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To this Doctor Syn replied that the house would sure to be in great commotion over their sudden return, and that her mother and Aunt Agatha would want to welcome their stray lambs home, in true feminine ma
And she was gone, laughing back at him as she ran lightly across the flagstoned hall. Stopping at the steps, she turned, jerking her head in the direction of the drawing-room upstairs, whence came a babble of excited voices and a sound that meant only one thing — Maria was thoroughly enjoying herself again. With a gesture of comical despair, and an expression which said, ‘There now, what did I tell you?’ she allowed her happiness to express itself in the most curious, charming ma
He had watched her, enchanted, and stood for a while after she had gone, smiling at the thought of her lovely youthful grace, and he made a vow that he would sacrifice all rather than hurt a hair of her head.
Closing the front door, he looked up to the stars, stretching himself as though to reach and thank them, and breathed a vast deep sigh.
Then he strode off down the village street. So light was his step, so high his head and heart, that had any man seen him they might well have thought, ‘Here must be the younger brother of the man we know,’ and, indeed, he was not following Doctor Syn’s usual habit of returning to the Vicarage before setting out upon one of his nightly expeditions. He certainly was not in the mood, this night, for the joggings of his churchyard pony. He laughed alooud when thinking again of her audacious offer to teach him to ride, and a great longing seized him to let the world know who he was and the things that he could do. And thus exalted, he left the village and strode out across the Marsh.
Some twenty minutes later he reached the loneliest spot — a small dilapidated cottage that the Marsh-folk shu
Upon this night he was not the only one who had the courage to enter Mother Handaway’s abode, for three others were there before him.
The fact that it was avoided by all God-fearing folk, and by reason of its lonely situation, cut off by intersecting dykes whose dilapidated bridges were unsafe, gave this poor hovel a value to anyone who wished to work in secret. For many years it had served the Scarecrow well, for in a dry dyke close to the house was a well-built, underground stable, dating, some said, from the days of the Roman occupation. Its roof was the natural pasture soil and its only door was hidden beneath a stack of drying bullrushes. The inside was commodious and dry, owing to the excellent drainage system of the builders in those ancient times.
With these advantages, therefore, it was an admirable hiding-place for the Scarecrow’s wild, black horse, Gehe
Upon this night she sat in a corner by the fire surrounded by her clawing cats, huddled and mumbling to herself, while round a table, seated on barrels, talking and drinking, were three men.
Heaped into a pile in front of Jimmie Bone was a various assortment of the kind of trinkets that delight a feminine heart. It waas the Highwayman’s habit to keep in reserve a goodly selection of such baubles, and he took great care always to have some about him as a reward for services rendered. Though as a rule these gifts were bestowed carelessly enough, upon this occasion Mr. Bone did not seem able to make up his mind. He scratched his head, took up a ring, only to put it back in favour of a brooch or bracelet, and then thumping the table which made the whole heap jump, he cried out in his perplexity: ‘S’death, I ca
The other two looked up, surprised from their earnest conversation.
‘Why, what troubles you, Jimmie?’ asked Mr. Mipps. ‘Can’t you find one to your likin’? Seems to me that a wench should be well-pleased with any of ’em. Who’s it for? That new one at the Red Lion in Hythe, I’ll be bound. Now bein’ a sandy-’aired, I should suggest a garnet, or isn’t it ’er? If you describes ’er we might be able to assist. Pedro ’ere will give you first-rate information. ’Ad to leave Spain, he did; too many señoritas wanted to call him Papa, didn’t they, me old flirt-man?’
‘No, no, my excellent Mipps,’ protested Pedro, in laboured English. ‘The señoritas wish me to call on their Papa.’
‘Means the same thing in the end, don’t it, you old Spanish bullfight? Anyway,’ he went on to Jimmie Bone, ‘what he don’t know about what they want ain’t worth tellin’ to your auntie. So come, give us a look at her riggin’ and we’ll tell you ’ow to deck her figure’ead.’
The little Spanish sea-captain tugged excitedly at his beard, his black eyes dancing at the thought of hearing a description from Señor Bone of the girl who was lucky enough to please him. His weatherbeaten little face, ta