CHAPTER XXV.

Falsehood in him was not the useless lie

Of boasting pride or laughing vanity:

It was the gainful, the persuading art, etc.

CRABBE.

On with the horses--off to Canterbury,

Tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash thro' puddle;

Hurrah! how swiftly speeds the post so merry!

...............

“Here laws are all inviolate: none lay

Traps for the traveller; every highway's clear;

Here--” he was interrupted by a knife,

With “D---your eyes! your money or your life!”

Don Juan.

Misfortunes are like the creations of Cadmus,--they destroy one another!

Roused from the torpor of mind occasioned by the loss of her lover at

the sudden illness of the squire, Lucy had no thought for herself, no

thought for any one, for anything but her father, till long after the

earth had closed over his remains. The very activity of the latter grief

was less dangerous than the quiet of the former; and when the first

keenness of sorrow passed away, and her mind gradually and mechanically

returned to the remembrance of Clifford, it was with an intensity less

strong, and less fatal to her health and happiness than before. She

thought it unnatural and criminal to allow anything else to grieve her,

while she had so sacred a grief as that of her loss; and her mind, once

aroused into resistance to passion, betrayed a native strength little to

have been expected from her apparent character. Sir William Brandon

lost no time in returning to town after the burial of his brother.

He insisted upon taking his niece with him; and, though with real

reluctance, she yielded to his wishes, and accompanied him. By the

squire's will, indeed, Sir William was appointed guardian to Lucy,

and she yet wanted more than a year of her majority. Brandon, with

a delicacy very uncommon to him where women (for he was a confirmed

woman-hater) were concerned, provided everything that he thought could

in any way conduce to her comfort. He ordered it to be understood in

his establishment that she was its mistress. He arranged and furnished,

according to what he imagined to be her taste, a suite of apartments

for her sole accommodation; a separate carriage and servants were

appropriated to her use; and he sought, by perpetual presents of books

or flowers or music, to occupy her thoughts, and atone for the solitude

to which his professional duties obliged him so constantly to consign

her. These attentions, which showed this strange man in a new light,

seemed to bring out many little latent amiabilities, which were usually

imbedded in the callosities of his rocky nature; and, even despite her

causes for grief and the deep melancholy which consumed her, Lucy was

touched with gratitude at kindness doubly soothing in one who, however

urbane and polished, was by no means addicted to the little attentions

that are considered so gratifying by women, and yet for which they so

often despise, while they like, him who affords them. There was much

in Brandon that wound itself insensibly around the heart. To one more

experienced than Lucy, this involuntary attraction might not have been

incompatible with suspicion, and could scarcely have been associated

with esteem; and yet for all who knew him intimately, even for

the penetrating and selfish Mauleverer, the attraction existed.

Unprincipled, crafty, hypocritical, even base when it suited his

purpose; secretly sneering at the dupes he made, and knowing no code

save that of interest and ambition; viewing men only as machines, and

opinions only as ladders,--there was yet a tone of powerful feeling

sometimes elicited from a heart that could at the same moment have

sacrificed a whole people to the pettiest personal object: and sometimes

with Lucy the eloquence or irony of his conversation deepened into a

melancholy, a half-suppressed gentleness of sentiment, that accorded

with the state of her own mind and interested her kind feelings

powerfully in his. It was these peculiarities in his converse which made

Lucy love to hear him; and she gradually learned to anticipate with a

gloomy pleasure the hour in which, after the occupations of the day, he

was accustomed to join her.

“You look unwell, uncle, to-night,” she said, when one evening he

entered the room with looks more fatigued than usual; and rising, she

leaned tenderly over him, and kissed his forehead.

“Ay!” said Brandon, utterly unwon by, and even unheeding, the caress,

“our way of life soon passes into the sear and yellow leaf; and when

Macbeth grieved that he might not look to have that which should

accompany old age, he had grown doting, and grieved for what was

worthless.”

“Nay, uncle, 'honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,' these surely

were worth the sighing for?”

“Pooh! not worth a single sigh! The foolish wishes we form in youth have

something noble and something bodily in them; but those of age are utter

shadows, and the shadows of pygmies! Why, what is honour, after all?

