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The White Gauntlet

Volume One – Chapter Ten

An incident so ludicrous could not fail to tickle the fancy of the young courtier; and bring his risible faculties into full play. It produced this effect; and to such a degree that for some minutes he could do nothing but laugh – loud enough to have been heard to the remotest confines of the Heath.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” – said he, recalling to mind the contents of his sister’s letter; “not a bit should I wonder, if this fellow be the same who stopped the lady’s coach. You’ve heard of it?”

“I have,” laughingly replied the cavalier. “No doubt, Gregory Garth and the coach-robber you speak of are one and the same individual.”

“Ha! ha! ha! to think of the six attendants! – there was that number, I believe, escorting the coach – to think of all six running away, and from one man!”

“You forget the band? Ha! ha! ha! It is to be presumed, that Gregory had six scarecrows rigged up for that occasion also. Truer men, by my troth, than the cavaliers who accompanied the lady. Ha! ha! But for the immorality of the act it’s an artifice worthy of my old instructor in the art of venerie. After all, I should have expected better of the ex-forester than finding him thus transformed into a footpad. Poor devil! who knows what may have been his trials and temptations? There are wrongs daily done upon England’s people, in the name – ay, and with the knowledge – of England’s king, that would make a criminal of the meekest Christian; and Gregory Garth was never particularly distinguished for the virtue of meekness. Something may have been done to madden, and drive him to this desperate life. I shall know anon.”

“One thing in his favour,” suggested the young courtier, who notwithstanding the rude introduction, appeared to be favourably inclined towards the footpad. “He did not ill-treat the lady, though left all alone with her. True, he stripped her of her jewellery; but beyond that he behaved gently enough. I have just heard the sequel of the story, as I came through Uxbridge. Ha! ha! odd as the rest of the affair. It appears that before leaving her, he caught one of her runaway attendants; forced him back upon the box; and, putting the whip and reins into the varlet’s hands, compelled him to continue the journey!”

“All as you say, Master Wade. I heard the same story myself; though little suspecting that the facetious footpad was my old henchman Gregory Garth. That part of his performance was natural enough. The rogue had always a dash of gallantry in his composition. I’m pleased to think it’s not all gone out of him.”

“He appears very repentant after – ”

“After having been within an inch of taking the life of one, who – rather should I say of losing his own. It was a lucky turn that brought the moonlight on that bearded visage of his: else he might now have been lying in the middle of the road, silent as his scare-crow companions. By my troth! I should have felt sorry to have been his executioner. I am glad it has turned out as it has – more especially since he has promised, if not actual repentance, at least some sort of reformation. It may not be too late. There’s good in him – or was – if his evil courses have not caused its complete eradication. Well! I am likely to see him soon; when I shall submit his soul to the test, and find whether there is still in it enough of the old honesty to give hope of his regeneration. The entrance to your father’s park?”

The speaker nodded towards a sombre pile of ivy-grown mason-work – in the centre of which could be seen a massive gate, its serried rails just discernible under the tall chestnuts, that in double row shadowed the avenue beyond.

The heir of Bulstrode did not need to be thus reminded. Three years of absence had not effaced from his memory the topographic details of scenes so much loved, so long enjoyed. Well remembered he the ways that led towards the paternal mansion; and already, ere his fellow traveller ceased speaking, he had pulled up opposite the oft-used entrance.

“My journey extends farther up the road,” continued the cavalier, without having made more than a momentary pause in his speech. “I am sorry, Master Wade, to lose your agreeable company; but we must part.”

“Not sir,” said Walter, looking earnestly towards him, “not, I trust, till you have given me an opportunity of thanking you for the service you have rendered me. But for your companionship, the adventure, as well as my day’s journey, might have had a very different termination. I should certainly have been plundered – perhaps impaled on the long pike of your quondam servitor. Thanks to you, that I am to reach home in safety. I hope, therefore, you will not object to my knowing the name of one, who has done me such an essential service.”

“I have but slight claim to your gratitude,” replied the cavalier. “In truth not any, Master Wade. By the merest accident have we been thrown together as compagnons de voyage.”

“Your modesty, sir,” rejoined the young courtier – as he spoke bending gracefully towards his companion, “claims my admiration equally with that courage, of which I have now witnessed more than one display. But you cannot hinder me from feeling gratitude; nor yet from expressing it. If you deny me the privilege of knowing your name, I can at least tell my friends, how much I am indebted to Sir Henry the Unknown.”

