The Highwayman

by H. C. Bailey

  CHAPTER V

  THE WORLD'S A MIRACLE

  Colonel Boyce was established in the house, a guest of high honour.

  Harry, dazed at the mere fact, could not be very sure how it had happenedor why. The Wavertons, mother and son, had assaulted the Colonel withhospitality--for a night--for another--for longer and longer--and he,appearing at first honestly dubious, remained with a benigncondescension.

  There is no doubt that, in an honourable way, Lady Waverton wasfascinated by Colonel Boyce. She saw nothing coarse in hishighly-coloured manners, suspected no guile in his flattery or his paradeof importance. Harry, who had never supposed her a wise woman, wassurprised by her complete surrender. He had credited her with too muchpride to succumb to flattery, which was to his taste impudently gross.But he was not yet old enough to allow that other folks might have tasteswholly unlike his own, and he had himself--it is perhaps the only traitof much delicacy in him--a shrinking discomfort under praise.

  Colonel Boyce took his victory with a complacency which Harry thoughtoddly fatuous in a man so acute.

  "Egad, the old lady would go to church with me to-morrow if I asked her;"he laughed, and seemed to think that in that at least my lady showedsense.

  "You had better take her, sir," said Harry, with a sneer. "I know she hasa good dower. And a fool and her money are soon parted."

  "Damme, Harry, you are venomous!" For the first time in theiracquaintance Colonel Boyce showed some signs of smarting. "What harm haveI done you? No, sir, you have a nasty tongue. I intend the old lady noharm, neither. What if she has a tenderness for me? I suppose that doesnot make me a fool."

  "To be sure, sir, I did not know your affection was serious." Harrylaughed disagreeably.

  "I believe you would not miss a chance to say a bitter thing though itruined you, Lud, Harry, if you can't be grateful, don't be a fool too.What a pox are your Wavertons to me? I don't value them a pinch of snuff.What I am doing, I am doing for you. You know what you were when I foundyou--no better than a footman out of livery. Now, they treat you like agentleman."

  "And all for the _beaux yeux_ of my father. Well, it's true, sir. But Idon't know that I like any of us much the better for it."

  To his great surprise his father looked at him with affectionateadmiration. "Egad, you take that tone very well," said he. "It's a goodcard. Maybe it's the best with the women."

  Harry had to laugh. "I think you have the easiest temper in theworld, sir."

  "Aye, aye. It has been the ruin of me."

  And so they parted the best of friends. Indeed Harry had never liked hisfather so well or felt so much his superior. Thus from age to age isfilial affection confirmed.

  But he had to allow some adroitness in his father. Not only LadyWaverton, but Geoffrey too, succumbed to the paternal charms. That wasthe more surprising. Geoffrey, behind his vanity and his affectation, wasno fool. He had also a temper apt to dislike any man who made a show ofposition or achievement beyond his own. Yet he hung upon the lips ofColonel Boyce. What they gave him was indeed a pleasing mixture--secretsabout great affairs flavoured with deference to his ingenious criticisms.There was something solid about it, too. The Colonel, displaying himselfas a man of much importance, perpetually hinted that only the occasionwas needed for Mr. Waverton to surpass him by far, and to that occasionhe could point the way. It appeared to Harry that his father had in mindto enlist Geoffrey for the proposed mission to France, or some otherscheme unrevealed. And being unable to see any reason for wantingGeoffrey as a man, he suspected that his father wanted money.

  He saw clearly that nobody wanted him, and was therewith very wellcontent. At this time in his life he asked nothing better than to be leftalone with his whims and the open air. He covered many a mile of stickyclay in these autumn days, placidly vacant of mind, and afterwardsaccounted them the most comfortable of his life.

