L I E> R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 V71g 
 1852 
 v.l
 
 V
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; 
 
 OR, 
 
 I.TFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 A ROMANCE OF INTr;REST, ABOl NDING IN HAIR-BREADTH ESC API. 
 OP THE IMOST EXCITING CHAHACTER, 
 
 BY THE AUTHOK OF "PAUL. CLIFFORD,' 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY B. LLOYD, SALISBURY-SQUARE, FLEET-STRKET. 
 
 MDCCCLII.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The RomaDce, if Romance it may be calledj of " Gentleman 
 Jack ; ok. Life on the B.oad," having attained an amount of popular 
 favour never before experienced in the annals of periodical literature, is 
 nov*^ presented tothe reading public in its complete form, with the convic- 
 tion of the publisher that it will be ever considered as a standard work. 
 
 The extraordinary success of this work may be accounted for fxom 
 the fact that there is not a page of it that does not glov with a life-like 
 reality. Every incident is not only possible, but highly probable, and 
 naturally flows from some one feeling it, although from the antecedent 
 circumstances it would be impossible to anticipate what is to come. 
 
 We need not inform the readers of the following pages that the 
 persQioages therein represented 
 
 " Ib tkeir Lab it as they lived," 
 
 are not the coinages of fancy, but realities ; and many of the surprising 
 adventures of Claude Duval herein mentioned are perfectly authentic. 
 
 With many thanks, both to the press and to the public, the pub- 
 libber begs to present the work as a whole to the lovera of rational 
 fiction* 

 
 aENTLEMAN JACK; 
 
 OK, L J Fi^ ON THK liOAD. 
 
 HAMPSTEAD HEATH IN 1780 — A NEW MOON. — THE GlBlibT ANP THE OATH. 
 
 The corpse had hung in the gibbet till autumnal rains had bleached face, hands, and 
 clothing. Suddenly there came such a gust of strong wind that it swung the body 
 horizontally from the gibbet. Two figures emerged from among a clump of firs. They 
 were a girl and a lad ; the girl clung to the boy, and in terror said : — " Oh, Claude, 
 Claude, are you sure that you saw it?" "Saw it, May? Yes, as plainly as — as — I 
 now see the moon in the clouds. It was the figure of our poor father." " You know, 
 Claude, that our poor father is no more. Let us return home again. Oh, Claude, 
 Claude, you know where this leads to." " I do. But it was towards here that the figure 
 pointed." " You did not ssream, Claude." " No, sister May, no. I saw the figure move 
 owards the little window that looks this way, and it pointed in the direction 
 jf this place and then I sobbed 'father, father , father !' when it seemed to 
 
 No, 1.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 roll tkm^j fike a mist, and I heard nothing but the wind moaning ronnd the 
 cottage." 
 
 •• It was very dreadful, Clauda.** 
 
 " Yes, yes, and yet I was mote tad than frightened, so you see 1 rose and 
 called to you. May, toteH you that Iwas^omgout unon the heath, and you 
 would come with me. I have hrought the old pistol witn me, May ; then we 
 will now for the first time, look upon that which we knew there was to be seen 
 on the heath, and yet never dared approach, for I think that was ^iwt my 
 father meant to-night." 
 
 As this brief conversation ^as proceeding, the oi^hans, for such they wesB, had 
 been ascending a raised noifion of the heath, and when they reached the summit 
 of what might be termed mlJttle knoll, the yom^ moon pressed- out again from 
 among the drifting cloi^ and the girl in the aistfiawe — ^a distance that . looked 
 greater than it really was at that dubious hour, caught a sight of the gibbet. 
 With a cry of agony shethrew herself upon her brother's breast, exclaiming in 
 tbdUtng accents— 
 
 "Claude, Claude, it will break our hearts. lEt will — it wOl." 
 
 The boy guessed well what it was she had fma^ and he shook with a visible 
 emotion for a few moments, before he dared himself look in the direction to which 
 she had alluded. Then however, while her fair face was hidden on his bosom, and 
 hei- long silken hair streamed about him, for it had escaped from its confinement, 
 ho slmded his eyes with Iris disengaged hand, and l&dktd at the gibbet. 
 
 It could be but faintly seen, but if only the shadow «f it had met his eyes it 
 must have greatly moved him. The moon disappeared again behind a drifting 
 clopdj and like a phantom the gibbet was gone. 
 
 " May, dear May," he whispered, " look up and spoflfl: to me. I am quite 
 fciire that, very dreadful as this thing is to us, that the dread of how dreadful it is 
 must be worse than the reality. Come on, and lean as heavily upon me as you 
 please ; I am sure that our father whom we know is in heaven, meattt us to pay 
 this sad visit to night, as we were about to leave the place to-<mo3;row. Come 
 on, do not tremble so. May, courage, courage. We are not so utterly wretched 
 even now poor, friendless "and foriora, as we really are, as he, Sir Lionel Taversham, 
 who persecuted our poor father to death, and yet knew his innocence." 
 
 " He — he was innocent, Claude." 
 
 " He was. He told us that he -wa^, and we will believe him as we beKeve in 
 God, May," 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes. It is something to know that he did not do the deed they said 
 he did, Claude. That although he perished fearfully he perished Bmocently. ^ I 
 dare not look up again, but — but I will not leave you, Claude. I will go with 
 you, but you will not ask me to look up again. Tell me you w21 not, for I know 
 It win kiu me to do so, or drive me mad, which would l)e wosst. Oh, Claude — 
 Claude, what will become of UB ?" 
 
 She sobbed hysterically upon her brother's shoulder, and stout hearted as the 
 boy was, he now shook with emotion, and could hardly command his voice suffi- 
 ciently to spe^ articulately. He did, however, after a slight pauss, manage to 
 breathe some comfort to the heart of May. 
 
 " Creep gently on," he said, " and you shall not look up. May, if you do not 
 wish. For myself, I feel that before I leave this place, I hope for ever, I ought to 
 take one last farewell glance at our poor father. Come on gently. See, the moon 
 is peeping out again." 
 
 It was so. Through a wide straggling opening in the clouds, the bright and 
 beautiful moon showed her silver crescent, and sent down a flood of silvery radi- 
 ance upon the earth. The two mourners, for such indeed they were, slowly ap* 
 preached the gibbet, and now tliey were so near to that dreaded and truly 
 dreadful object, that May felt she dared not, raise her -eyes from the ground, lest 
 they should be blasted by ihe awful sight before her. To Claude, even, it was an 
 act evidently of despernle resolulion to look up, and when he did so, it seemed 
 almost as if, by some more than natural power, he had wrenched his head in that
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 direction. Immediately on the other side of the gibbet was a bridle path, and 
 beyond that again was a deep declivity descending into the road-way for carriages, 
 but all in that direction was gloom, for the tall fir trees completely prevented any 
 observations beyond the gibbet, at which Claude coutinued gazing, until his eyes 
 were so filled with tears that he could see nothing, and then he dashed them away 
 with his disengaged hand, and looked again, 
 
 " Father, father," he said, " they murdered you. Tou did no murder, although 
 Sir Lionel took an oath to say he saw you do it ; and why he was so wicked, God 
 only knows." 
 
 *' Claude, Claude," gasped May, '* I—I never told you — but now in the pre- 
 :sence of this dreadful object I feel that I ought." "* 
 
 ** What do you mean, May ?" 
 
 *' I have thought at times that I knew why our poor father offended Sir Lionel 
 Pavershara ; I do not rightly understand it, but Sir Lionel met me once upon the 
 heath, He dismounted from his horse, and flinging the bridle across his arm, he 
 would walk by my side to our cottag'e-door, and as we went, he asked me if 1 
 should like a coach to ride in, and to be a lady. Then when we reached the cot- 
 tage he whispered something to our poor father, who, thereupon, raised his hand 
 and struck him. Sir Lionel left the cottage without a word, and our father turn- 
 ing to me, kissed my cheek, and said, ' Never mention this affair, my May. It is 
 quite over.' " -s' 
 
 ** And soon after came the — the charge against onr father of murdering the 
 steward of Sir Lionel in the shrubbery of Faversham House," cried Claude. " Oh, 
 -Clod— God, I see it all." 
 
 He clasped his hands, and dropped upon his knees at the foot of the gibbet. 
 H *' I swear," he cried, *' I solemnly swear—" 
 
 ^ *' Uh, no, no, no," sobbed and entreated May. '* Take no wild oath of revenge, 
 Claude. Let us now pursue our original^ in cent ion of going to London, and there 
 seeking some honest means of livelihood, turning our backs for ever upon this 
 place, whicli must, even to think of, be a horror to us." 
 
 ** I will have revenge — no — not revenge, but justice. Henceforth a sense of 
 my father's wrongs will make me a foe to all mankind, except those who shall 
 assist me to avenge them ; here i n presence of his poor remains, I swear " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Claude, do you hear nothing ?" 
 
 The tramp of a horse's foot upon the bridlepath, just beyond the gibbet, came 
 upon their ears, and by one accord they both leant forward, to listen in the direc* 
 tion from whence the sound proceeded. 
 
 " Who is it ?" whispered May. Who is it ?" 
 
 **Some chance traveller on the heath," replied Claude. "Listen ! listen ! and 
 yet it is a strange time of night, and the road is seldom used except by those who 
 are familiar with it, and who are going to Eaversham House, Stand in the sha- 
 dow, Mary—of— of— — " 
 
 The gibbet he would have said, but with a shudder he paused, and did not pro- 
 nounce the word. May understood what he meant, and cr^ouched down sobbing 
 by the foot of the appalling object. The horseman evidently approached rapidly, 
 and yet there seemed to be an unsteady, uncertain mode of progression about the 
 «teed, as it neared tbe spot were the corpse hung in its grim corslet of chains. It 
 seemed as if tlie rider by whip, rein and spuYs, were urging the animal to more 
 speed than it chose, or had the power from fatigue or otherwise to make. At 
 length, just such another light cloud which had produced a dimness over the sur- 
 rounding scene, had swept across the hce of the moon, and all was clear again, 
 the horseman reached the point of his route, which was directly opposite to the 
 gibbet, then it seemed as if some sudden panio had seized the horse, for it reared 
 and plunged instead of proceeding onwards. 
 
 ^ The moonbeams fell upon the figure of the traveller. The light wind earned 
 his voice, as he uttered an imfyrecation, to the ears of Clmde, who clutching hia 
 sister's wrist wit^ a vehemence thai forced a slight scream from her lips, ex- 
 claimed —
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 •^ItisSirLioucl!'* 
 
 Like a lump of lead, and with a heavy dashing sound, the dead body at this ma' 
 mcnt fell Ironi tlie gibbet, and lay in a huddlod-up ghastly mass at the feet of 
 Claude — a mass of rusty iron, tattered clothing, and half decomposed tiesh and 
 bleached bones. Claude was upon his knees. The drops of mortal agony rolled 
 from his brow. He plunged his hand into the bi'east of his clothing. The moon- 
 beams fell glittering u]>ou the barrel of a large holster pistol. It was levelled 
 across the ^ead body, finding a resting place upon some of the iron work that had 
 enclosed the head of the gibbctted malefactor. A sharo ringing report followed, 
 and then horse and man rolled over the declivity, and disap]jcared m the profound 
 darkness beyond. There was a crashing of branches of trees — a struggle and a 
 cry, and then the thundering sound of the horse's hoofs, as he galloped madly 
 onward, came \ipon the cars of Claude. 
 
 "'Tis done," said the lad. "'Tis done The steed gallops home, but tlie 
 rider remains on the heath. 'Tis done. I could net miss such a shot as that* 
 lather, you are avenged ! You arc avenged !" 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FIRST ROBBERY. — THE ROAD TO LONDON. — THE INITIATION O'E CLAUDE. 
 
 Tor a few moments now there was a death-like stillness, and Claude might well 
 DC, as more Jtilm reflection came to his aid, alarmed at the consequences of the act 
 he hav( just commmittcd, for however, in the licat of his passion, or the excitement 
 of a moment it might bear the im])ress of a just retribution, its results could uoV 
 be a matter of indifference. 
 
 It was from the clear intelligence and candid mind of bis sister that Claude now 
 sought for counsel what he was to do. 
 
 "May, ;May !' he said. " You know what has liappened. May speak, to me — 
 speak, do not chill my heart by this silence — dear May speak to me." 
 
 She was silent still, and then Claude by a more accurate look at her pale face, 
 discovered that she had fainted, and probably quite unconscious that any such act 
 as he had committed had been done, and this thought produced a singular revulsion 
 of fecliug in Claude. 
 
 "She knows nothing," hq said to himself. " She fainted perhaps before the 
 shot was fired, and it was not all fright which caused her to do so — exhaustion — 
 v/cakness from want of proper food, has some share in it. — Oh God, that it should 
 be so. That one so good and so beautiful as you are, my poor May, should v/ant 
 what to so many are superfluities. — What can I do. What — wbat ought I to 
 do?" 
 
 He rested iiis head upon his hands for some few moments, and then he made a 
 resolution which will be best understood in its results, which were immediate. 
 
 After satisfying himself that May was still perfectly insensible, he gently 
 crept from her side, and passing the gibbet made his way to the brink of the 
 abyss down which Sir Lionel i'aversham had rolled. — Then holding tightly to an 
 alder tree which grew close to the edge ; he tried to pierce with his eyes the 
 gloom below, but he could see nothing. The rank vegetation eflectually 
 excluded all light, and to all appearance it just seemed like looking into a well. 
 His determination, however, was made, and clutching at whatever roots or branches 
 afforded him a chance of support, he slowly but safely descended the precipitous 
 bank. 
 
 The depth was about thirty feet, and it took Claude sometime, before he reached 
 the road-way that wound through the hollow of the heath-at its base. The moon 
 was still sti uggl^ing with the fleecy clouds which seemed resolved like some 
 tidyax^^ host to obliterate her brightness, but at intervals there was light enough
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 to distiiigaisli one object from another. The horse Claude knew was not there, 
 but tlie rider he fully expected to find, nor was ke disappointed, for a long dark 
 object raet his gaze, and he thought that a strange groaning sound came faintly 
 npon his ears. 
 
 Creepins: r.long with his body bent almost to the earth, and liis hands omt- 
 stretched, he made his way for the few paces that separated him from the body, 
 and then he touched it. At the moment of doing so he shuddered, for there was 
 to the imagination of the boy, something terrible about a corpse ; but, mutteriug 
 some indistinct words to himself, in which the name of his sister was intermingled, 
 he gathered courage and began to execute his purpose, which was to find if tl'U 
 fallen man had money with him, which would enable liim (Claude), and his sistci 
 to reach the metropolis in safety, and there subsist for a time until some bettei 
 fortune should enable them to look more smilingly upon their fate. 
 
 *' It is a just retribution," said Claude, " I — wonder if he carries a purse with 
 him ? This need never be known to May. It never shall be known; or to her 
 perception each coin, and each particle of food purchased with it, would seem to be 
 accursed." 
 
 His fingers trembled so, that it was only with the greatest difficulty that he 
 could make the requisite search for the valuables which Sir Lionel might be sup- 
 posed to have about him, but at length he found a long silken purse, which, from 
 its weight, and the rich jingle of its contents, he judged contained what to him 
 was a considerable sum in gold. Twice his hands had touched a bunch of gold 
 seals that hung from the watch pocket of Eaversham, and as often had Claude 
 shaken his head, and left them, but now he lingered and listened attentively — 
 not a sound came upon the night air, and for the first time, he showed a symptom 
 of that mad-brained recklessness, which was a characteristic of his after 
 career, for snatching the watch from the pocket, whei'e it had lain so snugly, he 
 Baid,— 
 
 " It's just as well to be able to know the time when one pleases." 
 _ The watch was a repeater, and in his haste, Claude pressed the spring, when, to 
 his surprise, for he had no notion of such a contrivance, the little silvery beU struck 
 one, and then chimed a quarter. 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" said Claude, quite involuntarily, as he sprang to his feet. He 
 then placed both watch and money in his pocket, and commenced clambering again 
 up the steep ascent to where he had left May. 
 
 There was a strange feeling at his heart now, and a kind of dizziness about his 
 
 brain, which Claude could not, or fancied he could not account for, although had 
 
 he been a little more inquisitive into the sources of his feelings, and a little more 
 
 j candid with himself, he might have come to the conclusion, that those feelings 
 
 ! were lue result of the consciousness that he was both a murderer and a robber. 
 
 I The excitement of a moment, and strongly outraged feebngs might do something 
 
 I in extenuation of the pistol-shot, but as regarded the pui-se and the watch, there 
 
 could be invented no such excuses. 
 
 But the deed was done, so when Claude scrambled on, and when he had just reached 
 the brink of the precipice, he nearly fell the whole distance back again, so startled 
 was he by the sudden touch of some one on his arm from above, and the pronun- 
 ciation of his name. The accents were those of May, and he recovered^ 
 saying— 
 
 " Oh, May, how you frightened me." 
 
 " Claude, Claude, what has happened. Tell me what has happened. Did not 
 Sir Lionel fall over the bank, Claude ?" 
 
 " Yes, and after that I heard the horse's hoofs unon the road towards the Bull 
 and Bush." 
 
 " Thex he was not killed by his fall ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, May— She knows nothing, and in her confusion nas forgotten the j 
 pistol shot," thought Claude, "andsofai- things turnout as -I would wish 
 them."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Shall wc come home ?" said May, placing her arm across her eyes, lest they 
 should take in a view of the horrible gibbet. 
 
 Claude was silent for a few moments and then he said : — " Tou know. May, we 
 havB talked often of leaving here for ever ; why should we not do so to-night ? 
 There is only the cottage that we need care for — suppose we go to London at 
 once, May, and see what fortune has in store for us.. I have a little money, and 
 we will so husband that that it shall last us a long time. What say you. May P 
 The distance is short — what is that ?" 
 
 The jingle of bells and the creaking' of wheels had come upon his ears, 
 and almost as he asked the question of what it was, he replied to it by 
 addini^ — 
 
 "dh, it is the Hendon waggon, which has just left the Bull and Bush. 
 There is a chance for us. May — we can meet it about half a mile further on, 
 where the road rises to the level of the heath, and so go on to London, and 
 never again with my good will shall I look upon Hampstead-heath by night or by 
 day." 
 
 " We are alone," sobbed May, " in the wide world. We have no friends but 
 eacli other. Where you go, Claude, there will I go, and. Heaven knows, this 
 place is too full of heart-breaking recollections to bind us to it. Let us go at 
 •^uce." 
 
 Claude was well pleased to find no opposition from ilay to leaving, and without 
 casting another look at the awful spectacle that was at the foot of the gibbet, 
 although they both lingered a little, and May wept bitterly, they left the spot 
 making their way across the heath, guided by the monotonous sound of the bells 
 that were at the heads of the waggon horses. 
 
 *' Stop !'* cried Claude, as he and May met tie waggon near the Castle. 
 ** Stop. Can yon give us a lift to London ? We can pay." 
 
 The waggoner paused and stopped his team, and seemed to be considering a 
 little, after which he said, half aloud — 
 
 "It's not very likely, now, surely, and 1 may as well earn a shilling." 
 Then he cried in a louder voice. " Scramble in at the back, you will &id 
 lots of straw. Be quick about it, for I am rather late to-night — ^that's right- 
 but, look you, if your places are wanted you must get out again and ask no 
 questions, mind that now." 
 
 "There wiil be room enough for us, and a dozen others too, I should 
 think," said Claude, as he assisted May into the waggon, and sprang in after 
 her, 
 
 " I don't know that," muttered the waggoner, " and I am half afraid 
 now of the captain. Yet it's a chance, and I don't see why I should not 
 earn an extra shilling when I can. They are only a boy and girl, too, 
 and can be easily put out if needs be, and yet — ^I don't know — I wisli I 
 had'nt '* 
 
 Thus muttering his doubts and fears about something which was quite 
 unintelligible to Claude, the waggoner put his horses again in motion, and 
 they crept at a lazy pace over the neath, which then had none of the 
 snug villas and smart cottages about it that it has now ; for with the 
 exception of two trees, and Lord Mansfield's large house, there was not a 
 more desolate spot to be found, at night, than the beautiful heath of Hamp- 
 stead. 
 
 For a good half mile further on, no house or light was to be found, and the 
 waggon, which was a large covered one, with an amazing width of entrance at the 
 back, and containing nothing but a quantity of loose straw, had advanced about 
 half that distance when Claude's heart beat violently as he heard distinctly the 
 gfillop of a horse across the heath, for a dread that in some inexplicable way the 
 murder and robbery of Sir Lionel Faversham might have been discovered, and sus- 
 pieion placed upon him, was busy at his brain. A sensation of absolute sickness 
 came over him, as he heard the hollow ringing sound of the horse's hoofs upon the 
 common.
 
 LIEE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 The waggon stopped. 
 
 " Hilloa !" criea the waggoner, " do you hear, or have you gone to sleep ? You 
 can't stay any longer. Come out directly; or it will be worse for you! Come 
 out, I say, or we shall all be in a nice mess. Confound me for a fool to take you 
 till I was clear of the common !" 
 
 " Who is it ? Who is it ?" cried Claude, as the sound of the horses' feet came 
 nearer and more distinct, giving evidence that he who was approaching would 
 soon be close to the waggon. 
 
 " You would be none the wiser if I told you," replied the man, speaking hur- 
 riedly and betraying the utmost anxiety to get rid of his guests. " Scramble out 
 any way, so that you be off at once. It's too late, he's here, I'm in for it at last !" 
 All this happened with such rapidity, and May clung so closely to her brother 
 who was likewise rather entangled in the straw that lay so thick at the bottom of 
 I r the waggon that even had he fell fully inclined to obej the hurried and rather 
 H vehement commands of the waggoner, he could not have done so with sufficient 
 ' ' celerity to save the latter part of his speech, to the effect that it was too late. 
 [^ Under these circumstjtnces, then Claude did the best thing he could, which was to 
 [ remain ready to act according to circumstances getting as far as he could with 
 May still clinging to hirn to the upper end of the capacious vehicle. 
 
 The night was now darker than before, for a mass of clouds had come acr'oss the 
 young moon, threatening to obscure its light effectually for some hours so that Claude 
 had no sense but tliat of hearing through which he could obtain any information. 
 " What do you tell me old Peter," cried a careless laughing sort of voice, 
 " two persons in the crib— eh ? A girl and a boy ! Well, well, no matter, I like 
 good company, and they will be none the worse for a ride to London with me. 
 Where are they ? Tell them lo get up to the far end, and they will come to no barm. 
 Tlirow open the canvass, Peter — don't you hear that there's half-a-dozen horsemen 
 on my track ?" 
 
 To the intense astonishment of Claude and the alarm of May, the horse with 
 its rider bounded lightly into the waggon, and the canvass at the back was imme- 
 ' diately closed upon them both. 
 
 " Down, Silversides ! down mare," cried the man, and by the motions of the 
 liorse among the straw, Claude was aware that it had lain down on its side. He 
 drew May as far as possible away from dangerous contiguity to the animal's feet, 
 and then mustering courage to speak, lie said, — 
 
 '•'Sir, we are not disposed to be in your way. We only want a lift to 
 ' London." 
 
 " Very good," was the careless reply, " but mark me, my lad, if you prate of 
 what you have seen to night Pll find you out, if you were as difficult to get at as 
 truth in the bottom of a well, and cut your throat ! Who are you ?" 
 
 " My name is Claude Duval, and this is my sister May. Some people, however, 
 r* will call me Jack," I don't know why. Pray who are you ?" 
 '•^ " Humph, you want to know who I am ?" 
 
 " I should like to know, for somehow I think we shall be friends yet." 
 " Do you my lad — well then I don't recollect my real name, but among my pals 
 I am called Sixteen-string Jack, and this is my mare, Silversides." 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 SIXTEEN-STEIIIG JACK FINDS AN APT PUPIL. — THE KROTHER AND SISTE 
 
 SEPARATE. 
 
 Aeteh the mysterious personage who ha^o uncerensoniously sprung with his 
 
 horse into the waggon, had thus spoken, there was a pause of some few mifiutes 
 
 [ duration, for neither Claude nor his sister could make much of the ratlier singular 
 
 name of Sixteen-string Jack, and they feared to make a comment u [ion •*. lest 
 
 IL
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 they might. ofFend one who evideuUy had the power tr *um them oufe of the 
 ira^on if he chose. 
 