“Sir Henry! Ah! Garth styled me so. The old forester is fond of bestowing titles. My father was so called; and honest Gregory, in his luck of heraldic skill, thinks the title must be hereditary. It is not so, however. I have not received the honour of knighthood from the sword of sacred majesty. What’s more, it’s not likely I ever shall. Ha! ha!”

The words that concluded this speech – as well as the laugh that followed – were uttered in a tone of defiant bitterness: as if the speaker held such royal honours in but slight estimation.

The young courtier thus baulked in obtaining the name of his protector, remained for a moment without making rejoinder. He was thinking whether in the matter of names he could not claim a fair exchange of confidence – since he had freely given his own, – when the cavalier, as if divining his thoughts, again accosted him.

“Pardon me,” resumed the latter, in a tone of apology. “Pardon me, Master Wade, for my apparent want of courtesy. You honour me by asking my name; and, since you have treated me so frankly, I have neither the right nor the wish to conceal it from you. It is plain Henry Holtspur – not Sir Henry, as you have just heard me designated. Furthermore, Master Wade; if you know anything of a rather dilapidated dwelling yclept ‘Stone Dean,’ – situated in the heart of the forest, some three miles from here – and think you could find your way thither, I can promise you a welcome, a mouthful of venison, a cup of Canary to wash it down; and – not much more, I fear. During most mornings I am at home, if you will take your chance of riding over.”

“Nay, you must visit me first,” rejoined Walter, “I should ask you in now; but for the lateness of the hour. I fear our people have retired for the night. You will come again; and permit me to introduce you to my father. I am sure he would like to thank you for the service you have done me; and my sister Marion too.”

A thrill of sweet secret pleasure shot through the heart of Henry Holtspur, as he listened to the last words. Thanks from Marion! A thought from her – even though it were but given in gratitude!

Love! love! sweet art thou in the enjoyment; but far more delicious is the dream of thy anticipation!

Had the young courtier been closely observing, he might, at that moment, have detected upon the countenance of Henry Holtspur, a peculiar expression – one which he appeared endeavouring to conceal.

The brother of his mistress is the last man, to whom a lover cares to confide the secret of his bosom. It may not be a welcome tale – even when the fortunes are equal, the introduction en règle, and the intentions honourable. But if in any of these circumstances there chance to be informality, then becomes the brother the bête noire of the situation.

Was some thought of this kind causing Henry Holtspur a peculiar emotion – prompting him to repress, or conceal it from the brother of Marion Wade? On returning thanks for the promised introduction, why did he speak with an air of embarrassment? Why upon his countenance, of open manly character, was there an expression almost furtive?

The young courtier, without taking note of these circumstances, continued to urge his request.

“Well – you promise to come?”

“Sometime – with pleasure.”

“Nay, Master Holtspur, ‘sometime’ is too indefinite; but, indeed, so has been my invitation. I shall alter it. You will come to-morrow? Father gives a fête in our park. ’Tis my birthday; and the sports, I believe, have been arranged on an extensive scale. Say, you will be one of our guests?”

“With all my heart, Master Wade. I shall be most happy.”

After exchanging a mutual good-night, the two travellers parted – Walter entering the gate of the park – while the cavalier continued along the highway, that ran parallel to its palings.

Volume One – Chapter Eleven

After seeing the two travellers ride off, the disappointed footpad stood listening, till the hoof-strokes of their horses died upon the distant road.

Then, flinging himself upon a bank of earth, and, having assumed a sitting posture – with his elbows resting upon his knees, and his bearded chin reposing between the palms of his hands – he remained for some moments silent as the Sphinx, and equally motionless.

His features betrayed a strange compound of expressions – not to be interpreted by any one ignorant of his history, or of the adventure that had just transpired. The shadow of a contrite sadness was visible upon his brow; while in his dark grey eye could be detected a twinkle of chagrin – as he thought of the pair of purses so unexpectedly extricated from his grasp.

Plainly was a struggle passing within his bosom. Conscience and cupidity had quarrelled – their first outfall for a long period of time. The contending emotions prevented speech; and, it is superfluous to say, his companions respected his silence.

In the countenance of Gregory Garth, despite his criminal calling – even in his worst moments – there were lines indicative of honesty. As he sate by the roadside – that roadside near which he had so often skulked– with the moon shining full upon his face, these lines gradually became more distinctly defined; until the criminal cast completely disappeared from his features, leaving only in its place an expression of profound melancholy. But for the mise en scène, and the dramatis personae surrounding him, any one passing at the moment might have mistaken him for an honest man, suffering from some grave and recent misfortune.