What is this good name among men? Only a sort of heathenish idol, set

up to be adored by one set of fools and scorned by another. Do you not

observe, Lucy, that the man you hear most praised by the party you meet

to-day is most abused by that which you meet to-morrow? Public men are

only praised by their party; and their party, sweet Lucy, are such base

minions that it moves one's spleen to think one is so little as to be

useful to them. Thus a good name is only the good name of a sect, and

the members of that sect are only marvellous proper knaves.”

“But posterity does justice to those who really deserve fame.”

“Posterity! Can you believe that a man who knows what life is cares

for the penny whistles of grown children after his death? Posterity,

Lucy,--no! Posterity is but the same perpetuity of fools and rascals;

and even were justice desirable at their hands, they could not deal it.

Do men agree whether Charles Stuart was a liar or a martyr? For how

many ages have we believed Nero a monster! A writer now asks, as if

demonstrating a problem, what real historian could doubt that Nero was

a paragon? The patriarchs of Scripture have been declared by modern

philosophy to be a series of astronomical hieroglyphs; and, with greater

show of truth, we are assured that the patriot Tell never existed!

Posterity! the word has gulled men enough without my adding to the

number. I, who loathe the living, can scarcely venerate the unborn.

Lucy, believe me that no man can mix largely with men in political life,

and not despise everything that in youth he adored! Age leaves us only

one feeling,--contempt!”

“Are you belied, then?” said Lucy, pointing to a newspaper, the organ of

the party opposed to Brandon: “are you belied when you are here called

'ambitious'? When they call you 'selfish' and 'grasping,' I know they

wrong you; but I confess that I have thought you ambitious; yet can he

who despises men desire their good opinion?”

“Their good opinion!” repeated Brandon, mockingly: “do we want the bray

of the asses we ride? No!” he resumed, after a pause. “It is power, not

honour; it is the hope of elevating oneself in every respect, in the

world without as well as in the world of one's own mind: it is this hope

which makes me labour where I might rest, and will continue the labour

to my grave. Lucy,” continued Brandon, fixing his keen eyes on his

niece, “have you no ambition,--have power and pomp and place no charm

for your mind?”

“None!” said Lucy, quietly and simply.

“Indeed! yet there are times when I have thought I recognized my blood

in your veins. You are sprung from a once noble, but a fallen race. Are

you ever susceptible to the weakness of ancestral pride?”

“You say,” answered Lucy, “that we should care not for those who live

after us; much less, I imagine, should we care for those who have lived

ages before!”

“Prettily answered,” said Brandon, smiling. “I will tell you at one time

or another what effect that weakness you despise already once had, long

after your age, upon me. You are early wise on some points; profit by my

experience, and be so on all.”

“That is to say, in despising all men and all things!” said Lucy, also

smiling.

“Well, never mind my creed,--you may be wise after your own; but trust

one, dearest Lucy, who loves you purely and disinterestedly, and who has

weighed with scales balanced to a hair all the advantages to be gleaned

from an earth in which I verily think the harvest was gathered before we

were put into it,--trust me, Lucy, and never think love, that maiden's

dream, so valuable as rank and power: pause well before you yield to the

former; accept the latter the moment they are offered you. Love puts

you at the feet of another, and that other a tyrant; rank puts others at

your feet, and all those thus subjected are your slaves!”

Lucy moved her chair so that the new position concealed her face, and

did not answer; and Brandon, in an altered tone, continued,--

“Would you think, Lucy, that I once was fool enough to imagine that love

was a blessing, and to be eagerly sought for? I gave up my hopes, my

chances of wealth, of distinction,--all that had burned from the years

of boyhood into my very heart. I chose poverty, obscurity, humiliation;

but I chose also love. What was my reward? Lucy Brandon, I was

deceived,--deceived!”

Brandon paused; and Lucy took his hand affectionately, but did not break

the silence. Brandon resumed:--

“Yes, I was deceived! But I in my turn had a revenge, and a fitting

revenge; for it was not the revenge of hatred, but” (and the speaker

laughed sardonically) “of contempt. Enough of this, Lucy! What I wished

to say to you is this,--grown men and women know more of the truth of

things than ye young persons think for. Love is a mere bauble, and

no human being ever exchanged for it one solid advantage without

repentance. Believe this; and if rank ever puts itself under those

pretty feet, be sure not to spurn the footstool.”