 "What are you thinking about,*' at length cried JaCh., -* I warrant now you 
 4IC nicely puzzled to know what I am, so I will tell you ; I keep a toll on the 
 Great Norih Iload, and as I don't like to trust anybody to collect my dues I do 
 it myself, and as tlicre are unreasonable people who object to pay, J carry a good 
 brace of bull dogs with me." 
 
 " J3ull dogs, sir ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Aye pistols. These arc my bull-dogs, and they never bark when I don't want 
 them, but when I do, they open tongue to some purpose. Then again some folks 
 after tiiey have paid, go prating about it, and get others to ask disagreeable questions, 
 io that I give the spur to my good steed, Siiversides, and off we are over hill and 
 dale like the wind. It's a brave life, I'm the real lord of many manojrs. The king 
 of the road, and whoever travels by moonlight is a subject of mine, and must pay 
 my taxes. What do you think of all tliat, my lad?" ^ 
 
 " I hai'dly know what to think," said Claude. 
 
 " D.Du't speak to him," whispered May, "don't speak to him, he'%2^ hignway- 
 man, Claude. Let us get out of here and walk." ^ 
 
 " Hist !■" cried Sixteen-string Jack, suddenly, " not a word, on your lives. Don't 
 you hetir ?" 
 
 Claude listened, and distinctly then heard the tramp of horses feet, and in a few 
 moments a loud authoritative voice cried, — 
 
 ** Hilloa ! Pull up waggoner. How far have you come, my man ?" and by the 
 trampling of horses and the bustle around, Claude felt certain that several horse- 
 iiien had congregated about the waggon. He could hear too, by the hard breath- 
 ing of the steeds, that they had been going at a quick pace, while the tone of 
 inquiry of him who spoke was hurried and anxious. 
 
 "Woa!" cried the waggoner, and the horses paused, while the jingling 
 of the bells at their heads, nearly ceased — " Woa ! Anan sir ? what wur yow a 
 .saying ?" 
 
 "liow far have you come down the road, my mg^?'* ;- 
 
 " Oh, how far ? From Goulders Greftn." 
 
 " Has a horseman passed you on the heath ?" 
 
 *' One did. — A chap on a bay horse, , and was'nt ue a going it. Hounds ! I 
 iliouglit he'd a been right over me waggon and all, I did. Hark ye my man says 
 iie, if you say you saw any one to night on the heath, says he, you may as well 
 cut your own throat, says he, cos it will save me the trouble, says he, of finding 
 you out and cutting it for you, says he, and then off he was like a shot; drat 
 him I aint afeard of him, drat his impudence." 
 
 '•'Our man without a doubt," said the horseman. " Which way did he go ?" 
 
 " Beyant there, to Caen Wood I talce it." 
 
 " Follow me gentlemen, this will be a good night's work if we rid the neigb- 
 boui-hood of that notorious highwayman, Sixteen-string Jack, I fired at him, and 
 perhaps he is wounded, in which case he cannot hold out long. , This way ,geutj.c- 
 men, follow me, and don't spare whip nor spur." 
 
 The party of pursuers gallopped off across the heath, and the waggoner without 
 taking any further notice of the transaction, put his horses into motion again and 
 entered the village of Hampstead. 
 
 " They were looking for you," said Claude to the highwayman. 
 
 ** They were, my lad, but you see they are baulked ; I wonder what the time is, 
 I gave my watch this mommg to Nan Eyles, and the one a gentleman lent me 
 ftbout half an hour ^nce, upon the heath, has run down." 
 
 " I can tell you thti time," said Claude, on the impulse of the moment pro- 
 ducing the repeater he bad taken from the pocket of Sir Lionel Faversham. " I 
 can tell you exactly the time, I dare say, and it strikes too, though I don't know 
 BOW exac'tly to xcake iir." 
 
 It was too darlc for the watch to be seen, but the highwayman was sur^Drised to 
 fiiid tlmt siioi an article was in the possession of such a lad, and he said,— •
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR. LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 *' Haad it to me. If it be a repeater I can make it strike.*^ 
 
 By the feel, ratlier than bj any aid ftom the dim light that now aad then from 
 a miserable oil-lamp came into the waggon, Claude managed to place the watch 
 in the hands of his new acquaintance, and then he had the pleasure, in a moment, 
 of hearing the little fairy- like bell sound the hour. *hi 
 
 The different persons in that waggon were very differently affected by those 
 slight and musical sounds. 
 
 i'he highwayman felt that there was a mystery attached, and he held his peace, 
 and listened for the remarks of his compauioas, as being most likely to afford him 
 some clue to what was as yet a perfect puzzle. 
 
 Claude was occupied with a mixed feeling of joy and pain. He listened to the 
 sounds of the repeater with almost childish pleasure, but he felt- at the same 
 moment that May's suspicions would be aroused, and that he must in some way or 
 other, either by falsehood, which he held in contempt, or by the plain truth, satisfy 
 his sister's doubts. 
 
 But to poor May the tinkling sounds were full of nongnt but horror. Almost 
 intuitively she seemed to be aware that the trinket was the prize of some lawless 
 deed, committed when or how, siie knew not. She had penetrated enough of their 
 fellow companion's character to dread any closer connexion with him, and her soul 
 was overshadowed by dread of disasters none the less appalling for being unde- 
 fined, which loomed fearfully out from the darkness of the future. She felt that 
 her brother's fate was in some way connected with the [)ossession of tiie watch, 
 which had appeared among them as mysteriously as if it^ were ind3ed one of 
 those gifts of seeming value with which the spirits of evil were said to tempt 
 men's souls. A moment only elapsed, when in a startled and fearful voice she 
 broke the silence. 
 
 "Oh! Claude, Claude." sobbed May, "how came you by a watch ?*' 
 
 " What matters it," answered Claude, " where it came from ? I have it, and that 
 ought to be suScient. It will make a pretty ornament for you, dear May, at 
 holidoy times, when fortune smiles once more upon us." 
 
 "Nay, talk not so. dear brother," whispered May, "I could feel no pleasure in 
 wearing it, unless I knew how you came by it ; and poor orphans as we are, 
 and homeless wanderers too, Claude, I dare not hope for happy times for many 
 a weary (ay to come. Set my heart at ease, then, and do not aggravate our 
 present 1 misfortunes by filling my mind with fears that I dare not give utterance 
 to ;" and May threw herself weeping on his npck. 
 
 •'Eeai'i! what have you to fear. May? Did you never heir of one person 
 losing a watch on a dark night, and another person finding it ?"* 
 
 "Such a thing is quite possible," said May, "buc even then, Claude, the watch 
 would not be yours to keep or give to me. It would be your duty to hand it over 
 to those who would find an owner for it." 
 
 *' And many thanks I should get for that, sister. No, no, dry your tears, dear 
 May, and rest satisfied that the watch shall not pass from n)y hands to another, 
 owner or not owner, unless he who demands it is a better man than myself." 
 
 "Claude, Claude," exclaimed poor May, "how can you grieve me by saying 
 so? — ^you cannot mean what you say." 
 
 *' Ho, ho," cried Sixteen-string Jack, " I find you are a lad of mettle — eh ? 
 Come you may trust me, my lad. How came you by it ? ^ It's a dangerous com- 
 panion for you, if there should be any hue and cry. You might do a worse thing 
 than make me your friend in such an affair. You are silent — you are afraid to 
 trust me. Perhaps that's natural ; but have not I trusted you? A word from 
 you to the horsemen that a minute since stopped the waggon, and I should have 
 j been taken. I could not have held my own against such odds, and then, as sure 
 as to-morrow's sun will rise, i should have swung at Tyburn. I would 'fain 
 j do you a good turn. This watch may be vour destruction." 
 j "Keep it yourself, su'," said May, "^'and for God's sake, Claude, say not anothet 
 word about it l"
 
 10 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OK, 
 
 " Nonsense, pretty face," laughed Jack ; " for a pretty face I &m sure you have 
 however, let hiin speak out." 
 
 " I took it," said Claude, " upon the heath from Sir Lionel Favershain." 
 ** You robbed Sir Lionel Faversham to night upon the heath ? The devil ! And 
 is this the first little adventure of the sort ?" 
 " Tho very first." ' 
 
 liny burst into, tears, and clung convulsively to her brother, as she sobbed, — 
 "Tiie last likewise— the last, Claude, send back the waicli, and ask for forgive- 
 ness. Oil, Claude, I thought we were unhappy, but I knew not what wretched- 
 ness really was until now ; you \ril do as I implore you, Claude ? speak, speak to 
 me, and say you will de so." 
 " A dangerous course, miss," said Jack ; " it's too late." 
 " Yes," said Claude, drawing a long breath, " yes, it's too late." 
 May sobbed bitterly, while the highwayman whispered to Clau.le,— 
 " You have done now what carmot be undone. " As for expecting any mercy, 
 even if you chose to seek it from Sir Lionel Faversham, you might as well ex- 
 pect a '-'uraishcd tiger merely to pass you in a lonely place with his complimeajs. 
 If he can find you, he will not rest until you are in the carton your road to 
 Tyburn. You arc fortunate in coming across me, for I can afford you both couusei, 
 and protection. When we get to London I can find an asylum for yourself wild" 
 your sister until the hue and cry is over, and then you can take your own course,. 
 and unless I am very much mistaken, I can guess tolerably well what that course- 
 will be. A good horse 1 — a pair of pistols! — a light heart — and-—" . '• ' 
 
 *• Tiic road !" cried Claude. " Life on the road ! I am poor and friendless — ' 
 my father's bones bleach upon the heath. The sense of deep wrongs li(?s' 
 wrinkling at my he<i.rt, and I cannot bow and smile my way ' through life for a 
 sup or a crust. The road for me ! A short life and a merry one — and the 
 sooner it begins the better." 
 
 " Hurrah," said Jack ; " you are the lad for me. Here we are at the King's 
 Head, near Kentish Town, where I can give you a welcome until to-morrow, and 
 ;l;cn <uke you to a safer place still." 
 
 " No, no," cried May, in a voice that was almost a shriek of despair. No, no. 
 — oh, God, no 1 — Claude, Claude, you are mad ! — You know not what you say ! — 
 I implore you by the tie that binds us, orphans as we are, to each other. If puaso. 
 Claude, Claude, for my sake, if not for your own, I beseech you not io gi<e 
 ,vay to this frightful temptation. If you would seek happiness or pca( ;, seek 
 it in honour, truthfulness, and in honesty. You are on the threshold ycl oi 
 life ; you have not sinned deeply, Claude. Oh plunge not rashly onwards in ilie 
 desperate eoui'se you suggest." 
 
 " Really, my dear," said the highwayman in a bantering tone, "you — " 
 " Peace, sir," said May, " interrupt me not, " I am talking with a sister's 
 love to a brother. Shame, shame, upon you who have become hardened in viee, 
 to strive to warp him round to a love of your own evil courses. Shame, shame, 
 upon you, for your own guilt, but doubly shameful is it to snatch from a right 
 course, a being, who cannot know as you know, the evil that presents itself to 
 him in such fleeting but alluring colours." 
 
 " Very good," said Jack, " say your say, my lass, and let your brother take' 
 his own course, it don't matter to me ; my career is fi^ed." 
 
 The waggon had stopped, and a glare of light came into its interior from a 
 lanthorn that a man who had come out of a public-house door held up, while he : 
 shaded his eyes with his hands. The scene within the waggon was a strange " 
 one. _ The highwayman's horse, which occupied by far the greater portion of tlie 
 interior, lav upon its side, while Sixteen-string Jack kept his hand upon the 
 creature's head. The highwayman's dress could now be distinguished — he wore 
 a scarlet coat with large lappels, slightly disclosing an embroidered waistcoat, and 
 the lace ends of a rich, but not by any means scrupulously clean cravat. Fr^P' 
 the tops of his boots hung a knot of coloured ribbon, from which he derived his 
 cognomen of Sixteen-string Jack, and take him altogether he looked the very
 
 LITE ON THE KOAD. 11 
 
 beau, ideal of the knight of the road at that strange period when highwaymen were 
 as much public characters as Members of Parliament are now. Claude was 
 standing up, and steadying himself by holding part of the awning of the waggon, 
 while May was kneehng at his feet in that attitude of intensity she had as- 
 sumed to waro him from his desperate purpose of taking to the road for a 
 livelihood. 
 
 "Hilloa, capliin!" said the man, " What's it all about ? Have you got some 
 company ? " 
 
 *'l have," replied the highwayman, and then, turning to May, he added, "you 
 arc doing me a (jreat injustice ; you fancy I want to persuade you brother to go 
 upon the road, but you quite forget that he has been there already, and that all I 
 oiler him is protection from the consequences of what has happened on Hampstead 
 1:1 eath, to-night. Do you fancy now' tnat he has nothing else to do but to wish to 
 lead a quiet, virtuous Ufe, and that he will be permitted to do so ? I can tell you 
 it is not so. He will be hunted like a wild beast for what he has already done, 
 and all I want him to do, is to stand at bay a little. But you may settle it be- 
 : tween you, what can it matter to me ?'* 
 
 "Claude, do not ^ns-wer him;— Ciaude-^Claude," . . 
 
 Slie rose, and flung herself upon her brother's neck, so that he was prevented 
 f'.oui making any movement towards Sixte en-string Jack, but he held out his hand, 
 And the highwayman nodded, as much as to, say, I comprehend you, you have 
 made your choice, and then, pointing to the inn, the door of which was kept rather 
 uncomfortably open, he paused a moment, as if expecting Claude' to make an 
 eil'ort to release himself from his sister's detaining embrace, and follow him. 
 
 " May," whispered Claude, " May, you know not what you aavise, I will speak 
 to you to-morrow ; let u« to-night accept of rest and shelter where we can." 
 
 " No — no. Better starve — better be destitute in the streets, than enter that 
 house." 
 
 " I cannot make such a return for a kind offer." 
 
 " Say you will not, Claude, and I shall understand you, although I shall nevei 
 believe that it is you who speaks. 
 
 " Listen to me. May ; you shall be kept like a lady, your happinesp and comfort 
 shall be my first care, you shall want for nothing. Let me go — let me go." 
 
 She clung tighter still to him; Sixteen-st ring Jack laughed, and Claude's cheek 
 reddened, for he thought as boys are apt to think, that it reflected upon his 
 manhood lo be detained thus by his sister, so he spoke more argrily. 
 
 '■' May, I say, release me '. " 
 
 As these words were uttered he flung her from him, and jumped from the wagon. 
 With a cry of grief she followed liim, and clung again to his apparel, but again he I 
 shook her off, and rather roughly too, so that had not Sixteen-string J ack interposed i 
 his arm she would have fallen, but when she found to whom she owed the temporary 1 
 support, she slu:unk back from him with a shudder, and clasping her hands, looked 
 for a moment or two earnestly at Claude. 
 
 " Come, sister May," he said, " the rain is falling and the wind blows still, 
 come in." 
 
 "No," she Slid, "no; since it must be so, farewell, Claude." :.^ 
 
 In a moment she darted off, and was lost to sight in the darkness. 
 
 " Stop— stop," cried Claude, " May, you will not go alone and destitute. Stop 
 —oh stop ! — listen. May, I have more to say to you.' 
 
 He would have rushed after her, but the highwayman held him by the sixm, as- 
 he cried, — • 
 
 "Pho ! pho ! she won't run far. You will have her back agan soon. Whcrb )^ 
 is she to go to? make yourself comfortable. Landlord, bring a bowl of punch, 
 and let it be the best you can make. I and my young friend must be better ac- 
 quainted." 
 
 "But— but," said Claude, "but my sister " 
 
 "Oh. you will §ee her again soon enough. Besides, what idea would yoa 
 have of her affection, if she starts off from ■ you, • the first time there is
 
 13 aSNTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 any Httle difference of opinion, while you, as a man ought to know best what to 
 do?" 
 This was attacking Claude at his weak point. .\/;..; 
 
 " Oh yes," he said. " We men are not to be guided by women." 
 " Of course not. Come in, come in. The puach, landlord, the punch. The 
 wind is cold indeed to-night. Claude Duval, you will be famous ; I am no bad 
 judge of such matters, and something seems to tell me that there never was yet 
 a knight of the road, who will be able to compare with you. 1 shall be proud of 
 you as a friend. Come on, come on, and we will talk more of it." 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 IHB LONBLY HOSSEltAN.— THE] NIGHT ATTACK, — THE HUT.— Ar PAMILT CAB' 
 
 HUGE. 1 
 
 Two years have elapsed since the incidents recorded in our first and second chap 
 ters. It is a cold — bitterly cold night in January. The east wind is scattering 
 sleet and hail like smaU sparks of sharpened steel through the air, and all as far as 
 the eye can reach is darkness and desolation. In the midst of such a scene, and 
 at a such a time, a solitary horseman is trotting across Ealing; Common. 
 
 It is not by a regular bridle road that this horseman proceeds---on the con- 
 trary, whenever by the sound, and it is only by th? «»ound that he can come 
 to an opinion, in consequence of the darkness arorjid him, he finds that his 
 horse is on a beaten track, he turns aside until again there is nothing beneath the 
 cautious hoofs but the green turf, or small pools of water into which it almost each 
 moment splashes. 
 
 " Now by all that's good," muttered the horseman, as he clenched his teeth 
 against the keen wind, and with his disengaged right hand, dashed the half blind- 
 ing sleet from before his eyes. "I would not have come out on such a night as this, 
 had it not been that the gaming table has so completely cleared my purse that it 
 sadly lacks replenishing. It vnll look positively ungentlemanly to stop anybody on 
 such a night, but needs must when a certain old friend of mine drives, so hurrah 
 for my old luck, and here I am upon the high road at last." 
 
 There was just light enough to distin^sh the principal road that went across 
 the common from the darker colour of the grass that fringed it, and the solitary 
 horseman now kept within half a dozen paces on the turf by the side of it. 
 
 By the turn he had now made at right angles to his former course, his back was 
 turned towards the cutting sleet that was driving through the air, and he cer- 
 tainly got on much more comfortably than before, while he half sung to himself a 
 popular air of the day, and when he fancied, and in most cases it was but fancy, he 
 saw a hillock before him, he made the obedient horse give a demi-vault, which it 
 executed with surprising grace and ease. 
 
 " Ah, my good Sue !" apostrophised the rider. "My good Sue, what should 
 I do withoul thee ? What should I be without thee, my ^ant lass — fleet of foot 
 —long in wind-— sagacious, and more faithful than many human beings. I love 
 thee, my Sue!" 
 
 As he uttered this panegyric upon his horse, he patted the neck of the animal, 
 whi^ by a short neigh seemed to be fully sensible that just then it was a special 
 object of its maitcr's conimendations,. and to be well pleased accordingly. 
 
 Suddenly the horseman gave the rein a peculiar touch, and the steed stood «i 
 motionless as though it hm been carved in stone. 
 
 "Hush! hush," ne said, "my old acateness of hearing is bother?^ by the 
 *7iad and the slee&^ or I hear the soiuid of horse s feet.'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 73 
 
 After then listening fo\' a few moments he still was in dcubt, for ho suddeiilv 
 flung himself lightly off of the horse, and pluced his ear nearly on a level with 
 the ground to listen, this process quite sadafied him, and vaulting into the 
 saddle again, he said, 
 
 " Yes some one comes, I am not mistaken, and I have only to hope that his 
 purse is well lined. It will be a great insult to a gentleman of the road if it b<? 
 not, and must be resented accordingly. We shrill see, wc shall see. The horse's 
 ootsteps sound clean and clear as though it was no common hack. Now Sue, my j { 
 lass, we may have a little adventure to warm our bloods, and faith we need it on ' 
 such a night as this." 
 
 The sound of an approaching horse at an easy canter, was now plainly perceptible, 
 and the highwaymen, for such our readers of course conclude him to be, Vv'alked 
 his steed gently along the road, to meet the advancing traveller, and the dusky 
 figures of a horse and man were soon seen against the leaden-coloured sky. 
 
 Thus approaching each other, but a very lew minutes could elapse ere the high- 
 wayman and his intended victim came face to face, and saw as much of each other 
 as upon such a night could be seen. 
 
 " Halt !" said the highwayman, " halt ! answer me one question. Sir Traveller, 
 'and answer it upon your honour." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Keep off, as you value your life," said the traveller, in 
 item accents ; " I am armed. 
 
 "Very good, it is unsafe to travel unarmed, and not always safe even with 
 arms ; but to my questions : Are ye a gentleman ? by which I mean, one who eats 
 the bread of idleness, and is not engaged in any business pursuits." 
 
 "A gentleman!" said the stranger, **who dare dispute my right to that 
 title?" 
 
 " Good. I never condescend to stop any but gentlemen, and since you assert 
 your rifrht to the designation, — stand and deliver ? " 
 
 "What?" ^yV' 
 
 " Your money — watch — rings — or, your life ! " 
 
 "Now, by Heavens, this is the most barefaced and impudent attempt at 
 robbery I ever heard of. You will consult your own safety by getting from 
 before my path." 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir ; I wish to behave towards you with all due ccurtcsy, 
 but you will best consult your own ease, by complying with my demand. As for 
 my safety, I set my life upon casts like these, and ana wiDing to stand the hazard 
 of the die." 
 
 " Take it, then," said the stranger ; and drawing a pistol from- his pocket, he 
 snapped it in the face of the highwayman. The powder flashed in the pan, with- 
 out discharging the weapon, and tlie traveller, casting it to the ground with aa 
 imprecation, was fumbling in his pocket for another, which did not seem to be 
 so ready to his hand, when, with a suddenness and a vehemence that could not 
 be resisted, the highwayman closed with him, and giasped him by the collar, 
 exclaiming as he did so, and flung him from his seat,— 
 
 " You should keep your powder dry." 
 
 "Villain," cried the traveller, as* he lay half stunned by the fall. 
 
 "Not so," replied the highwayman, "if I were, what would there be tc hinder 
 me repaying you in kind for your intention, to blow my brains out by actually 
 performing that process upon the small quantity you evidently only possess. Once 
 more, your money and valuables !" 
 
 He had dismounted ; and while his horse, Sue, stood profoundly still, the stran- 
 ger's steed, alarnsed at the confusion, scampered away over the common, and was 
 out of sight in a moment in the darkness. 
 
 ** Take my purse, and here, too, is my watch. I have but one ring, and that I 
 mah. to keep — not so muah on account of its value, as from recollections connected 
 with it." 
 
 ** Oh, certainly. Don't say another word about it." 
 
 "Youare chilvaricinyour way," added the gentleman, as he? made a vain
 
 GiiNTLEMAN JACK ; OJK, 
 
 dBTort to rise but found that lie had struck his head so severely a^^inst a stone, 
 vbat tne darkness seemed full of strange grotesque snapes, swimming before him 
 1 — I ask you a favour—" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " I can scarcely speak. I think 1 sl»ll faint from this fall. There is a travel- 
 ing carriage coming with ladies, and one man ; spare them. One lady is an 
 mvalid." 
 
 "What way is it coming ? From town or country. Nay, you have ab*eady 
 said so much, you may as well give me full information. You are silent — eh ? 
 Why he has fainted, I suppose. He must be seriously hurt, for it is not from any 
 faint-heartedness he has gone off in this way. But if people will be obstinate, and 
 resist the tolls, they must take the consequences. I won't leave him here though, 
 to be run over by somebody, I can't be far off old Jarvis's place at Hanger-hill. 
 If I could get liim there, he would be safe until the morning and Jarvis could 
 easily say he found him ,lying on the common. It shall be so ; Sue, my lass 
 Sue!" 
 
 The horse was close to him in a moment. 
 
 " This is not what you are exactly used to, my Sue," continued the highway- 
 man* "but at a pinch you won't object, I dare say. Humph! a tolerable 
 weight, though tnin enough." 
 
 He had lifted the insensible form of the traveller, and laid it as well as he could 
 across the horse's back, and then taking the bridle in his hand, he guided it across 
 the common, with which at that dark hour he seemed wonderfully familliai until 
 he reached some trees skirting a low hedge, which formed the boundary of a little 
 garden surrounding a miserable looking cottage. Then he paused, and blew a 
 whisUe in a peculiar manner, and in a few moments a man appeared at the door 
 of the cottage, with a lantern in his hand. 
 