But as no one passed, he was left free to indulge, both in his sorrow and his silence.

At length the latter came to an end. The voice of the penitent footpad – no longer in the stern accents of menace and command, but in soft subdued tones – once more interrupted the stillness of the night.

“Oh lor – oh lor!” muttered he, “who’d a believed I shud ha’ holden my pike to the breast o’ young master Henry? Niver a thought had I to use it. Only bluster to make ’em yield up; but he’ll think as how I intended it all the same. Oh lor – oh lor! he’ll niver forgi’ me! Well, it can’t a’ be holp now; an’ here go to keep the promise I’ve made him. No more touchin’ o’ purses, or riflin’ o’ fine ladies on this road. That game be all over.”

For a moment the dark shadow upon his brow appeared to partake slightly of chagrin – as if there still lingered some regret, for the promise he had made, and the step he was about to take. The strife between conscience and cupidity seemed not yet definitively decided.

There was another interval of silence, and then came the decision. It was in favour of virtue. Conscience had triumphed.

“I’ll keep my word to him,” cried he, springing to his feet, as if to give emphasis to the resolve. “I’ll keep it, if I shud starve.”

“Disband!” he continued, addressing himself to the silent circle, and speaking in a tone of mock command. “Disband! ye beggars! Your captain, Greg’ry Garth, han’t no longer any need o’ your sarvices. Dang it meeats!” added he, still preserving his tone of mock seriousness, “I be sorry to part wi’ ye. Ye’ve been as true as steel to me; an’ ne’er a angry word as iver passed atween us. Well, it can’t be holp, boys – that it can’t. The best o’ friends must part, some time or other; but afore we sepperates, I’m a-goin’ to purvide for one an’ all on ye. I’ve got a friend over theer in Uxbridge, who keeps a biggish trade goin’ on – they call it panprokin’. It’s a money-making business. I dare say he can find places for o’ ye. Ye be sure o’ doin’ well wi’ him. Ye’ll be in good company, wi’ plenty o’ goold and jeweltry all round ye. Don’t be afeerd o’ what’ll happen to ye. I’ll take duppleickets for yer security; so that in case o’ my needin’ ye again – ”

At this crisis the fantastic valedictory of the retiring robber was brought to a sudden termination, by his hearing a sound – similar to those for which his ear had been but too well-trained to listen. It was the footfall of a horse, denoting the approach of a horseman – a traveller. It was neither of those who had just passed over the Heath: since it came from the direction opposite to that in which they had gone – up the road from Redhill.

There was but one horseman – as the hoof-stroke indicated. From the same index it could be told, that he was coming on at a slow pace – a walk in fact – as if ignorant of the road, or afraid of proceeding at a rapid rate along a path, which was far from being a smooth one.

On hearing the hoof-stroke, Gregory Garth instinctively, as instantly, desisted from his farcical apostrophe; and, without offering the slightest apology to his well-behaved auditors, turned his face away from them, and stood listening.

“A single horseman?” muttered he to himself, “Crawlin’ along at snail pace? A farmer maybe, who’s tuk a drap too much at the Saracen’s Head, an’ ’s failed asleep in his saddle? Now I think o’t, it be market day in that thear town o’ Uxbridge.”

The instincts of the footpad – which had for the moment yielded before the moral shock of the humiliating encounter with his old master – began to resume dominion over him.

“Wonder,” continued he, in a muttered tone, “Wonder if the chaw-bacon ha’ got any cash about him? Or have he been, and drunk it all at the inn? Pish! what do it matter whether he have or no? Ha’nt I gone an’ promised Master Henry ’twould be my last night? Dang it! I must keep my word.

“Stay!” he continued, after reflecting a moment, “I sayed that it shud be my last night? That’s ’zactly what you sayed, an’ nothin’ else, Greg’ry Garth! It wouldn’t be breakin’ no promise if I —

“The night be yooung yet! ’Taint much after eleven o’ the clock? I’ve just heard Chaffont bells strikin’ eleven. A night arn’t over till twelve. That’s the ‘law o’ the land.’