So saying, with a slight laugh, Brandon lighted his chamber candle, and

left the room for the night.

As soon as the lawyer reached his own apartment, he indited to Lord

Mauleverer the following epistle:

“Why, dear Mauleverer, do you not come to town? I want you, your

party wants you; perhaps the K--g wants you; and certainly, if you

are serious about my niece, the care of your own love-suit should

induce you yourself to want to come hither. I have paved the way

for you; and I think, with a little management, you may anticipate a

speedy success. But Lucy is a strange girl; and, perhaps, after

all, though you ought to be on the spot, you had better leave her as

much as possible in my hands. I know human nature, Mauleverer, and

that knowledge is the engine by which I will work your triumph. As

for the young lover, I am not quite sure whether it be not better

for our sake that Lucy should have experienced a disappointment on

that score; for when a woman has once loved, and the love is utterly

hopeless, she puts all vague ideas of other lovers altogether out of

her head; she becomes contented with a husband whom she can esteem!

Sweet canter! But you, Mauleverer, want Lucy to love you! And so

she will--after you have married her! She will love you partly from

the advantages she derives from you, partly from familiarity (to say

nothing of your good qualities). For my part, I think domesticity

goes so far that I believe a woman always inclined to be

affectionate to a man whom she has once seen in his nightcap.

However, you should come to town; my poor brother's recent death

allows us to see no one,--the coast will be clear from rivals; grief

has softened my niece's heart; in a word, you could not have a

better opportunity. Come!

“By the way, you say one of the reasons which made you think ill of

this Captain Clifford was your impression that in the figure of one

of his comrades you recognized something that appeared to you to

resemble one of the fellows who robbed you a few months ago. I

understand that at this moment the police are in active pursuit of

three most accomplished robbers; nor should I be at all surprised if

in this very Clifford were to be found the leader of the gang,

namely, the notorious Lovett. I hear that the said leader is a

clever and a handsome fellow, of a gentlemanlike address, and that

his general associates are two men of the exact stamp of the

worthies you have so amusingly described to me. I heard this

yesterday from Nabbem, the police-officer with whom I once scraped

acquaintance on a trial; and in my grudge against your rival, I

hinted at my suspicion that he, Captain Clifford, might not

impossibly prove this Rinaldo Rinaldini of the roads. Nabbem caught

at my hint at once; so that, if it be founded on a true guess, I may

flatter my conscience as well as my friendship by the hope that I

have had some hand in hanging this Adonis of my niece's. Whether my

guess be true or not, Nabbem says he is sure of this Lovett; for one

of his gang has promised to betray him. Hang these aspiring dogs!

I thought treachery was confined to politics; and that thought makes

me turn to public matters, in which all people are turning with the

most edifying celerity....”

Sir William Brandon's epistle found Mauleverer in a fitting mood for

Lucy and for London. Our worthy peer had been not a little chagrined by

Lucy's sudden departure from Bath; and while in doubt whether or not

to follow her, the papers had informed him of the squire's death.

Mauleverer, being then fully aware of the impossibility of immediately

urging his suit, endeavoured, like the true philosopher he was, to

reconcile himself to his hope deferred. Few people were more easily

susceptible of consolation than Lord Mauleverer. He found an agreeable

lady, of a face more unfaded than her reputation, to whom he intrusted

the care of relieving his leisure moments from ennui; and being a lively

woman, the confidante discharged the trust with great satisfaction to

Lord Mauleverer, for the space of a fortnight, so that he naturally

began to feel his love for Lucy gradually wearing away, by absence and

other ties; but just as the triumph of time over passion was growing

decisive, the lady left Bath in company with a tall guardsman, and

Mauleverer received Brandon's letter. These two events recalled our

excellent lover to a sense of his allegiance; and there being now

at Bath no particular attraction to counterbalance the ardour of his

affection, Lord Mauleverer ordered the horses to his carriage, and

attended only by his valet, set out for London.

Nothing, perhaps, could convey a better portrait of the world's spoiled

darling than a sight of Lord Mauleverer's thin, fastidious

features, peering forth through the closed window of his luxurious

travelling-chariot; the rest of the outer man being carefully enveloped

in furs, half-a-dozen novels strewing the seat of the carriage, and a

lean French dog, exceedingly like its master, sniffing in vain for the

fresh air, which, to the imagination of Mauleverer, was peopled with

all sorts of asthmas and catarrhs! Mauleverer got out of his carriage at

Salisbury, to stretch his limbs, and to amuse himself with a cutlet.