 " Jarvis its I," cried the highwayman, 
 
 "My noble captain ! has anything happened amis ?" 
 
 " No, but here is a gentleman who has had a fall upon the common, and mud- 
 dled his brains for a time. I want you to Let him lie quiet till the morning, 
 when no doubt he will be all right, and relieve you from further trouble. If he 
 remains on the common, who knows but somebody might rob him — eh, Jarvis ?" 
 
 The man put the lanthorn on the ground, and by placing his hands on his 
 sictes, was evidently upon the point of bursting into a roar of laughing ait what 
 he considered such a famous joke, when he was checked by the highwayman's 
 crymg,— 
 
 " Peace, peace ! I have no time to spare." 
 
 " Oh, certainly, captain ; another job a coming, I suppose ?" 
 
 « Possibly." 
 
 The still insensibk stranger was lifted from the horse's back and carried, into 
 the hut, after which the highwayman mounted his horse again, and went back 
 to the common at a hard gallop, until he reached the main road again that 
 went across it, when once more he drew rein and listened. 
 
 " I hear nothing," he. muttered, "could he have been deceiving me for any pur- 
 pose ? I am quite certain no travelling carriage has passed here to-night. Shall I 
 be content with what I have already done, or shall I wait for it. Humph ! ladies, 
 he said, and one man ; there will be more purses than one, and who knows but 
 this fellow may take credit to himself when he returns to tell the story, for 
 frightening me from an attack on the carriage. No, my Sue, we will not be put 
 off by the story of an invalid lady ; and if there be one, we will be so gentle that 
 she shall feel no shock to her nerves. . Ha ! It comes.^ 
 
 He distinctly heard during a lull in the wind, the grinding fcound of carriage 
 wheels in the soft sandy soil. The horse too, seemed as though it pricked up 
 its ears, and was fully alive to the excitement of its master's adventures. He 
 paced slowly onwards in the direction of the approaching sounds, while the
 
 LITE ON THE ROAD. 15 
 
 highwayman in a low but not musical voice sung to IiijTiself a popular ditty, .said 
 to be, composed by himself; 
 
 There's no life like a life on the road, 
 A gooil stetd and a light heart giv* me, 
 Whi e misers are couutiog their gold, 
 I am careless, and, happy, and free. 
 
 There's no life like a li'e on the roadj 
 A pair of good Imli-dogs gire me, 
 Let plo' der> ge sh'eple.-s with s glis, 
 As a king of the road I shall be. 
 
 He paused ai^ain to listen, and it was only at intervals when the wind lulled 
 chat he could do so, as blowing as it did from him in the direction from which the 
 carriage was coming, it carried the sound away, instead of towards him, till he 
 heard suilicient to be quite conviueed that he was not mistaken, and slackeninr' 
 even the quiet walk of his horse, he turned it on to the grass again, so that no 
 s®und of its footsteps should create alarni in the minds of those who were 
 approaching. 
 
 The road from Shepherd's Bush, then a wild desolate place, to Southall, was 
 indeed so celebrated for the daring deeds of highwaymen, that it was no 
 uncommon thing for people to turn back instead of crossing Ealing common, 
 if there was any reason to suppose there was one of those night adventurers 
 upon it,, and hence it was that our hero did not think proper to give any pre- 
 mature notice of his presence to those whom he wished to attack. 
 
 And now about a quarter of a mile from him, he saw two faint star-like lio-hts, 
 and he knew them to be the carriage lamps, so that he had now a capital g°uide 
 to the approach of the vehicle, and was able to take his station in the part of the 
 road which he might think the best adapted for his purposes. 
 
 There was a hollow ef about fifty feet in length, and it was in the lowest part of 
 that where the highwayman took up his station, there being behind him a clump ox 
 fir trees, which effectually hindered his figure from being seen against the night 
 sky. Moreover, those trees, tempered the wind considerably, so that the spot 
 on wliich he fully intended to stop the carriage, was on that night the calmest 
 upon the whole common, as well as, in consequence of its lying so low, the heaviest 
 bit of road for the tired horses to struggle through, and so one at which they 
 could be most readily stopped. 
 
 But it is tmie that we should take a peep into the travelling carriage, and see 
 who they are that are so likely to be stopped. 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 A nEia AT LAW. — BEATJTT IN TEAllS. — TUS PEOTECTOB. 
 
 The travelling carriage which was doomed to come to an abrupt stand still 
 upon Ealing common, had emblazoned upon its paiiqls, the arms of one of the 
 most ancient Oxfordshire families, and it contained personages so di^erent in mind ' 
 and manners, that even if it were not intinic^tely connected with our story, it would 
 be not a little curious to peep into it, and see how they .behaved themselves 
 individually towards each' other. '■ ' 
 
 It was one of the old fasliioned roomy family coaches, that held six people with- 
 out any inconvenience to speak of, and was drawn by iwo fat lazy horses, who 
 never condescended to get out of a quiet v»alk o| uDcut £ve miles an hoar
 
 16 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 which was thought really very good work indeed, the more especially as the roads 
 were but iiidiffercut. On this occasion, however, there was a light load, for but 
 four persons occupied the interior of the carriage. 
 
 One of them was an elderly lady, who seemsd absorbed in painful reflections, 
 for every now and then she shook her head, and gave utterance to a deep sight. 
 Then there was sittin"^ next to her a young lady, who held the old lady .by tUe 
 hand, ;ind who in a whisper would at intervals say sometiiing to her, which was 
 intended to be cheering. On the oppjsite seat, crammed into one corner, was a 
 younger lady, and all her efforts seemed to be to get as far as possible from a 
 man who was on the seat beside her, and who was about one of the finest specimens 
 of the "gents" of the period, that could probably have been found. 
 
 His coat was sky-blue, and had cloth enough about its skirts to make another 
 of ample dimensions. His ruffles descended to the tips of his^fiogers. His hat 
 diminished at the top to a ridicuously small circumference, and he held in both 
 hands a riding whip, with the silver end of which he patted his mouth with great 
 complaisance. 
 
 *' Well, cousin Cicely,*' he said, "you don't seem the worse for your journey 
 as yet, at any rate, do' you now ?" 
 
 This speech was evidently intended to procure a reply from the young lady, 
 who held the hand of her elder companion, but it failed in that object, for the only 
 notice taken of it consisted in a slight — & very slight inclination ot the head from 
 her. 
 
 " Well,* he added, after another pause. " You may as well speak, I'm sure.** 
 
 '• What would you have her say?" inquired the old lady, tremulously. " Yoa 
 cannot expect that we should feel very happy ?" 
 
 "Hem! Well I don't know that.' ' ■ 
 
 " What ! Are we not now destitute ?** 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; I— that is you can look to me, you know. I used always to be 
 counted a generous sort of fellow. The fact is, you take to heart the loss of the 
 little property at Guilford, but it cau't be helped, you know. You came into 
 possession, all of you, because it was thought I was drowned on the river, but 
 Lord bless you, I wasn't drowned at all. The fact is, I was picked up insensible 
 by a Dutch smuggler and carried to Holland, that 1 was. He ! he ! he ! Well, 
 you must know I had no money, and " 
 
 *• You have told us all this before," said the old lady. 
 
 "Well, I was only saying — he! he! he!-— Tom Brereton is like a cat, he 
 always lights upon his legs — averyoody says that. Well, you see, a fat little 
 Butch girl fell in love with me, so 1 borrowed .some money of her, and bilked her. 
 He ! he ! he ! Then I came to England and found my old governor dead, and 
 «s 1 was sup))Osed to be drowned, you and your family had walked from a couple 
 of atlics, in Bloorasbury, into the little Guilford property. Your son, too, must, 
 to put himself forward in the army, borrow £100 on it. Lord ! how you all 
 stared when you saw me. "V\ ell, you ask me to come to London with you, to go 
 to your friend Hamraerton, the lawyer, and talk about it. Yes. says I— taik 
 away. He ! he! he! and here I am. This is my carriage, you know, properly 
 speaking, though you do ride on the best seat." 
 
 " W'- will resign it to you," said the young girl. 
 
 "Oil, no, no— never mind me — J only just mentioned it, that's all." 
 
 " You may be the son of my poor brother, whom I call poor, because he was 
 unchuritable," said the old lady, ** or you may not ; for as you know very well, if 
 you bL; the person you represent yourself to be, I have not seen you since you 
 were a child." 
 
 "If I be ? Well, come, that is good. But the lawyer will soon put that to 
 riglits, and as for not seeing you and your family, the old governor, who has gone 
 to glory 1 suppose, used to say, *Tom, always keep out of the way of your i)Oor 
 rchu.ions. They will borrow four IcjT-^ else,*aa4 leave you nothing but stumps to 
 wtik upon.' He ! he ! he ! Good tbat was."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; Ull, LIFE ON^THE ROAD. 
 
 " And kind," said tlie younger girl, who sat on the same seat with him, and who 
 now in a tone of bitter sarcasm, pronounced these two words. 
 
 " Well, miss pert,'* said Tom Brereton, " I don't see that you have any right to 
 meddle with it. You are only " 
 
 " My friend," interrupted the young lady opposite, and as such entitled to 
 respect." 
 
 "Respect a fiddlestick! Upon my life, for people going out of their property 
 you are about as confounded a set of stuck up folks as ever I heard of. I suppose 
 your son, Markham, old lady, has got to London by this time, eh ?" 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said the old lady. 
 
 " Oh don't you, ma'am. Well, I can't say I see why you should all of you 
 be in such a way. You were poor before, and you will only be poor again, you 
 know. I dare say you thought it an uncommonly nice thing, to drop into £25'0 
 a year, but after all you can go back to the two attics in Bloomsbury, you know, 
 and try and get some sort of work to do, so as to pay me off by degrees, what 
 you have already spent of mine. He, he, he ! I think I ought to have rent for 
 the house too, so long as you have been in it ; upon u^v life I do/' 
 
 " Can it be possible ?" 
 
 « Ilather." 
 
 " Alas, alas ! and this is the amount of mercy 1 am lo expect from riy brother's 
 son. Young man, we have told you candidly that we are now going to call upon 
 a lawyer, to ask him what you can demand, and what you cannot." 
 
 " Oh I know that, but you need not all of you be in such a pet with me. If 
 you had been civil, you need not have given yourself half the ti'ouble. You were 
 not over uiclined to give me even a seat in the coach, though I did ask for it. 
 He, he, lie ! my own coach, too. And why you should all be offended, just because 
 I told Cicely she was pretty, and gave her the least tickle in the world, I don't 
 know." 
 
 " If I were to inform my son, sir, of your conduct," said the old lady, " I 
 would not answer for your safety one moment afterwards. I wish he had re- 
 mained with us, but one reason why he did not was, ihat the road is so infested 
 with highwaymen, he wanted to ride on till we were quite among the houses, to 
 clear the way." 
 
 " Highwaymen ! Bless my heart, you don't think there's a ly danger, do you ? 
 I've got £20 in my pocket, besides all my papers to prove who I am. 
 Bless me. I — I don't feel comfortable at the idea of a highwayman, at all, some- 
 how. I like my money." 
 
 " No doubt of it," said the girl on the seat with -lim. ' 
 
 " Of course I do, but I like my hfe better, and had rather, of coui-se, like any 
 reasonable man, pay something any day than be in any danger." 
 
 " So I should think." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure, you are after all a more sensible girl than I thouf^ht you. 
 Now I tell you what we will do if a highwayman should stop us. I'll just slip 
 down among the straw, and you can all of you say there are no persons but women 
 here, and beg them to let you go.'* 
 
 " I should raider be inclined," said Cicely, " to direct attention to you, as 
 bearing the semblance of a man, in order to protect our riches." 
 
 " No, no. You wouldn't do that now. How uncommonly unfriendly. "VV^here 
 are we now I wonder. Hoi, hoi ! post^ion, where are we now ?" 
 
 *' Ealing common sir." 
 
 " Just look out, and if you see a gentleman on a black horse, ask him to rids 
 close to thfi window and not leave us, will you, and I'll give you a shill — 1 mean 
 sixpence when vie get to town, look sharp out now. God bless me,' Ealing 
 common. Why there have been more robberies on Ealing common lately, than 
 everywhere else put together. They say Sixteen String Jack comes on this 
 road sometimes, along with Claude Duval." 
 
 No. a.
 
 ib GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 A dight start and exclamation from the young girl at his side, attracted the 
 attention not only of Tom Brereton, but of the other ladies as well. 
 
 " What alarms you," said Cicely and then darting a glance at her contemptible 
 cousin, Tom Brereton, she added, " pray sir, keep your fears to yourself. We do 
 not share them, and therefore cannot feel in any way interested m them. If we 
 should be attacked by a highwayman, he will perhaps for a moment fancy we 
 have a man to protect us, but he will soon find out his error." 
 
 " Ah," said Tom, without showing much discomposure at the utterance of this 
 remark, " I should not wonder now, but you think you will put me quite in a 
 pet by wluit you say, but, he, he, he ! it won't do, I assure you. Ob, dear no, 
 and besides every inch that we get nearer town, there is less chance cf a high 
 man, and 1 of course am the more comfortable." 
 
 "You cannot surely sir," said the old lady, mean breaking silence, "that you 
 have any serious intention of considering my son Markham as indebted to you 
 for the use he has mistakingly made of the little property he thought belonged 
 to us ?" 
 
 " WTiy, as to that ma'am— aunt I suppose I ought to call you^— as to 
 that 1 " 
 
 What sort of reply Mr. Tom Brereton was about to give to the remark of his 
 aunt, is most unfortunately lost to posterity, for at the moment he had got so Car 
 in his speech, the carriage came to an abrupt halt, and a loud clear voice from 
 the road side, cried— 
 
 " Move another pace, postillion, and I will try the temper of your skull with 
 a couple of slugs." 
 
 " Murder !" groaned Tom Brereton, as according to his former expressed view 
 of expediency in such a contingency, he slipped oS, his seat down among the straw 
 at the bottom of the carriage. " Murder 1 - There is a highwayman at last." 
 
 CHAPTER rV. 
 
 THE RECOGNITION. — THE BOBBERY AND THE RESCUE. — ^A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 A SLIGHT ciT of terror was all that came from the old lady, and Cicely, flinging 
 her arms round her mother, said with extraordinary courage — 
 
 ^ " Be not alarmed, no man will wantonly injure us. I have heard that these 
 highwaymen some of them have chivalric notions of honour, where females are 
 concerned." 
 
 "Oh don't mention me to him whatever you do," whined Tom Brereton 
 "Only think of my £20, my papers, and perhaps my life. Have mercy upon me. 
 Confound the seat, I can't get under it. Miss Cicely — cousin Cicely, recollect 
 we are cousins you know. Oh lord, here he comes." 
 
 The side lamps of the carriage sent a halo of light around the vehicle, and by 
 its assistance the occupants of the vehicle could see a man's face, at one of the 
 windows, which he rather dexterously let down from without, and then in the 
 softest and most winning accents, as he laid his hand upon the panel of the door, 
 he said— 
 
 " Be not alarmed ladies, I beg. I am aware that there is an invalid here, and 
 will do my spiriting gently. I have the honour to request your purses and 
 watches.'* 
 • " Spare our lives,'* said the old lady. 
 
 " Lives ! Oh, madam, can you fancy that I am a ruffian ? I was misinformed, for 
 a youn^ gentleman, with whom I had the honour of a little conversation on the 
 road, miormed me that a man was of your party. You seem, hf;wpver to be"
 
 LIPE ON THE ROAD, 19 
 
 alone, but do not let that circumstance alarm you. Unprotected females are the 
 care of every gentleman." 
 
 " Will you permit us to pass, sir," said Cicely. 
 
 " Certainly, miss, will I, after the little ceremony of exacting a slight tribute, 
 since you are travelling over my territory. All monarchs must have supplies, you 
 know, however much in this case, I regret to see a shadow of alarm upon so 
 lovely a face." 
 
 Cicely drew back as this compliment was uttered, for in her eagerness to 
 endeavour to dissuade the highwayman, to allo"3r them immediately to pursue their 
 journey, she had brought one of the sweetest countenances the world ever saw, 
 within the sphere of the lamp light, so that the highwayman caught a full sight 
 of it, and he never forgot it. 
 
 " Take this," said the young girl, who had not yet spoken, as she handed a 
 small silk purse to the robber. "Take this — look at it at your leisure, but leave 
 us now." 
 
 "Who's that?" he cried. "Eh! Who spoke?" 
 
 As he uttered this hurried query, he looked more curiously into the carriage, 
 the result of which was, that he saw the back of Mr. Tom Brereton's sky-blue coat, 
 " IliJloa ! what have we here?" he added. "Any skulking, eh?" 
 
 With the butt end of a large holster pistol, he dealt the hidden youth so serious 
 a blow that he rose with a howl of pain, crying, — 
 
 " Oh Lord — oh Lord ! Oh my back ! Have mercy upon mc, good IMr. Higli- 
 wayman, I'm only an unfortunate young man who has nothing to give you. If 
 vou please, sir, to let me go this time, I'll take care the next time I meet you, to 
 have a few pounds about me.'' 
 
 " Wh}^ what poltroon is this ?" cried the robber. " Come out, sir. Come out 
 on to the common, and let me have a good look at you, that I may know a 
 coward when I see one again. This fellow, ladies, is a disgrace to your society. 
 Come out." 
 
 '* Oh dear me. Now cousin Cicely, and you aunt, and you, miss what's your 
 name, do say something for me, or I shall be murdered, I know. Oh dear — oh 
 dear. Why did I come myself instead of sending somebody else on this 
 errand ?" 
 
 " Will you come out ?" 
 
 " Don't insist upon it, I beg^ sii-, and I'll give you £10 down, upon my life I 
 will" 
 
 "Be still, my Sue!" said the highwayman to his horse, and then immediately 
 lismounting, he opened the door of the carriage, and seizing Mr. Tom Breretou 
 by the collar, dragged him at once into the road, where that valorous individual 
 fell upon his knee's in the mud, and roared for mercy." 
 
 '* Your money or your life !" 
 
 "Oh yes, of coure, sir. You will be paid. In this pocket book is my money, 
 ['11 get it out, sir, in a moment. Thank you, sir, I'm very much obHged. 
 indeed." 
 
 " There's no occasion for so much trouble," said the highwayman as he 
 twitched the pocket' book from the trembling hand of Tom. " I can take it out 
 myself at mj leisure." 
 
 " But sir — good kind, sir. There's all my papers there to prove who I am." 
 
 "Never mind, you are sure to gain by the exchange if you are taken for some 
 one else. Ladles have you any more noney than what I have received ?" 
 
 " We have but a small sum," sa^d Cicply, " and God knows how sadly we 
 want it." 
 
 " It is rather strange," replied t ae hig:~5rayman, " that ladies travelling in their 
 own carriage should only have a r>ijall si;i;, and want that sadly ; but 'if you 
 will tell me upon your honour, fJiat sichis the case, I will fake your word." 
 
 " Upon my honour it is so," suid Cicely." 
 
 " That is sufficient, I have the honour, ladles, to vrish you good night." 
 
 Cicely'? hand was upon the edge of the door, and before she could be aware
 
 2U 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OK, 
 
 of what lie was about, the highwayman had raised it audaciously to his lips, and 
 kissed it, adding in a soft and most winning tone— 
 
 " Believe that there are worse folks on the road of life, who pas6 along un- 
 suspected, than Claude Duval." , ^ ^, , ^ 
 
 " Claude Duval ! Then you arg that celebrated highwayman, who for the last 
 year has filled report with his exploits, and — and — who " 
 
 "Who never forgot that he was a gentleman in the presonce of ladies," added 
 iiie highwayman, " 1 have the honour to wish you good night. You may pursue your 
 journey in peace, but should you be stopped at Shepherd's Bush, just say that 
 Sue and her master has bidden you good night, and you will be allowed to pass 
 on unmolested." 
 
 With these words, the highwayman left the astomshed travellmg party, and. 
 springing upon the back of liis horse, was in a moment lost in the gloom that 
 was beyond the little circle of light, cast by the side lamps of the carriage. Mr. 
 Tom was still in the mud, hardly able to believe that after all he had really 
 escaped with his life, from what he considered the most terrible danger he had 
 ever been in, in all his career. i t , vj 
 
 It was the postillion who first broke the silence that now ensued, and he did 
 so by saying, in most dolorous accents— 
 
 " What shall I do ladies ? Shall I go on. It was vo fault of mine you 
 know?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried Cicely, " go on as quickly as you can. 
 
 " No, no," shouted Tom Brereton. " Stop a bit— stop ? tnt Don't go with- 
 out me, you forget that I was pulled out of the coach. Stop I say, dont be 
 going on in that sort of way. Hilloa ! I'm all over mud. Come, come, a jokes 
 
 I a joke, but this ain't one." 
 The postillion was glad to get on, and in fact before Tom had began to call out 
 in this way, for being left behind, the vehicle had already moved on a short 
 distance, so that the terrified and bewildered postillion fully imagined that the 
 shouting arose from other highwaymen, or perhaps the same, who night have 
 come back, fancying he had not got enough out of the party. The consequence 
 of this was, that instead of stopping, he started the horse« on at increased speed, 
 and after a further attempt to hold on by the back of the carriage, Tom was 
 left sprawling in the dirt. 
 
 Cicely knew very well that such a catastrophe had occurred, but she did not 
 under the circumstances think there was any very urgent necessity for taking 
 any steps to rectify it, and in a few chutes Tom was out of ear-shot. As for 
 the old lady she was in such a state of fright, that she scarcely knew what had 
 nappened, while the younger girl who had given the small purse to Claude Duval, 
 uttered not a word. 
 
 Once Cicely thought she heard her wefeping. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed. May," she said. "All is over now." 
 
 The young girLwho was thus called May, started and spoke in a timid voice— 
 
 " Oh yes, it is all over. Thank God it is all over, and he has taken nothing: 
 from any of you. Oh most of all, I am deeply thankful for that. That is indeed 
 a mercy." 
 
 " Nay, he could take but little from us. May, seemg that we have so little to 
 lose, and certainly for a highwayman he was about as polite as any one could 
 possibly with any reason expect. I am most anxious about my brother, Markham, 
 and fear that some evil has befallen him upon the road. You are weeping again, 
 May." , ,#• 
 
 "I am deeply affected." 
 
 " Nay, my dear May, you should not ailow a htt^e circumstance like this, so to 
 affect your nerves — all is over now." 
 
 " Can I be otherwise than affected," said the young girl, " when those, who* in 
 my state ef destitution gave me food and shelter, are exposed to danger. Was I 
 not a waiderer without a home in the streets of London, when you and your dear 
 kind mother met me and took me home with you." 
 
 1
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 21 
 
 "Yes, but the candid manner in which you told us you were an orphan, and 
 .your name was May Russel, convinced us that we were right in thinking well of 
 yon, and your whole conduct has confirmed the thought." 
 
 *' Yes, yes, I told you my name was May Russel, (jiod will reward you." 
 ^ " Sa^ no more. May, That is a subject upon which you know I exacted, some 
 Kme since, a promise that you would not speak, I know all that you would say, 
 and therefore exacced such a promise. Let me beg of you to keep it, but, be 
 assured, that let our condition be what it may, and our means ever so much 
 reduced, you shall share with us what we have.'* 
 
 What reply the young girl wonttf nnre made to this generous speech cannot be 
 told, for at the moment she was about to open her lips to speak, the carriage 
 stopped, and the postillion in a voice of terror, shouted, — 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! here's another of * em, I shall have them slugs in my nob yet, afore 
 we gets to Tyburn Gate. Here's another ! Here's another 1" 
 
 A horseman galloped up to tlie carriage, and in a clear voice, said, — 
 
 " Ladies have you been stopped by a highwayman to-night, for I have ?'* 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Cicely. "Yes." 
 
 " Probably then a little bead purse that I took from him, belonsrs to one of 
 you." 
 
 "Took from him !" cried the young girl, who had been caller May, "Have 
 you — you killed him ?'* 
 
 " Oh, no. We had a little encounter, and I gained the victory, afu'r which he 
 said to me, * I regret that, I took from a young lady in a travelling carriage a little 
 bead purse, with a small sum of money in it. Will you restore it for m^. as you 
 are on the road, and are likely to see them ?' Upon which I took it, and here it is. 
 There are some very bad characters high up the road by Shepherd's Bush, so if 
 you please I will ride by the side of your carriage and escort you ; I am weD 
 armed." 
 