“What’s the use o’ talkin’? Things can’t be wuss wi’ me than they is arready. I’ve stole the sheep; an’ if I’m to swing for’t, I moat as well goo in for the hul flock. After all, Master Henry ha’nt promised to keep me; an’ I may starve for my honest intentions. I ha’nt enough silver left to kiver a spittle with; an’ as for these rags, they arn’t goin’ to fetch me a fortune. Dash it! I’ll stop chaw-bacon, an’ see whether he ha’nt been a sellin’ his beests.

“Keep yeer places, lads!” continued he, turning once more to his dummies, and addressing them as if he really believed them to be “lads.”

“Keep yeer places; and behave jest the same, as if nuthin’ ’d been sayed about our separatin’!”

Concluding his speech with this cautionary peroration, the footpad glided back under the shadow of the hovel; and silently placed himself in a position to pounce upon the unwary wayfarer, whose ill-luck was conducting him to the crossing of Jarret’s Heath at that late hour of the night.

Volume One – Chapter Twelve

The robber had not long to wait for his victim. The necessary preparations for receiving the latter occupied some time – enough for the slow-paced traveller to get forward upon the ground; which he succeeded in doing, just as Gregory Garth had secured himself an ambush, within the shadow of the hovel. There stood he, in the attitude of a hound in leash, straining upon the spring.

When the horseman, emerging from under the arcade of the trees, rode out into the open ground, and the moonlight fell upon him and his horse, the footpad was slightly taken by surprise. Instead of a farmer, fuddled with cheap tipple obtained at the “Saracen’s Head,” Garth saw before him an elegant cavalier, mounted upon a smoking but handsome steed, and dressed in a full suit of shining satin!

Though surprised, Gregory was neither dismayed, nor disconcerted. On the contrary, he was all the better satisfied at seeing – in the place of a drunken clod-hopper, perchance with an empty wallet – a gentleman whose appearance gave every promise of a plethoric purse; and one also, whose aspect declared to the practised eye of the footpad, that compelling him to part with it, would be an achievement neither difficult nor dangerous.

Without losing an instant, after making this observation, the robber rushed out from under the shadow of the hut; and, just as he had hailed the two horsemen half-an-hour before, did he salute the satin-clad cavalier.

Very different however was the response which he now received in return to the stereotyped demand, “Stand and deliver!” Such travellers as the black horseman were rare upon the road; and he of the smoking steed, and satin vestments, instead of drawing a pistol from his holsters, or a sword from its sheath, threw up both hands in token of surrender; and, in a trembling voice, piteously appealed for mercy.

“Hang it, Master!” cried Garth, still keeping his pike pointed at the breast of the frightened traveller. “Doant be so skeeart! They woant hurt ye, man. Nee’r a one o’ ’em’s goin’ to lay a finger on ye – that be, if ye doant make a fool o’ yerself by showin’ resistance. Keep yeer ground, boys! The gentleman han’t no intention to gie trouble.”

“No – I assure you, no!” eagerly ejaculated the traveller. “I mean no harm to anybody. Believe me, friends! I don’t, indeed. You’re welcome to what money I’ve got. It isn’t much: I’m only a poor messenger of the king.”

“A messenger of the king!” echoed the captain of the robbers, showing a new interest in the announcement.

“And, if I may ask the question,” proceeded he, drawing nearer to the traveller, and rudely clutching hold of his bridle-rein, “Whither be ye bound, good Master?”

“O sir,” replied the trembling courtier, “I am glad I’ve met with some one who, perhaps, can tell me the way. I am the bearer of a message from his gracious Majesty to Captain Scarthe, of the King’s Cuirassiers; who is, or should be, by this time, quartered with Sir Marmaduke Wade, of Bulstrode Park – somewhere in this part of the county of Buckingham.”

“Ho, ho!” muttered Gregory Garth, speaking to himself, “message from his Majesty to Captain Scarthe! – Sir Marmaduke Wade! Bulstrode Park! What the ole Nick be all this about?”

“You know Sir Marmaduke Wade, do you not, good friend?”

“Well, Master Silk-and-Satin,” scornfully drawled the footpad, “without havin’ the pleasure o’ knowin’ you, or the honour o’ bein’ your good friend eyther, I think as how I mout say, that I does know somethin’ o’ that very gentleman, Sir Marmaduke Wade; though it be news to me that theer be such a individable as Captain Scarthe, either in the county o’ Bucks, or in the kingdom o’ England – to say nothin’ o’ a troop o’ King’s Kewrasseers being quartered at Bulstrode Park. All o’ that there be Greek to Greg’ry Garth.”

