money, by fair means or foul?”

“Why?”

“Oh, nothing; but it’s possible you might only be transported if you could raise a thousand pounds to pay lawyers to defend you, and—ah—”

“And what?”

“Why, ‘palm’ Colonel Blood and myself, that’s all. The affidavits are not made out yet. I have only taken you on suspicion, you know.”

“I understand.”

“But then the suspicion is very strong, you know—very, very strong indeed; it almost amounts to a dead certainty, since we’ve got the identical suit of clothes ‘a certain party’ exchanged, on the night of the murder, with young Bob Bertram.”

Captain Jack smiled as he said this.

Phillip bit his lip.

“How did you procure the clothes?”

“Ned Warbeck gave the suit to me this very morning, for Bob had kept them by him, and young Warbeck says he could swear they belong to——”

“D—n Ned Warbeck!” said Phillip Redgill, in a terrible rage; “D—n him! he is always crossing my path. I wish he were dead; yes, buried at the bottom of the ocean he loves so much!”

“Aye, but there’s no killing a lad like him,” said Captain Jack; “he’s got more lives than a cat, and as to drowning, it’s out of the question, for he swims like a duck and can float like a cork.”

“Then what do you propose?”

“I can’t propose anything if you can’t raise the wind. If you will be hanged, it’s your fault, not mine. It would suit me to know you were in a penal settlement quite as well as to know you were buried.”

“You are quite disinterested, Captain Jack, and very polite.”

“I always was.”

“But suppose I do not give you money, that I do not hang or be transported—what then?”

“Oh, that’s impossible; out of the question entirely; you must do one thing or the other. Do you refuse to raise the money?”

“No. I do not.”

“Well, then, I have got pens, ink, and paper in my pocket; write a note, and I will take it to any place you like.”

“You are a cunning rascal, Captain Jack.”

“No matter; time is flying—there is no use of wasting compliments. Can you raise the amount by writing for it?”

“In a case of life or death I think I could.”

“Well, that’s sensible. Here is the pen.”

“But suppose I refuse?”

“Well, then, you are a doomed man, that’s all, and there’s an end of it. Good-day!”

“Stay; do not go yet. Upon second thought, I think I will write a note. Will you wait for an answer?”

“Of course, if the money is likely to be forthcoming.”

“But it’s contrary to the rules of the prison to write letters unknown to the governor, you know.”

“Oh, the governor be d——d! What matters? He’ll not know a syllable about it. Here you are; scribble away.”

Phillip Redgill took the pen and paper.

“Go out for a minute, Captain Jack, and stretch your legs. By the time you return I shall have the note written.”

Captain Jack strolled out of the cell carelessly.

Directly he had gone Phillip Redgill pulled out his pocket knife, and made a small wound in his arm.

The blood gently flowed.

With the liquid he wrote a note in a strange hand, and in a still stranger character, which ran thus,

D——W——G,—By our solemn oath, help me. My former note will explain all. This night decides my fate!

PHILLIP REDGILL.

When Captain Jack returned, the prisoner had finished his note, and directed it with ink to—

CAPTAIN GINGLES, Blue Boar, City.

Strictly private and confidential.

“Captain Gingles, eh? Is that the name of your friend?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a queer one, any way,” said Captain Jack, taking the note, and balancing it between his fingers in a musing manner. “He’s got plenty of cash, I suppose?”

“Yes, lots of money—that’s why he’s called Gingles, for he’s always got his pockets well filled, and is fond of gingling it about.”

“I see, I see; but what time have I to present it?”

“Don’t go there before twelve o’clock to-night, for he always likes to have his wine undisturbed. You must catch him when he is coming out.”

“Very good.”

“And when shall I see or hear from you, Captain Jack?”

“Directly I get the money—to-night, perhaps, or to-morrow morning early.”

“That’s satisfactory. Give my respects to Gingles, Captain Jack.”

“I shan’t fail. Keep up your courage; you will only be transported if we get the coin.”

So speaking, he left the prisoner, who, strange to say, now began to smile and look quite elated.

“It is my last card,” said Phillip, to himself, “and I have played it. Death-wing will surely not prove a craven to one who has so much and so often befriended him. If all goes well, I may yet escape out of the clutches of this stony-hearted Captain Jack; and if I do!” he said, clenching his fist, and striking it heavily on the table—“and if I do, I’ll have revenge on him first!”

Captain Jack went his way with the note in his pocket, and as he was about to leave the prison he met the turnkey who had been speaking with Phillip.

“Hello! who gave you liberty to leave the prison, eh?”

“I only went across the road to have a drop of ale.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, eh, you rascal? Don’t you know that your prisoner is one of the most determined villains that ever lived? Keep inside, and mind your duties, and if I catch you having any chat with Redgill, or up to any nonsense with him, such as taking letters and the like, I’ll have you publicly horsewhipped, mind ye.”

“Letters?—me take letters, Captain Jack? I’d never dare to do such a thing.”

“I wouldn’t trust you further than I could see you,” was the reply. “Now go and doubly lock the prisoner’s door. If he escapes I will hang you instead, mark me.”

With these words Capt. Jack went his way, and he had not gone far when he entered a wine-shop.

“I wonder what this Redgill has said in his note. There’s no harm in opening it. I can soon seal it up again.”

So thinking he opened the note.

“Hillo, he’s written it in red ink! How the devil did that happen? My ink was black. No matter, it seems he’s cleverer than we thought; he’s got some things concealed on his person yet, I fancy, although we searched him twice. No matter, let’s see what he says.

“What does this ‘D—w—g’ mean?” thought Capt. Jack, as he puzzled himself over the note.

“There is some mystery here, or why say ‘by our solemn oath’? Perhaps he belongs to some secret band, who knows? It was well I opened it, or perhaps I might have fallen into a trap!

“‘My former note explains all,’ does it? What other note has he written then, I wonder? How could he write unknown to the prison officers, eh?

“Ha, ha, Mr. Phillip Redgill, I begin to smell a rat,” thought Capt. Jack. “He has made friends with some one in the prison, no doubt; that cross-eyed turnkey, I shouldn’t wonder. Oh, if I catch the rascals up to any kind of tricks to thwart me in my plans, I’ll have them all hung, that I will.

“‘This night decides my fate,’ eh? Quite right there, Mr. Phillip; quite correct, and no mistake. ‘But I must be careful.’ Yes, Capt. Jack, you must be very careful of yourself in dealing with this tricky customer, for it strikes me that this Capt. Gingles may be some powerful friend of his, and an enemy to me.

“What shall I do.

“Shall I take the note myself, or let one of the ‘dozen’ do it? No, I must take it myself, for if this Gingles gives the money, ten to one my men would bolt off with it.”

For several hours Capt. Jack didn’t know how to act in the matter.

He didn’t want to trust any of his men with such a large sum as £1,000.

For if he had done so, and they for a miracle proved honest, he would have had to divide the spoil with them all.

This was a consideration that Capt. Jack did not at all relish.

“No, no,” said he, “I must stick to this little sum myself, and if I get it, why, Phillip Redgill may be assisted to escape without trial at all, and the trial will be sure to fall on the sleepy gaolers, for we must hang somebody.”

Time was flying, however, and something must be done in the matter.

It was now ten o’clock, and yet he was undecided how to act.

He was sauntering along the dark streets, when he accidentally came across one of his own men.

“Hello, captain! is that you?”

“Why, Ben, my lad, how are you? I’ve not seen you for three or four days. You seem rather ‘mellow.’”

“Yes, captain, ‘mellow’ is the word. I am rather ‘mellow’, if it comes to that, and I like it.”

“So it seems. You seem to be pretty well off for money, Ben.”

“Yes, captain, I’ve made a little this last day or two.”

“How was that?”

“Why, seeing that the dozen haven’t had anything to do, not a single job on hand for this last month, I thought I’d do a little bit of business for myself on the extreme quiet, for our trade has been as flat as ditch water of late.”

“True, Ben; and money is very tight.”

“So I thought; but, as I’ve got a few pounds to spare, you are welcome to them, captain.”

“No, thank you, Ben; but where did you pick up the money?”

“At the old ‘Bull and Mouth.’”

“Indeed!”

“Yes, the old house is full of people, and there card-playing is going on both night and day. There’s one chap there as must have won over a thousand pounds these last few days.”

“What’s his name?”

“Gingles—Captain Gingles, I think they call him.”

“Ah! you don’t say so? What sort of a fellow is he?”

“Well, he’s rather tall, and strong-looking; but he’s got a grey head and long hair, and wears spectacles, and stoops like a very old man.”

“Not much good in a quarrel or a fight, I suppose”

“Him! Bless your heart, no; he’s as gentle as a child, and, I warrant me, as weak as a cat.”

This description of the person to whom Redgill addressed his note so pleased Captain Jack that he altered his mind again for the hundredth time, and resolved to take and present the note himself, and thus pocket the large sum bargained for.

He soon got rid of Ben, and, with a light heart, bent his steps towards the well-known inn.

He was muffled up to the eyes, and when he had ordered a bottle of wine and other luxuries, he entered the card-room and seated himself in a quiet corner.

He cast a quick glance around him, and instantly perceived old Gingles, who had at his elbow a large sum in gold.

Card playing was now at its height, and so tempting did it appear to Captain Jack, that, after a time, he joined them, and for the first hour won a good stake.

Heated with wine, and flushed with his unexpected success, he made a very heavy bet with old Gingles, and, to the astonishment of all present, lost it!

Gingles raked the heap of shining gold into his old hat and put it into his pocket with a wicked grin which almost drove Captain Jack mad.

Captain Jack lost every farthing he had, and was so aggravated that he could have danced around the room with passion, and felt as if he could have shot old Gingles, who, calm, quiet, and unruffled, played on, and still continued to win with astonishing good fortune.

“No matter,” thought Captain Jack, “he will have to pay me a thousand pounds for his friend, which will make me all right again. I wish they’d stop playing, I want to present this note, and learn what he’ll do in the matter. If he refuses, I’ll get one or two of my lads to waylay the old rascal and rob him. I’ll have his money, by fair means or by foul!”

Midnight had long chimed, and still the play continued.

The “noble captain” felt very sore about his losses at cards, and chewed the end of his cigar in a terrible temper.

“I should like to get up a game to beat old Gingles,” thought he; but ere he had sat long in meditation a great cheer rose from the card-table.

“Gingles won it.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“I say he did.”

“I’ll swear he didn’t.”

“You lie, old Gingles!” said the other, who was called Alick, and a notorious card-sharper.

As he spoke, he struck the table violently.

“I tell you I did win the game—the money is mine.”

“Lay a hand on that gold, and I’ll knock you down, you cheating old scamp!” said Alick, in a terrible rage. “The money is mine.”

“It is not. I’ll leave it to any gentleman in the room.”

“Alick won it fairly,” said a chorus of voices.

“No, old Gingles is entitled to the money. He could beat Alick all night.”

“Could he?”

“Yes, he could,” said several, “and I don’t mind wagering a hundred guineas on another game.”

“So would I.”

“And I.”

“Well, then, gentlemen, since there is a dispute about the game, I am willing that we increase the stakes fourfold, and play it again.”

“Hear, hear,” cried several voices.

“I don’t mind,” said old Gingles; “but not till I’ve had some supper, and a walk in the cool air, to freshen me up a bit.”

“Well, then, it’s decided—put down your money. Gentlemen, in half an hour the game begins again.”

“Agreed, agreed!” shouted every one.