 " Pray, sir, who are you ?" said Cicely, 
 
 " I am an officer in the army, madam, but you see me in plain clothes, as I am at 
 present what we call unattached.'* 
 
 The old lady had heard something of this colloquy and at once proposed her 
 thanks for the offer of the officer's protection to town, and after she had said that, 
 Cicely did not very well know how to say anything to the contrary, although from 
 the conduct of Claude Duval, she had no fe?||i0f a second attack from him, and 
 moreover, he had given her a pass-word against other depredators, in the efficacy 
 of which she somehow or another placed impKcit reliance, although coming from 
 so suspicious a quarter as it did. 
 
 The officer took now for granted that he had full power to consider himself the 
 escort of the ladies, for he ordered the postillion to go on at an easy pace, and 
 with his hand resting upon the window sill of the carriage, he accommodated his 
 footsteps to those in the vehicle, and so was able to converse. 
 
 " And so you have been stopped," he said, " by the celebrated — perhaps I 
 vught to say notorious Claude Duval ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Cicely. " He told us that was his name." 
 
 "And of course then you met with much politeness. He is well known to be 
 specially gallant to women — nay I have been credibly iniX)rmed in Loudon, that 
 some ladies who have been quite enchanted with the anecdotes told of the youth- 
 ful, gallant highwayman, have actually gone ^ Ealing common for the sake of 
 the chaace of being stopped by him, and sd^ achieving an interview with so 
 celebrated a personage." „^ ...^ ^^ 
 
 " Can it be possible ?" said Cicely. ' ^ 
 
 "Of my own knowledge, I camiot of course say, but I have heard as 
 much.'* ' 
 
 " 'Tis strange indeed," said Cicely. ' We on the contrary were in much 
 alarm." 
 
 " You should not travel on such roads as this, unattended by a gcntlenian, per- 
 mit m:) to say."
 
 2i GENTLEMAN JACK ; OH. 
 
 Cicely was about t© make some remark about Tom Breretou, but she upon 
 a second thought, corrected herself, and said nothing in reply to the officer, who, 
 after a pause continued, — 
 
 *' It is perhaps not quite correct of me as a stranger, to press my services upon 
 you, but,there is a frankness in your nature which will excuse me when I say, 
 that I should esteem it a liigh honour to be of service to you in London in 
 any way. Pray pardon me for saying so much, if you shoula think it in the 
 least impertinent." 
 
 *• Nothing can be impertinent that is rocftnt to be kind/* said Cicely, "but w^— 
 wc — must decline makmg any acquaintance at present, sir." 
 
 " I bow to your decision," said the officer, " and as you will be soon in safety, 
 L will leave you, merely remarking that I shall never forget this night." 
 
 " Indeed, sir I" faid Cicely, in the most innocent manner in the world, for she 
 was not sufficiently used to flattery to suspect that the stranger was only paving 
 ihe way to the utterance of some well-turned compliment to her. 
 
 '* Yes," lie continued, " I shall cherish the remembrance of this brief conversation 
 as one of the happiest moments of my life; I shall never forget tones that to my 
 perception carry the sweetest music tliat my ears ever drank in with delight." 
 
 Cicely was silent — she felt hurt at this sudden freedom of the stranger's manner, 
 md yet she did not know very well how to rebuke it, and he, probably 
 fancying from her silence that he had a sort of license to go on, added — 
 
 " We may never meet again, but be asssured,.that not the most vivid scenes of a 
 chequered existence can ever obliterate an image that now lies enshi'ined in my 
 -leart." _ 
 
 At this moment a troop of about eignt Horsemen came along the road from Lon- 
 don, and the foremost of them called out to the officer — 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but have you come tar up the road with your friends in 
 the coach ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then, sir, have you had a tussle with any highwayman ? We have come out 
 to See if we can capture the celebrated Claude Duval. Our horses are good, and so 
 is our will." 
 
 " It's a great pity you should be disappointed then, gentlemen, of a little sport. 
 — Ladies, I have the honour of bidding you good night. — Gentlemen, I 
 ^m Claude Duval, and this is my horse Sue. Have you a mind for a 
 Anter to Wormwood Scrubs ? !K!so, come on, and the devil take the hind- 
 most !" 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TEE PACE, AND WONDERFUL ESCAPE OP CLAUDE DUVAL. 
 
 For a few moments, as might well be supposed, the horsemen who had 
 30 frankly announced their intention of capturing the highwayman, if they 
 could, were so perfectly astounded at the cool assurance of the object of their at- 
 tack, that he had got a considerable start before they could among them settle the 
 question of pursuit or no pursuit. 
 
 One of the party, however, who was apt to be more prompt in his pro- 
 ceedings than the ethers, cried in a loud voice as he spurred his horse — 
 
 " Forward ! ^ Do you want to be the laughing stock of all London ?" 
 
 In most critical circumstances there requires but some one to give an 
 impulse, and in this case, as it does in almost all cases, it fully succeedea, for 
 one and all dashefi. after him who had spoken, at the greatest speed their steeda 
 o®uld compass.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 23 
 
 But if the horsemen were astonished at finding the gentlemanly looking man, 
 wnoss occupation appeared to be that of escorting some ladies into town, turn out 
 to be the celebrated Claude Duval, how much greater was the bewilderment and 
 surprise of Cicely Brereton and her mother ? They were recalled, however to a 
 consciousness of the necessity of immediately proceeding, by the violent weeping 
 of May, who sobbed with such a convulsive energy that Cicely could not 
 imagine how the occasion should be deemed sufficient to call forth such a gush 
 of feeling, for, after all, singular as the adventure was. Cicely could find nothing 
 affecting in it, 
 
 " Aiy dear May," she said, "you have commonly so bold and firm a demeanour 
 that I am surprised and grieved to find you thus afiiicted." 
 
 " Then do not speak to me," said the young girl " Do not speak to 
 me just now. Miss Cicely, at another time perhaps 1 can tell you, but I implore 
 you to ask me nothing." 
 
 This appeal uttered in almost frantic accents, was more puzzling still, 
 and it was something of a relief when the postillion cried out — 
 
 " Shall I drive on ? I thought it was him, for I seed a bit of a red coat peeping 
 out from the top cloak he had on. Oh, I thought it was him, all the while, 
 but I dare n't say nothing or he'd pretty soon have settled me. Shall I go on 
 now?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Cicely, " and as quickly as you can." 
 
 The carriage rattled onwards, but, as it will be far more interesting for 
 us to follow our acquaintance Claude Duval down the western road, we 
 Tv'ill leave the ladies Brereton to take their way _ unmolested into London, 
 and once more place ourselves upon the track of the highwayman. 
 
 Although Claude, with his usual daring recklessness had, as we have seen, 
 invited a pursuit, he yet seemed to be doubtful if the challenge would, under the 
 circumstances be accepted by the horsemen, and as he was by no means inclined 
 to be so absurd as to take a long gallop with no object, he reined in his horse, 
 after going half a mile, and paused to listen. § 
 
 All was still around him. It seemed as if at that moment the very genius of 
 silence had taken up its abode upon that spot of earth, and this solemn repose of 
 nature would have had an effect upon the warm and not unsuperstitious mind of 
 Duval, had he not been much more intensely occupied by listening for any sound 
 indicative of pursuit. ^ 
 
 And soon it came. He heard the heavy tread of horses' hoofs in full gallop. 
 
 '* Ah, my Sue !" he said, patting the neck of the beautiful animal he rode. 
 "We shall be put upon our mettle. You must show them what blood can do with 
 a light weight ; and we must have no incumbrances, my lass." 
 
 As he spoke, he undid a clasp which held the cloak around his neck, that had so 
 effectually disguised him from the recognition of the ladies in the carriage, and 
 slung the garment over the front of his saddle. He then shifted his hat round 
 about, for ne had changed it likewise for disguise, the hind part before, and then, 
 with a low chirping whistle he urged the horse forward, and off it went like the 
 wind. 
 
 "My darling Sue!" he muttered, "we could beat them on a fifty milo 
 chase, but why should we trouble ourselves so to do. We will bid them 
 good-bye i,hortly, and if we can send them on a wild goose canter, we will." 
 
 Again he held his head aside to listen, and his practised ear told him how much 
 he gained upon his pursuers, and how easy a thing it would be to distance them 
 completely, and then take a route across the country, instead of by the high road, 
 and so baffle them all — but as these thoughts passed rapidly through his mind, 
 he heard a horse approaching from the other direction at a sharp canter, which 
 would soon bring its rider face to face with him. This was not exactly what he 
 wished, and yet it did not follow that the approaching horseman would take any 
 notice of him, so he rode on, but at less speed, for he did not wish to seem to b^ 
 a fugitive.
 
 24 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "Hold !^ cried the horseman, as he came nearly up to Duval. "Hold, vnxo' 
 
 v\r: vou arc, and answerme a question/* 
 
 " What question ?" said Duval, reining in Sue so suddenly, that she Feared, and 
 would have thrown a less practised rider. 
 
 " Is jour horse fresh ?'' 
 
 "As a daisy in April." -' ^ • ^ 
 
 " Tlicn you must exchange mih. me, I'm a king's messenger, and my horse is 
 tired ; I can convince you I am what' I say I am by showing you the badge of mv 
 office, a silver hound. Come, dismount at once, or I must enforce my demand. 
 If vou attempt to escape, I shall send a pistol shot after you.'* 
 
 The king's messenger, for such he really was, spoke in such a tone of decided 
 and firm authority, that would have awed many a man into compliance with his 
 wishes, especially as it was well known that ample remuneration was always given 
 in such cases, but if ever a bold man met hi? match, the messenger had when he 
 encountered Claude Duval. 
 
 " Its very kind of you," said Claude, as the messenger flung himself off his 
 horse, and came towards him with the bridle in his hand, " to tell me who you 
 ore, and I cannot think of being otherwise than equally candid.** 
 
 "Pho ! pho! dismount, sir." 
 
 " I am, Claude Duval, the highwayman.** , 
 
 "The devil!" * ' 
 
 " No, only one of his messengers. Good night." 
 
 As he uttered these words, Claude twitched the bridle of the messenger s norse 
 •out of his hand, and giving the rein to Sue, he was off with the other steed dash- 
 ing on by his side, at the full stretch of the bridle which he held it by. This 
 transaction had occupied far less space in the enacting than in the telling, and the 
 galled and bewiidered messenger found himself in the middle of the road, nearly 
 live miles from London, and without a horse at all, in addition to which his own 
 horse when it plunged off in obedience to the impulse given it by Claude Duval's, 
 had saluted its former master with a kick, which, although not very serious, made 
 him glad to sit down on the side of the road, feeling a little sick and uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 In another moment the troop of horsemen in pursuit of Duval, swept past hia 
 at full speed, paying no attention to the cry he raised for aid. 
 
 On dashed Claude, and the horse without a rider, being relieved from its load, 
 kept up the speed well which Sue enforced ; but yet amused, as he was by tliis 
 little extra adventure, Claude began to think he had better gee rid of his Captured 
 steed, and he was upon the point of casting the bridle from him, when '-te heard a 
 voice cry, — 
 
 " Murder ! Murder ! Will no Christian help me. Oh murder ! murder ! Fm 
 all alone, I've been robbed by a highwayman. Uy name's T'^ui Brereton—mur- 
 der! Help! Help!" -t ^ ^ -> 
 
 This was the very spot at whirti he, Duval* md firs<- btopped the carriage, and 
 he at once knew that the person wno caued so &'/iergeticaUy for assistance, was 
 the youn^ man whom he dragged out of i-^-J. vehicle by the collar. His fertile 
 imagination and love of hr^^ -^ t^ce suggested to him a plan of baffling his 
 pursuers without fatiguing Sue, which he. immediately resolved to put into 
 practice. 
 
 "Oh, sir," he ciied; "have you been robbed by a highwayman?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. Oh, dear ; yes, and ill-treated, too." 
 
 " WeU, I can tell you tnat there is on this road to-night, a regular gang of 
 highwaymen, who are determined to rob and murder everybody they meet. This 
 is my master's horse 1 am leading, mount it, and gallop, on keeping the high' 
 road, mind, till yon meet a party of dragoons who are coming from Brentford, and 
 then you will be safe, but if you or J remain longer here our throats will be 
 cut." 
 
 *' Oh, indeed, you don't say so." ' ^ ^ 
 
 it_ ** Indeed I do though. Come, quic£,*>!F*unt. 1*11 help you. Hold on any waj^
 
 1 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OK, LIFE ON THE ROAD, 25 
 
 by his ears and his mane, for if you fall off you are lost. There, takclliis cloak 
 round you, ril cla<?n it — no thanks — all's right, off with you. Don't leave the 
 high road. \jo :d Uoil, I hear them coming ! Don't say a word, of course we 
 ought aU to help each other at a pinch.'* 
 
 "Oh, dear — oh, dear. I can't ride." 
 
 " Hold on anyhow, I tell you, and fancy all the while you feel a knife sawing 
 away at your throat." 
 
 " Gracious goodness. Murder !'* 
 
 Claude Duval gave the horse a slashing blow with a riding whip, and off it went, 
 nearly maddened by pain and excitement, carrying Tom Brereton at a most re- 
 spectable pace, while the cloak that was clasped round his neck floated behind 
 him like seme victorious banner, 
 
 " Now, my Sue," said Duval, and springing into the saddle again, he turned the 
 creature's head towards a hedge by the road side, which Sue, fully understanding 
 whut was required now of her, cleared beautifully, alighting softly in a meadow on 
 the opposite side, when Claude again immediately dismounted. 
 
 " Down, girl, down," he said, and the horse crouched to its knees, and then lay 
 upon its side as (juiet as possible, while Claude Grouched likewise to the ground, 
 for there was behind them a patch of ligM coloured sky against which he and the 
 thorse might perchance, have been seen. It was well that not a moment had been 
 lost, for scarcely had these precautions for concealment been made when the pur- 
 suing party came up and actually paused a moment on that spot. 
 
 " He has taken to the meadows, I think," said one. 
 
 " No, no," shouted he who was heading the pursuit. " I saw his cloak flutter- 
 ing behind him on the brow of the hill there, just as you get into Acton, by Berry- 
 mead Priory. Come on. Come, we shall have him yet. Come on.** 
 
 Away they went again, and were soon lost to sound as well as to sight. 
 
 "So you think yoii will have him, do you," laughed Claude Duval. "No, no. 
 My time has not come yet. Well, well, I have not had much luck to-night, so I 
 will to London, and look over this pocket of that cowardly fellow, who, I suppose, 
 will not stop until his horse falls with him. I can't yet get that girl Cice^ out 
 ■of my head. How came May with them ?'* 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 THB "old moon'* in GATB STEEET.— -A CHANCE SHOT.— A VISITOR TO CLAUDE. 
 
 In Gate-street, Lincoln's-inn-fields, there was a public-house called the " Old 
 Moon." It has been long swept away, and nothing even to indicate the site of it 
 now remains. At the period of our story, however, it was in a flourishing condi- 
 tion, and was kept by a man whom no one ever knew by any other name than that 
 of Anthony. He was a tall, lank, straight-liaired, raethodistical looking fellow, 
 was Anthony, and he had a way of turning up his eyes, and uttering pious ejacu- 
 lations, as if he were the most religious person in the whole neighbourhood ; and 
 truly, if attending a meeting-bouse in little Queens-street, and being about as 
 hypocritical a rascal as ever stepped, gave him any claims to that character, he 
 certainly fulfilled it. 
 
 At two o'clock on the morning preceding the night, some of the particulars of 
 which we have brought before the reader, Anthony sat dozing in his bar. , To be 
 sure, his house was sliut to all appearances, but at its back there was a long, low 
 roofed room, to which there was an entrance by the flap of a cellar down a stable 
 vard, and there Anthony had still some customers, although the hour was rather a 
 late, or rather we oi ght perhaps to sa}. an early one. 
 
 rvo. 4.
 
 26 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 These customers of Anthony's were of a peculiar description, for at one end of 
 the long room, sal a man behmd a kind of counter, and almost evei^body who 
 came into the room, went up to him, and olaced some article before him, at which 
 he invariably shook his head in disapproval a,nd contempt, and then handed out 
 some money, often accompanied by a declciration to the effect that he was ruining 
 himself by degrees — always by degrees, 
 
 Tlie articles so bought, werp then placed in a basket projecting from the wall 
 behind him, and whenever he had a small lot collected, ne gave some sort of a 
 signal, and the basket disappeared, bemg connected with a turnabout, similar to 
 what may be seen in many convent gates on the Continent, after which it was sent 
 back again empty by the same means. 
 
 At the other entrance to the room, two men and two dogs kept watch arid 
 ward, and no one was permitted to enter who was unknown to one ci' the 
 other of the men, so that the place was pretty well guarded from intrusic'a. 
 
 " I shall be ruined by degrees," said the man at the counter ; *' what do you 
 mean by this P" 
 
 The question was addressed to a mere lad, who had laid before him a bunch of 
 gold seals attached to a piece of watch chain, 
 
 " I don't know," laughed the lad. " I made, a grab at a ticker, and that was a]l 
 I got, besides a hue and cry through the Dials." 
 
 "It's an insult — I shall be ruined — ^by degrees. There's five shillings for you, 
 be off. Ah, PoU is that you ? bless your pretty eyes, if 1 were not rumed now— » 
 by degrees, jrou should have a glass of the best wine in Anthony's cellar.'* 
 
 " Yes," said a young girl, attired in flaunting apparel, " by degrees I suppose. 
 Where's Claude to-night?" 
 
 " Ah, my dear, that's what I have been asking, but business has fallen off dread- 
 fully. We have very few gentlemen of the road come here now. Why I have 
 known the time when Sixteen-string Jack would bring me in twelve or four- 
 i teen watches of a night, ^nd a half pint measure full of rings, brooches, and shoe- 
 buckles, and now—'* 
 
 " He is in Newgate, where we shall all go in time." 
 
 ** Ahem ! by degrees. He is in Newgate.'* 
 
 ** Yes, and he will go to Tyburn to-morrow." 
 
 " By degrees, I suppose, he will. Upon my life it's a pity — a great pity, when 
 you come to think of it — by degrees, don't you think it is. Poll ?" 
 
 " Don't bother ! I want to see Claude. Don't you know he promised Jack 
 that he would meet him on his road to Tyburn, and shake hands with him, ia 
 spite of all the officers.'* 
 
 " Whv a — ^yes — by degrees." 
 
 " Weil, I've seen Jack, and he tells me that there will be such an attempt to 
 take Claude if he shews himself to-morrow, that he had better not do so. Jack 
 says, he'll excuse him, and begs me to ask him in the name of their old friendship 
 not to try it. I thought to have found him here. I'll go and speak to Anthony, 
 perhaps he knows where he is. They say that six officers to-morrow are to share 
 £200 among them if they take Claude." 
 
 The girl seemed well acquainted with the place, for after this brief dialogue with 
 the man at the counter, she opened a door at one corner of the room, which dis- 
 , closed a small flight of dark stairs ; but while she is seeking Anthony, we will at- 
 tend to something of rather an interesting nature which is going on just outside 
 the entrance to the stable-yard from whence opened the cellar entrance of the Old 
 Moon. 
 
 Two men were standing in the deep shadow of a small doorway opem'ng into one 
 of the stables which happened to be untenanted, and they were conversing in 
 whispwsj^ 
 
 " It was all very well,'* said one of them, "to draw lots in the governor's house 
 at Newgate, as to which six of the lot of us should take Claude Duval to-morrow, 
 if he ventures upon coming to shake hands with Sixteen-string Jack, and share
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 27 
 
 'he £200 among them, but as we were not lucky enough to belong to the lot, it 
 aint so pleasant to see one's £30 a piece go by us, is it now ?'* 
 
 *' Sartinly not, but what a do it will be if we grabs him to-night, wont it ?'* 
 
 " Rather, I should say. Do you think the girl Lucy's information is to be de- 
 pended on, that he gets here at half past two or so, and sleeps till next even- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Yes, I do. Claude has neglected her, and a spiteful woman, you know, will 
 do anything." 
 
 " Very good, now you know how we are to do. If he comes, I am to get be- 
 hind him and fling my arms round him, while you, under threat of blowing his 
 brains out, pop on the darbies." 
 
 "All's right. I don't see the trouble of taking him. He's only one alter all. 
 It's people giving him an advantage by being afraid, that does the business." 
 
 " Yes, that's it. Well, you remain where you are, and I'll get on the other side 
 of the gateway. Don't you move till you see my arms round him, and now as 
 we are in a queer neiglibourhood, the less we say the better." 
 
 While this conversation was taking place, a figure, muffled up very much 
 about the face, came at a rapid pace down Queen-street, and just as it was 
 about to cross towards Gate-street, a^ girl rushed out of a doorway and flung herself 
 
 *i I 1 f ' ^ T p p i" 
 
 « Claude, Claude !" she said. "Is it you, Claude ?" 
 
 " Lucy, my giil !" said Claude Duval, for it was indeed he. " What aUs 
 you ?" 
 
 " Kill me — oh, kill me, Claude, you ought to kill me.'* 
 
 " 1 kill you, Lucy ? Why, are you dreaming, or have you taken leave of 
 your senses ?" 
 
 " I don't know, Claude, but you — you neglected me, and I thought you no longer 
 loved me — I — I have betrayed you ! Now kill me, Claude, and I shall die happy, 
 but don't go to the Old Moon to-night." 
 
 "This from you, Lucy ! from ray own girl whom I have always loved. If I have 
 not come near you much of late, it was only owing to poor Jack's troubles, I was 
 getting money and friends tor him, and yet it appears he suffers to-morro'.v ; and 
 you want me to swing at Tyburn, too, Lucy ?" 
 
 " No, no. Oh, God ! Claude, unkind words from you are sharper than knives. 
 Oh, no — no — no. Cut my heart out of my bosom, Claude, and you will see then 
 how I love you !" 
 
 " I never doubted it until to-night, Lucy. What have you done that should 
 prevent me going to-night to the Old Moon ? Come into this deep doorway and 
 tell me " 
 
 " In a flt of madness, Claude — dear Claude, in a moment of despair, and jealousy, 
 and rage, 1 told an officer named Morgan, that you came to the Old Moon about 
 two, dear Claude. Kill me now, and I will not blame you, Claude — Claude, you 
 cannot forgive me." 
 
 " Easily, my girl, and the more easily because T know that this will be a lesson 
 
 you, and you will never listen to the voice of passion and jealousy again. Come, 
 
 come, don't cry, Lucy ; you have made amends, you see, by warning me in time, so 
 
 no harm's done. Forget it, my girl — ^I know this Morgan you mention. He is 
 
 tolerably harmless," 
 
 *' Oh, Claude you are too good — generous to me. But where will you go to 
 now r" 
 
 " Now ? Why to the Old Moon, to be sure." 
 
 " No— no — oh no. — ^Who knows what danger tnere may be. You must not— 
 .shall not.' 
 
 " Nay, Lucy, your fears run away with you, I do not encounter more ^auger 
 by going to the Old Moon, than I encounter almost every day of my life ; and to 
 tell the truth, I am a Httle curious to know how Morgan will manage this affair ; 
 I will tell you Lucy, in what my urincipal safety consists. — It is in the cupidity of 
 the officers." ^ r j 
 
 W
 
 28 _ GENTLEMAN JACK; OR,; _^ 
 
 7" How Claude ?"~^ 
 
 *' They won't combine to take me, because there would be such a sharing of the 
 reward, that each man's portion would not pay him for the danger ; so be 
 under no alarm. Go, home, and 'believe your Claude to be as true as ever, to 
 you.' 
 
 "Then you really have seen another that you love better than your poor Lucv, 
 Claude?" J i' jx 
 
 " Seen another ? Whsre are there such eyes to see ?'* 
 
 The girl smiled, clung gently to his arm. 
 
 "Ah, Claude, when I am with yon, i forget everything and am happy. It is^^ 
 when I am alone, that sad and gloomy thoughts of what I once was, rise np like 
 spectres to drive me nearly mad." 
 
 " You should laugh them away." 
 