“Good friend! I assure you it’s nothing but the truth. Captain Scarthe and his troop have certainly arrived at Bulstrode Park by this time; and if you will only conduct me thither – ”

“Bah! that arn’t my bizness. Conduct yerself. Bulstrode Park aint a step from here. As to Captain Scarthe, or the King’s Kewrasseers, I shud n’t know eyther one nor t’other from a side o’ sole leather. If ye’ve got e’er a message, ye can hand it over to me, an’ along wi’ it whatever loose cash ye be carryin’ on your fine-clad carcass. Fork out!”

“Oh! sir; to my money you’re welcome – my watch also and the chain. But as you love our good king, let me ride on upon the errand, on which he has despatched me!”

“Maybe I don’t love ‘our good King,’ so much as ye think for, ye spangled flunkey! Come! out wi’ all ye’ve got, or these fellows’ll strip ye to the skin. Ne’er mind, boys! Keep yer ground; he an’t a-goin’ to be troublesome.”

“No, no, good friends. I promise you I shall not. I yield up everything. Here’s my purse. For your sakes I’m sorry there’s not more in it. Here’s my watch. I had it a present from our most gracious Queen. You see, sir, it’s very valuable?”

The footpad eagerly clutched at the timepiece; and, holding it between his great horny fingers, examined it under the light of the moon.

“It must be valleyable,” said he, turning it over and over. “It appears to be kivered all over wi’ preecious stones. A present from the Queen, ye say?”

“I had it from her majesty’s own hands.”

“Dang her for a French – . This be the way she spends our English money. She be a bigger robber than Greg’ry Garth – that she be – and ye can tell her I sayed so, the next time you ha’ the chance o’ palaverin’ to her. Go on! Emp’y your pockets o’ everything.”

“I’ve only this penknife; these tablets, and pencil – that’s all, I assure you.”

“What’s that glitterin’ thing,” asked the footpad, pointing to something the courtier appeared anxious to conceal, “as hangs about yer neck? Let’s have a squint at it?”

“That, sir, – that is a – a – a locket.”

“A locket; what be that?”

“Well, it’s – it’s – ”

“It be wonderful like a bit o’ a watch. What be inside o’ it?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothin’. Then, what do you carry it for?”

“Oh, there is something inside; nothing of value, however; it’s only a lock of hair.”

“Only hair. A love-lock, I s’pose? Well, that arn’t o’ much valley sure enough – leastwise to me it arn’t – and yer may keep the hair. But I’ll trouble you for the case. It look like it mout pawn for somethin’. Quick, off wi’ it!”

The terrified courtier instantly complied with the demand – in his fright not even taking advantage of the permission granted him to preserve the precious love token; but delivering both lock and locket into the outstretched fingers of the footpad.

“O sir,” said he, in a supplicating tone, “that is everything – everything!”

“No it arn’t,” gruffly returned the robber, “you’ve got a niceish doublet thear – satin spick-span – trunks to match; boots an’ spurs o’ the first quality; a tidyish hat and feathers; an’ a sharpish toad-sticker by yer side. I doant partickler want any o’ these things for myself; but I’ve got a relation that I’d like to make ’em a present to. So, strip!”

“What, sir! would you send me naked on my errand? You forget that I’m the bearer of a message from the king?”

“No, daang me if I do; and daang the king, too! That ere’s potery for ye. I’ve heerd ye be fond o’ it at Court. I like prose better; and my prose be, dismount an’ strip.”

Notwithstanding the tone of raillery in which the footpad was pleased to express himself, the unfortunate courtier saw that he was all the while in serious earnest, and that there would be danger in resisting his demands.

Spite of his reluctance therefore, he was compelled to slide down from his saddle, and disrobe himself in the middle of the road.

Not until he stood stark naked, did the relentless robber suffer him to desist – leaving to him little else than his shirt and stockings!

“O sir! you will not mount me thus?” said the wretched man, appealing with upheld hands to the footpad. “Surely you will not send me in this guise – the bearer of a royal message? What a figure I should cut on horseback, without my boots – without my hat or doublet – without – ”

“Stash yer palaver!” cried Garth, who was busied making the cast-off clothes into a bundle. “Who said ye war goin’ to cut a figger a-horseback? Whar’s yer horse, I sh’d like to know?”

The courtier gave a doubting nod towards the steed.