Our nobleman was well known on the roads; and as nobody could be more

affable, he was equally popular. The officious landlord bustled into the

room, to wait himself upon his lordship and to tell all the news of the

place.

“Well, Mr. Cheerly,” said Mauleverer, bestowing a penetrating glance on

his cutlet, “the bad times, I see, have not ruined your cook.”

“Indeed, my lord, your lordship is very good, and the times, indeed, are

very bad,--very bad indeed. Is there enough gravy? Perhaps your lordship

will try the pickled onions?”

“The what? Onions!--oh! ah! nothing can be better; but I never touch

them. So, are the roads good?”

“Your lordship has, I hope, found them good to Salisbury?”

“Ah! I believe so. Oh! to be sure, excellent to Salisbury. But how are

they to London? We have had wet weather lately, I think!”

“No, my lord. Here the weather has been dry as a bone.”

“Or a cutlet!” muttered Mauleverer; and the host continued,--

“As for the roads themselves, my lord, so far as the roads are

concerned, they are pretty good, my lord; but I can't say as how there

is not something about them that might be mended.”

“By no means improbable! You mean the inns and the turnpikes?” rejoined

Mauleverer.

“Your lordship is pleased to be facetious; no! I meant something worse

than them.”

“What! the cooks?”

“No, my lord, the highwaymen!”

“The highwaymen! indeed?” said Mauleverer, anxiously; for he had with

him a case of diamonds, which at that time were on grand occasions often

the ornaments of a gentleman's dress, in the shape of buttons, buckles,

etc. He had also a tolerably large sum of ready money about him,--a

blessing he had lately begun to find very rare. “By the way, the rascals

robbed me before on this very road. My pistols shall be loaded this

time. Mr. Cheerly, you had better order the horses; one may as well

escape the nightfall.”

“Certainly, my lord, certainly.--Jem, the horses immediately!--Your

lordship will have another cutlet?”

“Not a morsel!”

“A tart?”

“A dev--! not for the world!”

“Bring the cheese, John!”

“Much obliged to you, Mr. Cheerly, but I have dined; and if I have not

done justice to your good cheer, thank yourself and the highwaymen.

Where do these highwaymen attack one?”

“Why, my lord, the neighbourhood of Reading is, I believe, the worst

part; but they are very troublesome all the way to Salthill.”

“Damnation! the very neighbourhood in which the knaves robbed me before!

You may well call them troublesome! Why the deuce don't the police clear

the country of such a movable species of trouble?”

“Indeed, my lord, I don't know; but they say as how Captain Lovett, the

famous robber, be one of the set; and nobody can catch him, I fear!”

“Because, I suppose, the dog has the sense to bribe as well as bully.

What is the general number of these ruffians?”

“Why, my lord, sometimes one, sometimes two, but seldom more than

three.”

Mauleverer drew himself up. “My dear diamonds and my pretty purse!”

thought he; “I may save you yet!”

“Have you been long plagued with the fellows?” he asked, after a pause,

as he was paying his bill.

“Why, my lord, we have and we have not. I fancy as how they have a sort

of a haunt near Reading, for sometimes they are intolerable just about

there, and sometimes they are quiet for months together! For instance,

my lord, we thought them all gone some time ago; but lately they have

regularly stopped every one, though I hear as how they have cleared no

great booty as yet.”

Here the waiter announced the horses, and Mauleverer slowly re-entered

his carriage, among the bows and smiles of the charmed spirits of the

hostelry.