 "I cannot Claude, I cannot. They never come to me when you are with me; 
 1 seem then as if I were safe against anything in the world, and so I am. Oh, 
 Claude, you will not go to the Old Moon,, to-night ?'* 
 
 " I must Lucy. Go home, and be quite sure that all will be right. Perhaps I 
 will come to you before the morning yet, for I have something to do for Jack, 
 to-morrow, and have not quite settled in my mind, how tp do it ; so I think you 
 may fairly expect me, within a few hours.' 
 
 " In that hope, Claude, I shall live." 
 
 She affected to leave him, but her fear for his safety wonicf not permit her; and 
 she followed him at a short distance, so that he was not aware of her presence, in 
 the darkness of the ill lighted street, as he now walked rapidly on, towards the 
 Old Moon; being however, quite prepared for any sudden attack that might be 
 made upon him, oy Morgan the officer 
 
 Of course it was not an attempt upon his life, he had to fear, but his liberty, 
 and that consideration it was doubtless, that gave him a kind of fearlessness, which 
 if his destruction had been aimed at, he could not possibly have possessed, for 
 then he would not have known a moment when a pistol shot might put an end to 
 his career. As it was, however, he passed on with an appearance of composure, 
 to the gateway leading to the stables, where his two enemies were posted. 
 
 He wisely kept in the middle of the entry, and he had passed on some few 
 steps, when according to his plan, which was no bad one, Morgan dashed out, 
 and clasped him from behind, round the body, Eaissing the arms, however, which it 
 had been his great object to secure. 
 
 " Now Bill," he cned, " now for the darbies ! We have him. It's a hundred 
 pounds a-piece." 
 
 " Perhaps a small part of an ounce will do for one of Ti5u," said Claude, as 
 snatching a pistol from his belt, he fired it at the open doorway in front of him, 
 where he haa just seen the glance of the other officer's eyes, as he was preparing to 
 spring out. 
 
 A shriek mingled itself with the report of the pistol, and at the same moment,. 
 by a dexterous twist of one of his legs, Claude flung the officer who had hold of 
 hun on his back ; but he would not loose his hold, and Claude went with him, but 
 uppermost of course, so that while tlic officer got a blow upon the back of his 
 head on the curb stones, he, Claude, was quite uninjured, and finding that his op- 
 ponent was knocked insensible, he rose in a moment. 
 
 " So, so," he said. " That was the plan, was it ? Not a bad one 
 either. Master Morgan, it only wants that one condition cf success to be 
 entitled to great praise. — Ha ! who comes here ! Stand, or you die !" 
 
 " 'Tis I, Claude," said Lucy, " I could not leave you." 
 
 " Eh P what's all this ?" said old Anthony, the publican, who had been 
 roused by the report of the pistol, and guessed that some of his customers were 
 in trouble. " The Lord look down upon us, amen. What's the row. Eh P my 
 rummy one ?" 
 
 " Nothing particular," said Claude. 
 
 ■ Eh ? What ? Why it's you, Duvai> Let us pray — X mean come in, my 
 
 «
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 29 
 
 tulip. Have the grabs been at you ? Come along, my daffy-down-dilly, com« 
 alon<?." 
 
 •* No !" said Claude, " I only want to know if you have any news for me, 
 Anthony ?" 
 
 ** Yes, I have : here's Poll has just come from Sixteen-string Jack, and he says 
 you had better leave him alone to-morrow, for the Philistines will be mighty, and 
 are determined, the Lord willing, to have you." 
 
 "Oh, is that all?" 
 
 " Yes, and enough too. But who fired the shot I heard just now ?'* 
 
 " No matter about that. When I am gone, bring out a lantern, and look 
 about you ; but tell Poll to say to Jack, when she sees him in the moruing, that 
 I'll shake hands with him, according to my promise, come what may of it. J 
 have fsaid it, and Claude Duval never broke his word yet." ^ 
 
 "Amen!" said Anthony, " I shall go into prayers ; good night Claude, ana 
 luck go with you, for you are as fine a fellow as ever stepped, only I never could 
 awaken you to a proper sense of religion. I'll come out with a lantern, and 
 look about, as you say ; I suppose somebody is in trouble." 
 
 " Not at all," said Claude, " somebody's troubles are over probably. Good 
 night. Now Lucy if you will give me house room until the morning, I shall be 
 obliged to you, my girl, and you see as I told you the danger has recoiled upon 
 the heads of those who got it up for me. It was a chance shot, and no malice 
 in it, so whoever has got it ought to blame himself, not me." 
 
 " I was so terrified, Claude." 
 
 " You always are. You ain't fit for a highwaymen's lass, Lucy." 
 
 " Don't say that, Claude, for you know I love you, and when you are taken 
 from me, if ever you should be, 1 will not live long after you ; but we will not 
 talk in this way. You must be tired, come, come Claude, and I will get you -some 
 supper. Oh, how long it is since you have visited me, my brave Claude. I 
 am happy now." 
 
 Claude Duval laughed as Lucy ran on talking as slie w. Meed by his side ; and 
 he from a little pouch that he had, carefuUy reloaded the sit "U pistol he had dis- 
 charged at the officer, for it was a favourite weapon, inasL-tich, as.it had not 
 once missed fire since he had it, and certainly npon this occadon, he owed his 
 liberty and life to it. 
 
 " I don't like these adventures, Lucy,'^ he said. " But if thry will interfere witn. 
 me roughly, they must take the consequences." 
 
 "Yes Claude, 'yes. But what did I hear about your shaking hands with 
 Sixteen-string Jack to-morrow. Is he not going to Tyburn ?'' 
 
 " He is. When I was friendless and uomeless. Jack was kind to me, and I 
 then said in answer to a remark of his that some day iie should swing at Tyburn, 
 that let that day, which I hoped would be far distant, come when it would, I 
 would meet him on the road there, and clasp his hand in mine, and call him my 
 friend." 
 
 "But the danger, Claude." 
 
 " If it it were certain death, I'd do it." 
 
 " Claude, Claude !" 
 
 " My Lucy, you need not try to dissuade me from tliis, my word has been passed, 
 and I will keep it. Even you, with all your love, would despise me, if because 
 there was danger to be apprehended, I shrunk from keeping a solemn promise. 
 It must, and it shall be done," 
 
 " But even Jack himself sent word for you not to do it." 
 
 " That makes no difference. Let me beg of you to say no more about it, Lucy. 
 We are good friends now, my girl, and- 1 would fain remain so. The danger is 
 B«ot so great as you think. I will, of course, take all the precautions I can, and 
 in a life like mine, daring has such a charm about it that it saves me from a 
 thousand little risks which would swarm about me, if once they thouglit } 
 feared," 
 
 i ^
 
 80 GENTLEMAN JACK; OE, 
 
 CPUPTER. VII. 
 
 CLAUDE DUXAL FULFILS HIS PJIOMISE. — SIXTEEN-STBING JACK's BOUTE TO 
 
 TYliUEN- 
 
 A DiiizzLY misty raiu fell upon London, and wrapped up the whole cify as it 
 were in a dense mantle of damp io^, on the morning after the occureuees we 
 have just related. Ey day break the only difference from the nij]:ht was, that 
 the wet mist which had before looked black, had a dingy white aspect, 
 through which the few only passengers that were abroad, looked like spectres, 
 being much magnified by the vapour. 
 
 Occasionally too, from amidst the halo cast around him by his breath, a horse 
 might be seen snorting and struggling through the misty streets, while the watch- 
 men, with their heads bound round by handkerchiefs, and ensconced in their 
 blankets like great coats, looktd out from their boxes, after their night's repose 
 with lack-lustre eyes. 
 
 The rain streamed down the front of Newgate, in long black streaks, taking 
 the channels of old streams, and falling with a dull pattering _ sound upon the 
 pavement beneath ; a sound which amid the stillness of the night, had reached 
 the ears of a man, who was to be hanged at Tyburn, at twelve the next 
 day. 
 
 That man was Sixteen-string Jack. 
 
 He had passed rather a wakeful night, but as he washed his face the next 
 morning, he whistled an air in a clear and loud key, while he looked at the 
 turnkey, who had brought him the means wherewithal to perform his ab- 
 lutions. 
 
 " How do you feel. Jack, this morning," said the turnkey. 
 
 *' With my hands I suppose, as I have always done," replied Jack. 
 
 " There's a fellow," said the turnkey, casing to another who was outside the 
 condemned cell. Lor 1 bless you, he'll die gams. He's just made a joke, now, 
 he has." 
 
 " And why not ?" said Jack, " Life's a joke." 
 
 "But is hanging a joke, Jack ?" 
 
 " Yes, if y.ou have the pluck to laugh at it, certainly." 
 
 "Ain't he a rum un ?" said the turnkey, in evident intense admiration of 
 Jack's mode of carrying off his certainly rather ticklest position. " We have 
 had a few rum un's here Jack, but you is the rummestest. Howsomedever here's 
 the chaplain. Jack.'* 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 "Unhappy man," said the chaplain, with a pious snufl3[e, "I hope you haye 
 endeavoured to make your peace hereafter ?" 
 
 "All's risht," said Jack. 
 
 " I trust^that you look back with horror on your past life ?" 
 
 "Horror !" cned Jack. " Oh, dear no." 
 
 There's bo Ufe like a life on tte road, 
 
 Hurrah! 
 
 There's no life like a hfe on the road. 
 
 You stick to y-Tir trade, sir, and let me stick to mine. I am a highwayman ! 
 well I know the penalty of beiu^ caught and committed, and it has come to that 
 at last. Tyburn tree is waiting for me, but I don't see why I should go out of 
 the world snivelling ; its enough to come into it in such a sort of way, when you 
 can't help it. No, sir, I dare say yon mean well, but I flatter mvself though I am 
 5oing to, be scragged, I aint much worse than many of my neighbours." 
 " He's a rum un, aint he, sir ?" said the turnkey.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 31 
 
 " Silence !" cried the reverend ordinary. " How dare you use the low words 
 *rum un* to me, I shall have you dischai-ged.'* 
 
 " Do, sir,'* said Jack. " It will be a christian like act, that will — mind you 
 don't forf^et it, and when you are on your last legs, and giving a kick for another 
 breath, may you feel as well as I do now, for I never yet did a wanton act of 
 cruelty, and I never took a poor man's bread away from him for nothing." 
 
 "I perceive," said the chaplain, " that you are obdurate, I tremble to think 
 what will be your fate in the world to come, you hardened sinne^." 
 
 " Don't be absurd," said Jack. " But its always the way with you. I never met 
 with anybody who pretended to much religion, who had any temper or charity. 
 What's o'clock?" 
 
 " Nearly nine," said the turnkey. " Would you lUce anything. Jack.'* 
 
 " Yes,. 1 should. Get us a lot of stewed oysters.' They always make m.e ill in 
 a few hours after taking them, but I shall be dancing on nothing at twelve 
 o'clock, and then it won't matter, and I say — has Poll been again this morning ? 
 I want to see her." 
 
 " No, Jack, she hasn't been. I knows what you wants to see her for. Its to 
 ask her if she has told Claude Duval not to try to shake hands with you in the 
 cart. You may depend she has ferretted him out, and he's not so mad as to try 
 it on, surely, when he knows that there's £200 issued out agia him.'* 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 " I'm afraid," he said, " I'm very much afraid he'll try it. Claude don't look 
 at danger before Iiand, and when it comes he stares it out of countenance. If 
 there were £2000 against his name he would not mind. He gave his hand to 
 me upon the promise a year ago, and he'll Keep his word. Its the only tiling 
 that gives me an uncomfortable feci to-day. They wiU nab poor Claude as safe 
 as possible ; I'm afraid of that, and nothing else.'* ' " 
 
 " Perhaps he won't try it on, after all. Jack." 
 
 " I'm afraid he will. But, however, as the old song says, * What's the use o* 
 grieving.' I will hope for the best, if I think the worst.*^ I suppose we shall 
 start soon — what noise is that ?" 
 
 "The cart. Jack, that's all. There's a thousand people outside Newgate now, 
 and they are pouring in by all the thoroughfares as fast as nothing. I don't think 
 the parson will say much more to you, he has gone off in a huff, Jack." 
 
 "Let him go — all's right. I wish Poll would come. Where can she be ? I 
 suppose they will let her past the gate. It's very odd she aiut here, and nine 
 o'clock, too — Who's that coming ?" 
 
 "Mr. Needles the sheriff. Jack." 
 
 Mr. Needles was the most handily shaped man that the imagination could pic- 
 ture, for being just about as broad as he was long, he might have been set up in 
 any way without detriment to his appearance, always providing that his sheriff's 
 gown and chain ^ were disposed accordingly. He was very near sighted too, so 
 that when he wished to see anybody, he had to come within an inch of their 
 nose. Mr. Needles was a kind hearted man, and whenever there was au execu- 
 tion, his feelings used to put him into such a state of perspiration that he shone 
 all over is face and round, bald head, like a double dip in July. It was his duty 
 now to let the prisoner know that he would soon have to bid the world adieu. 
 
 "Ahem!" he said. "Mr. a — a — really, I don't know jour right name — ^Mr. 
 a— a— a." 
 
 " Call roe Jack, sir, call me Jack. You have done several kind things since I 
 have been here, and I thank you with all my heart." 
 
 " Oh, don't mention that," said Mr. Needles getting more shiny than before. 
 " Dear me, I often wish I was not a sheriff, but my time will soon be out^ that's 
 one comfort. Well, Jack, since that's what I'm to call you, I have only to say 
 that we start at ten you know from here. Bless me, what's that ?" 
 
 " Something among the crowd outside, sir," said an official. "Hillio! Davis, 
 what's all that shouting for outside ?'*
 
 3S GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Only a mad bull, sir, among the people," said Davis. 
 '• Poll not come," said Jack. '[ Poll not come !" 
 
 " You won't see her thi^n^rning. Jack," said the turnkey. "A man on a 
 hellephant, and in armoHTOoildn't ^et through such a crowd as there is now out- 
 side of Newgate, so it's quite out of the question." 
 
 " Well," said Jack, with a sigh. " I suppose it can't be helped. Mr. Needles, 
 it won't be fair at all to interfere with Claude Duval to-day, when, if he comes at 
 all to the cart side, it will only be to make an old friend's heart lighter by shaking 
 hands with him, as he goes to death. It will be a dastardly thmg to interfere 
 -with him then, sir." 
 
 " Dear me," said the little fat sheriff, "you know I have no more to do with 
 that, than the man in the moon, Jack, I can't help it. It's uncommonly absurd 
 ! of him to come, if he don't want to be caught." 
 
 I " It is, but Claude is the man to do it for all that, and glory in it. Fm sorry 
 ; Poll can't get to tell me if she took him my message. 'Ah 1" 
 I The great bell of Newgate had be"an to toll. I'he sheriff took out an amazing 
 • handkerchief, and wiped his head and face, which process took some of the shine 
 I -off it for a time, and then he bustled out of the cell just as a turnkey ran in 
 I with some stew?d oysters to Jack, according to the request he had made for 'Aat 
 i Bi-ticle. 
 
 I It was not any personal fear ?C his approaching death &t Tyburn, that made 
 ' Jack turn aside, and shake his head at thesiewed oysters ; but it was his dread, 
 lest Claude Duval should be taken in his chivalrous attempt to shake hands with 
 i him, that unmanned him. 
 
 i " No, no;" he said, " I thank you all the same ; it was kind of you, and while I 
 live I am not likely to forget it. — Good bye, old fellow. You, are among the few 
 ; -that I would have liked to stay among yet awhile, but as it can't be, why it can't 
 ! and there's an end of it. I'm wanted, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, Jack. They are waiting to knock your irons off." 
 "Very good, I'm ready." 
 
 A sort of procession escorted Jack to the lobby, where the process of knocking 
 off his irons was adroitly performed, and then wlule a strange murmur arose from 
 the crowd, partly of sympathy, and partly of excitement, the condemned man was 
 placed in the cart that was ready to convey him to the place of execution. 
 
 Jack was bare-headed, and his face was pale, while his eyes roved among that 
 -sea of faces, as if with intense anxiety, locking for some one whom he wislied to 
 recogni-se. The chaplain got into the cart, and shook his head, in a manner 
 which he intended should be impressive, and strike the crowd with a solemn awe, 
 but the only effect it had, was to elicit an inquiry from one of the nearest spec- 
 Hiators if he shook his head because he thought there was anything in it. 
 
 This produced a laugh, but that soon passed off as the pale anxious countenance 
 t)f Sixteen-string Jack, and his roving eyes met their gaze. 
 
 Just as the c^ was about to start, and at least a couple of dozen of persons, 
 who had pressed forward eagerly to offer drink or to shake hands with the 
 culprit, had been thrusb back by the officers, the Governor of Newgate stepped 
 up to the cart with an open letter in his hand, and leaning forward to Jack, he 
 said — 
 
 " A quaker gentleman, of the name of Luke Houlditch, living at Tottenham, and 
 who was robbed on the highway by some one near Pinchley, about three months 
 ago has written to say that if you will say if it was you or not, probably it wiL 
 ward off suspicion from another person who is somewhat suspected. Have you any 
 objection P" 
 
 " Surely not at such a time as this," said the chaplain. 
 
 " None in the least," said Jack, " Can't he come and identify me, I can hardly 
 take upon myself, with any certainty, to say yes or no." 
 
 " He says he thinks he should know you, but that he dreads a crowd, 
 however he will make an endeavour to see you as you proceed up Oxford-street, 
 irhen he hopes jou will satisfy him, and I see no harm in your doing so."
 
 CLAUDE DUVAL THROWING THE SPY THROUGH THE WINDOW. 
 
 " Beit SO," said Jack, " let him come and look at me if bs likes. I care for 
 no man's scrutiny now." The governor gave orders that no one should oppose the 
 approach of Mr. Houlditch, he drew back, and the cart started. 
 
 As the mournful cavalcade moved slowly down Oxford street, a m.i'u dressed in 
 the garb of a qnaker wa? seen silting on the bad: of a black horse. Tiie clothic^ 
 of the horseman was cf a -rev suvue of the true Quaker's cut, and he wore a 
 broad brimmed, fV!{, hat. ^ 
 
 No- n.
 
 34 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 " I tell tliee friends," he said in a nasal voice, " that I have travelled even 
 from Tottenham High Cross, to see this sinner and man of violence, for have I 
 not suspected my own man Chqppings, of waylaying me, and did I not likewise 
 supect the slaughterer of animals commonly called a butcher, Dobbs, who resideth 
 at Tottenham, likewise of being the culprit, and have I not with the strong arm 
 of the law persecuted him ?" 
 
 " What will you take for your hat, friend," cried a voice in tolerable imitation 
 of the quaker." 
 
 " Something of more weight than thy wit, friend," replied the man of 
 peace. 
 
 A roar of laughter followed this retort, and another man cried— ^ 
 
 " Can't jou let the poor fellow go to Tyburn in peace ?" 
 
 "Yea, friend, truly I do not ^ish otherwise, but if I recognise in him the son 
 of Belial who robbed me upon the highway, and he confeseth so much upon seeing 
 me, verily you see, I shall cease from suspecting and prosecuting innocent people, 
 but should he say unto me, truly, friend Houlditch, I did not rob \hee arNi strike 
 thee tipou the nose '* 
 
 Another scream of laughter drowned the quaker's voice- 
 
 '** Yea and verily, friends," added Mr. Houldilcn, "I say unto ye, that my nose 
 swelled exceedingly from the blow stricken t^^ifeon, 
 
 " Serve you right, too," cried a fellow. 
 
 *' Thou mayest possibly be right, friend. fnQ only bad thing is that thou art 
 not served right by divers strokes on thy back at the cart's tail, as thou hast more 
 than once already experienced." 
 
 It was quite clear that the mob -Was no match in wit for the quaker, so no one 
 tried any more attacks upon him. Mcfreover, the proeession was now close at hand, 
 and that concentrated all the interest 6f the scene. 
 
 " Come out, broad-brim," said one. " Here's Jack comiijg. ' 
 
 "Yea and so am I friend. I only placed myself under this balcony, test "my 
 outwaM m«a'should get wet by the rain which ia even now coming down. I fear 
 that I shd^inot be able to get to him, as I am a^man of peace, and little used to 
 pushing and shouting, verily." 
 
 "Make way for the quaker!" cried several. "Make a passage for old broad- 
 brim and no Whiskers." 
 
 " I thank thee, friend, but 'if thou hadst no whiskers, thy wife, who is strong in 
 the flesh, couM not puU them." 
 
 "Confound the fellojv," muttered the man. "He has his answers always 
 ready." 
 
 The exclamations of the mob, and the odd figure of the quaker on horseback 
 attracted the attention of the officers who were surrounding the cart, and they 
 judged at once that he was the Mr. Houlditch who had been spoken of by the 
 governor of Newgate, and as he was upon the near -side of the way there was no 
 great difficulty in inclining the cart towards the pav-ement so that he might adt his 
 question of Sixteen-string Jack. 
 
 The demeanour of Jack now filled every one with surprise, for he betrayed 
 niuch agitation of manner. His colour weiifand come, and he opened and shut 
 his hands, wliile he muttered some words to Mmself, the only one of which could 
 be caught was "reckless." 
 
 _ The cart was stopped within half a dozen paces of the pavement, and with great 
 difficulty through the throng of people, the quaker made his way on his horse to 
 wards it, while Sixteen-string Jack looked eagerly at him. 
 
 " Now, sir," cried one of the officers, " ask your questions, and have done with 
 it.' • 
 
 "What a throat thou hast got, friend," said the quaker, "ieefep thy tnouth shut, 
 I pray thee." 
 
 " Hoorah ! Hoorah !" shouted the crowd, and various expreSSioiiS^ indicative of 
 a growing admiration for friend Houlditch, were freely uttered, while the officer who 
 had spoken so roughly, bit his lips with vexation.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 35 
 
 " And so," said Houlditch, to the condemned man, " thou art Sixteen-strms 
 
 Jack?" 
 
 " Yes," said Jacii, and his voiceTaltered, as he spoke, " yes, and it's come to 
 this at last." 
 
 " Weil, friend, now I look thee iu the face, I declare thou did'st never wrong 
 me. 
 
 " Bravo, bravo !" cried a great blacksmith, who was close at hand. " Bravo ! 
 This liere quaker is a trump [" 
 
 *' Give me thy hand Sixteen- string Jack," added Houlditch, "God bless thee, 
 my poor fellow, God bless thee." 
 ■" God bless you," said Jack, and tears gushed to his eyes. 
 
 " By G • I suspect," cried a mounted officer, making a grasp at th« 
 
 quaker. 
 
 " What ?" said Houlditch, as with one blow of the heavy loaded end of his 
 riding whip, he knocked the officer senseless from his horse. " Suspect what, fool ? 
 Not more than I am quite willing to avow." 
 
 " He threw off the broad brimmed hat as he spoke, and Jack cried— 
 "Ely, fly. Oh, fly." 
 
 *' Claude Duval !" cried a hundred voices. 
 
 " Yes," shouted the sham quaker, in a voice that made itself loudly and 
 clearly heard above all other sounds. " Yes, I am Claude Duval, and X have 
 redeemed my promise, of taking a kind farewell of n^ old, kind friend, and 
 bidding God bless him." 
 
 The officers made a dash at Claude, but the people with a war of determination 
 closed around him, and the great blacksmith shouted — 
 
 " Don't let them have him. The bloodhounds ! Claude Duval never took a 
 ^cixpence from a poor man in all his life, though he has given many a one.** 
 
 ".Fly, fly !" again cried Jack, A shower of stones saluted the officers, anrj the 
 cha]3lain fell down fiat in the bottom of the cart, to get out of the danger of the 
 missiles. Everything seemed to promise that a severe contest between the officers 
 would ensue, and the former drew their staves, but they were greeted by a laugh 
 of derision, and pistols were produced. 
 
 " We will have him, dead or alive 1" said one. 
 
 *' Take him then," said Claude. " Farewell Jack. I have kept my word. 
 " Nobly, nobly," said Jack, " and— and Poll ?" 
 
 " Shall never want while Claude has a crust to share with her. Jack. Make 
 your mind easy about her. Good bye." 
 
