Part 42 (1/2)
CHAPTER x.x.xIII
THE AWAKENING
John Stich could scarce contain himself for joy. Fate indeed and all the angels in heaven had ranged themselves on the side of his Captain.
That Beau Brocade should have emerged unconquered after all out of the terrible position in which he was placed last night, seemed to the worthy smith nothing short of miraculous, and only accomplished through the special agency of heaven, whose most cherished child the gallant highwayman most undoubtedly was, in his friend's enthusiastic estimation.
For the moment, therefore, the kindly smith felt tolerably happy about his friend. The presence of His Royal Highness the Duke of c.u.mberland with his army corps in this part of the country would do much towards keeping the Sergeant and soldiers' attention away from the Heath, at any rate for a day or two. Perhaps the squad now quartered at Bra.s.sington would be drafted to one of the regiments, and a fresh contingent, composed of men who'd have no special bone to pick with the highwayman, left behind for the still active hunt against the rebels.
But this train of thought brought the faithful smith's mind back to the Earl of Stretton and the stolen letters. Rea.s.sured momentarily as to his friend, he was still aware of the grave peril which threatened his young lord.
Neither he nor Lady Patience could conjecture what had become of the letters. Sir Humphrey Challoner, after his woeful adventure in Bra.s.sington, had condescended to accept Squire West's hospitality for the nonce. Stich had spied him in the course of the morning, walking in the direction of the village in close conversation with his familiar, Master Mittachip, attorney-at-law. In spite of the momentary respite in his anxiety, the smith felt that there lay still the real danger to Beau Brocade and to Lord Stretton. Moreover, by now he longed to see his friend and to learn how he'd fared. Vaguely in his honest heart he feared that the young man had succ.u.mbed on the Heath to pain and fatigue, and mayhap had failed to reach the forge.
When he saw the entire population of Bra.s.sington busy with Jock Miggs, and the soldiers intent on the news from the Duke of c.u.mberland's advance guard, he determined to set out for the crossroads, in the hopes of finding the Captain at the forge.
He had just crossed the green and turned into the narrow bridle-path which led straight to his smithy, when he spied a yokel, dressed in a long smock and wearing a broad-brimmed hat, coming slowly towards him.
The man was leaning heavily on a thick knotted stick and seemed to be walking with obvious pain and fatigue.
Some unexplainable instinct caused the smith to wait awhile until the yokel came a little nearer. This corner of the village was quite deserted; the laughter of the folk a.s.sembled round the Royal George could be heard only as a distant echo from across the green. The next moment the smith uttered a quickly-suppressed cry of astonishment as he recognised Bathurst's face underneath the broad-brimmed hat.
”s.h.!.+ ... sh ... s.h.!.+” whispered the young man hurriedly-”her ladys.h.i.+p?
... can I see her?”
”Yes! yes!” replied John, whose honest eyes were resting anxiously on his friend's pallid face, ”but you, Captain? ... you?...”
He did not like to formulate the question, and Bathurst interrupted him quickly.
”I've rested awhile at the forge, John ... your mother was an angel ...
and now I want to see her ladys.h.i.+p.”
John's honest heart misgave him. His friend's fresh young voice sounded hoa.r.s.e and unnatural, there was a restless, feverish glitter in his eyes, and the slender, tapering hand which rested on the stick trembled visibly.
”You ought to be in bed, Captain,” he muttered gruffly, ”and well nursed too; you are ill...”
”I am sufficiently alive, friend, at any rate to serve Lady Patience to the end.”
”I'll go tell her ladys.h.i.+p,” said the smith, with a sigh.
”Say a man from the village would wish to speak with her.... Don't mention my name, John ... she'll not know me, I think.... 'Tis best that she should not.... And I look a miserable object enough, don't I?”
he added with a feeble laugh.
”Her ladys.h.i.+p would command you to rest if she knew...”
”I don't wish her to know, friend,” said Jack, smiling in spite of himself at the good fellow's vehemence, ”her tender pity would try to wean me from my purpose, which is to serve her with the last breath left in me. And now, quick, John.... Don't worry about me, old friend.... I am only a little tired after that scramble on the Heath ... and the wound that limb of Satan dealt me is at times rather troublesome....
But I am very tough, you know.... All my plans are made, and I'll follow you at a little distance. Beg her ladys.h.i.+p to speak with me in the pa.s.sage of the inn ... 'twould excite too much attention if I went up to her parlour.... No one'll know me, never fear.”