The Highwayman

by H. C. Bailey

  CHAPTER XVIII

  HARRY IS DISMISSED

  Alison turned and stared into the fire. Harry filled himself a glass ofport and drank it and laughed. She looked round at him. "Faith, Mr.Waverton is mighty good entertainment," he explained.

  "Is that all you want to say?"

  Harry would not be awed by that ominous voice. "Oh Lud, how could I daretalk after him? Our poetic orator!" He made flourishes in the air afterMr. Waverton's manner. "Nay, but I would give my new wig to have been inthat upper chamber at Pontoise. Dear Geoffrey on his defence boomingnoble periods--and the Prince, poor gentleman, with his fingers in hisears! If dear Geoffrey was telling the truth. I wonder."

  "Oh, is that what you'll pretend?"

  "Pretend? I pretend nothing, ma'am. Why, to be sure, our Geoffrey alwaysmeans to tell the truth--having, God bless him, no imagination. Butyou'll remark what when he tells a tale, it's Mr. Waverton has always the_beau role_. He sees the world like that, dear lad. So I should be gladto hear the Caledonian gentleman's notion of what happened."

  "I see. You'll make that your defence. Geoffrey imagined it all."

  "Egad, ma'am, you may lower your tone. I have nothing to defend, nor areyou set in judgment."

  Alison started up. "Do you suppose all this is to make no change?"she cried.

  "You're a splendid creature, by heaven," says Harry, tilting his chairback and watching her with a little epicurean smile, the proud vigour ofher, the blood in her cheeks, the flash of her eyes, and the sweep of thewhite arm.

  "I could hate you for that," she said, and her lips set.

  "Yes. I think you're in a fair way to it," says Harry. "I wonder if youknow why."

  "Because I have come to despise you," she cried sharply.

  "You will be solemn, will you?" says Harry. "Much good may it do you. Andso, egad, have at you heartily. For you have said things which both of uswill find it hard to forget."

  "Oh, you can feel that?"

  "Look 'e, ma'am, if we are to be in earnest, we had best not snap at eachother like a pair of puppies. Now, what's happened?"

  "You have to ask that? My God, if you have to ask, there's no use inwords between you and me."

  "Oh Lud, don't be mystical. Mr. Waverton comes here to do his poorpossible to make mischief between us. I suppose you saw that. He tells usthat he went blundering with my father into a muddle of a plot."

  "He tells us that your father planned a vile base murder and sought tomake him, a man of honour, part in it. Pray, sir, is that not infamous?"

  "Egad, if you haven't caught his style! You believe all that, do you?"

  "Yes."

  "We shall go far to-night, I think," Harry shrugged. "And shall I tellyou why you believe it, ma'am? It's because you are looking about to findmatter for blackening me."

  Alison hesitated a moment. "You cannot deny it. It is proved. Your fatherwould not stay to face them."

  "Face a pistol and a furious Scot? Well, I never said he was a hero."

  "Do you pretend it was only a fight he feared? Do you dare tell me it wasan honest, honourable plan? Nay, come, let me see if there's anything youthink shameful."

  Harry shrugged. "I know my father not much better than you do, ma'am. Inever thought him a Bayard. Some plot there was, I think, and thesepolitical plots are all dirty enough. But, Lord, who is clean of them?And I'm not ready to write my father off a murderer because Mr. Wavertonwent blundering into a business which, on his own confession, he does notunderstand."

  "He went in your place. You should have gone with your father."

  "Should have gone? D'ye wish I had, ma'am?"

  "Perhaps."

  Harry started up. "Oh, say it out. I knew we should go far to-night."

  They stood close, fronting each other fiercely. "My God, is it strangeif I wish you had gone? Your father is a base wretch who should be on thegallows, and I am to be his son's wife and bear the name, and the whilehe goes bragging that he took Geoffrey Waverton off so that you should befree to come at me."

  "Aye, that. To be sure, that rankles. But you have known it long. Ishowed you the letter he left me which said he had taken Geoffrey out ofmy way and bade me snatch my chance of you. And you made light of that,ma'am. Oh, it was a base thing, if you will, but you know well enough itwent for nought. We had done our work before. By God, Alison, Geoffreythere or Geoffrey here, you would have come to me."

  "Ah!" It was like a cry of pain. "You brag of it. I forced myself on you,I suppose." Harry exclaimed something, made a gesture. "Oh yes, you wereall cold virtue and chastity and honour, and I--what was I?" Sheshuddered and drew back from him. "Yes, you would turn on me. You wouldtaunt me with that."

  "Egad, you're in a frenzy," says Harry. "You cry aloud and cut yourselfwith knives. You will be hurting yourself."

  "I loathe you for that calm way of yours," she cried. "You mock me tillI am mad, and then you please to be grave and lofty. You--I took you outof the gutter."

  "What now, ma'am?" Harry stiffened.

  "It's all a mask!" she cried. "Nothing of you shows in your voice or yourface--your face, bah, it's always the same, when you kiss and when youstrike. A mask! You're always in a mask. That's how you took me. I was afool, and thought there must be something fine behind it." She laughed."You were clever enough. You knew the trick and the mystery of it wouldtake a woman. A mask! Yes, faith, that is the wear for a highwayman. Iremember how Charles Hadley used to laugh at your 'Curststand-and-deliver stare.' I liked it, I liked the challenge of it. But heknew you better. That's your trade, the highwayman, faith, thehighwayman! You trick us all and prey upon us, as you dare. So you markedme down, who was rich and a girl, and you have caught me, and you haverifled me, and, for what you care I may now go hang. I ask you for mypride again, my honour, and you mock at me. Oh, I am ashamed for a fooland worse, and you know it, God help me, but you--you--"

  Harry shrugged. "I suppose we have come to the end now," he said coolly."Well, ma'am, to be sure we married in haste, and it seems we have bothcome to repentance. As for wrong that I have done you--why, I can't makeyou a maid again, and, if you please, more's the pity. My apologies andregrets. For the rest, all of your money that hath been spent on me willgo in a small purse, and, I promise you, you shall spend no more. So youmay sleep sound, and I wish you good night."

  She watched him cross the room, and, as he was opening the door, criedout, "What do you mean?"

  He turned. "Why, would you still be talking?" Their eyes met indefiance. "You can go," she said.

  "I have had the honour to tell you so," he said, and was gone.