The money was put down for the contested game of cards, and great enthusiasm prevailed amongst the audience, all of whom seemed to have plenty of money.

Captain Jack was pleased that old Gingles did not win the last stake, and mixed among the company, who were almost unanimous in their opinion that Alick would be sure to play “his very best,” and win, “for,” said several, “of all men on earth he hates most, it is old Gingles.”

“I am sure to win,” said Alick, triumphantly, “and will lay two to one on it.”

“Hear, hear!”

“So will I.”

“And I.”

“And so will I,” said Captain Jack, whose brain now began to get muddled with wine and excitement.

“Where’s your money?”

“Oh, I shall have some presently,” said Jack, “as much as any one in the room.”

At that moment he saw old Gingles leave the room.

He followed him.

In a few moments he overtook the old man, and presented Redgill’s note.

“In difficulties, eh?” said the old man, eyeing Captain Jack like a hawk; “but he has not stated the amount he wants.”

“Oh! he left that to me.”

“Indeed! can I trust to your honesty?”

“Oh! honour bright!”

“Then who are you?”

“Well, they call me Captain Jack, and I am one of the Crown officers.”

“Oh! yes; I think I have heard your name mentioned before in very flattering terms in your endeavours to suppress or destroy the famous Skeleton Crew.”

“Exactly,” said Captain Jack, bowing in mock humility.

“And what is the sum you need, my noble captain?”

“Well, I think £1,500 will get him out of trouble.”

“Quite a modest sum, certainly.”

“But, then, you know, Mr. Gingles, you are very rich, and there are a great number of persons to be paid out of it.”

“I see, I see; but how much do you intend to keep for yourself?” asked the old man, fumbling in his pockets.

“Me! my dear sir? I do not intend to keep a farthing. It is out of pure friendship for the poor young man that I do this.”

“How very kind of you. Well, captain, all I can say is, that if I give you this amount, I hope you will use it properly; for I must help young Redgill out of this difficulty. I have sworn it on my oath, and my oath must be fulfilled. How much was the sum you named?”

“£2,000.”

“Why, just now you said £1,500.”

“But I made a great mistake.”

“Never mind, never mind; £500 more or less isn’t much in a case of life or death.”

So saying, the old man pulled a large wallet of bank notes, and paid Captain Jack the large sum demanded.

One would have thought that Captain Jack might have been satisfied with this large amount, and would have gone homewards and fulfilled his engagement with Phillip Redgill.

But he did not.

The more money he had the more he wanted.

Besides this, he had suddenly entertained a deep and deadly hatred against old Gingles for winning his money at cards.

He therefore retraced his steps towards the “Bull and Mouth,” and when near the door, who should he espy coming out but Alick, the well-known card-sharp.

“Ah! my noble captain; how are you? I was glad to see you had so much spirit in the card-room as to offer to back me in this game, and as I rather like you, I’ll let you into the secret.”

“Secret! What is it?” asked Captain Jack, with his ears all cocked ready to receive it.

“Well, you see,” said Alick, taking the “noble captain’s” arm; “but come away from the doorway first, there may be listeners. You see this old Gingles is very rich, and passionately fond of cards; he has cart loads of money; where he gets it nobody knows; but, at all events, during the past week, he has won enormous sums at the card-table, and how he does it nobody can find out.”

“You don’t mean that?”

“I do though. There is a secret about it, and I have found it out.”

“What is it?”

“All the cards have private marks on the back, which cannot be seen by the naked eye; but his spectacles magnify I have found out, and, therefore, when he looks across the table he can see what cards I hold in my hand.”

“Oh! the cunning old devil!”

“Yes; isn’t he? But in this game we are going to play to-night I have made a promise that he shan’t be allowed to wear his spectacles.”

“Then you are certain to win. What a capital idea.”

“Yes, isn’t it? Those gentlemen brought me there to-night to fleece old Gingles.”

“But he won from you all the time.”

“Yes, true,” said Alick, grinning; “but that was the ‘dodge,’ in order to give him courage.”

“I see it all plainly enough now.”

“Very well; and now that I have told you this important secret, will you give me shares in your winnings?”

“Yes, half.”

“Agreed. How much have you?”

“Two thousand pounds.”

“Well, I will so play that the odds which are on me now shall change on him, and when you think he is winning, do you take up all the odds laid against me.”

“I will, and be glad to do it.”

“Certainly; why shouldn’t you win a thousand or two as well as he?”

“Why not, indeed? and I will, you’ll see.”

“I know you will if you follow my advice.”

“I will to the letter.”

“You see through it, don’t you? Nice dodge, ain’t it, captain?” said he, half reeling with wine. “You’ll make a clean four thousand pounds by the job, and hazard nothing, you know; while I win the stake, and make twice as much by outsiders, friends, who, with unlimited cash, will bet on me! Can you see through it, my boy?”

The noble captain saw through it clearly enough, and, although half tipsy, gave Alick an ominous but eloquent wink, and squeezed his hand in token of friendship.

“Come along, my boy,” said Alick, taking the captain’s arm. “Come along, old boy; don’t let’s pass a public without a drop or two; they keep the best old wines in the whole kingdom up this street. Come on, now, only one more, captain, and then we’ll return. I’m sure to win this match; it is for a large sum, you know. But are you fly to a thing or two? Well, then, listen to me.”

Mr. Alick, half laughing and half hiccuping, explained the little game again.

“Old Gingles knows I can beat him now—Lord bless you, I have improved wonderfully of late—but the ‘gentlemen’ won’t believe it, and will back Gingles to any amount. I shall beat him by long odds! I heard him confess it himself; he told me so to-night on the sly, and wouldn’t play the game at all, only some gentlemen agreed to stand most of the money for him. Pretty dodge, ain’t it? Well, I’ll play the match, if I have to pawn the rags off my back. This night’s work will supply me with small change, my boy, and then I shall say good-bye to the card table, quit London, begin to lead a new life, and be ‘a good boy’ for the future.”

“Half the world is made up of knaves, Alick, my boy; the other half are fools,” said the captain, hiccuping, and with a great air of wisdom.

When Alick returned to the card-room he looked as calm and sober as a judge.

Old Gingles, however, appeared nervous, and unwilling to play.

But the gentlemen present insisted on his doing so; but when Alick demanded that he should play without spectacles the old man got into a terrible rage, and refused to do so.

However, after a stormy discussion, in which it was insinuated that old Gingles had some dishonest motive in wearing them, he threw them upon the floor and smashed the spectacles all to pieces.

The game commenced, and heavy wagers were laid on Alick’s winning it.

Old Gingles, however, so turned the odds against Alick that many began to murmur at the extraordinary change in the play.

“Now’s your time,” said Alick to the noble captain, “the odds are two to one against me; take all you can get at that price. I am sure to win.”

The noble captain having received “the tip” from his friend Alick, took all the odds laid against him, until his £2,000 was exhausted.

The game progressed, and was very, nay, intensely exciting.

Now old Gingles was a point or two in advance, but in a few moments Alick was level again, and great applause was the consequence.

The two players now stood game and game.

The third game or the rubber was to decide it.

It began, and was quickly played, but by the merest chance of bad luck Alick lost it by a single point.

“Lost it!” gasped Captain Jack.

“Yes,” said Alick; “by the merest chance in the world.”

The friends of old Gingles were in ecstacies, and carried him out of the room in triumph, but not before the old man had well-nigh filled his large pockets with his winnings.

Captain Jack was like a madman.

He raved and cursed and swore in the most frightful manner.

He called every one the hardest and the worst names he could think of, and wanted to fight anybody or everybody.

Alick was just as noisy.

He swore that he had been cheated, swindled, robbed, and whatever else his imagination could conjure up.

So noisy and turbulent was he, and “the noble captain,” that the gentlemen at last bundled them both out into the street.

There they stood out in the cold with drawn swords, and using the most dreadful language.

“Never mind,” said Alick, “we will best old Gingles yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know where he lives.”

“Well?”

“Let us hasten to his house, and, as he returns home, let us set upon him, and fleece him of everything.”

“Not a bad idea. I can quickly wake up a dozen lads who will do the trick in no time.”

“Never mind calling in assistance, surely two strapping fellows like us can easily ‘settle’ the old man, and the money will be our own.”

“Agreed,” said Captain Jack. “I’ve got a black mask in my pocket.”

“So have I.”

“Then when we assail him let us wear them, and speak not a word.”

This plan was agreed to, and the two intended robbers set out on their journey.

They had a mile or two to go, but by quick walking they soon arrived at the residence of old Gingles.

“It don’t look like a gentleman’s house,” said Captain Jack. “Why, it stands by the river side, like a huge warehouse for goods.”

“So it does,” said Alick, “and I’ve often heard it whispered that he is engaged in secret with smugglers, robbers, and the like, or why is he so wealthy?”

“I think as you do from the looks of the place,” said Captain Jack. “But I wonder if he has returned yet.”

“What time is it?”

“Why, four o’clock,” said Captain Jack, who thought for an instant of his engagement with the prisoner, Phillip Redgill.

“Then he must have returned.”

“Hang the luck! Who is that, though, whose shadow just now passed across the blinds? There it is again.”

“Why, that is the old rascal, for a hundred pounds!” said Alick, in a tone of great disappointment. “What shall we do?”

“Do? Why, we’ll knock, and demand admittance in the name of the Crown, and search his premises for stolen goods.”

“An excellent idea,” said Alick, rubbing his hands, “and as he lives alone, why, we can rob him of every farthing he’s got in cash!”

“So we will; but are you sure that he lives alone?”

“I am; there is but one old servant in the whole place, and he is over sixty years of age.”

Firmly bent on revenge for what he had lost, and caring not a jot for Phillip Redgill’s escape, Captain Jack knocked at the door.

“House, ho! house! Open to officers of the crown!” said Captain Jack, in a very brave tone.

In a moment the window was raised, and old Gingles appeared at it in his night-cap and dressing-gown.

“Who calls so lustily at such an unseemly hour?” asked the old man.

“I do,” said Captain Jack, “Open, or I’ll break in the door!”

“Call to-morrow.”

“Open, I say!”

“Come some other time, madcaps.”

“Open, or I’ll break it open!”

“Go to the devil!” said the old man, and he slammed down the window again with great violence.

Alick could not but laugh secretly as Captain Jack walked up and down, cursing and swearing.

“Have you any keys?” said Alick.

“Yes; I never thought of that. I’ve got several skeleton keys in my pocket,”

“Let us stop a little while until the old man goes to bed, and then we can let ourselves in without making any disturbance. The night is dark, no one will perceive us.”

After a time, Captain Jack and his friend Alick tried the keys in the door, and were very happy to find that they could open it.

“Now the old rascal must look out for squalls,” said Jack; “we have got him at last.”

“Won’t he be surprised, though!”

“Yes, and no mistake—particularly when he finds out that I am an officer of the crown.”

The door was gently opened, and the two intruders entered very quietly.

They crept upstairs.

When they arrived at the top of the landing on the first floor, Captain Jack peeped into the front room.

No one was there.

The room was dimly lighted by a small, solitary light.

Yet, dark as it was, Captain Jack could see that a large dining-table was laid out, as if for the supper of a dozen or more.

“Hullo! what does all this mean?” said the noble captain, in a whisper.

“Rather strange, ain’t it?” echoed Alick, in a whisper.

Before they could make any other observation, old Gingles appeared upon the scene, and came from a secret closet so suddenly and noiselessly, that neither of the intruders heard or perceived him until he said, abruptly, in their ear,

“Well, and who are you? What do you want, and where do you come from?”