 , Some of the crowd had passed Claude's horse on to the pavement, and a lane 
 was made for him, while the officers were so seriously obstructed that t>{^ 
 could not move an inch; but two of the horsemen had cutlasses, andthey began to 
 use them upon the heads of the people so furiously that the mob gave way a 
 little, and unfortunately for Claude, he just arrive'd opposite the opening ot 6 
 street, from which a dense mass of people were rushing, to know what had 
 happened, so that he was completely fixed, while the officers were now gradually 
 nearing him. 
 
 The corner of the street was a shop of some sort, but it had been closed to avoid 
 danger to the windows, and above the shop was a large balcony in front of the 
 windows of the Arst floor. Suddenly one of the windows opened, and a girl of 
 great beauty, rushed into the balcony. ., ^^ 
 
 " Claude, Claude," she cried " it is Claude. Oh, God, 'tis he." 
 Claude Duval glanced at the window, and the words. " My sister May," 
 escaped his lips. The mob too heard the young girl's exclamation, and the 
 blacksmith shouted — 
 
 " Can you take him in at the window, Miss ? If you don't he'll swing at 
 Tyburn, this day week." 
 
 " Yes, yes. Oh yes, anything ; Claude, Claude!" 
 
 Duval himself saw this was now his ' on!3r thance of escape, and with surprising 
 agility, he rose m the saddle and stood on the back of tke horse, by which hi
 
 36 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 was enal^lcd to clutch the lower rails of the balcony, and in another moment 
 he drew himself up and waving his haud disappeared in at the window of the houses 
 which was put down and the shutters closed immediately. The mob gave three 
 terrilic cheers, to express its triumph at the escape of the man, who for the. 
 moment, in consequence of a chivalrous act had become its idol. 
 
 The victim had escaped, but the confusion was still most serious, and the 
 ofl&cers dismounted from their horses, for the purpose of breaking| in the door of 
 the house in which Duval had taken refuge ; but that turned out to be a foolish, 
 proceeding, for heins: now on foot they were much more on an equality with the 
 »ob, and it was only by abandoning the seige of the house, that they regained. 
 the streets once more. 
 They held a short consultation among themselves. ""'~* 
 
 *• What's to be done," cried one, " are we to lose the money ?'* 
 " Certamly not. But you see we shallget pulled to pieces by the mob new 
 if we make any attack upon the house. We must go on to Tyburn bow." 
 
 " And do you thmk tnat such a devil as Claude Duval will wait for us untill 
 we get back. That's a likely thing." 
 
 " No. I never expected any such thing, but I propose that we go on a little 
 
 as if we had completely given up all idea of taking him, and then that two of 
 
 us with! as J little observation as possible, detach ourselves from the cavalcade, 
 
 and go back to watch the house he has taken refuge in, so that if he does go- 
 
 from it, at all events he can be dogged." ^ 
 
 " It's the only thing that can be done. Come along." ' I 
 
 When the people saw the officers were consulting, and casting angry glances 
 
 up at the house where Claude had found an asylum, they perfectly expected that 
 
 some immediate akd violent attack would be made upon it, but when the 
 
 procession moved on to Tyburn, and no further notice of the affair was taken^ 
 
 i the populace raised a great shout of derision, and the blacksmith cried 
 
 out — j 
 
 "»Three cheers for Claude Duval," which were given most heartily. I 
 
 We need not pursue the catastrophe at Tyburn, further than to say that 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack, with all his faults, failings, crimes, and ventures, suffered the- 
 
 dreadful death that had been inflicted on so ^many — innocent we conscientiously 
 
 I j beheve as well as guHty — at that fatal spot, which even now when its name is 
 ! I mentioned rings upon the imagination as being redolent of fearful recollections of 
 j j the past. ' ( 
 
 I '■ The lifeless body hung its hour, and was* then removed by two females, who 
 j ; brought a iackney coach to take the sad remains, and their talk, for talk they 
 
 I I did even amid their tears as they went away, was as ''much of the chivalrous- 
 Claude Duval and his ultimate fate, as of him whom in silence for ever, they had 
 with them as a horrible and ghastly companion. 
 
 The of&cers did not forget their scheme of separating two of their nximber from< 
 
 the main body, secretly to watch the house in Oxford Road, where Claude had so 
 
 very opportunely found shelter, and so intent were the multitude upon the last 
 
 j moments of Sixteen-string Jack, that the manoeuvre was executed without exciting 
 
 observation. 
 
 It would, however, have taken more wit and more courage than belonged to all 
 the officers put together, to have circumvented Claude? Duvai. His time had not 
 yet come, and he was doomed to be the hero of yet more striking adventures tha& 
 cad hitherto fallen to his lot. 
 
 We will take a glance at him.
 
 LIFE ON THE EOAD. 37 
 
 CHAPTEH IX. 
 
 tse interview between the brother akd sistee.— the title deeds,— 
 
 Claude's despair. 
 
 It was indeed no other than poor May Duval, of whom the reader has latterly 
 had but a transient glimpse, who assisted her brother Claude in at the window of 
 the house in the Oxford Road. 
 
 For the first time during two years, he felt the pressure of her hand in his, and 
 as the rapidly closed casement and shutters stilled the roar of the multitude with- 
 out, he could hear the sobs chat came from her agonized heart. 
 
 All was darkness, however, now in the room, for the shntters were hastilf 
 barred by May, and fitting closely as they did, scarcely a ray of daylight found its 
 way into the apartment. How complete — how total was the change from the 
 bhout of the multitude without, and the glare of mid-day, to the silence and dark- 
 ness of that room ! 
 
 ^ Claude was sensibly affected by it, and his voice shook as he spoke to his 
 sister. 
 
 " You have saved me, May," he cried. 
 
 "Hush. Oh, hush," she cried. " This way— this way." 
 
 She opened a door, and a gleam of light eame again into the room. He fol- 
 lowed her into an apartment at the back of the house, and then she tried to look 
 at him — she took his hand and tried to speak, but the effort was too great, and 
 bursting into tears, she flung herself upon a couch in an agony of grief. 
 
 Clauae shook a little, and he paced the room several times before he spoke. 
 Then pausing opposite to May, he strove to speak in a calm and composed voice, as 
 he said again, — 
 
 " May, you have saved my life." 
 
 " And you, Claude," she sobbed, " have broken my heart." 
 
 " Is this kind. May, at such a time as this ?" 
 
 " Kind ! Oh, Claude — Claude, can you utter a reproach ? What are you ? 
 Dare I answer my own question. You were poor, forlorn, dejected ; what are you 
 now ?" 
 
 " None of those. May." 
 
 " Worbc, worse, a thousand times worse, for you then stood upon a rock oi 
 adamant, you sat upon a throne, to which angels might bow down in reve- 
 rence." 
 
 " You speak in riddles, May, I must confess my inability to understand 
 you." 
 
 " The rock you stooci upon, and the throne upon which nature had placed you, 
 have both one name. That name is innocence." 
 
 " Let other's upbraid me for my life," he said, " from you. May, I did 
 expect reproaches." 
 
 " They are not reproaches, Claude. Witness these tears, that I speak in all 
 ihe sadness of grief, and not in anger. Hark ! Do you understand those 
 shouts?" 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 " The mob congratulates itself upon the escape of a criminal, and even I 
 am from this moment involved in your guilt and your shame. I who by word 
 or deed have wronged no one, 1 am at last betrayed even by my bitter feelings, 
 to be the partner of iniquity. Your guilt is now my guilt, for I have received 
 and continue to shelter the guilty man, against whom the hand of justice is 
 raised. Thus Claude, no man can err, but he brings sin and sorrow upon others 
 as well as himself.'* 
 
 " This state of things can soon be altered," said Claude, bitterly. " The
 
 38 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 balcony by which you but a few moments since admitted me, is close at hand. 
 1 will relieve you from the weieht of my presence, by leaving this house in the 
 manner that I entered it, ana the first declaration I make to my captors, shall 
 be one exculpatory of you, for I will declare that instead of affording an asylum 
 to the highwayman, you refused him one with the bitterest reproaches. 
 Farewell." 
 
 " Claude, Claude." 
 
 He waved his hand, and strode into the dark room. 
 
 With a cry of dismay May rushed after him, aad while his hand was upon the 
 shutters, slie flung herself mto his arms. 
 
 " Claude. Brother. Take my heart from my bosom and see how yet you dwell 
 in its inmost recesses. Oh, Claude — Claude, if I could but die for you !" 
 
 " Let me go, May, I know I am unworthy of your affections. I know you did 
 all you could to turn me fiom the course of life I have adopted, but I would not 
 take your counsel, and therefore, it is unfair oi me now to involve you in any 
 difficulty for my sake. I am lost, I know, and the steps in life that I have taken I 
 cannot now recede from. I do not now speak in anger. May." 
 
 ** No— no, Claude. You shall not go." 
 
 " Nay, I pray you let me. It was the thoughtlessness of a moment that made 
 me accept an asylum here. When I saw you, of all houses in tiiis great^. cjty, I 
 oi^ht to have avoided this. 
 
 May clung to him still, and he could not without absolute violence have extri- 
 cated himself from her embrace, and that of course, he was loth to use, so that 
 she succeeded in detaining him until the procession of the doomed man, and the 
 roar of the multitude of people that accompanied it were past, and but a confused 
 murmur came upon, their ears ; Claude listened attentively, and then turning to 
 May, he said, — . 
 
 " Sister, it is rather sad to meet thus. How have you fared since last we 
 parted ? I have thought of you day and night, and sought you, and employed 
 others to seek you, but all in vain. My eyes never rested upon your face, until I 
 stopped the coach at Ealing Common, in which, to my surprise, I found you seated. 
 I nearly fell from my horse in the suddeness of t£e recognition. I knew your 
 voice, and yet could scarce believe it was you. I thought some resemblance of 
 tones might have cheated me, but when I came to look ai tks little bead purse you 
 handed to me, and knew it had been our mother's, I Cf^fil^ no longer doubt." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, it was our mother's, and it is the only relic I have of her, — ^I 
 thought it might arouse dormant feelings within your breast, and make virtue once 
 more an inmate of your heart — did you not feel something, when you looked upon 
 
 " There is a gulf. May, now between me and what the world calls virtue, that I 
 may never hope to pass. You got back that purse wdtli my tears and kisses upon 
 it. 
 
 " Oh, Claude, you are not lost.** 
 
 •' You know not what you say." 
 
 •* Yes Claude. Indeed, indeed I do. There is — there always is, even in this 
 life, a future for those who have the courage to dedicate it to virtue. Do not 
 delude yourself with the vain and specious argument, that because you have 
 sinned, you must still sin." 
 
 " But May, would you have me from some romantic notion of repentance, 
 voluntarily give myself up to the hangman ?" 
 
 " No, no, no — L— oh, no. That would not follow. Your better nature would 
 so show itself, that for once an attribute of heaven — mercy, would be borrowedi 
 by those who hold the scales of human justice, and you would be spared." 
 
 " Alas ! my May, you speak more, much more like the heroine ot some 
 romance, tlian as one, who, in this matter-of-fact world, has known what sorrow 
 is. I tell you sister that having chosen, and so fay proceeded in m v present course 
 of life, I have no hope, no chance of any other. I must now, like the torlorn hope 
 »f an army push on, a *he only chance of presevring, for yet awhile my existence. 
 ::' ^ ■ ^ — -- —
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 30 
 
 I I must fall at last, and I can but i)rotract the arrival of that day. Do not 
 urge me more upon this impossible point." 
 
 « You* speak desparingly, Claude." i.^ 
 
 " Not so, May. Hopefully I speak, r It is true that I am a highwayman, and 
 that society is up in arms against me. I stop a rich man upon the highway, 
 and by force, I take some of his money, but what I do I do boldly. I am not 
 a lawyer — a member of parliament, so that even if people in their indignation at 
 my proceedings were to go so far as to call me a thief, I am not a sneaking 
 thief, such as those I have mentioned ; nor am I a tradesman who will go to 
 church regularly every Sunday, and yet all the week be fattening and guzzling 
 upon the products of the hard earnings of others, whose boots, in point of 
 fact, he is perhaps scarceljT worthy to polish. No May, I deceive nobody, and 
 when I stop a traveller with a well lined purse, and cry, * stand and deliver I* I 
 think myself a worthier man than many, who are most ^ specially commended to 
 Providence, and held up as patterns of everything that is good." 
 
 " You do not mean what you say, Claude," 
 
 " Do I not. I can hold up my right hand, and take my oath of it." .^ 
 
 The sound of carriage wheels suddenly pausing in the street below, now attrao-' 
 ted the attention of both brother and sister, and May trembled as she 
 said— 
 
 " It is Mrs. Brereton and— and— " 
 
 " She whom I heard named Cicely," exclaimed Clauie,^ ^I bless the danger|that 
 has once more taught me there is a chance of gazing; on that lovely face. j 
 
 > " Are you mad, Claude ? What can you mean ? if they should find you here, 
 what can I say ? I am lost, lost." 
 
 " How sister. I am not ugly enough to frighten them, am I ?" 
 
 " Caa you jest at such a time as this. Oh, Claude, what shall I do ? When 
 I was iriendless and destitute in the streets of London, chance, or the goodness 
 of Heaven, brought me in contact with these ladies. I told them that I had no 
 home, but I concealed my real name, and instead of May Duval, I called myself 
 May Russel. Since then they have afforded me an asylum. Oh, if they should 
 now find they had been deceived, and that I was sister to a— a " 
 
 " Highwayman you would say." 
 
 A sharp tat tat at the street door interrupted the conversation, and May' 
 glanced about her, in a distracted manner. 
 
 " You must hid,e Claude," she said, " you must hide.' * 
 
 " Wherever you please," he replied. " Only place me somewhere where I shall 
 have a chance of seeing the young lady, named Cicely, that is all I ask, and i 
 shall be patient, if I am forced to remain twelvemonths, wherever you place 
 me." I 
 
 There was a large cupboard in the room, close to the fire place, and into that 
 May hastily pushed Claude, and closed the door upon him, just as the street door 
 closed again, after admitting the ladies Brereton to the house, and May had 
 only just time to open the shutters of the front room, before they ascended the 
 stairs. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SURPRISE.— Claude's escape.— -a dbivu to newgaxe.— ihe road agaiu, 
 
 _ It is true that a servant girl who was in the kitchen of the house, at the 
 time Claude Duval had taken refuge in it, might have been cognissant of the fact, 
 but when the riot began, and the whole street was in an uproar, she had prudently 
 got into the coal cellar, nor did she emerge therefrom until the ladies Brereton
 
 40 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 who upon. their arrival in London, bad taken for a short time that house furnished 
 as it was, knocked at the door. 
 
 Thus it was that not only was Claude's presence unknown to the ladies, but 
 J^J{\;: had had the opportunity of holding the brief and agitated conversation with 
 }mii, which we .-have recorded, and which as is usual enough with such arguments 
 concerned naither party, while it certainly had the eifect of paining both. 
 
 '• Oh, mum," said tiic mrl to ]\Iiss Brereton, there's been such a notation, in 
 the streets, mum. & They nave been taking Thirtv-two-string Jack to be hung mum, 
 leastways I ain't quite sure that's the number of strings, but if s something like 
 that mum." . ' ' 
 
 •• How alarmed you look Ann," said Cicely. 
 
 "l^es miss, I is all that. Will you walk up. There's a good fire in the 
 di-Hwing-room. , Pli, you would have been scarified, if you ^^had been here, Miss, 
 wjinn the riofaXldn was. I got in the cellar, and so heard it^aU over ray own head, 
 f hough I couldn't see much of it, in consequence you see miss, of the roof." 
 
 Cicely was evidently in a dejected state, but the peculiar phraseology of Ann, 
 extorted eVcn a smile from.lier, as she ascended the staircase. May was in hope 
 that the.iadios would go into the front room, but to her chagrin, for she was not 
 very- jnindt'ul of Claude's request, that he might be placed somewhere where he 
 could command a view of Cicely, they sat do\\Ti in the back room, and old Mrs. 
 BrerctoL after a few remarks, looked closely- at May, and said — 
 ,** IVhy, cliild you have been crying."'. - \ 
 
 "liav.e I, madam r" said May, scarcely knowing in her confusion what ste 
 r^plred to the most inopportune, but yet kind enquiry. 
 
 " Yovu* eyes tell that you have. Look at her Cicely. Ah ! my dear/ what have 
 you lo cry for?' You are not as I ain, full of grief and uncertainty regarding' a 
 ton." ' T ,, . • #-»*^^' ; 
 
 *' Of jf? -l-aTn-.regardiua: a brother," said Cicely. 
 
 JMay could Ijardiy retain her tears from flowing afresh at this, by a great effort 
 she did put on a slww of outward composure, as she said — 
 
 " Then all enqijiry regarding Mr. Markham Brereton is fruitless ?'* 
 
 '•' Quite so," said Ciceh^ *' It is quite clear my brother has not arrived in 
 London, or he would have gone to llv. Hughes, the lawyer, to ascertain where' we 
 were staying, iiow strange it is that we should hear nothing of him since he 
 trotted on to see that the road was clear as we come to town. Do you recollect. 
 May — I do not, but ray mother thinics the highwayman who stopped the carriage 
 said something to intimate that he had met Markham." 
 
 " He did," said Maj, m a lialf stified tone. 
 - "But what was it, my dearP' said the old lady, 
 
 " It was only an mtimation that he had been i'liformed that there was an invalid 
 in the carriage, and who else but 3/ir. Brereton could so have informed him." 
 
 *' But, Maridiam is repulsive to strangers, rather than comraunicative,", said Cicely, 
 
 " Certainly he is," added Mrs. Brereton. " Alas ! alas ! all these things will 
 bring me to my grave, I can see that." . • 
 
 The old lady's tears began to flow, and May blamed herself for not asking ex- 
 plicitly of Claude if he had had any encounter with Mr. Mark Brereton. There 
 was a painful silence for a few moments duration, which was interrupted by a 
 shght exclamation from Cicely, who picked up from the floor close to her feet a 
 small piece of folded paper. 
 
 " What is it ?" cried May. 
 
 " I know not," replied Cicely. " It seemed to fall at my feet only just 
 
 DOW." 
 
 She opened the paper, and to the surprise of herself and her mother, read the 
 
 following words. 
 
 " :Mr. Brereton did meet Claude Dnval, but he is not hurt, and wiU soon be with 
 you." 
 
 " Gracious Heavens !" cried Mrs. Brereton, "who wrote that ?** 
 
 " Are we in a land of enciiantment ?" cried Cicely.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 4i 
 
 :: : _ ^ : ^ — . u- 
 
 Miay turned of an ashy paleness, but uttered not a woid. 
 
 I ^ f jc^rtuoately for all parties, even Claude himself, who had been guilty of this 
 
 1 indiscretion, there was a loud and quick succession of knocks at the street door, 
 
 i which for the moment effectually took Iheir attention from the mysterious note 
 
 I found on the floor. The perpetrator of these knocks proved to be Markham 
 
 I Brereton, who had opportuneiy arrived, to the no small joy of his mother and 
 
 sistey,' . >■ ' = 
 
 The first greetings were scarcely over, when an exclamation from Cicely directed 
 
 alleyes'to the street on which the room they Mvere'sitting in looked, where, plain 
 
 No. 6. ^ ^ ^ ~~
 
 49 GENTLEMAN JACK; OK, 
 
 enough, they saw the yictimised Tom, and on fhe-impulse of the moment, M a rlfh a m 
 threw open the window, and called aloud to him. 
 
 " Good God ! is that vou, Tom Brereton f" 
 
 At the voice Tom looked up, and uttered a hideous groan— relaxing his hold, 
 of the horse, he rolled off it, close to the threshold of the house. Cicely looked 
 all amazement, and Markham ran down stairs to the street door, to know what on 
 earth could have reduced Tom to so miserable a plight, for his feelings towards 
 him were much more those of contempt than any tmng else, while none of the 
 family were so unjust as to blame him for claiming what was his own. The 
 OdIy objections they urged to his proceeding was, that he made his claim roughly, 
 and carried it beyond their means of restoration. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ?*' cried Markham, when he had dragged Tom into the 
 passage. 
 
 "Oh! oh! ohl" 
 
 " Well, you can say something besides ^oh !* I suppose r* 
 
 •*NoIcanV 
 
 ** Why, you are covered with mud. Have yon been ridmg a steeple chase P" 
 
 " I don't know, but I dare say I have as I came along. Oh dear ! oh dear ! 
 They soon caught me, and wasn't I thankful; then they upset me, and wasn't 
 I glad ; then they collared me after rolling me in the mud, and then what do yon 
 mnkff 
 
 '* I really don't know what to think." 
 
 "They said I was Claude Duv^ the great higiwayman.'* 
 
 "You Claude Duval P' 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, that's why they run after me, crying, *Stop him !' Ah, I have 
 had such a job ! they soon found out I wasn't the highwayman, however; but J*U 
 tell you all about it soon. Only let ine lie down, somewhere, for a little while, and 
 get off these horrid muddy clothes.*- 
 
 "I don't know, cousin Tom," said Markham, "that we are particularly called 
 upon to show you any courtesy, for you were rather scant of tiiat article with ns, 
 but it is not my disposition to return evil for evil, and as this is for the time being 
 our home, you can come in, and I will see that you are accommodated with a 
 bed." 
 
 " Oh, thank you. You haven't seen anything of |ny bjack pocket-book, hav« 
 your 
 
 " How should I know anythipg of it P" 
 
 "Ah, well! dear me. All my bones ache, thev do indeed. Oh, oh, oh! 
 Stop him — stop him. There goes the horse ! Well, I thought at last, I would 
 keep that as a set off against what I had lost; but I am certainly the most on 
 lucky fellow. Oh, dear!'* 
 
 Markham assisted him up stairs to a bed-room, where he left him, to get rid, 
 hy himself, of some of the dirty apparel in which he was enveloped, before he ques- 
 tioned him any further, regardiijg tlie mianner in which he came to be so si- 
 tuated. 
 
 May, who had been most anxiously revolving the best means of getting the 
 party out of the room in which Claude was concealed, had ordered Ann to lay a 
 iuncn in the parlour, so that now it was announced, and they all descended to it. 
 May promising to join them irajaaediately, but her object was to speak to Claude, 
 so the moment the room was clear, she opened the cupboard, and with a face as 
 pale as death itself, she confiouted him. 
 
 "Fly, oh fly," she said, "fly at once, or all will be discovered, and after the 
 deceit I have practised, I can hope for no further friendship from those whp 
 have been so kmd to me." 
 
 "Eear nothing. May, I may yet be able to protect you.'* 
 
 " It is not the loss of their protection, but it would be the los? of their good 
 opinion, that would cut me to the very heart.' 
 
 " Nay you will not lose the good opinion of any one, whose good opinion is 
 rorth the having ; but I know this is no place for me." 
 
 «.(
 
 ^ 
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAJt), 
 
 « Then fly frdm it at once." 
 
 "Into the arms of the ofl&cers, do you mean? Did you not hear Mr. Brereton 
 say that men were waiwhing the house ? For whom do they watch, but for 
 Claude Duval?" 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! What can be done ?" 
 
 "I scarcely know, yet. Bttt whilfc I am thinHng about it, take this pocket- 
 book ; It did belong to the young man called Tom, who was in the carriage with 
 yoa A\. It contains various documents connected with his property as well as 
 the proofs of his personal identity, I wish you to give it to Mr. Brereton." 
 
 "How am I to do that, Claude?" 
 
 " Place it somewhere in such a position that he cannot fail to see it, and now 
 tell me is there any possibility of getting on the top of the house ?" 
 
 " Yes, 1 think there is." 
 
 " Then do you go down to your lunch and leave me to manage my own escape. 
 What's that noise and shouting in the street?" 
 
 May ran to the window and looked. 
 
 " It is the cavalcade returning from the execution of Sixteen-Strii^ Jack," she 
 said, — 
 
 "Ah poor Jack," said Claude. ** Well, well, that's past now." 
 
 " Claude, Claude, they stop here. The officers dismount.— They advance to 
 the house.— -Oh Claude^you are lost — ^lost." 
 
 " All are not lost in danger. May. Go down stairs, and whatever may happen 
 express no surprise or apprehension. Even if you should see me taken, I charge 
 you by the affection I know you Still bear to me, to say nothing." 
 
