Part 46 (2/2)

At sound of Sir Humphrey's malicious taunt, an amused smile played round the corners of his quivering mouth; but Patience, with a rapid movement, had interposed herself between Sir Humphrey and the Sergeant.

”Your silence, Sir Humphrey,” she commanded excitedly, ”an you've any chivalry left in you.”

”Aye!” he replied in her ear, ”my silence now ... at a price.”

”Name it.”

”Your hand.”

So low and quick had been questions and answers that the bewildered Sergeant and his soldiers had not succeeded in catching the meaning of the words, but Sir Humphrey's final eager whisper, ”Your hand!” reached Jack Bathurst's sensitive ear. The look too in the Squire of Hartington's face had already enabled him to guess the purport of the brief colloquy.

”Nay, Sir Humphrey Challoner,” he said loudly, ”but 'tis not a marketable commodity you are offering to this lady for sale. I'll break your silence for you. What is the information that you would impart to these gallant lobsters? ... That besides being my mother's son I am also the highwayman, Beau Brocade!”

”No! no! no!” protested Patience, excitedly.

”Odd's my life!” quoth the Sergeant, ”but methought...”

”Aye, Beau Brocade,” said Sir Humphrey, with a sneer, ”robber, vagabond and thief, that's what this ... _gentleman_ means.”

”Faith! is that what I meant?” retorted Jack Bathurst, lightly. ”I didn't know it for sure!”

But with a wild cry Patience had turned to the Sergeant.

”It's a lie, Sergeant!” she repeated, ”a lie, I tell you. This gentleman is ... my friend ... my...”

”Well, whichever you are, sir,” quoth the Sergeant, turning to Beau Brocade decisively, ”rebel, lord or highwayman, you are my prisoner, and,” he added roughly, for many bitter remembrances of the past two days had surged up in his stolid mind, ”and either way you hang for it.”

”Aye! hang for it!” continued Sir Humphrey, savagely. ”So, now methinks, my chivalrous young friend, that we can cry quits at last.

And now, Sergeant,” said his Honour, peremptorily, ”that you've found out the true character of your interesting prisoner, you can restore me my letters, which he caused you to filch from me.”

But the Sergeant was not prepared to do that. He had been tricked and hoodwinked so often, that he would not yield one iota of the advantage which he had contrived to gain.

”Your pardon, sir,” he said deferentially yet firmly, ”I don't exactly know the rights o' that. I think I'd best show them to His Royal Highness, and you, sir, will be good enough to explain yourself before his Honour, Squire West.”

”You'll suffer for this insolence, Sergeant,” retorted Sir Humphrey, purple with rage. ”I command you to return me those letters, and I warn you that if you dare lay hands on me or hinder me in any way, I'll have you degraded and publicly whipped along with that ape the beadle.”

But the Sergeant merely shrugged his shoulders and ordered off three of his men to surround Sir Humphrey Challoner and to secure his hands if he attempted to resist. His Honour's wild threats of revenge did not in the least frighten the soldier, now that he felt himself on safe ground at last.

The rapid approach of the army gave him a sense of security; he knew that if he had erred through excess of zeal, a reprimand would be the only punishment meted out to him, whilst he risked being degraded if he neglected his duty. Whether the Squire of Hartington had or had not been a party to the late rebellion, he neither knew nor cared, but certainly he was not going to give up a packet of letters over which there had been so much heated discussion on both sides.

The fast-approaching tumult in the street confirmed him in his resolve.

He turned a deaf ear to all Sir Humphrey's protestations, and only laughed at his threats.

Already the soldiers were chafing with eagerness to see the entry of His Royal Highness with his staff: the village folk one by one had gone out to see the more joyful proceedings, and left the Sergeant and his prisoners to continue their animated discussion.

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