This was so unexpected by Jack and Alick that the former, for a moment, could not answer, and the latter began to titter in the background.

“Did you come to rob me?” the old man asked, in a determined voice.

“No—that is to say, not that exactly, but—”

“Well, no ‘buts’ for me—what do you want?” said the old man, advancing towards Captain Jack.

In an instant the night-cap and dressing-gown, the false wig, moustache, and stooping gait disappeared like magic, and, to Captain Jack’s horror, he stood before no less a person than the terrible Death-wing.

“Death-wing!” gasped Captain Jack, staggering back.

“Yes—Death-wing—no one else!” repeated a dozen voices behind him.

On turning round Captain Jack perceived that he was surrounded by no less than a dozen of the Skeleton Crew!

Before he could say a word, two of the grim gentlemen took the astonished officer by the scruff of the neck, and held him out at arm’s length.

“Where is Alick?” gasped Captain Jack.

“Here I am, you scoundrel,” said that worthy, who now re-entered the room, attired like one of the Crew.

“What, was it all a trap, then?”

“It was,” said Alick; “it was diamond cut diamond, Captain Jack, and you have lost the game.”

NOW READY,

THE BOY SAILOR; OR, LIFE ON BOARD A MAN-OF-WAR.

This will be found one of the most exciting and powerful tales of the day. The scene of the story is laid in Cornwall, and it abounds with the wild legends and strange adventures of the daring wreckers and smugglers that haunt the bays and inlets of that rocky coast.

FOUR ENGRAVINGS,

IN A

HANDSOME COLOURED BORDER,

GIVEN AWAY WITH NUMBERS 1 and 2.

ORDER EARLY. ONE PENNY WEEKLY.

“Do you know that your life is forfeit, fool?” said Death-wing.

“You cannot mean that?”

“I do, though, except on one condition.”

“Name it, then, most worthy Death-wing.”

“Have you liberated Phillip Redgill with the money I gave you for that purpose, or have you squandered it to-night in card-playing?”

“Oh, no! Upon the honour of a gentleman, I assure you I procured his release.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes.”

“You did it, say you?”

“I did.”

“And how?”

“Well, then, most worthy Death-wing and gentlemen,” said Captain Jack, turning to the Crew around him, “I’ll unburden my heart, and tell you the truth.”

“For once in his life!” said Alick, with a boisterous laugh. “Go on, I am listening.”

“In the first place,” said Captain Jack, beginning to invent a string of lies, “in the first place I took the fifteen hundred pounds—”

“Two thousand pounds was the sum I gave you.”

“Ahem—beg pardon—so it was—I forgot all about it at the moment. Well, I took the two thousand pounds directly you gave it to me, and mounted my horse, so as to make all the haste I could in order to return and see the famous game between old Gingles—”

“Sir?”

“I beg pardon; I should have said Captain Death-wing and his friend Alick.”

“Well?”

“I paid Colonel Blood £1,000 for his share.”

“Did he give you a receipt?”

“Why, no, I was in such a hurry I forgot to ask for one.”

“And yet you promised to produce receipts for all your expenses.”

“So I did, most august Death-wing; but, as I said, I was so much interested in your game of cards, I forgot to take note of my promise.”

“Well, go on; what did you do with the other thousand?”

“I gave £250 to each of the three gaolers, and——”

“Why, you told me there were but two gaolers.”

“Did I? Ah, I forgot; I meant to have said three.”

“Well, and how did you lay out the other £250?”

“I gave it to the prisoner to help him along with in order to escape.”

“Very kind of you, indeed,” said several.

“Yes, wasn’t it?” said Captain Jack, who was now much pleased with the effect his lies had upon his grim hearers.

“You are sure you did not keep it for yourself?” asked Death-wing, in a savage tone.

“Keep it for myself? Impossible! I could not think of such a thing!”

“Of course not, as an honourable man——”

“As an honourable man, not having the least personal interest in such a matter, I could not think of——”

“Certainly not, certainly not. The noble captain of ‘the Baker’s dozen’ is too high-minded and honest to resort to such a trick.”

Captain Jack bowed very humbly to this compliment; but it must be confessed his knees began to tremble under him from fear.

“And did the prisoner escape?”

“He did.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive of it; I saw him do it.”

“And how did it happen, then?”

“As soon as I gave the money to the jailers, they entered his cell, unfastened his irons, loaned him some of their clothes, and I having procured a horse for the fugitive, he galloped away at full speed. After that I returned to see the match between you and Alick, and I came here with him to tell you all about it.”

“Very obliging of you,” said Death-wing, “very obliging, certainly; but it strikes me very forcibly you came here, expecting to find me alone, with the intent of robbing me.”

“Robbing you! Oh! you cannot think that. I am incapable of conceiving such a thing.”

“That may be; but who have you got to prove all you have said about the prisoner’s escape?”

“I did not think it necessary to bring the jailers with me to witness all I have said; but it is true, nevertheless, every word.”

“That may be; we shall quickly see.”

So speaking, Death-wing stamped his foot thrice heavily upon the floor.

A stranger answered the summons by entering the room.

He walked up towards Captain Jack, and confronted that officer boldly.

He looked pale, haggard, and worn.

It was Phillip Redgill himself.

Captain Jack could have sunk through the floor.

“Do you know this person?” said Death-wing, speaking to Phillip.

“I do, well; too well for my own comfort.”

“Did you hear his story about your escape?”

“I did; every word of it.”

“Was it true?”

“No; every word he uttered was a lie.”

“Did he not bargain not to arrest you for a certain sum?”

“He did.”

“On his promise, as a man of honour and a gentleman, you believed him?”

“I did.”

“You paid the price he demanded?”

“Yes; and no sooner did he receive it than he had me arrested.”

“Who assisted you to escape?”

“I know not, or how or when it was, Captain Death-wing. All I know is, that I fell into a deep sleep, and when I awoke to consciousness I was liberated from prison and safe and well here in this house, surrounded by several armed men of the Skeleton Crew.”

“Do you hear that, Captain Jack?” Alick asked, with a sneer.

“I do hear it.”

“All this was done,” said Death-wing, “while this gentleman here was betting at cards. Instead of paying the sum he spoke of, he lost every note in betting against me. In proof of it, I had every bank note marked, and here they are,” said he, presenting before Captain Jack’s own eyes the very notes he had lost in bets.

“He is a rogue!” said one.

“An infamous liar!” growled several.

“He is not worthy of life!”

“What shall we do with him?”

“Kill him! kill him!”

Captain Jack now felt cold perspiration oozing from every part of his body, and he trembled in every limb.

“You have boasted in your time of having done great things against the Skeleton Crew,” said Death-wing, with a grim smile, “but your tales are all lies, for a greater coward than you are never carried a sword, Captain Jack.”

“He is not fit to live!”

“I know he is not,” said Death-wing, “and he shall die, unless he promises to fulfil all we ask of him.”

“Name it—name anything you like, and I will do it,” said Captain Jack, trembling.

“In the first place, you received several thousand pounds from Phillip Redgill?”

“Yes, I did, worse luck.”

“Will you return it?”

“How can I do so?”

“That remains with yourself to think of. If you do not in less than a week, your life is not worth a farthing!”

“But I have no money.”

“Are you not captain of the Baker’s Dozen, as your men are called?”

“I am.”

“Well, then, get it how you can, but if you fail in doing so in less than a week, you die! Do you hear?”

“I do.”

“You will be watched and dogged both night and day, remember. There is not the least chance of your escaping me or my band.”

“Well, and what next?”

“You told Colonel Blood that Phillip Redgill did the murder?”

“I did.”

“And what proof have you?”

“The clothes which Redgill exchanged with Bob Bertram were given up to me by young Ned Warbeck. The proof is clear against Phillip Redgill.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“But you must not ‘know so,’ if you value your life, Captain Jack!” said Death-wing, with an oath. “Don’t be so fast with your tongue, but listen to me.”

“I will.”

“You know Ned Warbeck?—Wildfire Ned, as he is called.”

“I do, well. He is one of the bravest—”

“Stop!” said Death-wing, with a fierce oath; “would you thus speak of my deadliest enemy?”

“Your enemy?”

“Yes, and that of all the band. I believe the young brat was born to bring disgrace and ruin on the Skeleton Crew, for ever since he was born misfortune has followed us.”

Captain Jack listened, but said not a word.

In his heart he loved Ned Warbeck, and hated both Redgill and his grim friends with his bitterest hate.

“Now, I tell you, Captain Jack, that this youth must die, by any means in your power or mine. Could you not, in some manner, fasten Farmer Bertram’s murder upon Ned Warbeck?”

“It is possible, but—

“No ‘buts’ with us—you must do one thing or the other. You must die here, where you now stand, or take a most solemn oath to arrest Ned Warbeck, and charge him with murder.”

“But where are the witnesses to carry out the charge of murder?”

“You can do that easily enough. Once he is in prison, there will be no difficulty in bringing up men to swear to anything we ask of them. Some of your own band, Captain Jack, could do that.”

“Yes, if they were well paid for it.”

“And so they shall be.”

“But where is the money to come from?”

“Oh, you must find that.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Rob Colonel Blood, or whoever you choose. I care not what you do, so you obey my commands.”

“I will do as you wish,” said Captain Jack, who was over anxious to get away from such horrible-looking people. “Let me go, and I’ll fulfil any commands you like.”

“So be it. Remember your oath.”

“I will.”

“And also remember,” said Death-wing, “that every step you take, and every action you do, will be closely watched by some one or other of the Skeleton Crew.”

“I will not forget.”

“Then, on your bended knees, before all assembled, swear on this sword to fulfil my commands.”

“I will.”

Captain Jack fell upon his knees, and, then, in the midst of all assembled, swore to apprehend Ned Warbeck on the charge of murder, and to procure witnesses at any cost to support the charge.

In a few moments thereafter, Captain Jack was in the open air again, and free.

He knew not why or wherefore, but directly he got into the streets again, he ran from the house with great fleetness, like a hare which has escaped from a deadly snare.

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XXXVII. THE OATH—NED WARBECK IS ARRESTED FOR MURDER

When Captain Jack had run himself out of breath, and had come to a dead standstill from sheer exhaustion, he leaned against a lamp-post, and, puffing and blowing, began to think what he had better do.

“What the devil must I do?” he mused. “I know not which way to go, or what to be up to. If I attempt to rob Colonel Blood to get money, the chances are ten to one I shall get a pistol ball in my head, or a sword through my side. If I do not get the money, why, then, those grim devils will skin me alive. Then I have to arrest Ned Warbeck, not an easy matter, for he has hosts of friends who would fight to the last for him.”

“Yet something must be done, and quickly,” he thought; “for though I have run away from that cursed house as fast as my legs would let me, I have no doubt that I am watched already, and followed about like a shadow.”

While he thus thought, a drunken man knocked against him.

“Hulloa, where are you going to?” said Captain Jack, feeling desirous of drawing his sword, and taking revenge upon somebody for the sad adventures of the night.

“Hulloa, where are you going to?”

“Where are you going to?” was the reply; “don’t you know a gentleman when you see one?”

“I do; but you are not one.”

“You seem to know me then.”

“I do—it’s Black Ben.”

“Right you are; and you are the noble Captain Jack?”

“I am.”

“I thought so; and if it’s a fair question, what are you up to so early in the morning?”

“I am on the road to the devil, Ben.”