 He dashed up the staircase, as he spoke, towards the bed-rooms of the house, 
 and as he did so he heard a clamerous knocking at the door. Now, Claude had 
 had not the most distant idea that Tom Brereton had been brought into the house, 
 and when he went hurridly into the first room, he came to in order to see what 
 its capabilities of concealment was, he was not a little surprised to find a man in 
 bed, looking the picture of fright. 
 
 " Murder, murder !" said Tom, "what's that,'* 
 
 " Why, who are you," said Claude. 
 
 "Eh?" I 
 
 They confronted each other for a few moments in silence, the thoughts of eack | 
 being busy in very different ways* i 
 
 Claude was considering how ne coidd turn this meeting in the way of his escape, ! 
 and Tom was wondering to see a man in quaker garments by his bedside, with t 
 anything but the manner and countenance of a quaker. ! 
 
 " Oh, dear, who are you," added Tom. 
 
 " Are you the feildw that was robbed by Claude Duval," said Claude, "aiid^ 
 made to gallop away upon a horse, with six men after you." j 
 
 " Yes — oh dear yes." ! 
 
 " Then your life is not worth two minutes purchase. I would not give A 
 farthing for it^ you wiU be a dead man in five minutes notice." 
 
 CHAPTER. XI 
 
 tUB SECOND ADVBNTUEE OF TOM BRERETON.— CMUDe's ESCATB. 
 
 When Claude Duml uttered these words, to the terrified and already nearly 
 distracted Tom Brereton he glared at him with such a comical expression of face, that :■ i 
 he Claude, had not been seriously bent upon mischief, he must have laughed. As I { 
 it was, however, he did continue to keep something like a grave countenance, at ) 
 Im repeated— [ 
 : »— . U
 
 44 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 ** Yea, yon are even now in fact a dead man." 
 
 •• A-r^ead— man ? Oh, oh ! Mur " 
 
 •*Hush! Such exclamations can only hasten a catastrophe which I wduW 
 willing prevent, if possible. Listen to me. It will be some satisfaction to yoi 
 
 r' know in your last moments, why it is you are sacrificed. Listen." 
 Tom only glared at Claude with a bewOdered look, and trembled so that he 
 •liook the whole bed, and set the rings by which the hangings were suspended, 
 i gingling furiously. 
 
 1 ; " You are aware," added Claude, " that you were robbed by that celebrated 
 I highwayman, Claude Duval, who took away your black pocket-book, and who 
 I afterwards to avoid pursuit, from himself, got you mounted on a horse, and set 
 j you off at full feallop with h^ a dozen men after you, who thought they wcr*. 
 ; pursuing him.' 
 
 ^'Oh, yes, yes !" . « r , 
 
 I •* Well, Claude is taken, and it is believed by all the highwaymen and cracks- 
 men in London, that YOU were at the bottom of a deep laid scheme for his 
 capture, and have in fact been successful in effecting it, the consequence of which 
 is that dreading your power and finesse, they have come to the determination t© 
 destroy you." ^^ j "i. j " « 
 
 'f But it ain't true. I have got no power— no finesse, Oh, dear, on, dear. 
 
 *' That's likelv enough, but you won't make them believe it." 
 
 "Then what am I to do P" . 
 
 •* I am the chief of the Bow-street runners, and will eave you if 1 can ; only 
 you must obey me implicitly.'* 
 
 « I will, I will. Hark ! -do you hear that ?** 
 
 " Yes, thev have forced open the street door.** 
 
 While he was speaking to Tom.Brereton, Claude had cast his eyes anxiously 
 about the room, and in one corner he had espied a large chest,to which he now 
 nointed significantly, sayhig-r- ., ■- - 
 
 *' I suppose you have uo particular objection to get in there ?" 
 
 "Li where?" . . ' 
 
 •' In that chest. It strikes me that by so doing you may save yourself; I cail 
 just at present see no other way of aiding you. The theives who are looking for 
 you, expressly to take vengeance upon you, while not probably thinking of ooking 
 there, while, I with some of my fellow officers, will come and take the chest away 
 to a place of safety with you in it." 
 
 «WeU, but '-" ■'■■■'■. 
 
 "As you please, your fete be upon your own head. All I have to do is to go and 
 make oath before the magistrate of Bow- street, that I offered you a mode of escape 
 which you thought proper to reject. I have the honour of bidding you good day, 
 sir." 
 
 " Oh, no, no. Stop, I-— 1 will do it. Oh, dear, what a sad thing to be so 
 knocked abuDut to be sure. I have only just escaped from the back of a wild horse, 
 and now I am forced, to get into a great box." 
 
 " It is the failure of war.'* 
 
 " Is it ? But I don't want to be at war with anybody, I only want to be quiet, 
 that's ail. The idea now of anybody thinking that I laid a deep scheme for any- 
 body, I wish I could lay one to get nome again, and be in peace and comfort, that 
 I do. , I know all this will be the death of me.*' 
 
 '; With groans and sighs, Tom got out of bed, and with no little difficulty stowed 
 himself awav in the chest, which having the key in the lock, Claude securely fas- 
 tened, and then just as he heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he aarted 
 into the bed, and covered all but his face up with the abundant clothing that was 
 on it." _ ,..,,., •..;...:. 
 
 ,^ The door of the room was dashed open in another moment, and eight or ten 
 i^cers entered it. They were well armed, for they evidently expected some 
 SBSistence, in the capture of such a man as Claude Uuvai, They looked rather 
 
 \
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 45 
 
 disappointed, when they only found a bed toom, and a man lying in bed with • 
 languid aspect, which Claude put on very consistently. ^ 
 f4 " Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen !" he said. " Who are you ? Oh ! tell me who are [ 
 (your 
 
 " Who are you ?" cried one of the officers. 
 
 " I hardly know, for I can't exactly say whether Vm asleep or awake, gentlemen, 
 I was asleep, but — that is to say, I think I was asleep, and then my name was 
 Mr. Brereton, but just now a fellow came bang into the room with » pistol in his 
 hand." 
 
 " A pistol. That must be our man. Was it Claude Duval ?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Claude Duval, the great highwayman." 
 
 "Lord how should I know? I'm a respectable man, and have got no such 
 acquaintance." 
 
 "Where did he go?" 
 
 "I was telling you, but you are so impatient. He held the pistol against' my 
 head, and says he * say one word and you are a dead man,' says he, for may my 
 mare Sue lose her wind, if I don't blow your brains out." 
 
 "Its our man," cried the officers. " There can be no mistake now, where did 
 he go?" 
 
 "Well, Tra a telling you, but you get so furious. You must be a sad fellow 
 at home, that you must— my father's a wool stapler, and he often used to say to 
 me, *Tom,' say he, * whenever you—.'" 
 
 "Confound your father. We want to know where Claud Duval went.'* 
 
 " Well, I'm a telling you. He didn't wait for me to say anything, but after 
 he had threatened my life in a manner of speakmg, he popped into that great box 
 there." 
 
 The officers raised a shout of exultation, and three or four of them rushed to- 
 wards the chest, and sat down on the lid. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha;" laughed he who had carried on the brief conversation with 
 Claude. " Ha, ha, ha ! I rather think we have the fox in a trap now." 
 
 " Oh, you needn't be afraid of his getting out,'* said Claude, " I forgot to tell 
 you that he asked me to lock it up, and take the key, and say my cloathes were in 
 it, that's all, and I did lock it, and here's the key, gentlemen." 
 
 There was at this moment some half stifled cnr irora the box, but it was not 
 sufficiently clear to be understood, and the officers felt then that assurance was 
 doubhr sure. 
 
 " What say vou,- comrades,'* said one. " We know that our prisoner is a 
 troublesome fellow, suppose we take him off to Newgate just as he is, box and 
 aU?" • 
 
 " That's an uncommonly good idea,** said Claude. 
 
 " So it is," said the others, for they all seemed to shrink from a personal 
 encounter with jso redoubtable a personage as Claude Duval, and the opportunity 
 of taking him away safely in a chest they considered was by no means to be 
 slighted. 
 
 A furious foibdlang atrjyse from the inside of the box, which convinced Claude that 
 T8!n Brereton had heard sufficient of the conversation to find out how he had been 
 imposed upon, l^ut the officers would by no means consent to his release, and the 
 more violently he kicked the panels of the chest, the more intent were they upon 
 getting him away just as he was. 
 
 " We are very much obliged to you, sir," said the principal of them to Claude. 
 "Very much obliged, indeed, so now we will take away your troublesome customer, 
 and you may be quite sure you will never' be troubled him with any more, for he will 
 be hanged at Tyburn next sessions, as safe as we have him here in the box." 
 
 " No doubt of that," said Claude. " I'd take my oath of it, I would, gentlemen, 
 and when he is hung, you may take your oaths I shall be there, and in the best 
 place, too." 
 
 iThe officers took up the chest among them, and staggered down the stairs with
 
 46 OENTLE:p.N JAGE; OR, 
 
 it, while one speeded the others, ftod caUed lordly for a cart in which to carry 
 the treasure to Newgate. One was soon pressed into the servipe, and away the 
 whole party went, most specially delightea with the success that had crowned their 
 efforts, and quite congratulating themselves that there were no more of thein t o 
 share the £200 reward amongst. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Tom Brereton," soliloquised Claude, as he sprung from the bed,, 
 when the officers had fairly departed, "you are doomed tq be of great service to 
 me. Twice have I owed my escape to your accic|efttally coming into my way, but 
 the mistjdce will be discovered as soon as they get to Kewgate, and perhaps sooner, 
 80 this is no place for me." 
 
 He stood at the door and listened for , a few moments, and then, not hearing 
 any one stirring in the lower part of the hquse, he cautiously slij)ped down and 
 reached the passage W perfect safety, just, however, as he]was passing the parlour 
 door he heard the sounas of weeping in the room, and peeping through the crevice 
 of the door, he saw Cicely Brereton setting at a table absorbed in grief. 
 
 " My poor dear mother," she said,—" she is at last no more.— Alas, alas, when 
 will Marie return with the physicians ?" 
 
 " What can be the meaning of this," thought Claude. " Why the old lady must 
 have died suddenly. How beautiful Cicely is, and yet how absurd it is of me to 
 continue thus looking at her, and drinking in such deep draughts of love. She 
 can never be more to me than a beautiful picture. Qh, would that I had never 
 seen her, for then I should have continued to be the same careless fellow 1 was, 
 but wliich now I can never be again, for the thought will at times corne over 
 me, that by a different course of life, I might almost have made myself WQrt% 
 of such a treasure as Cicely Brereton." 
 
 He felt that he ought to go at once, and yet while there was still the 
 opportunity of looking at the beautiful girl, he could not make up his mind to 
 tear himself away, but like a worshipper at some shrine, l^e stqpd ijl ^ at|i|ude 
 of rapt devotion to her charms. 
 
 Suddenly she rose, and approached the door. He had not time to leave the 
 passage, and in another moment they were face to face. A slight scream c^me 
 from the lips of Cicely. '■• \ 
 
 " Be not alarmed," said Claude, " yoi^ never in all your life. Cicely BrereiQ^, 
 had less cause." 
 
 " Who, and what are you V 
 
 " Pardon me, if I reply to neither question, and likewise pardon, for saying 
 that although there is not, and cannot be, the most distant shadow of a nope 
 in my mind of over calling you mine, yet I love you as ^eyer yet man loved, for 
 it is a love without hope, and yet complete." / 
 
 Without giving her time to make any reply to , this most singular decliaratioii 
 of attachment, he took her haiid, and' for one moment pressed it to his lips. 
 In the next he was gone, and May who had been in the back parlour, with tne 
 corpse of old Mrs. Brereton, who had suddenly expired without a sigh, only just 
 in consequence of hearing voices, made her appearance in time to see the street 
 door shut after him. She did not, however, see that it was her brother 
 Claude. ■ , • , 
 
 " Oh, Mav, May !" said Cicely, V T^ has been here ?'" 
 
 " I know not." 
 
 " A man in grey clothing, and— and handsome, yet bold. I^e^e was some- 
 thing too in the tones oC his voice that I seemeu to remeniber, .21e hp jiist" 
 left ihe house." 
 
 " Thank God !" exchimed May, for she knew that he was in safety, although 
 how he had managed to effect his escape from the officers, she ' could 
 not tell. ■■ I: 
 
 " Yes, thank God ?" said Cicely. 
 
 " Yes, yes, at such a time as this, surely v(0 want] no visitors, Cipeij. P,h^ that 
 Markham would return.** ' " ' ■ '■ >- 
 
 Markham did return quickly, bringing wit|\ him the ne^re^t ph^s^^ hut all
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 4T 
 
 tke skill and all the learning that the world ever saw, could not again have reV 
 kindled the flame of existence, in the now senseless form of Mrs. Brereton. 
 
 We must leave the Breretons now, to give what course they may please to 
 the natural grief that was sure to affect them, while we follow the more stirring 
 features of the gallant Claude Duval. Oh, how noble, and admirable a man 
 was spoiled, when by the force of adverse circumstances such an one as he, 
 with all his chivalry of spirit, and high aspirations, took to the road for a 
 snbsislence. Surely there is something wrong in the constitutions of a society, 
 in which it is accident and not desert, that places persons in favourable 
 circumstances. 
 
 To one man of genius who from some confluence of circumstances over which 
 he. has had no control, meets with the proper field for exertion, and the reward of 
 bis ability, there are a hundred who go to the grave unknown, unappreciated, and 
 unpiticd. 
 
 Long — lon^ ago, it was c&pacity that made a man ; but now-a-days Shakspere 
 might starve m London, with Hamlet in one pocket, and Macbeth in another, if 
 he had not money to push them and to pay for a shoal of puffing advertisements 
 in the newspapers or the reviews. It is capital now that governs all things, and 
 virtue — talent — ^nobility of soul, if yoked to poverty may go a begging on the 
 highway, or as Claude Duval did, take to the bolder course of robbing travellers 
 with well fdled purses. , 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THt "BEIN deer" MOORHELDS.'^CL.A.tJDE's NEW TITLE.— THE BISHOP OF 
 
 EXETElf. 
 
 CiiAUBE when he l*eached this street, looked neither to the right nor to the left. 
 In the first case he felt confident that all the ofl&cers had departed with Tom 
 Brereton and the box to Newgate, and even if he were wrong, and any one had 
 lingered on the spot, his looking for him would not make the danger of an encoun- 
 ter with him the less ; so Claude walked oa with as measured an appearance 
 as any chance passenger could wish to have. 
 
 He had not gone very far though, before he became conscious that a shabby 
 looking man was creeping after him. 
 
 Li order to make sure that his imagination was not ^ deceiving him, he turned 
 ^uddeiily and sharply, and a few paces in the contrary direction, when the shabby 
 looking man was so confounded oy this unexpected manoeuvre, thv^t he ran into i 
 doorway, which proceeding quite convinced Claude that he was right in his first 
 conjecture, and ttat this man, for some object, was watching him. 
 
 This was not a state of things that he was likely to allow to continue, so he 
 slackened his pace just as he arrived opposite to a stand of Hackney coaches, hd 
 turned again as abruptly as before, and reaching the man, before he could get out 
 of the way, he said— 
 
 " What do you want with me P" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said the man; 
 
 "For what?" 
 
 " Why— a-^a— I—you see Tm no fool, I know WWrt t know.** 
 
 "And what's that?" 
 
 "You are Claude Duval." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 This answer of Claude's took the spy so much by surprise, that he <^^^^,"J* 
 tell for a moment or two how to avert it, but then feeling that what he had to
 
 iS GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 mj must be said quietly, he strove to put on an appearance of boldness as hd 
 poke. 
 
 " I am a police spy," be said. " The officers employ me to ferret out things, 
 sir, Tlicy pay me badly; give me a £20 note, and I dont see you at all till the 
 next time. I'hey think thev have you, but I did not, so I lingered about the 
 house, and you see I am right. Here you are, sir." 
 
 "And why don't you take me. You know there is a reward of £200 to who- 
 ever will lodge me in Newgate." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but then I— I would rather not try to do such a thing, I'm afraid you 
 would not let me. Ha! ha! You. understand, sir." 
 
 "Perfectly. You are afraid." 
 
 "Well, 1 — ^I you may call it so if you like, sir. Twenty pound is not mocb 
 for a gentleman like you, who gets your money so easy, you know." 
 
 ^ But if 1 have not got it ?" 
 
 ''Why then, I'm afraid I shall have to stick by you and call for help, and share 
 thfc leward with some half dozen people who may come to my assistance." 
 
 " Well, well," said Claude, with a smile. " lou shall have what you so abso- 
 lutely require of me. Call a coach, will you." 
 
 The spy beckoned to a coachman, and a vehicle from the stand came to the curb- 
 stoues, and the driver, with all his greatcoats, let down the steps and adjusted the j 
 straw in the inside, while Claude and the spy stood close to the large windows ol 
 a confectioner's shop. . 
 
 "Well, coachman," said Claude, "you see this gentleman by my side. He is 
 what is called a bum baliff. Take a good look at him." 
 
 The coachman stared, and so did the spy, but they had neither of them tipie for 
 much reflection, for Claude suddenly pounced upon the latter, and seizing him'by the 
 back of the neck with one hand,, and about t^e middle with |he other, he flung him 
 through the confectioner's whidow with such iMwoendous force, thd!t he carried all 
 before him. There was a crash of glass, a y&I- from the spy, and a scream fi'om 
 the young lady in the shop, who had been reading a novel when she was thus in- 
 truded upon. 
 
 " My eye I" exclaimed the coachman. 
 
 " Drive round two turnings, and then put me down," cried Claude Du^al, as ho 
 sprung into the coach, " You shall have a guinea for this job." 
 
 Never did the coachman spring upon his seat with more activity— never was the 
 old horses so earnestly solicited by voice and whip to show that there was some 
 mettle in them yet, and never had the crazy venicle gone through the air with 
 sneh rapidity since it had been invalided from regular family service. The tw© 
 turnings were soon taken, and then Chf^jfe alighted, and giving the coachman thei 
 guinea he had promised, he said,— Tj':^ 
 
 "Now drive on, and if you are overiicen and questioned,' you have only to say 
 its a mistake, and let them look in and so you have no fear." 
 
 " Ah, bless you, sir. You is one after myj own heart," said the coachman. 
 " Good luck to yer, sir, wherever yer goes, and whosomedever yer be." 
 
 Claude waved his hand, and then dashed down a narrow court, which led him 
 into the not very salubrious parish of Soho, from whence he made his way by 
 a great number of very obscure turnings, with jJl of which, however, he seemed 
 wonderfully familiar towards the city, his object being to reach an inn near 
 Moorfields, call the " Reindeer," where he not only knew he should get shelter 
 until night, but where his gallant and docile steed Sue was, for he had not brou|fht 
 that creature upon the perilous expedition of shaking hands with Sixteen-strmg 
 Jack, on his route to execution. He valued Sue much too highly to risk her loss, 
 and as \ire have seen, he was forced to abandon the horse he rode upon that 
 occasion, but as it was only borrowed from a livery*stable keeper, it gave him 
 no sort of concern, as he knew the owner would easily get it again. 
 
 After about half an hour's rather hard walking, during which Claude's mind 
 was much more full of thoughts of the beautiful Cicely hvt *^*on, than of themasj
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 49 
 
 perils that surrounded liiniself, he reached a narrow street in Moorfields, which 
 is not now in existence, for so many of the houses perished one night in a fire. 
 
 About the middle of this street is the Reindeer, opposite which is a little 
 tobacconist's shop. Claude directed his steps ta this, and after exchanging a few 
 compliments with an old woman, jumped over the counter, and entered the bar- 
 parlour. He was in the cellars of the Reindeer in time to hear the following— 
 
 **We talk of him among ourselves. We whisper about him in the street, tell 
 
 stories of him in the flash kens, and sa we name him, and do mischief continually. 
 As there has been another hundred offered for him by the secretary of state, within 
 these three hours, I propose that we never utter the name of Claude Duval, elscept 
 wiien we know all's righf., but find out some other name to call him by, that the 
 grabs will be some time finding out." 
 
 "Agreed !" cried a dozen voices, and then one deep stentorian voice said— ' 
 
 " Let's call him, as he is so vnkimmon perlite, Gentleman Jack." 
 
 /' Hurrah, hurrah !" '''^'"^
 
 60 GENTLEMAN JACK; OK, 
 
 "As good a name as could be hit upon," said the former speaker. " Let it be 
 Gentleman Jack. There's such lots of Jacks among us, that the grabs won't 
 know who we mean." 
 
 " And we is all gentlemen," said the proposer of the name. 
 ** Certainly. We live upon our means, and do no work, so gentlemen we are, 
 and that's settled then, my pals, so its understood when we talk of Gentleman 
 Jack, we mean — -" 
 
 " Claude Duval !" cried Claude himself opening the door and suddenly appearing 
 among them, to their astonishment and delight. A cheer arose that brought 
 the dust out of the crevices of the old joints overhead, and the landlord made his 
 appearance in some alarm, to know what was the cause of the uproar. 
 " What's the row now ?" said the landlord. 
 " Hurrah ! for Gentleman Jack. Hip, hip, hip ! hurrah !** 
 " And who the deuce is he ?'* 
 
 " A dozen bowls of punch, landlord," said Claude in a clear voice that rose high 
 above the babel -like confusion of sounds around him. 
 
 If anything had been wanting to raise Claude's popularity to the very height, 
 this liberal dose of punch would have done it, and all the scruples of the landlord 
 to the uproar, vanished in a moment, as he disappeared to execute the order, and 
 it was by such prodigal liberality that Claude found partizaus, ^o where he would, 
 and friends almost at every turn. 
 
 The motley crowd pressed eagerly around him, and no monarch on his throne, 
 ever had such ready slaves, and "real admirers as Claude Duval, sitting on a 
 wooden stool in a cellar at the Reindeer. There was not a woj d that fell from 
 him, that was not treasured up to be repeated, and his looks were studied with 
 quite a perplexing perseverance. 
 
 " Well, landlord," he said, to that individual, as the first- bowl of punch was 
 by him produced. " Is Sue all right ?" 
 " As fresh as a daisy, Claude.'' 
 
 "Stop!" cried one. "We call Claude, Cfentleman Jack now, so mind your 
 eye," 
 
 " And well you may call him gentleman anything," said the landlord, " for in all 
 my blessed life, I never comed near such a gentleman, he's a out and outer, he 
 is, bless him. I always feels as if I could cry for a week, when he comes here 
 and spends all his tin like a brick, I does. Oh, he's one of the right sort, ^he is 
 a regular kidney." 
 
 "Drink, my pals," said Claude, "I m going to borrow a trifle to-night of the 
 Bishop of Exeter as he comes from his country house to town." 
 
 " You don't mean that Gentleman Jack," cried one, but the evident marks of 
 gratification upon his face showed how much he hoped Claude did mean it. 
 
 " I have said it ;" added Claude, " it is not so troublesome a job as to shake 
 hands with an old friend this morning while two hundred pounds went begging 
 for my head ; I wiU do it, for I want to have a look at the bishop's young wife, who 
 ^report says is the beauty of the age." 
 
 " Bravo, Claude ! bravo, Claude !" said one, 
 
 ** Take that," cried one, and then planting a blow upon his nose that brought 
 forth the blood in a ruddy stream, "take that, don't you know we all agreed to call 
 him Gentleman Jack ?" 
 
 A quarrel was now upon the point of taking place, but Claude Duval rose and 
 got a hearing, upon which he said,— - 
 
 "Gentlemen ail, I have to remairk that I have no objections to a fight, but if we 
 ire to make that a portion of the evening's amusement, mind you don't any of you 
 apset the punch, that's ail." 
 
 This restored good humour, the belligerents shook hands aAd at ten o'clock that 
 light Claude Duval was on the road. 
 
 JV^ 7 I S?U
 
 LIEE ON THE ROAD. 51 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A DAUCE ON THE COMMON. — THE BISHOP POSED. — A SONG AND ITS EFFECTS. 
 
 The then Bishop of Exeter was notoriously one of the vainest, proudest prelates 
 on the bench ; of course he was a follower and disciple of the meek and humble 
 precepts of Christiauitj, and therefore he was insolent, and overbearing to those 
 who were not so j^reat in the eyes of the stupid world as himself, while to the 
 magistrates of the land, particularly to the monarchy, the bishop was all smiles and 
 sweetness. 
 