During the daylight Mauleverer, who was naturally of a gallant and

fearless temper, thought no more of the highwaymen,--a species of danger

so common at that time that men almost considered it disgraceful to

suffer the dread of it to be a cause of delay on the road. Travellers

seldom deemed it best to lose time in order to save money; and they

carried with them a stout heart and a brace of pistols, instead of

sleeping all night on the road. Mauleverer, rather a preux chevalier,

was precisely of this order of wayfarers; and a night at an inn, when

it was possible to avoid it, was to him, as to most rich Englishmen, a

tedious torture zealously to be shunned. It never, therefore, entered

into the head of our excellent nobleman, despite his experience, that

his diamonds and his purse might be saved from all danger if he

would consent to deposit them, with his own person, at some place of

hospitable reception; nor, indeed, was it till he was within a stage of

Reading, and the twilight had entirely closed in, that he troubled

his head much on the matter. But while the horses were putting to, he

summoned the postboys to him; and after regarding their countenances

with the eye of a man accustomed to read physiognomies, he thus

eloquently addressed them,--

“Gentlemen, I am informed that there is some danger of being robbed

between this town and Salthill. Now, I beg to inform you that I think it

next to impossible for four horses, properly directed, to be stopped

by less than four men. To that number I shall probably yield; to a less

number I shall most assuredly give nothing but bullets. You understand

me?”

The post-boys grinned, touched their hats; and Mauleverer slowly

continued,--

“If, therefore,--mark me!--one, two, or three men stop your horses, and

I find that the use of your whips and spurs are ineffectual in

releasing the animals from the hold of the robbers, I intend with these

pistols--you observe them!---to shoot at the gentlemen who detain you;

but as, though I am generally a dead shot, my eyesight wavers a little

in the dark, I think it very possible that I may have the misfortune to

shoot you, gentlemen, instead of the robbers! You see the rascals will

be close by you, sufficiently so to put you in jeopardy, unless indeed

you knock them down with the but-end of your whips. I merely mention

this, that you may be prepared. Should such a mistake occur, you need

not be uneasy beforehand, for I will take every possible care of your

widows; should it not, and should we reach Salthill in safety, I intend

to testify my sense of the excellence of your driving by a present

of ten guineas apiece! Gentlemen, I have done with you. I give you my

honour that I am serious in what I have said to you. Do me the favour to

mount.”

Mauleverer then called his favourite servant, who sat in the dickey in

front (rumble-tumbles not being then in use). “Smoothson,” said he, “the

last time we were attacked on this very road, you behaved damnably. See

that you do better this time, or it may be the worse for you. You have

pistols to-night about you, eh? Well, that's right! And you are sure

they're loaded? Very well! Now, then, if we are stopped, don't lose a

moment. Jump down, and fire one of your pistols at the first robber.

Keep the other for a sure aim. One shot is to intimidate, the second to

slay. You comprehend? My pistols are in excellent order, I suppose. Lend

me the ramrod. So, so! No trick this time!”

“They would kill a fly, my lord, provided your lordship fired straight

upon it.”

“I do not doubt you,” said Mauleverer; “light the lanterns, and tell the

postboys to drive on.”

It was a frosty and tolerably clear night. The dusk of the twilight had

melted away beneath the moon which had just risen, and the hoary rime

glittered from the bushes and the sward, breaking into a thousand

diamonds as it caught the rays of the stars. On went the horses briskly,

their breath steaming against the fresh air, and their hoofs sounding

cheerily on the hard ground. The rapid motion of the carriage, the

bracing coolness of the night, and the excitement occasioned by anxiety

and the forethought of danger, all conspired to stir the languid blood

of Lord Mauleverer into a vigorous and exhilarated sensation, natural

in youth to his character, but utterly contrary to the nature he had

imbibed from the customs of his manhood.

He felt his pistols, and his hands trembled a little as he did so,--not

the least from fear, but from that restlessness and eagerness peculiar

to nervous persons placed in a new situation.

“In this country,” said he to himself, “I have been only once robbed in

the course of my life. It was then a little my fault; for before I took

to my pistols, I should have been certain they were loaded. To-night

I shall be sure to avoid a similar blunder; and my pistols have an

eloquence in their barrels which is exceedingly moving. Humph,

another milestone! These fellows drive well; but we are entering a

pretty-looking spot for Messieurs the disciples of Robin Hood!”

It was, indeed, a picturesque spot by which the carriage was now rapidly

whirling. A few miles from Maidenhead, on the Henley Road, our readers

will probably remember a small tract of forest-like land, lying on

either side of the road. To the left the green waste bears away among

the trees and bushes; and one skilled in the country may pass from

that spot, through a landscape as little tenanted as green Sherwood

was formerly, into the chains of wild common and deep beech-woods which

border a certain portion of Oxfordshire, and contrast so beautifully the

general characteristics of that county.