“I don’t understand, captain.”

“I am on my way to old Sir Richard Warbeck’s house.”

“What for?”

“You would never guess.”

“Perhaps not; what for, then?”

“To arrest young Ned Warbeck on the charge of murder.”

“You don’t mean that!”

“I do though; he is innocent of the charge it is true, Ben, but still he must suffer for old Bertram’s murder.”

“Why, you have arrested two on the charge before.”

“True; but old Redgill’s clerk, Mr. Bolton, is innocent. He is out of prison, and Phillip Redgill has broken jail.”

“Broken jail! it’s the first I have heard about it.”

“That may be; but it is true for all that. I have been in the hands of Death-wing and his band all night, and have sworn on my life to have Ned Warbeck hung, in order to save myself; for old Gingles you spoke of turned out to be no other than Death-wing. I lost all my money at cards, and was afterwards entrapped into their den, and swore a solemn oath, to do this, or would have been killed on the spot.”

“But you will not keep your promise now that you are free.”

“I must.”

“Remember your oath,” said a distant voice.

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Chapter XXXVIII

IN WHICH CAPTAIN JACK FINDS ENEMIES AMONG HIS OWN MEN—THE TABLES ARE TURNED.

It was now very plain, from the progress of our story, that Colonel Blood had fully got Captain Jack and his gang under his thumb, and that their very lives depended on his will and pleasure.

It was also known that he was a great favourite of the king, and that whatever he might say or do was law.

Old Tom Bates—he with the long nose, off which Colonel Blood had not long ago knocked a large pimple—was in exceeding great wrath, and secretly vowed vengeance against Colonel Blood.

If the truth must be told, old Bates had not long before that had a long conference with Captain Jack about this Colonel Know-all, as Bates termed him.

He and Captain Jack met by accident, one evening, and entering a wine-shop, began to drink very heavily.

“I tell yer what it is, captain,” said old Bates, tossing off a bumper and winking very cunningly, “I’ll tell yer what it is, captain.”

“Well, what is it?” said Captain Jack, adjusting the black patch over his eye, and winking with the other.

“Well, what I means to say, is this ’ere, Captain Jack. If things in our line don’t get a little brisker than they has been o’ late, why, I shall leave the Dozen and start on my own individual account.”

“Leave the Dozen, Bates?”

“Aye, why not?”

“But you can’t.”

“Aye, but I will, I tell yer, and you nor none on ’em can stop me. What’s the good o’ having a captain at the head on us who don’t do something in the way o’ trade? Why, since that affair of old Bertram’s murder, we’ve had nothing at all to do, and you must recollect, captain, that a man of my mettle can’t stand that sort o’ game any longer. Give me plenty o’ money and little work; that’s my style.”

“Well, I’m listening,” said Captain Jack, laughing; “go on, I’m all attention.”

“You may laugh as much as you’ve a mind to,” said old Bates, in an angry tone; “but that don’t suit me; I want money, and money I’ll have, by fair means or foul.”

“Well, then, get it; it’s none o’ my business,” said Captain Jack, in a surly tone; “I’m just as short as any one.”

“And how comes it we are all so hard up, then?”

“I don’t know; business is dull. I suppose that’s it.”

“No it ain’t,” said old Bates, sneeringly. “Business is as good as ever it was, but you are growing as timid as a girl, Captain Jack.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You needn’t foam, and sweat, and swear, I knows all about it.”

“About what?”

“Why, that affair with you and Colonel Blood; you are under his thumb, my man.”

“Well, suppose I am, what then? Didn’t he threaten to hang every one of the Dozen on the cross-roads if we didn’t find out the murderer of old Farmer Bertram?”

“Well, and so we have. Haven’t you got young Redgill in prison for it?”

“Yes,” said Captain Jack, but at the same time he knew he was telling a lie, and tried to whistle.

“Now you’ve got the right party, what more claim has the colonel got against us?”

“Young Redgill ain’t hung yet; the bargain holds good, so the colonel says, until that’s accomplished.”

“Why, that’s another condition,” said old Bates, with an oath; “first it was capture him, now it’s stop till he’s hanged; there seems to be some mystery about this whole affair, Captain Jack; there has been some bargain or other between you and this young Redgill.”

“Bargain,” said Captain Jack indignantly, “bargain! what do you mean?”

“Why I mean this, Captain Jack, that you’ve been doing a shuffling business with all of us.”

“Do you mean to insult me?” said Jack, placing his hand upon his sword and looking very ferocious.

“I don’t care whether you take it as an insult or not, one man’s word is as good as another, and young Redgill told the gaolers that you have had thousands from him one time and another.”

“Thousands!” said Captain Jack, indignantly, “why, the fellow must be mad to talk in that way; why, he never had thousands in all his life.”

“Not by fair means, I dare say, Jack; but there ain’t a doubt but what he has paid you well enough.”

“Now, look here, Bates,” said Captain Jack, “you must be either dreaming or mad; I only received what he owed me of borrowed money.”

“Borrowed money,” said Old Bates, laughing out lustily, “borrowed money, eh? Why, you must take me for a perfect fool, Captain Jack.”

“Well and suppose I do?”

“Why, all I can say, then, you are d—nably mistaken.”

“Hullo, Bates, hullo! what does all this mean, eh? You get me to crack a bottle of wine with you, and then you turn round and abuse me.”

“No I don’t, it’s you that abuses me. Do you think for a moment you could have thousands of pounds to lend to a young rascal like that? No, no, Captain Jack; if you do think me a fool, I tell you again you are d—nably mistaken, that’s all.”

“Come, come, old man, let’s have no noisy words from you, you know you’d have been hung long ago except for me.”

“Would I? and ain’t you as thick in the mud as I am in the mire? Listen to me.”

As he spoke, he leaned across the table and whispered,

“How about that money you lost at cards t’other night?”

“What do you mean?” said Jack, reddening.

“I suppose you don’t know that Phillip Redgill has escaped from prison, do you?”

“You are a liar,” said Captain Jack, with an oath, trying to look firm and desperate; “you are a liar, Bates, and if you were not so old, and a faithful pal, I’d——”

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t,” said Bates. “I am captain now.”

“What’s that you say?”

“Nay, you needn’t curse and swear, Jack; I’m telling you the truth.”

“But that ain’t the truth.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it ain’t, you old liar.”

“Look at this, then,” said old Bates, pulling out twelve warrants cancelled, “do you know what these mean?”

“Why, those are the death warrants that Colonel Blood had when he went down to Darlington!”

“I know it.”

“But he had thirteen, not twelve.”

“I know he had, but Colonel Blood holds the odd one.”

“Indeed, and whose is it?”

“Why, your’s, Jack.”

“Mine?”

“Yes, and no mistake.”

“And do you mean to say that Colonel Blood has given the twelve to you and not the odd one also?”

“I do mean it, and for a special reason.”

Old Bates was so triumphant in his manner, that Captain Jack looked staggered and amazed.

“Why, you take all the breath out of my body, Bates,” said Jack.

“The breath soon will be taken out of your body, if you don’t mind; there’s a nice new gibbet waiting for you, so Colonel Bland says.”

“Why, what is all this for?”

“It has come to the colonel’s ears that you have been playing false to him, and you know he never forgives an enemy.”

“The devil!” said Jack; “do you mean to say, then, that he knows all about Redgill?”

“He does; and since he has escaped, he has made up his mind to have revenge on you.”

Old Bates smiled like an old ogre as he pulled out of his capacious pocket a sealed document.

“Do you know what this is?” said Bates.

“It looks like a warrant.”

“And so it is—you are not mistaken—it is for your own apprehension.”

“You are joking.”

“I was never more serious in all my life.”

“And do you mean to arrest me?”

“That depends,” said Bates. “The Dozen and I have had several meetings, and it was resolved to throw you out of the captaincy, and put me in.”

“Well!”

“I begged for your life hard, very hard, Jack, for all the lads swore you had played foully with them, and deserved to die.”

“But I haven’t, Tom.”

“You have, Jack; you have been flashing about town for a long time like a lord, and spending lots of money, which ought to have been divided among us; for we’ve been as poor for the last few months as church mice.”

“What do you propose to do, then?” said Jack, drinking his wine; “what do the lads intend to do? Surely you cannot think I’d let myself be taken by any of my old pals while I carry a sword by my side.”

“Your sword would do very little good for you, Jack; for I could call upon the citizens here in this place, and carry you off by fair means or foul, if I liked. Here’s my warrant, as you see, ‘Arrest him, dead or alive;’ those are the colonel’s words.”

“The colonel is a scoundrel,” said Jack, striking the table; “and if I ever come across him I’d—”

“Hush!” said old Bates; “don’t talk so loudly; you might be heard by somebody.”

“Well, go on, let’s hear the very worst. I know you’ve got me in a very tight corner.”

“Yes, Jack, and one from which you cannot possibly escape, if I only say so.”

“Well, no matter; a short life and a merry one,” said Jack. “Here, landlord, bring me another bottle.”

“You have not paid for the last one yet, sir,” said the landlord.

“What!” said Jack, indignantly, “not paid? What mean ye, sirrah?”

“I don’t mean anything in particular,” said the landlord; “but I know your face well.”

“What of that?”

“In fact, I know it too well.”

“Explain yourself. Do you wish to insult a gentleman like me, eh, knave?”

“Nay, sir, I do not; but the last time you called here you had a party of friends with you; you had the best supper I could provide, and dozens of my best wine, and not a single farthing was paid for anything.”

“Zounds, villain, would you insult me?” said Jack, attempting to draw his sword. “Zounds, knave, have I lost all spirit that I must be insulted thus by such a pot cleaner as thou? Out on the man; for a groat I would run thee through and through thy fat carcase.”

“Silence, Jack, silence,” said Bates; “if you make any disturbance the officers will be called in, and then it will be all up with you. Put up your sword, I say.”

Jack thrust his blade back into its scabbard, and growled out a fierce oath of vengeance.

Bates waved off the landlord with a promise to pay all arrears, and then he said to Jack calmly, and in a whisper,

“Never mind the pot-bellied publican’s account. I will make that all right. Time is precious; I haven’t many minutes to stop here.”

“Well, what do you intend to do? Are you going to blow the gaff on an old pal like me?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Why this; none of us like Colonel Blood.”

“I know that well enough.”

“Well, one or t’other must die.”

“How do you mean? I or the colonel?”

“Just so; we’ve come to that agreement. Now it depends upon you which it is.”

“Why, then, the colonel, of course,” said Jack, laughing, and half drunk, “the colonel, of course. I wouldn’t think of having the honour myself jet awhile, you know, Bates.”

“That’s what all of us thought.”

“And the lads were right. I hate Blood; yes, I hate him worse than the devil himself.”

“And what do you intend to do?”

“Why, waylay him and give him a sly poke in the ribs; for if he’s not put out of the way soon, all of us will be hung, one by one, when he’s served his turn with each.”

“That’s my idea, and also the opinion of every man in the Dozen.”

“Look you here,” said Jack, suddenly brightening up, “if the colonel has made up his mind to act in such a rascally manner towards me, I can do so towards him.”

“What do you mean?” said old Bates, pricking up his ears.

“Why, I mean that there is a secret about him he little dreams I know anything about.”

“Ah, indeed! what is it, then?”

“It’s worth a great deal of money,” said Jack, winking.

“How much?”

“Why, £500.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t, but I do.”

“Then out with it.”