  Mr. Waverton's house was set upon a hill, at one end of a line of hillswhich now look over the wilderness of London, falling steeply thereto,and upon the other side, to northward and the open country, more gently.In the epoch of Harry Boyce those hills were all woodland--pleasantpatches still remain,--and if the need of great walking was not upon himhe was often pleased to loiter through their thickets. It was on a wildsouth-westerly day when the naked trees were at a loud chorus that Alisoncame to him.

  The dainty colours of her face laughed from a russet hood, russet cloakand green skirt wind-borne against her gave him the delight of her shape.

  "'Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you,'" she cried.

  "You're poetical, ma'am."

  "I vow not I. I say what I mean. There's an unmaidenly trick. And, faith,I am here to rifle you, Mr. Boyce."

  "Wish you joy, ma'am. What of?"

  "Of your conceit, to be sure. Have you anything else?"

  "I have nothing which could be of any use to Miss Lambourne. So God knowswhy she runs after me."

  "Oh, brave!" Miss Lambourne was not out of countenance. "'Tis a shamelessmaid indeed which runs after a man"--she made him a curtsy. "But what isthe man who runs away from a maid?"

  Harry Boyce cursed her in his heart. She was by far too desirable. Therain-fraught wind had made the dawn tints of her clearer, lucent and yetmore delicate. Her grey eyes danced like the sunlight ripples of deepwater. Her lips were purely, brilliantly red. She fronted him and thewind, flaunting the richness of her bosom, poised and strong. She seemedthe very body of life. For the first time he felt unsure of himself. "Didyou come to call names, ma'am?" he growled.

  "I allow you the privileges of a gentleman, Mr. Boyce."

  "Gentleman? Oh Lud, no, ma'am. I am an upper servant. Rather better thanthe butler. Not so good as the steward."

  "It won't serve you, sir. You have insulted me, and I demandsatisfaction." She drew off her gauntleted glove and flicked him in theface with it. "Now will you fight?"

  "Oh, must we slap and scratch then?" Harry flushed darker than the markof the glove. "I thought we had been fighting."

  Miss Lambourne laughed. "You can lose your temper then? It's something,in fact. Yes, we have been fighting, sir, and you don't fight fair."

  "Who does with a woman?" Harry sneered. "I cry you mercy, ma'am. You arevastly too strong for me. Let me alone and I ask no more of you."

  To which Miss Lambourne said, very innocently, "Why?" Harry looked up andsaw her beautiful face meek and appealing, with something of a demuresmile in the eyes. "Come, sir, what have I asked of you? You have doneme something of a great service. There was a man handling me--do you knowwhat that means? "--she made a wry face and gave herself a shakingshudder--"You rid me of him, and with some risk to your precious skin.Well, sir, I am grateful, and I want to show it. Odds life, I should be abeast did I not. I want to thank you and to sing your praises--toyourself also perhaps. And you are pleased to be a churl and a boor."

  "In effect," said Harry coolly. "Egad, ma'am, let me have the luxury ofhating you. For I am the Wavertons' gentleman usher and you are thenonpareil Miss Lambourne, vastly rich and--" he ended with a shrug anda rueful grin.

  "And--?" Miss Lambourne softly insisted.

  "And damnably lovely. Lord, you know that."

  "I thank God," said Miss Lambourne devoutly.

  "Is it true, Mr. Boyce--do the meek inherit the earth?" She held out herhands to him, one bare, one gloved, she swayed a little towards him, andher face was gentle and wistful. "Nay, sir, I ask your pardon. Callfriends if you please and will please me."

  Harry lost hold of himself at last. The blood surged in him, and hecaught at her and kissed her fiercely.

  It was he who was embarrassed. As he stood away from her, eyeing her witha queer defiant shame, she smiled through a small matter of a blush, andbreathing quickly said: "What does it feel like, sir?"

  "The world's a miracle," Harry said unsteadily and would have caughther again.

  She turned, she was away light of foot, and in a moment through the windhe heard her singing to a tune of her
own the child's rhyme:

  "Fly away, Jack, Fly away, Jill,Come again, Jack, Come again, Jill."