At the time we speak of, the country was even far wilder than it is now;

and just on that point where the Henley and the Reading roads unite was

a spot (communicating then with the waste land we have described), than

which, perhaps, few places could be more adapted to the purposes of such

true men as have recourse to the primary law of nature. Certain it was

that at this part of the road Mauleverer looked more anxiously from

his window than he had hitherto done, and apparently the increased

earnestness of his survey was not altogether without meeting its reward.

About a hundred yards to the left, three dark objects were just

discernible in the shade; a moment more, and the objects emerging grew

into the forms of three men, well mounted, and riding at a brisk trot.

“Only three!” thought Mauleverer, “that is well;” and leaning from the

front window with a pistol in either hand, Mauleverer cried out to

the postboys in a stern tone, “Drive on, and recollect what I told

you!--Remember!” he added to his servant. The postboys scarcely looked

round; but their spurs were buried in their horses, and the animals flew

on like lightning.

The three strangers made a halt, as if in conference; their decision was

prompt. Two wheeled round from their comrade, and darted at full gallop

by the carriage. Mauleverer's pistol was already protruded from the

front window, when to his astonishment, and to the utter baffling of his

ingenious admonition to his drivers, he beheld the two postboys knocked

from their horses one after the other with a celerity that scarcely

allowed him an exclamation; and before he had recovered his

self-possession, the horses taking fright (and their fright being

skilfully taken advantage of by the highwaymen), the carriage was fairly

whirled into a ditch on the right side of the road, and upset. Meanwhile

Smoothson had leaped from his station in the front; and having fired,

though without effect, at the third robber, who approached menacingly

towards him, he gained the time to open the carriage door and extricate

his master.

The moment Mauleverer found himself on terra firma, he prepared his

courage for offensive measures; and he and Smoothson, standing side

by side in front of the unfortunate vehicle, presented no unformidable

aspect to the enemy. The two robbers who had so decisively rid

themselves of the postboys acted with no less determination towards

the horses. One of them dismounted, cut the traces, and suffered the

plunging quadrupeds to go whither they listed. This measure was not,

however, allowed to be taken with impunity; a ball from Mauleverer's

pistol passed through the hat of the highwayman with an aim so slightly

erring that it whizzed among the locks of the astounded hero with a

sound that sent a terror to his heart, no less from a love of his head

than from anxiety for his hair. The shock staggered him for a moment;

and a second shot from the hands of Mauleverer would have probably

finished his earthly career, had not the third robber, who had hitherto

remained almost inactive, thrown himself from his horse, which, tutored

to such docility, remained perfectly still, and advancing with a bold

step and a levelled pistol towards Mauleverer and his servant, said in

a resolute voice, “Gentlemen, it is useless to struggle; we are well

armed, and resolved on effecting our purpose. Your persons shall be safe

if you lay down your arms, and also such part of your property as you

may particularly wish to retain; but if you resist, I cannot answer for

your lives!”

Mauleverer had listened patiently to this speech in order that he might

have more time for adjusting his aim. His reply was a bullet, which

grazed the side of the speaker and tore away the skin, without

inflicting any more dangerous wound. Muttering a curse upon the error of

his aim, and resolute to the last when his blood was once up, Mauleverer

backed one pace, drew his sword, and threw himself into the attitude of

a champion well skilled in the use of the instrument he wore.

But that incomparable personage was in a fair way of ascertaining what

happiness in the world to come is reserved for a man who has spared no

pains to make himself comfortable in this. For the two first and most

active robbers having finished the achievement of the horses, now

approached Mauleverer; and the taller of them, still indignant at the

late peril to his hair, cried out in a stentorian voice,--

“By Jove! you old fool, if you don't throw down your toasting-fork, I'll

be the death of you!”

The speaker suited the action to the word by cocking an immense pistol.

Mauleverer stood his ground; but Smoothson retreated, and stumbling

against the wheel of the carriage, fell backward; the next instant, the

second highwayman had possessed himself of the valet's pistols, and,

quietly seated on the fallen man's stomach, amused himself by inspecting

the contents of the domestic's pockets. Mauleverer was now alone; and

his stubbornness so enraged the tall bully that his hand was already on

his trigger, when the third robber, whose side Mauleverer's bullet had

grazed, thrust himself between the two.