“Secresy and honour,” said Jack.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, then, read this,” said Jack, pulling out of his pocket a printed proclamation, which he placed before the wondering eyes of Tom Bates. “You read it; there it is.”

C. R.

ATTEMPTED ATTEMPTED MURDER! £300 REWARD! MURDER!

“WHEREAS an atrocious attempt at murder has been made upon the accepted suitor of one Ellen Harmer, the daughter of the miller at Darlington.

“And whereas, by a most miraculous chance, the body of the unfortunate youth, Andrew, was timely discovered in the river, and resuscitated.

“Therefore, the above reward of

“£300

“will be paid to any person or persons who shall give such information as shall lead to the discovery or apprehension of the offender or offenders.

“The unfortunate young man was severely wounded, and the shock has been so great that his reason is for the time being lost to him.

“The village authorities of Darlington, on the night of the attempted murder, noticed the arrival in the neighbourhood of a carriage and four.

“The person suspected had a servant attending him during the three hours he remained in the village. His master, the supposed culprit, was traced to London, and from all accounts bears the following description:—

“About 35 years of age; 5 feet 8 or 9 inches in height; thick set and powerfully made; black moustache; whiskers (supposed to be false); close cut hair; wore a cloak, and had the appearance of a military man.”

“Why that description,” said Bates, looking at Jack in surprise, “corresponds to—”

“Blood!” said Jack, in a hoarse whisper.

“You surprise me.”

“Does it? but wait, I’m not done yet,” said Jack, “since he has commenced his games with me, he’ll find a tougher fellow to deal with than he expects. Look at this.”

“Another proclamation!” said Bates, in wonder.

“Yes, read it, and then you’ll find out that I have got my enemy fairly on the hip.”

Bates unfolded the printed paper and read:—

C. ABDUCTION!

R. ABDUCTION!

£200 REWARD!

“WHEREAS, Ellen Harmer, the daughter of old Harmer, the miller, of Darlington, was forcibly abducted from her father’s home by some person or persons unknown, on the night of the attempted murder of young Andrew, her acknowledged suitor;

“And whereas, it has come to the knowledge of Sir Richard Warbeck, the chief magistrate of Darlington, that two suspicious persons, with a carriage in attendance, were seen prowling about the village on the night in question;

“Therefore the above reward will be paid to any one who shall give such information as shall lead to the apprehension of the offender or offenders and enable the young maiden to be restored to the arms of her disconsolate father.

“The following particulars regarding the supposed unknown abductor may, perhaps, lead to his apprehension.

“About 35 years of age, 5 feet 8 or 9 inches in height, thick set and powerfully made; black moustache, whiskers (supposed to be false), close cut hair, wore a cloak, and had the appearance of a military man.”

For a moment or two old Bates could scarcely recover from his astonishment.

At last he gasped out, and in a suppressed tone,

“Why, they must relate to one and the same person, Jack.”

“I know they do.”

“But I never saw these proclamations on the walls about London yet.”

“I dare say not, and for a very good reason why.”

“What reason?”

“Why, they were given to me to distribute them, and—”

“You didn’t I suppose?”

“Yes, I did, but only in such out-of-the-way places where they would do no earthly good.”

For some time both men kept silent.

“I understand it all,” said Bates, at last, “this person who is unknown you know?”

“Yes.”

“This gentleman none of us can guess at.”

“You twig, I perceive.”

“Yes, rather. He goes down, half murders the lover, and then throws him in the river; and, thinking he’s dead, runs off with the girl.”

“Exactly.”

“But she wasn’t rich?”

“No, but she is very handsome; a perfect Venus.”

“And what could have been his object?”

“To gratify the king.”

“I see; just so; and has he acted a friend to you?”

“No, not to me in particular; but as he promised to befriend all of us, I kept the thing secret from the Londoners, for £500 isn’t to be sneezed at, you know.”

“And do you mean to say that all this is true?”

“Then he’s a villain of the worst sort.”

“On my oath, Bates.”

“I know he is now; and more than that I always suspected him, but never expected to find he’d prove such a cool, calculating scoundrel; but I’ll be even with him, trust me.”

“And this girl—what of her?” said Bates; “we are all pretty hard up at this moment; two hundred pounds would be a fine windfall for us.”

“So it would; and more than that, I know all about her and where she is.”

“The devil!”

“And it would be the easiest thing in the world to rescue her, for she’s pining away, and is strictly guarded both night and day by a deaf and dumb Nubian slave—a eunuch, in fact—a fierce, tall, ugly-looking devil.”

“Never mind; if we can only once get into the apartment, we shan’t have much difficulty in getting clear off with the girl,” said Bates; “the colonel is not supposed to know that you or I have any hand in this affair. If what you say proves true, Jack, we can easily put the colonel out of the way, and we shall be all right again. What do you say? Shall we try it to-night?”

“I’m willing. I’m dying to have revenge on the deceitful rascal.”

“Then to-night let it be. Come with me; the Dozen are assembled in a quiet place, waiting for me. I will settle with the old landlord.”

“And so will I,” thought Captain Jack to himself, “and sooner than he expects.”

“We will have to wear masks,” said Bates.

“Yes, and keep dead silence.”

“If we meet with any opposition, you know—?”

“Oh, as to that,” said Jack, “we won’t stand nice on trifles. It’s a case of life or death with me.”

So speaking, Bates and Captain Jack strolled towards the “quiet place” spoken of, and in less than half an hour Jack, half-drunk, rolled in among the “Dozen,” who were already assembled.

They looked daggers at him, and would, perhaps, have resorted to violence, but Bates whispered something to them which cooled their anger.

Captain Jack reeled into a chair, and was soon fast asleep and snoring.

“Keep an eye on him, my men,” said Bates, in a whisper; “I am going out on very important business, which I will explain on my return. Jack’s all right. Don’t have any rows or quarrels with him; let him have all the drink he wants, but don’t let him go out on any account.”

So speaking, Tom Bates buttoned up his coat, looked to his sword and pistols, and vent forth alone into the darkness and blinding storm of sleet and rain.

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Chapter XXXIX

COLONEL BLOOD MEETS A TARTAR—THE RELEASE OF ELLEN HARMER—THE MURDER IN THE WOOD.

Tom Bates had not gone very far from the rendezvous of the Dozen, and was trudging along through the wind and rain, forming plans for that night’s operations, when some one in a dark street laid his hand roughly on his shoulder.

Tom stopped as if by instinct.

“That you, colonel?” he asked.

“That you, Bates?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come this way out of the rain,” said he.

And he led the way up a dark, narrow alley, which was lighted by a single lamp.

“Well, and what news, Bates? Have you secured that reprobate Captain Jack yet?”

“No, colonel; it is a more difficult matter than might be supposed.”

“Where is he, then?

“I know not, colonel, but imagine that now we are after him he is hiding away in some of the back slums in or around London.”

“But how could he have got any information about my wishes or intentions?”

“That I know not, sir; but certain it is that we have been seeking for him both high and low in every hole and quarter; but I fear me he has left London.”

“Left London, and for what, pray?”

“Some two weeks ago, colonel, I heard him say that there were two proclamations out about an attempted murder and a forcible abduction case which took place in the village of Darlington not long since. One and the same person is concerned in both transactions, and altogether a reward of £500 is offered.”

“Impossible!” said Colonel Blood, biting his lip. “I have never seen any of these proclamations.”

“Perhaps not, sir; but Captain Jack said, the last time I saw him, that he had particular reasons for not having them posted up earlier.”

As Bates spoke, Colonel Blood looked straight into his eyes; but so well did Bates play the hypocrite, that Colonel Blood had not the slightest notion that he was aware of the real facts of the case.

“And where are these two proclamations, Bates? Have you one with you?”

“Yes, colonel,” said Bates, displaying both at once.

“Strange affair,” said Blood, biting his lips in anger, “I never heard of all this before.”

Old Bates said not a word; but he could not help but remark how Colonel Blood’s eyes flashed with anger, and, in his sleeve, he laughed.

“And so these are the two proclamations you speak of, eh?” said the colonel, unfolding and reading them. “How did you get them?”

“Captain Jack gave them to me.”

“Damn Captain Jack!” said Blood, stamping his foot in anger; “and so he has gone down to Darlington to investigate these affairs, eh?”

“Yes, that was his intention. He said he made sure of finding out who it was who not only attempted to murder Andrew, but who abducted the girl also.”

“Ha! then he is very clever,” said the colonel.

After a pause, he added—

“Important business obliges me to leave town to-night. I must run down to Darlington and arrest this troublesome fellow. Captain Jack is no longer to be trusted: he is not now an officer of the crown, and, therefore, has no business to trouble himself about what does not concern him.”

“Leave town to-night, colonel!” said Bates, as if surprised.

“Yes, to-night.”

“It is a dangerous journey.”

“Oh, as to that I have no fears,” said the colonel; “no one will ever dare to attack me.”

“But what are we to do in the mean time?” said cunning old Bates. “Are we to give any attention to these two proclamations?”

“No, I think not,” said Blood, “at least not at present; not until I return to town again. You could never discover the girl’s place of concealment.”

“But one of my men says, colonel, that he does already know where she is.”

“Indeed!” said Blood, anxiously. “Know where Ellen Harmer is, eh? then he must be a very clever fellow, for I don’t.”

“Oh, then, colonel,” said Bates, bowing, and with a smile, “if you don’t know anything about this matter, I’m sure I do not.”

“Well, no matter, Bates,” said Blood; “I’m glad I’ve seen you, for Captain Jack must be captured at once, and at all costs, for he is a troublesome, intriguing busy-body. Remain as quiet as you can until my return from Darlington. I have plenty of work in store for you.”

“Glad to hear that, colonel.”

“Good paying jobs, I mean.”

“Better still, sir; but—”

“But what, Bates?” said the colonel.

“Oh! I was only about to remark, colonel, that all the lads, and myself included, are very hard up; if you would so oblige us as to lend us a hundred or two until your return, we should—”

“I understand; well, no wonder you are out of money, seeing how much that scoundrel, Captain Jack, appropriated to his own use. Here,” said he, giving Bates a hundred pound note, “this will serve you until my return.”

Colonel Blood left Bates in high glee, and went his way.

“Well, this isn’t bad to commence with,” said old Bates, putting the note into his pocket; “but I mustn’t let any of the lads know I have got so much. I’ll have it changed, give ’em £10 to drink with, and the rest I’ll stick to as my own perquisites.”

Bates changed the note, and when he returned, he found his companions grumbling at his long delay.

The £10, however, revived their drooping spirits.

They called for whatever they liked in eating and drinking, and the time passed very rapidly.

Most of the Dozen had got well nigh tipsy before the hour of midnight, and were very noisy.

However, when they had their fill, old Bates called a council of war.

“Look to your weapons, my merry men,” said he; “see that your pistols are well loaded, and that your swords are not blunt—we’ve got a job on hand to-night.”

“A job!” said all, in high glee.

“Yes, and one that will pay us well—get yourselves sober, every one of you.”

“What is it?”

“Are the doors closed?” said Bates. “No one listening, I hope?”

“Not a soul,” said one and all. “What is the job?”

“Who among you loves Colonel Blood? tell me that,” said old Bates.

The name was received with savage oaths.

“Not one, I perceive,” said old Bates; “so much the better. And now I’ll tell you what I have on hand.”

Solemn silence ensued, as Bates said,

“Blood is going down to Darlington to-night, to arrest Jack, who is here. I have put the colonel off the right scent.”