“Oh!” responded the footpad, coolly continuing his task, “moat a been your horse ten minutes agone. He be myen now. I’ve been a-foot long enough, while you an’ yours ha’ been ridin’. It be my time to mount for a bit. That’s only fair turn an’ turn, ar’nt it?”

The dismounted messenger made no reply. Though surprise and terror had by this time well-nigh deprived him of his senses, he had enough left to admonish him, that all remonstrance would be idle. He said nothing, therefore; but stood with shivering frame and teeth chattering like castanets: for it chanced to be one of those chill autumnal nights, when the cold is felt almost as sensibly as in December.

The footpad took no further notice of him, until he had completed the binding of the bundle. Then straightening himself up, face to face with his victim, he surveyed him from head to foot with a half-quizzical, half serious look.

The latter at length predominated – as if some suspicious thought had come uppermost in his mind.

“Cowardly as ye be, ye king’s minion,” said he, addressing the trembling messenger in a tone of scornful bitterness, “thear mout be cunnin’ an’ mischief in ye. I’ll take care that ye doant go furder this night. Come along into the house here! Ye woant object to that – seein’ as ye’re so starved-like outside. Come along!”

And without waiting for either the assent or refusal of the individual thus solicited, the robber seized him by the wrist; and half led, half dragged, him over the threshold of the hovel.

Once inside the ruin, he proceeded to bind his unresisting victim with cords, which he had taken in along with him. He had plenty of light for his purpose: for a portion of the roof had fallen in, and the moonlight shone brightly upon the thatch-strewn floor.

Expert in the handling of ropes, his task was soon performed; and in a few minutes the King’s messenger stood with his arms bound behind his back, and his ankles lashed as tightly together, as if he had been a dangerous felon!

“Now,” said the robber, after securing the last loop, apparently to his satisfaction, “you woant come loose till somebody lets ye; and that arnt goin’ to be me. I ha’nt no wish to be cruel to ye – tho’ ye are a king’s flunkey – an’ as ye’ll be easier lyin’ down than stannin’ up, I’ll put you in that position.”

As he said this, he let go his hold, and permitted the unfortunate man to fall heavily upon the floor.

“Lie thear, Master Messenger, till somebody lifts ye. I’ll see to the deliverin’ o’ yer message. Good-night!”

And with a mocking laugh Gregory Garth strode back over the threshold – leaving the astounded traveller to reflections that were neither very lucid nor very pleasant.

After passing out of the hut, the footpad hastened to take his departure from the spot.

He led the steed of the messenger out into the middle of the road, and tied the bridle he had made to the cantle of the saddle. He then glided up to the near side of the horse; and caught hold of the withers – as if about to mount.

Something, however, caused him to hesitate; and an interval elapsed, without his making any effort to get into the saddle.

“Daangit, old partners!” cried he, at length – addressing himself to his band of dummies, whom he had been for sometime neglecting – “’twon’t do for us to part this fashion. If Greg’ry Garth are promoted to be a highwayman, he arn’t goin’ to look down on his pals o’ the path. No! Ye shall go long wi’ me, one an’ all. Though the hul o’ ye put thegither arnt worth this shinin’ ticker I’ve got in my fob, for all that I can make better use o’ ye, than leavin’ ye here to scare the crows o’ Jarret’s Heath. Come along, my boys! I’se boun’, this stout charger from the royal mews be able to carry the hul on us, an’ not think it much o’ a looad neyther. I’ll find room for all o’ ye – some on the crupper, and the rest on the withers. Come along then!”

Without waiting for any reply to his proposal, he glided around the edge of the opening: and, rapidly dismantling the dummies one after the other, he returned towards the horse with their ravished vestments.

Hanging the “old clo’” across both croup and withers – and there attaching them by strings – he at length climbed into the saddle lately occupied by the king’s messenger, and rode gleefully away.

Just as he cleared the crossing of the roads, the clock of Chalfont Saint Peter’s tolled the hour of midnight.

“Exact twelve!” exclaimed he, in a tone of congratulation. “Well! ’twur a close shave; but I’ve kep’ my word to Master Henry! If I had broke that, I could niver a looked him in the face again. Ha! Hear them old church bells! How sweet they sound on the air o’ the night! They mind me o’ the time, when I wur innocent child. Ring on! ring on! ye bells o’ Peter’s Chaffont! Ring on, an’ tell the world that Greg’ry Garth is biddin’ good-bye to the road!”