“Hold, Ned!” said he, pushing back his comrade's pistol. “And you, my

lord, whose rashness ought to cost you your life, learn that men can

rob generously.” So saying, with one dexterous stroke from the robber's

riding-whip, Mauleverer's sword flew upwards, and alighted at the

distance of ten yards from its owner.

“Approach now,” said the victor to his comrades. “Rifle the carriage,

and with all despatch!”

The tall highwayman hastened to execute this order; and the lesser one

having satisfactorily finished the inquisition into Mr. Smoothson's

pockets, drew forth from his own pouch a tolerably thick rope; with this

he tied the hands of the prostrate valet, moralizing as he wound the

rope round and round the wrists of the fallen man, in the following

edifying strain:--

“Lie still, sir,--lie still, I beseech you! All wise men are fatalists;

and no proverb is more pithy than that which says, 'What can't be cured

must be endured.' Lie still, I tell you! Little, perhaps, do you think

that you are performing one of the noblest functions of humanity; yes,

sir, you are filling the pockets of the destitute; and by my present

action I am securing you from any weakness of the flesh likely to impede

so praiseworthy an end, and so hazard the excellence of your action.

There, sir, your hands are tight,--lie still and reflect.”

As he said this, with three gentle applications of his feet, the

moralist rolled Mr. Smoothson into the ditch, and hastened to join his

lengthy comrade in his pleasing occupation.

In the interim Mauleverer and the third robber (who, in the true spirit

of government, remained dignified and inactive while his followers

plundered what he certainly designed to share, if not to monopolize)

stood within a few feet of each other, face to face.

Mauleverer had now convinced himself that all endeavour to save his

property was hopeless, and he had also the consolation of thinking

he had done his best to defend it. He therefore bade all his thoughts

return to the care of his person. He adjusted his fur collar around

his neck with great sang froid, drew on his gloves, and, patting his

terrified poodle, who sat shivering on its haunches with one paw raised

and nervously trembling, he said,--

“You, sir, seem to be a civil person, and I really should have felt

quite sorry if I had had the misfortune to wound you. You are not hurt,

I trust. Pray, if I may inquire, how am I to proceed? My carriage is

in the ditch, and my horses by this time are probably at the end of the

world.”

“As for that matter,” said the robber, whose face, like those of his

comrades, was closely masked in the approved fashion of highwaymen of

that day, “I believe you will have to walk to Maidenhead,--it is not

far, and the night is fine!”

“A very trifling hardship, indeed!” said Mauleverer, ironically; but

his new acquaintance made no reply, nor did he appear at all desirous of

entering into any further conversation with Mauleverer.

The earl, therefore, after watching the operations of the other robbers

for some moments, turned on his heel, and remained humming an opera

tune with dignified indifference until the pair had finished rifling the

carriage, and seizing Mauleverer, proceeded to rifle him.

With a curled lip and a raised brow, that supreme personage suffered

himself to be, as the taller robber expressed it, “cleaned out.” His

watch, his rings, his purse, and his snuff-box, all went. It was long

since the rascals had captured such a booty.

They had scarcely finished when the postboys, who had now begun to look

about them, uttered a simultaneous cry, and at some distance a wagon

was seen heavily approaching. Mauleverer really wanted his money, to say

nothing of his diamonds; and so soon as he perceived assistance at hand,

a new hope darted within him. His sword still lay on the ground; he

sprang towards it, seized it, uttered a shout for help, and threw

himself fiercely on the highwayman who had disarmed him; but the robber,

warding off the blade with his whip, retreated to his saddle, which he

managed, despite of Mauleverer's lunges, to regain with impunity.

The other two had already mounted, and within a minute afterwards not

a vestige of the trio was visible. “This is what may fairly be called

single blessedness!” said Mauleverer, as, dropping his useless sword, he

thrust his hands into his pockets.

Leaving our peerless peer to find his way to Maidenhead on foot,

accompanied (to say nothing of the poodle) by one wagoner, two postboys,

and the released Mr. Smoothson, all four charming him with their

condolences, we follow with our story the steps of the three alieni

appetentes.