“The devil!—to arrest me?” said Jack, with an oath.

“Silence! Jack,” growled several, with threatening looks. “Silence, and listen to Master Bates; he is our captain now—not you.”

“Well, and while Blood is away on this wild-goose chase, Jack has proposed to rob his house.”

“Capital idea,” said all.

“So think I,” said Bates; “so come, prepare yourselves. Put masks in your pockets, and bring a rope ladder with you.”

“And dark lanterns,” said Jack.

“A small crowbar to wrench open the shutters,” said Bates, “and in less than an hour we can ‘clean out’ the whole house. Dead silence must be kept—not a word spoken by any one.”

“If we meet with resistance——”

“Well, then, use your weapons fearlessly,” said Jack. “The night is dark and stormy—just the right weather to crack such a crib as his.”

“Come, then,” said Bates, “we’ll take a parting glass, and then away.”

“Agreed, agreed!”

“We musn’t all leave the house together, but go in twos and threes. Just as the clock strikes one, let every man meet at Colonel Blood’s house, and hide under the highway.”

This plan was agreed to, and the Dozen separated.

* * * * *

Colonel Blood’s splendid town house was situated in and surrounded by large and beautiful gardens, near the river bank, not far from Whitehall Gardens.

The night in question, instead of becoming clearer, got more cloudy and stormy than ever.

Few persons were to be seen moving about in the streets, for the weather was too boisterous and threatening.

As the neighbouring church clocks chimed a quarter to one, a stranger might have perceived sundry persons cautiously approaching Colonel Blood’s house.

Some came by land, but the majority hired a boat, and quietly rowed up the river until they got fairly under the garden walls.

The last two persons who arrived, and they on foot, were Captain Jack and Tom Bates.

As they approached Blood’s mansion, they were accosted by two night watchmen, who wanted to know their names and business.

“Name?” said Jack, indignantly.

“Our business?” said Bates, striking an attitude of great importance.

“Yes, name and business, gentlemen, if you please.”

“And why so, knaves?” said Captain Jack. “How dare you stop two gentlemen, and ask such impertinent questions?”

“We do but obey our orders, sirs,” said the night watchman, civilly. “From your dress and manner, I have no doubt you are a couple of ‘sparks’ returning home, but we have received special orders from Colonel Blood himself this very night, to allow no one to pass near his house, after certain hours, without demanding who and what they are.”

“Why, you impudent fellow,” said Bates, “Colonel Blood is not in town—he left this evening.”

“Ah, sirs, indeed, then you are beforehand with us—who told you?”

“Why, the colonel himself, knaves,” said Bates. “How dare you stop me and my companion? We are most intimate friends of the colonel. My name is Captain Bates, an officer of the Crown.”

“Captain Bates? really, I beg pardon. I did not recollect you. I’m very sorry.”

“Yes, sir, we are very sorry,” said the other; “and the name of your tall friend is——”

“Captain! ah, yes, Captain Jenkins,” said Jack, on the instant.

“You see, Captain Bates,” said one of the watchmen, very politely, “we have especial orders from the colonel himself to allow no one to pass towards his gardens without we know they are strictly honest and respectable.”

“And are not we strictly honest and respectable, then, villain?” said Bates, blustering. “Why, for two pins, I’d——”

“Oh, there cannot be a doubt of that, sir,” said the trembling night watchman; “you could not be an officer of the crown, else.”

“Quite right,” said Captain Jack, mollified, and drawing the patch over his eye still lower.

“But you see, Captain Bates, as an officer of the crown, you are fully aware that all sorts of knaves have tried to rob the gallant colonel ere now, and at this time, I fear me he has a greater enemy to contend with than ever before; for I heard to-night, as a very great secret, that Captain Jack is no longer the chief of the crown officers, and has been degraded by the colonel; in truth, we have especial orders to guard the place against him and his gang above all others.”

“Captain Jack, eh?” said Bates’s long-legged companion. “Ah! now I come to think of it, I heard something like that spoken of to-night, while attending the Countess of Gresham’s ball; a great villain that Captain Jack, I hear.”

“Oh, monstrous,” said the watchmen, in chorus. “Oh, a perfect rogue and vagabond. Instead of doing his duty in arresting rogues and rascals, he has been bribed to enormous amounts by them to allow them to remain at large.”

“Shocking! monstrous!” said Jack.

“Horrible! he ought to be hanged,” said Bates, coughing, “which he will surely be, if the colonel only lays hands on him.”

So speaking, and bidding them good night, Jack and Bates went on their way, laughing.

“Fine fellow that Bates,” said one of the watchmen.

“Yes; only for his nose; why, it has got a piece clipped out of it, which spoils his beauty.”

“He got that in a desperate duel—I once heard him say—but he killed his antagonist, run him through and through the body; fine fellow is Bates. How much did he give you to drink his health with?”

“A gold piece.”

“Good luck to him, say I. Let us go into some wine-shop and have a bottle. What say you? Surely the house will be safe for half-an-hour.”

So speaking, the two watchmen went into the nearest wine-shop that was open.

Both Bates and Jack had watched them.

“Now’s our time, Bates,” said Jack.

They both disappeared down the dark carriage-way, which was screened by trees and bushes.

They both whistled softly, and the signal was quickly answered.

“All right; the lads are up to their time.”

In a moment, where a second before no one had been seen, eight or nine men appeared crouching under the garden wall.

“All right,” said one, whispering to Bates.

“Have you taken a good squint all round the house?”

“Yes; all are abed.”

“Sure of that?”

“Positive.”

“But the dogs?”

“We have poisoned them an hour ago; they are all stiff and cold by this.”

“Then let us commence. Where is the rope-ladder?”

“Here it is,” said one, unwinding a rope-ladder from around his body, and which had been concealed by a short cloak.

“Let a man watch each side of the house,” said Jack. “Bates and I will enter, and pass all the valuables out to you; put them into the boat as fast as possible, and if there should be any alarm, run towards the river. The boat is large enough to take us all.”

“If we only had skeleton keys now,” said Bates.

“Hang your skeleton keys,” said Jack, in disgust. “Don’t I know all about the house? I ought to do, for I’ve been in it often enough; no skeleton keys in the world would open those doors, they are doubly bolted inside, and cased with iron. Give me the rope-ladder.”

With great dexterity, Captain Jack threw one end of the rope-ladder up into the air, and the hooks at the end caught in the iron railings of the balcony.

“Silence!” said Captain Jack, and after trying its strength, he began to ascend.

* * * * *

But for a moment let us see what was going on inside the house.

Ellen Harmer was confined therein, and was supposed to be strictly watched both night and day by the deaf and dumb eunuch—the Nubian slave.

The fame of her great beauty had reached the ears of the king; but instead of presenting her to majesty, Colonel Blood had made up his mind to keep her for himself, after having, as he termed it, “tamed her” into submission.

But this proved a much harder task than the colonel had ever imagined.

Ellen Harmer would not “be tamed.”

The colonel had offered her wealth and luxury; but she received all his unmanly proposals with scorn.

“I can afford to wait,” thought the hard-hearted colonel. “I can afford to wait, a month or two of confinement and pampering will soon bring down her proud spirit.”

In hopes of keeping her away from the king, he had removed her first from one place to another, until at last he imagined that his royal master had given her up for lost.

This, Colonel Blood fondly hoped was the case.

But he was very much mistaken.

The king had his spies about as well as the cunning colonel; but it was not until this very day that he had actually discovered the beautiful Ellen’s hiding-place.

When he heard of it he was in a terrible passion, and for a moment vowed all manner of things against Blood.

When he heard, however, that the colonel had made a sudden journey to Darlington, he made up his mind to visit Blood’s mansion alone, and take her away by force.

He had employed a truculent courtier to be on the spot about three or four in the morning.

“By which time,” said the king, “I shall have made an impression on the rustic beauty. If she will not consent to be my mistress, why, then, I will give the signal, Rochfort, and be you ready with a guard and a barge to bear her away by force; but let all things be done in secret so that not a syllable may be known to Blood on his return, for I want to make a fool of him after all his deception with me.”

These were the instructions given to Rochfort, and at the moment that Captain Jack was quietly preparing his rope-ladder outside, the king was already secreted in the mansion.

Ellen Harmer, in her sumptuous chamber, was reclining on a sofa.

She could not sleep, and the splendid bed with its satin hangings was uncreased.

The Nubian slave stood watching her, and his dark eyes flashed with admiration as he furtively gazed at the beauty it was his duty to watch and guard.

Ellen tried to read; but she tossed from her indignantly the only books the colonel allowed her to receive—namely, some of the licentious works of the time, which, in our day, would not be tolerated in the lowest of society: but which in the period we speak of, passed off for works of wit and amusement.

“Infamous man,” sighed Ellen, “to incarcerate me thus from my poor old father, and endeavour to poison my heart and mind with such beastly reading. Oh, that I were free or dead.”

She beckoned to the slave.

He noiselessly approached her, and knelt at her feet.

“You are the only friend I have found,” she whispered.

The slave bent low, and kissed her feet.

“Is the house quiet? Have all retired to rest?” The slave bowed.

“The colonel has left for the country, I have heard.”

Again the slave bowed.

“I would escape from this gaudy dungeon,” she said.

“It is impossible; the doors are all doubly locked and barred; many fierce dogs are loose in and around the grounds, and would tear you in pieces,” he whispered.

“Then I fear all hope is lost.”

“Not lost,” said the slave. “Hold your breath; make not the slightest noise; I have a secret to impart; all hope is not yet lost; this night is the night of your deliverance.”

“What!” gasped Ellen in a sudden, and half-suppressed tremor of joy.

“The king is in the mansion at this moment.”

“Impossible, slave.”

“’Tis true, fair lady; but, hush, I hear footsteps! hush!”

Ellen did not hear the slightest sound, and seemed to think the slave was mistaken.

But he was not.

He crept to the chamber door on his hands and feet, and listened.

He held up his finger in token of silence.

Ellen Harmer sat rooted to her seat.

She listened, but not a sound was audible.

“It is the king,” said the Nubian, in the faintest of whispers. “He came to the house in a good disguise, but I recognised him.”

“If it be the king, then,” said Ellen, “I will throw myself at his feet, and ask protection from the fiendish designs of your master, Colonel Blood.”

“It will be useless,” said the slave; “he comes here to take you away to the palace, or some secret place, for the rumours of your amazing beauty have entranced him. You are destined to be his mistress or death awaits you.”

“Then welcome death,” said Ellen, “ere I submit, and degrade myself to so low a level! Heaven assist me in my sore trial this night!”

While she spoke and wept, the Nubian slave crept back again to the door.

“I hear his footstep again,” he whispered, and laid his ear close down to the floor.

At that moment the bed hangings rustled.

With a gasp of horror, Ellen perceived an elegant stranger had effected an entrance into her chamber.

It was the King!

The slave had not perceived this, and was still listening, with head averted.

The King, sword in hand, looked at the dusky slave, and breathed a desperate oath.

He raised his sword, and would have killed the dusky but faithful Nubian upon the spot.

In an instant, however, Ellen rose from her seat, and falling on her knees before the King, held up her hands, and with tears in her eyes begged for his life.

The King turned and smiled, and motioning to a corner, the slave rose, and crouched in it.

“Move an inch or utter a word,” said he, “and you die.”

“He is deaf and dumb,” said Ellen; “spare the poor docile, faithful creature. Be merciful, stranger—for pity’s sake, harm him not; he is the only friend I have!”

“Ah, I forgot, so he is deaf and dumb,” said the King. “I have heard Blood speak of this eunuch before. For your sake, sweet lady, I spare him. But, if deaf, why was he listening?”

“He was praying, sir; that is his usual position when at prayers.”

“Ah! so be it, then; I never pray myself—I have forgotten how.”

This he said with a sneering smile, and as he turned towards Ellen, he dropped upon one knee, and with the sweetest of smiles whispered,

“Fly, lady—fly with me! I have heard of your cruel captivity, and have come to release you. All is ready for our flight.”

So speaking he rose, and passing his arm round Ellen’s waist, bore her, more dead than alive, from the chamber.

He doubly locked the door, and entered an adjoining chamber with his unconscious and fainting victim, in order to await the coming of Rochfort.

* * * * *

Captain Jack’s head just peeped above the balcony of Ellen Harmer’s chamber at the moment the King had left it.

Noiselessly he opened the lattice, and, disguised as he was, entered, pistol in hand.

“I thought I saw a light here a moment ago,” he said; “surely I was not mistaken.”

He was not; but the King had taken the wax taper with him, and all was now total darkness.

“Splendid chamber this,” thought Jack, as he turned on his lantern and gazed around.

He thought in the far corner he could perceive two dark eyes glistening.

He made a thrust at the spot with his sword.

But the Nubian had perceived him and crept under the bed.

“It must have been a cat, or something,” thought Jack, as he began to ransack the drawers and wardrobes.

Watches, jewels, silks, satins, and money he found in abundance.

“Hillo! this will do,” he mused, as he filled his pockets in great haste.

But the next thing to be done was to descend the stairs, so as to admit his companions.

He was in his stocking feet, and moved about without making the slightest noise.

After much trouble, he forced back the lock of the chamber door.

Like a cat, he descended the stairs, and withdrew the two huge bolts of the front door.

This was done without the slightest noise, and several of his gang entered and distributed themselves all over the mansion.

In a very short time Jack and his comrades stripped the drawing-rooms, parlours, and other rooms, of all their valuables, and as quickly as possible filled several sacks with gold and silver ware from the plate chest in the pantry.

The butler slept in this pantry, but was almost frightened out of his wits, for one of the band held a pistol at his head while the other tied him hand and foot and gagged him.

They then began to work, and did not leave a single spoon or fork behind them.

These bags of spoil were rapidly passed out to old Bates and the others on watch outside, and conveyed to their boat in the river, moored under the garden wall.

Captain Jack, however, did not trouble himself much about silver spoons, or forks, or gold and silver goblets.

He made his way straight towards Colonel Blood’s library.

He closed the door, and then began to ransack every hole and corner of the apartment.

The drawers were broken open, and everything of no value to him was strewn about the floor.

In the colonel’s writing-desk, however, he discovered a considerable sum of money in gold and notes.

More than this, his eyes glistened as he clutched a small bundle of paper tied up with red ribbon, and sealed with many seals.

This he put into his breast for greater security, for his huge pockets were bulging out with valuable odds and ends of all sorts.

Having completely despoiled the library, he retraced his steps upstairs.

“Surely Ellen Harmer must be in the mansion somewhere,” he thought.

As he passed rapidly up the winding stairs towards the colonel’s own bed-chamber, he stopped and listened.

Two persons were conversing in quick, passionate tones.

The voice of one sounded like that of a female in distress.

Captain Jack listened attentively to all that passed.

“Nay, let me go, I beg of you, as you are a man and a gentleman,” said the female voice, in tones of anguish.

“Nay dearest,” was the soft reply, “you cannot fly, except with me. You must—you shall be mine!”

“Rather ten thousand deaths,” was the brave, resolute answer of the fair one, “rather ten thousand deaths than consent to my own dishonour! Unhand me, I say, unhand me! I took you for a gentleman—a man—but I am deceived—you are a scoundrel. Let me go—unhand me, I say, once for all, or I’ll shame you before all the world—I’ll raise the whole mansion with my cries.”

“’Tis useless to struggle, angelic being,” was the impassioned answer; “your beauty has entranced my very soul. Come, let us fly hence; all wealth, honour, and adulation shall be thine.”

“Help, help, help!” was the female’s feeble cry.

At that time a struggle was heard going on in the room.

At that moment Captain Jack, lantern and sword in hand, dashed the door open and entered.

Ellen Harmer gave a short, quick cry of joy as she perceived deliverance at hand.

Instinctively she rushed into the arms of Captain Jack for protection.

The king was amazed.

He made a thrust at Jack.

But next moment the weapon was knocked from his hand.

He now stood, unarmed and defenceless, before the bold intruder.

“Who art thou?” said the king, in surprise.

“Thy equal,” said Jack, in an assumed voice. “What, is it nothing that you now cringe before me, and yet a moment ago you would for ever have dishonoured this blameless girl? Out upon thee, for a craven!”

“Save me, save me!” sobbed Ellen.

“Peace, lass, thou art safe,” said Captain Jack. “And as for thee,” said he, turning towards the king with a gesture of disgust, “as for thee, more anon.”

“How, knave, wouldst thou dare to stand there prating to your superior, when with one word I could have thee hanged? You know not who nor what I am.”

“Nor do I want to know, sirrah; and mark me do not let thy tongue wag so carelessly, for by my word, be you king or peasant, I’ll make a lame duck of ye. Out upon thee, man! would ye, like a cowardly interloper, come poaching on these strange grounds, when you know the master is away?”

“What mean ye, impudent rogue?”

“Mean? why, I mean that you had not courage to try your fortune here while Colonel Blood was at home; but, like a clown, must crawl in when he had gone away.”

“You seem to know all this?”

“I do,” said Captain Jack, telling a lie. “I know not only all you would have done, but who you are, for all your disguise.”

“You do?” said the king; “then, as you know me, stranger, reveal not my name or station.”

And as he spoke he placed one finger on his lip in token of silence.

“’Tis the king,” said Ellen Harmer, “I was told so to-night.”

“No, no——.”

“It is not the king,” said Jack, again telling a lie, “because if he were he would not give me that signet ring he now wears, as you will see presently.”

The king smiled, and, taking off his signet ring, gave it to Captain Jack.

“I told you it was not the king, fair one,” said Jack, lightly laughing, “for if it had been he would not have so humbled himself; besides, lassie, the king would never think of insulting a poor defenceless girl.”

As he spoke these words, Captain Jack left the room, and as he departed, said to the king,

“Stay you here for at least twenty minutes; if you move I will not be answerable for your life.”

He closed the door, and carrying his lovely burden lightly on one arm, made the best of his way into the garden.

As he did so, he heard the alarm given by old Bates and others outside.

Old Bates and his companion watchers whistled very shrilly, and so loud did they become, that Captain Jack and his companions, with their treasure, hurried towards the river bank.

In a moment or two, the clash of swords and report of pistols were heard in the garden.

“To the boat! to the boat! my merry men!” shouted old Bates. “We are discovered!”

“On to ’em, men! Cut and thrust! Spare none of them!” was the response of some one who now advanced at the head of a body of men, with links, torches, and the like. “On to ’em, they are all rogues and vagabonds!”

Shouts, and oaths, and cries were now heard on every side.

Captain Jack placed Ellen Harmer in the boat, and, with a furious countenance, he rushed into the thickest of the fray.

Blows were freely exchanged on both sides, and many were wounded.

“Are all the men safe?” said Captain Jack to Bates.

“Yes; they are all near by.”

“Then let them stand in a line, and face the enemy.”

“What, fight and fall back to the boats?”

“Of course,” said Jack. “What else do you mean? Do you think that I or any of the lads would turn their backs to the enemy? You are a pretty fellow to be captain, truly.”

As Jack advised, all his companions faced the intruders, and gradually fought their way back to the boat, which was now well laden with spoil.

The fight still continued; but many of the lights became extinguished in the combat, so that the officers and others who had come to arrest the masked strangers began to fight among themselves.

Perceiving the confusion among them, Captain Jack ordered his comrades to jump into the boat.

They did so.

Not one of them was killed.

But several were severely wounded.

As they pushed off from the shore, those in the garden fired a volley after them, and raised a loud shout.

“Pursue the rascals! Get a boat and overtake them!” cried several voices.

But no one dared to follow the bold and daring robbers.

Down the river they swiftly rowed.

And, after some time, landed at a dark, dingy, treacherous-looking wharf.

This was a place used by the Dozen occasionally to store their plunder.

They all got on shore safely.

But while they stood in the darkness, a boat darted past the wharf.

“That’s some of our pursuers,” said Jack, “we hadn’t much time to spare.”

“No,” said Bates, “it was rather sharp work take it altogether.”

“Look! look!” said Jack, “here comes a second boat. By all that’s lucky they are going to land at our wharf.”

“Boat ahoy!” shouted Bates.

“Ahoy! ahoy!” was the response. “Have you seen any craft shoot past here?”

“What, one with a lady in it?” shouted Jack, in feigned voice.

“Ye-e-s,” was the distant answer.

“Just shot down before you. You can’t mistake it; row fast. Fire into ’em, it will soon bring the rascals to their senses.”

True to this advice the second boat shot after the first at a rapid rate.

Ere long shots were fired in the distance.

“Hang me!” said old Bates, in high glee, “if one boat ain’t fighting the other. Why, the fellows are all gone mad!”

“No matter,” said Captain Jack; “we have got the lady. Is she safely housed, Bates?”

“Yes, but very pale and weak, poor creature. She couldn’t make out who and what we were with those masks on, so I had to tell her we were a party of friends who had leagued together for her deliverance.”

“Very good; but, of course, you didn’t tell her that we had leagued together to get four or five sacks full of plunder, eh?”

“Not very likely.”

“But what shall we do with her now that we have got her? We don’t want any pretty women among our band; the lads would be cutting each other’s throats over her.”

“No fear of that; she won’t stay long in the company of the Dozen. The king would give any price for her.”

“Then he shall have her.”

“Not so fast,” said Captain Jack, leading the way to a small public-house, not more than a hundred yards from their store-house on the river side, “not so fast, Bates, not so fast. She is well provided for the night, you say, and that is sufficient. I must pay a hasty visit to Darlington ere we make up our mind what to do.”

They had now reached the public-house, and were conversing in an undertone together when a post-boy rode up and dismounted.

Tired, dirty, and muddy he was, and seemed ready to sink from fatigue.

“Come far to-night?” said Captain Jack.

“Yes, sir, a good many miles, and have ridden faster than ever I did in my whole life.”

“Where from?” said Bates, shoving over his bottle to the post-boy.

“From Darlington.”

“Darlington?” said Captain Jack, pricking up his ears. “Why, that is the very place I was just speaking about.”

“Indeed, sir,” said the post-boy; “then, methinks, before four-and-twenty hours more, the name of that place will be in the mouths of every one in all London.”

“Why, I do not understand you; explain yourself. Why, I thought of journeying there to-morrow.”

“You had better not, sir, for it is a most villainous place.”

“Once upon a time,” said Bates, “it was one of the quietest little villages in all England.”

“Sure, kind sir; but things have changed very much of late.”

“How do you mean?”

“Why, old Farmer Bertram was mysteriously murdered there, and it has never been found out yet.”

“I know it; there is a royal proclamation about that affair,” said Bates.

“And then the beautiful daughter of old Harmer, the miller, was forcibly abducted by some base villain.”

“True.”

“And she has never been heard of since.”

“So I have been told.”

“And then her lover, young Andrew, was stabbed, thrown into the river and almost killed; and now, to add to the horrors of the place and its surrounding roads, another murder has been committed in the woods near old Sir Richard’s mansion.”

“Another murder!” said Jack, in surprise.

“Aye, sir, you may well be surprised; another murder has been committed there, and everything has become so dangerous down there, that I intend to throw up my situation, for I suppose next time I go down there with the mails they’ll be for murdering me.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Captain Jack.

“You must be mistaken, my lad,” said Bates.

“No I’m not, gentlemen; there’s no mistake about it, more’s the pity. What with the ravages of Death-wing and his Skeleton Crew, and the increase of murders down in these parts, the village is getting a very bad name; nay, the worst of names in all England.”

“And who was murdered this time?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I heard it was no less a man than Colonel Blood himself.”

“Colonel Blood! impossible,” said Jack, snapping his fingers.

“Are you sure it was the colonel, young man?” said old Bates.

“No, gentlemen, I am not quite certain; but old Harmer has seen the body of the murdered man, and he swears it is just like the gentleman who used to come prowling about the mill after Ellen.”

“Then what makes you think it was Colonel Blood?”

“From cards and notes found in his pockets.”

Jack and Bates looked at each other in a very knowing manner.

“How did it all happen?” asked Captain Jack. “Here, sit down, my lad, and let’s hear all about it.”

“Yes, yes, landlord, give us another bottle; you needn’t mind telling us the whole truth, you know,” said Bates, with an air of much importance, “for we are Crown officers, and no harm can befal you.”

“Well, you see, gentlemen,” the post-boy began, “since Ellen Harmer has been stolen away from her father’s house, Andrew, her lover, recovered from his wounds, but is thought to be raving mad at times, and goes raving about in all sorts of holes and corners.

“The people take pity on him, and treat him kindly; but all he thinks of is revenge for the injuries he has received.

“Last night he was sitting in a public-house by the roadside, about two miles this side of Darlington, when who should stop to bait his horse but a person very much like the man who stabbed him on the bridge the night Ellen Harmer was carried away.

“Directly he entered the parlour, poor Andrew began to rave, and the stranger laughed at him.

“Poor Andrew began, as usual, to tell the stranger his troubles, like he does to all who will listen to him; but still the stranger laughed, and began to mock him.

“With eyes glistening like two burning coals, Andrew peered closely into the stranger’s face, but made up his mind that, though very much like, he could not be the man who had so cruelly wronged him.

“The stranger pretended to be ignorant of the country he was passing through.

“Yet, at the same time, the landlord says he spoke of Sir Richard Warbeck, and of Wildfire Ned’s famous doings, as if he had been acquainted with them for years.

“He knew all about old Bertram’s murder, and whatever had happened to Ellen Harmer, who, he said, was safe and sound in London.

“He had plenty of money, and said he was sent down from London on a secret mission to capture one Captain Jack, a famous rogue, who was supposed to be hiding somewhere thereabouts.

“He pulled out rolls of notes and a bag of money, and made such a display of it that the landlord begged him to be very careful, for it might excite the passions of those around.

‘He did not care,’ he said; ‘he wasn’t afraid of all Darlington put together,’ he swore more than once.

“While he was talking, Andrew went out of the parlour, and went along the road towards home.

‘You had better take the road through the forest,’ said the landlord to him; ‘it is much nearer, Andrew, my boy, than by going along the road.’

“Andrew did not make any reply, but went his way.

“In about half an hour the stranger rose, buttoned up his coat, and, with a thick stick in his hand, went forth alone.

“‘I’m going to Darlington,’ he said.

“‘But, you said you were a stranger in these parts,’ the old publican remarked, ‘and, if that is so, you may miss your way.’

“‘Never fear,’ said the burly stranger, laughing. ‘I heard you say the path through the woods was much nearer than by the road, so I’ll take the shortest cut.’

“The landlord begged of him not to go, but go he would and did.

“What happened afterwards I could only learn from his own lips, as he lay weltering in his blood, about half an hour afterwards, for in that time he was brought in by two rustics, with his throat fearfully gashed.

“He could speak, however, and, in reply to questions put to him, he said,

“‘I had not gone far along the road, and had just entered the forest path, when I met with two poacher-looking fellows, each with a big stick, and slovenly dressed, with big coats and slouched hats, which almost covered their eyes.

“‘They were very civil, and I asked them a great many questions about Darlington.

“‘They answered all my questions in a straightforward manner.

“‘Have you any strangers living in the village?’ said I.

“‘How do you mean?’ said they.

“‘Strangers, I mean, who have plenty of money, and don’t seem to do any sort of work for a living.’

“‘Oh, yes,’ said one; ‘there is a flashy-looking chap who stays at the inn, and spends lots of money every night; but what he does none of us know. He says he is a crown officer, but we think he must be a highwayman, or something of that sort, for he has got the cut of one all over.’

“‘They described this fellow to me so well, that I made up my mind it must be no other than Captain Jack, a famous rascal I was bent on capturing.

“‘I told the rustics this, and they laughed, but promised to go to the village with me, and assist in his capture.

“‘We all walked along quietly, chatting together.

“‘I gave them a good ‘pull’ at my brandy flask, and promised them an excellent reward if Captain Jack could be captured.

“‘They said they were willing enough if I would pay them before hand.

“‘I pulled out my purse to do this, and next moment one of them gave me a sudden blow on the head, and knocked me down.

“‘Before I could get my pistols out, the blow was repeated.

“‘I struggled hard; but in a second or two one of them pulled out a long knife and jagged my throat, and the blood spurted out all over me. (See cut in No. 15).

“‘In a second they robbed me of everything, and darted away into the darkness of the forest.

“‘I remained unconscious for some time, but my shouts and cries were heard, and soon afterwards two villagers, who were passing, raised me up and brought me here, and here I am a dying man.’”

“This is what the stranger said, eh?” remarked Captain Jack, picking his teeth, and looking much pleased.

“Yes, that is what he said, every word of it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yes, for the landlord wrote it down as he spoke. I have just delivered it to Sir Richard Warbeck, in London here, that he may inquire into the mysterious affair at once.”

“But did not the stranger make any other remarks before he died?”

“He did.”

“What were they?”

“He said that he could swear that one of the two men was none other than Mad Andrew in disguise.”

“Poor devil!”

“And the other one,” observed Bates, “had he any idea who he was?”

“He said he thought it must have been Captain Jack himself, in disguise.”

“Thunder and lightning! you don’t mean that?”

“I do, though; he signed his name as best he could to the dying deposition.”.

“Oh! it couldn’t have been Captain Jack,” said Bates; “I’ll swear to that.”

“And so will I,” said Captain Jack; “the thing was impossible.”

“Quite so,” said Bates; “’tis a very serious charge to make against an innocent man.”

“So it is, gentlemen; but then, you see, the character of Captain Jack isn’t very good at the best of times, so I hear, and the dead man’s oath will be taken before that of any one else.”

“Devilish queer affair,” said Jack,

“Yes, somebody must swing for it,” said the post-boy. “I wouldn’t like to be in Captain Jack’s shoes for all the money in the kingdom.”

“Perhaps you don’t know the captain, my lad,” said Jack, “or you’d have a different opinion; he is—”

“One of the best men in all London,” said Bates, tossing off his wine.

“Honest as the day is long,” said Jack.

“People are mistaken about him. As to murdering an innocent man in the woods, and robbing him, too,” said Bates, “why, bless you, it is out of the question.”

“From what you say about him,” said the post-boy, “one would think he wasn’t a rascal at all.”

“Nor is he,” said Jack, fiercely; “I’ll stake my life on it.”

“And so will I,” said Bates, drinking deeply.

“Perhaps you know him, then, gentlemen?”

“No, not exactly; but I’ve seen him, and actually been in his company once or twice,” said Jack.

“So have I,” chimed in Bates, “he can sing a capital song.”

“And dance a jig.”

“And handle a sword.”

“Aye! that he can, and fight for an hour with the best gentleman in all England,” said Bates, in conclusion.

“And was the dying man’s deposition the only reason that made you hurry up to town at such a terrible pace?”

“Not exactly, gentlemen; something more.”

“What then?”

“When the dead man’s things were searched, we found papers, cards, and documents in his pockets, all bearing the name of Colonel Blood, and the supposition was, that he was that individual.”

“And was it?”

“We haven’t found out yet, for when I rode up to his mansion, I found the place in great confusion, and the colonel was out of town, so it was supposed.”

“I heard he had gone to Darlington,” said Bates.

“If he did go there, then he must have been killed,” said Jack.

“I knew not that, gentlemen, but heard that his house had been robbed of all its plate, jewels, and valuables. Many of the household were killed or wounded in fighting with the robbers, and all was in a dreadful uproar.”

“Astonishing,” said Jack. “Here, landlord, more wine.”

“And have they any notion who committed this audacious robbery, my boy?”

“I heard the butler say he had picked up a sword in the grounds, with the name of ‘Tom Bates’ upon it.’

“T-h-e devil!” said Jack, who now, for the first time, perceived that Tom had lost his sword in the hurry and scuffle of getting away in the boat.

Old Bates, himself, felt thunderstruck when he heard this, for, until that moment, he had thought nothing about the sword he had lost.

He poured out a goblet of wine, drank it off at a draught to drown his rising anger.

“What else did they discover?” Jack asked.

“There is a tall black slave at the mansion, who, by signs and writing, made known to all assembled that there were several crown officers among the robbers.”

“Worse and worse,” said Bates.

For a few moments no one spoke.

The post-boy left the house, and in a short time the house closed for the night.

Jack and Bates being good customers, were not turned out when the doors were shut, but remained chatting together.

“This is a bad job,” said Bates, “a very bad job for you, Jack.”

“And so it is for you.”

“You will be surely ‘scragged’ for this murder.”

“And so will you for this robbery, for they will be sure to trace the sword to you.”

“Hang the luck,” said old Bates. “I wish we had never seen the place.”

“What must be done?”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“They won’t be long before they are after us you may be sure.”

“I don’t care what they do, now that Colonel Blood is killed,” said Jack; “he was a deceitful, tricky, devil.”

While they thus sat drinking, loud knocks were heard at the door outside.

“Who’s there?” asked the landlord.

“Don’t open for them,” said Jack, “it’s only some thirsty roysterer returning home.”

“House, ho!”

“Who are you?”

“What do you want?”

“Go home, I tell you; the house is closed.”

“House, ho! within there; open, in the name of the king.”

“The what?” said Jack, in alarm.

“In the name of the king,” whispered Bates.

“What can it be?” asked Jack; “surely not a guard of soldiers, landlord.”

“Yes it is, sir; I have just peeped out of the window. There is a file of soldiers outside, with an officer at their head.”

“House, ho! within there! Open, in the name of the king, landlord, or I’ll burst in the door.”

“What do you want?”

“Open, I say.”

“What are your orders?”

“To search the house.”

“Your name, officer?”

“It matters not to you; open.”

“I have no one here, I assure you.”

“You lie, landlord; you had, if you have not now. Open, I say, once more.”

“Your warrant, sir.”

“My name is sufficient, old dolt.”

“And what is it, I beg you?”

“Colonel Blood!”

Directly Jack and Bates heard this ominous name, they dashed out of the room just as the impatient soldiers were bursting open the heavy, oaken door.

“Fly,” said Jack, dashing out into the back yard, “fly for your life, Bates, ’tis the colonel himself; fly, fly!”

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