 This was the man whom Claude Duval announced his incention of robbing, 
 being probably incited to do the deed from the notoriety which it would bring 
 upon him, as well as by a desire to look at the beautiful youug bride of the meek and 
 humble man of God. 
 
 The bishop was past the middle of life, and he had taken unto himself a young 
 damsel of eigiiteen, as a wife, whom he had purchased of her friends, and we may 
 likewise say of herself, by a settlement of two thousand pounds per annum, payable 
 from the date of the ceremony that made her the helpmate of the pious and ab- 
 stemious individual who, of course, was wholly devoted to the cause of religion. 
 
 How could he think in common justice of anything else but the gospel when he 
 was paid twelve thousand pounds a year for doing so ? 
 
 But we prefer after all the highwayman to the bishop, so we will follow Claude, or 
 •Gentleman Jack as his new name was, and at times we shall find it convenient 
 to call him by the latter name a little and at times by the former name alone. 
 
 Young Romeo whilst waiting news from his lady-love describes himself as most 
 unusually light hearted and joyful in his feelings, when in leali y he was on the eve 
 of the announcement of the most dreadful calamity that could befall him, namely 
 the death of Juliet. He says, — 
 
 * My bosom's lord sits lightly on its throne.' 
 
 but with Claude the case was precisely the reverse, for although his thoughts as he 
 left the Reindeer were all with her whom he now loved devotedly, a "deep de- 
 spondency had crept over his spirit. 
 
 Never before, during the whole of his short, but most chequered career, had he 
 ever felt such a depression of soul as now atRicted him. He would truly have 
 given his life for a pin's fee. The bridle hung listlessly upon the neck of his steed, 
 and he gave himself up to bitter thoughts. 
 
 Such was his state as he reached the top of the Oxford Road, and saw the light 
 that gleamed from either side of old Tyburn- GMe. The sight of that spot brought, 
 naturally enough, some thoughts of Sixteen-string Jack to his mind. 
 
 " Alas ! poor Jack !" he said. " There are many who pity you, but you are, 
 after all, much happier than your poor friend, Claude Duval ; 
 
 ** After life's fitful fever you sleep "«rell,*' 
 
 while I am now the slave of such sadness, that if the law don't quickly lay hold of 
 me and finish me, I think I shall almost feel inclined to give in to the first person 
 who Opposes me, and please my sister. May, by dying quietly, with a conviction of 
 all my sins upon my head. "Ah, Cicely, Cicely, it is your sweet face that has 
 worked this change in me. To love one like you, and yet to feel that there is for 
 €ver an insurmountable barrier between us — a gulf wliich can never be crossed, is , 
 to taste of the bitterest cup of sorrow that evil fortune can ever place to ihorta-j 
 lips. Oh, Cicely, Cicely !" 
 
 " Now, sir," cried the tollman, " do you want to ride over the i?ate ?" 
 *' What is it ?" said Claude, rather angrily, for he had been so immersed in hi 
 ©wn reflections, that he did not notice how near he was to Tyburn- Gate. 
 
 : UNIVrhS'rv..Q£ i 
 
 ILLIMCIS LIBRARY.
 
 62 GENTLEMAN JACK ; Oil, 
 
 " Why it's the toll, if its all the same to you, spooney," said the man. 
 " Take it," said Claude, " and lay the amount out iu the purchase of better man* 
 lers. " What ho ! my Sue— my gallant Sue !" 
 
 As he spoke, he struck the man sprawling to the ground with the handle of hia 
 ridhig-whip, and in another instant the horse leaped the gate with surprising ease 
 and agility, and took its rider at a gentle canter down tlie road. 
 . " Now that just sarvcs you right," said the other toll-man, to his prostrate com- 
 panion, before whose bewildered eyes, there danced a thousand lights, " You 
 liav'nt been long here, to be sure, and you don't know folks as I know 'em. Now 
 who do you suppose that was ?" 
 "Where ami?"* 
 
 " In a puddle in the Uxbridge Road, to be sure. Where should you be. I seed 
 it all. That gemmcn as you onended drops a guinea every now and then at this 
 here gate, and so we never axes him any questions, M'hen he comes through, 
 whether he's a-coraing fast or slow, and if you wants to j^iow who it is, J can tell 
 you — it's Claude Duval. So now don't be a lool another time, old fellow." 
 
 This was not much consolation to the new toll man, but as by this time Claude 
 was half a mile down the road, he had to pocket the affront and the blow he had 
 received in the best way be was able to do. 
 
 In the meantime, Claude, whom this little incident had restored, put Sue to a 
 canter, and soon breasted Craven hill. 
 
 " Well, well," he said, " I may make myself miserable as long as I like, and it 
 won't mend matters. She can never be mine, although I think it would almost 
 drive me out of my mind, to hear that she was ever another's, and all I can do is 
 to do her and those belonging to her all the good I can. Bless her sweet eyes, 
 I shall never see their like in this world again." 
 
 His thoughts then turned somewhat to his sister, May, and then there was 
 some pleasure in tliiukin^ that she was safe from the world's storms, in the society 
 and protection of such a being as Cicely Brereton, for although he, Claude, had 
 certainly heard that the fortune of the Brereton family was not in the most 
 brilliant state, yet he had too little thought of the every day concerns of life, to 
 suppose that such a gloriously fashioned creature as Cicely could ever be the sport 
 of a malignant destiny. 
 
 These thoughts lasted him until the last gleaming light of the suburbs of Lon- 
 don was left beliind him, and the keen air from the fields opposite Holland Park, 
 blew upon his cheek. A distant clock struck eleven, and Claude deliberately 
 counted the sounds, and as the last one died away in faint echoes, he heard a 
 tramp of a horse's feet approaching from the direction of Shepherd's Bush, close 
 to where he now was. 
 
 Claude paused, and drew up by the road side. 
 
 The horseman approached rapidly, and by the time he was just opposite to 
 where Claude^had withdrawn his horse, the highwayman called aloud to him, 
 saying, — 
 
 " Sir, it you are a Christian, tell me it the road is safe from highwaymen lower 
 down," 
 
 •' Oh yes, I suppose it is," was the reply, as the man drew rein. 
 
 "I hope you are not deceiving me, sir. They say that Claude Duval, the terri- 
 ble highway robber, is on this road. I hope you are not he, for they tell me he is 
 up to all sorts of tricks." 
 
 _ "Oh, stuff! I Claude Duval ! Rubbish! 1 am the Bishop of Exeter's out- 
 rider, I gallop on before to pay the tolls and prepai-e a change of horses, when 
 required for the bishop." 
 
 " What ? Is the bishop on the road ?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure he is." 
 
 " Then I shall think myself safe, for no highwayman woulA have the impei;ti- 
 nence to show himself under such circuinstances. I should say good-night, sir, 
 X thank you." 
 
 Claude galloped on towards the country, while the bishop's outrider proceededl
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 53 
 
 iowmvards, after remarking to himself that the man who had just spoken to him, 
 was about the greatest goose he had met with for a long time. 
 
 "AYell," said Claude to himself, "the bishop is on the road, that is one piece 
 of news gained, at all events, which is worth the having, for now I will at once 
 fly at my high game, and let go any meaner prey I may happen to meet,'* 
 
 There were some symptoms now of the moon rising. This was not exactly 
 what Claude wanted, and yet it could not be said that he actually feared it, for 
 he had not unfrequently committed some of his most daring exploits when the 
 silver orb of night was fully in the ascendant. 
 
 " Humph," he said, " we shall have & light night after all. Well, well, so be 
 it ; it is by boldness and effroutry I do what I do, and not by being befriended 
 by darkness." 
 
 This was most literally true, and such was the terror which the very name of 
 Claude Duval frequently inspired that he might be likened to Csesar, for he came, 
 and saw, and conquered. 
 
 There was only one state of things, which in his robberies upon the highway, 
 Claude always wished, aud that was to be as far from houses as possible, for in the 
 immediate vicinage of dwelling places he certainly ran the risk of serious inter- 
 ruptions, but give him his prey alone, on the heath for example, and he truly 
 considered himself monarch of all he surveyed. 
 
 Acting upon this feeling and from tJiese considerations, his great object was to 
 meet the bishop upon Ealing Common, which was then by no means the fertile 
 and well villa' ct, if \re may be allowed to coin such a term, place that it is now. 
 On the contrary, it was in every sense of the word a barren spot. 
 
 The village of Ealing consisted of one public-house and a few insignificant 
 cottages ; while Hauwell, its near neiglibour, was more contemptible still, if we 
 may except the fact that there was then a church and an old ])arsouage house, 
 which gave a sort of importance to a place otherwise of none whatever, save in 
 the eyes of certain admirers of the piscatory art, who were v/ont to angle in the 
 Brent lliver, which thereabouts murmurs its gentle way through the meadows. 
 
 But Claude Duval was in no very poetical mood, so we, in accordance with his 
 spirit, revert to more stirring soenes. 
 
 By the time he reached the common, the moon — a young one — was making a 
 bold struggle to peep from amid the clouds, and see how the world was getting on, 
 and it did so fai* succeed as to light up the road across the common, in bright con- 
 trast to the dark foliage that skirted it. We have before noticed a group of trees 
 that grew to the left of the heath, and which Claude had before taken advantage 
 of as a kind of dark back,^T0und to the stirring picture he made take place in front 
 of them. He paused as^ain upon that spot. 
 
 " Now," he said to himself, " if this bishop should prove the man of courage 
 he is represented, there may be a nice little case of church patronage for the 
 government to dispose of to-morrow morning. We shall see, we shall see." 
 
 Claude applied all his attention to listening for the approach of the bisliop's 
 carriage, so much so indeed, tliat he hardly noticed the sound of horses' feet 
 coming in the direction wdience he had so recently trotted, but just as he began to 
 think the bishop was long in coming, he had the vexation of seeing by the dim 
 light from the again slightly clouded moon a figure on horseback arrive upon the 
 common. 
 
 '' Confound you," muttered Claude, " whoever you are, I only hope you will 
 pass on without observing me, and tliat, unless your eyes are tolerably keen, or 
 rather intolerably keen you may well do, for the moon is luckily behind me and 
 throws where I stand into absolute gloom." 
 
 The horseman was coming on at a slow pace, and yet to the percepVon of 
 Claude, as he anxiously watched his progress, it seemed as if either from intoxica- 
 tion, or exhaustion, or perchance sudden illness, it was with the greatest 
 difficulty he kept his seat on the saddle, reeling about as he was, and grasping 
 the neck of the horse.
 
 54 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " What on earth can be the matter with the fellow ?" thought Claude. " Now if 
 the fool cannot get past here, he may be most confoundedly in my way." 
 
 It seemed as if tne horseman however, was as anxious to get on as Claude 
 could have possibly wished him, and that it was from some special reason to the 
 contrary, that he made no quicker progress. Soon he arrived nearly opposite 
 to where Claude Duval was concealed, and then the horse made a rather hasty 
 movement, which nearly precipitated his rider from his back, and convinced 
 Claude that it was not the animal, but he who rode him, that controlled what 
 might have been a good pace. 
 
 The moon too at this moment, looked through a crevice in the murky sky, 
 shining down with slant rays from beliind the clump of trees, in whose deep 
 shadow Claude was stationed, full upon the figure of the horseman. 
 
 As if surprised then, at the sudden gust of moonlight, the stranger turned 
 his horses head towards it, and lifting off his hat, gave a deep groan. That groan 
 was echoed by a sharp cry of astonishment and dismay, from the lips of Claude, 
 for in the cold pale face before him, and upon which the moonbeams fell _ so 
 clearly, as to make mistake impossible, he saw the features of Sixteen-striug 
 Jack! 
 
 CHAPTEH XIV. 
 
 CLA.ITDE IS A LITTLE UNNERVED AI THE APPAKITION. — ^A SONG, AND A DANCE. 
 
 The sharp cry of alarm that had ''ome from the lips of Claude Duval, when 
 he recognised the pale and partially convulsed features of the man, who was 
 hanged only that morning at Tyburn, was a sound so unusual to the ears of 
 Sue, that for the first time since she had been in the possession of her present 
 master, she took fright. 
 
 With a snort of alarm, the animal reared and turned completely round. Then 
 bringing down its fore feet witli great violence to the ground, it dashed at head- 
 long speed amon<^ the trees. 
 
 Ciaude Duval it is true was astonished, unnerved, and terrified, but not to a 
 sufficient extent to lose all self-command over himself, or power over his steed. 
 If he had not exercised some sort of immediate controul, he and Sue both would 
 no doubt, have met with some tragical end among those trees, some of the over- 
 hanging branches of which would have dashed their brains out, but Claude 
 genii y drew rein, calling to the horse in his own familiar voice — - 
 
 '^What ho, my Sue ? Gently lass, gently !'\ ^ 
 
 So habituated was she to obey the slightest signal given by him, either by rein 
 or voice, that almost in a moment she paused, but Claude either trembled himself, 
 or the horse shook from fear, and made him think so." 
 
 Perhaps it was a little of both. 
 
 Por the space of about five minutes, however, he sat on his saddle, without 
 making the least exertion to go back to his former place upon the heath, and dur- 
 ing that time he was in such a state of utter bewilderment, that it could scai'cely 
 be said he had his proper senses about him. 
 
 "I am not superstitious," he said, at length, " but I have seen the ghost of 
 Sixteen-string Jack to-night, as I am myself a living man ! Yes, I saw him." 
 
 So confident was Claude of the identity of the apparition, that he would have 
 had no hesitation in the world, to risk his life upon the statement, and now as he 
 drew a long breath, and wiped away the drops of moisture upon his brow, he un- 
 coxisciously muttered these words 
 
 *' Can such tilings be, and oyercoiine us like a summer cloud, 
 Witkout our special wonder?"
 
 Lil'E ON THE ROAD. 
 
 55 
 
 * Yes," he added. " It was Jack, I cannot be mistaken. What can such an ap- 
 pearance portend to me. Is this to be my last adventure ? Am I to-night to 
 bid the world adieu ? I have heard, but ever treated such tales as the mvcntion 
 of brain-stricken idiots, that before a man is snatclied from life by violent means, 
 he is subject to such visitations as these. Can all that I have hitherto scouted and 
 laughed at be really true ?'* 
 
 Claude felt terribly embarrassed. If he admitted to himself the fact of the 
 appearance of Sixteen-string Jack's apparition, he felt he must likewise open his 
 mind to tlie reception of a thousand things which his better reason had hitherto 
 treated with disdain. 
 
 " By Heaven !" he cried, "I do much regret that in my alarm I fled. Oh, if I 
 had but staid and watched it I should then be certain ; but am I uncertain ? No 
 — no, I certainly saw it. Aye as plainly as ever I saw aught living." 
 
 Slowly he turned his horse's head in the direction of the common again, and if 
 such a slate of feeling can be understood, we may say, that he both hoped and 
 feared still to find the apparition on the spot where he had left it. At all events, 
 his short progress back was marked by more nervous agitation than in all his life 
 he had ever exhibited. 
 
 When he reached the precise spot, however, from whence he had caught a 
 view of the appearance, although the moon was still shining clearly, the place was 
 free from all intruders, and a silence as of the very grave reigned upon the com- 
 mon. 
 
 " 'Tis gone," he said. " Gone, and for the remainder of my life, I shall be in- 
 volved in a sea of doubt and conjecture regarding this affair, unless I see it 
 once again, and if I do I will follow it, aye, if it lead me to the gates of the infer- 
 nal regions. So ho ! my Sue, are you all right, my lass ?" 
 
 He accompanied these words by a caress of his steed, who, by pawing the turf, 
 and arching its neck, acknowledged the attention of the only one from whom it 
 cared for such a kindness. Claude now rapidly recovered his usual devil-may-care 
 style of thought, and his great fear was, that while he was away, although the time 
 was brief, the bishop's carriage had passed, and so he had been cheated of all his time 
 and trouble in waiting for its arrival. 
 
 " No — no. I can hardly think that," he said, at length, with a half laugh, which 
 did not sound very mirthful, " Jack would never serve me such a trick I am con- 
 fident, either alive or dead." 
 
 He glanced around him as he uttered these words, as if he almost feared this 
 recklessness might again awake the apparition. 
 
 All was, however, profoundly still, not a vestige of anything in the shape of the ap- 
 pearance of that which had terrified Claude Duval could be seen, and yet he hardly 
 knew whether to consider that to be a relief or not, for he would fain have made 
 assurance doubly sure, by once gain looking upon that face, which he thought he 
 had seen his last of in Oxford-street, and then again encountered so strangely on 
 Ealing Common. 
 
 But all these thoughts and feelings soon gave way before the new idea that 
 took posssession of him, as he now heard the sound of rapidly approaching car- 
 riage wheels. 
 
 "He comes," said Claude. "That must be my friend, the bishop." 
 
 He advanced some short distance to reconnoitre, and then he felt quite positive 
 that his eyes had not deceived him, and in a few moments more, too, he saw the 
 flashing of lights through the dim and murky air. 
 
 " All's right ! All's right ! He comes, he comes, and 1 shall soon see now 
 whether or not this appearance to me upon the common was prophetic or not of 
 coming evil*" 
 
 It will be seen that Claude did not doubt the reaUty of the apparition that ne 
 had seen upon the heath. He could have taken his oath, so strangely ^<'as the 
 whole affair hedged round by circumstances of proof, that it was a supernatural 
 appearance. 
 
 The bishop's carriage was rather a large and unwieldy machine. The bishop 
 
 ^atTflgy :t.
 
 56 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 like bishops in general, knew what comfort was, and accordingly his carriage was 
 more like a small house upon wheels, so full of all sorts of conveniences was it, 
 than anything else, and he was lolling in it, little suspecting any one would have the 
 audacity to attack so very great a personage. 
 
 Claude put Sue into a quiet sort of canter, and just as the carriage was passing 
 him, he llrcd a shot over one of the postillions' heads, and then cried,— 
 
 " Stand !" 
 
 The horse upon which the postillion rode reared, but the man drew rein^ and 
 the carriage was stopped accordingly. 
 
 " Mark mc, postillion," said Claude, " if you move on another step, as sure as 
 I am a living man, and my name is Claude Duval, I will blow your brains out, 
 and leave them on the common to be picked up by crows at daybreak." 
 
 At the dreaded and well-known name of Claude Duval, the postillion cowered 
 down in alarm, and took the utmost care that his horses should remain quiet, 
 while Claude trotted up to the door of the carriage, from which the bishop was 
 now looking with a face nearly purple with rage. 
 
 "The Bishop of Exeter, I presume," said Claude. 
 ■ " Well, fellow, who are you ?" 
 
 " Claude Duval, the highwayman." 
 
 " Drive on postillion — drive on — drive over the rascal." 
 
 " The postillion," said Claude, " has more brains, and more politeness than 
 his master. Civility, my lord bishop, may perhaps be policy upon the present 
 o;;.casion." 
 
 " Take that," said the bishop, suddenly producIuE: a pistol, but Claude's hand 
 was iu a moment upon the barrel of it, and turned it aside, so that some of the 
 contents, when the bishop pulled the trigger, passed within dangerous proximity 
 to his lordship's wig. 
 
 " Murder ! Tire !" said the bishop. 
 
 " It is well, sir, that my temper," said Claude, as he snatched the pistol from 
 his grasp, and flung it into the road, " is better than yours, or there would be 
 a vacancy in the see of Exeter to-night." 
 
 " Do you want to murder me ?" 
 
 " VYliy do you ask ? If I wished to do so, I should hardly stand to parley \rith 
 ;^'ou. Eemove your head, sir, out of my way." 
 
 The bishop drew in his head, and then Claude as he looked into the carriage, 
 saw by the aid of a small lamp hanging from the roof, in the interior, a young 
 and beautiful female, who betrayed much alarm. 
 
 " Is this your lady sir ?" xnicd. Claude Duval. "Introduce me, if it be." 
 
 " I — I — really — Lady Exeter, this is — ahem ! Claude Duval." 
 
 " You won't kill us," said the lady. 
 
 " No madam, although I suffer a most cruel death, from the fire of your 
 eyes. Mj lord bishop, I will trouble you for your trinkets, and watch. Of 
 you madc'im, I only require some souvenir as a remembrance, not of your beauty, 
 for thid I cannot banish from my heart, but of this happy meeting.'* 
 
 " No, no, no !" cried the bishop. " What impertinence." 
 
 " I'm sure he's rather polite," said the lady. 
 
 " Polite ? now, madam ?" 
 
 *' Be quiet, sir," said Claude. " Is it true madam, that you are an exquisite 
 dancer ot the minuet de la cour." 
 
 " Ah, I was before my " 
 
 " Sacrifice you would say. Now my lord bishop, I will trouble you for your 
 money, and valuables. Sir, I thank you. You have handed them out promptly, 
 although not with the most polished air in the world. Erom your intercourse 
 with courts, you ought to know better, and as for you madam, will you con- 
 descei-id to alight, and upon this dry and verdant sward, dance the minuet 
 with me?" 
 
 " Dcv^th and fury," said the bishop.
 
 GENTLOIA^N JACIC; OR. LIFE ON THE ROAd' 
 
 '• M^C '? rVn %''^f'^^^\ temptation, as his mi.d wasTel unonlt 
 ., ^^l ^,'^\ f'-^'f the bishop's lady, - do try the tune. It's very eTsy ' ' ' 
 
 Yes said Jack. "Easier almost than preaching." ^ ^* 
 
 '* Ah, do !" added the lady ^
 
 58 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR. 
 
 ** It will soon be over," sighed the lady. 
 I " Well, well," said Claude, " we will not trouble his lordship, but manage the 
 I tune ourselves." 
 
 ! "As you please, sir," said the lady. "I have heard that you are now named 
 Gentleman Jack/* 
 
 " I hope at all events that in this brief interview, which I shall never forget to 
 my dying day, 1 shall merit the appellation of gentleman." 
 "Oh, dear yes." 
 " No, no !" roared the bishop. 
 
 "Really, my lord," said the lady, "I must say your conduct is not what one 
 ought to expect from a dignitary of the church. If your lordship is so very averse 
 to my saving vour life by a mere dance by moonligjit, I advise your lordship 
 to lean back in the carriage* and shut your eves for the next quwter of an 
 hour." 
 
 "Shut mjr eyes!" . 
 
 " Yes," said Claude, "it is good advice." . 
 
 "Is it P Confound me if I think I can be too iwde awake just now, that's 
 my opinion." 
 
 "Come," laughed Jack. " If we wait all nkht, I am afraid we shall not induce 
 his lordship to appreciate this little joke. We had better have the dance at 
 once." 
 
 The lady made too objection, and as Claude whistled the tune, they both exerted 
 the measure with great grace. The lady panted slightly as Claude handed her 
 back to the carriage, and either by design, or acddent, a gold bracelet she wore 
 fell to the ground. 
 
 "Your bracel^, madam," said Claude, lifting it top. 
 
 "No— it is your's." 
 
 Claude bowed, and thrust it into the bosom of his apparel. The bishop now 
 would not say a word, although Claude bade him rather an elaborate good-night, j 
 but the lady was by no means so obdurate, replying with seeming sweetness <rf 
 voice, to the salutation of the highwayman. 
 
 "Ihive on, postillion," cried Claude. 
 
 The lights of the carriage dashed before his eyes, and in another mom«Ht the 
 vehicle was gone, , , - ^ 
 
 A mass cl dark clouds had been creeping for the last ten minutes^, slonrly 
 up from the south, and now they just toucned the edge of the moon's disc. 
 
 Claude glanced upwards, as he said,-^ 
 
 " No more moon to-nkjht." 
 
 Scarcely had the worcfe escaped his lips, than he heard the sound of feet eom- 
 iug at a quick pace down the road, and he drew close to the pathway to listen. 
 In aiew moments a female, as he knew by the voice, paused, being apparently 
 quite unable to proceed further, and cried frantically,— 
 
 " Oh spare me, spare me !" 
 
 There was another rapid sound of feet, and then a hoarse voice fuU of brutality 
 cried, — 
 
 "Where are you?" ' 
 
 "Here. Here. But spare my life. You shall liave all the money I have. 
 Why should you threaten to kill me?" 
 
 " Oh, you are there, are you ?" said the man. "Why did you run away. Come, 
 come, its of no use trying to escape from me. It's your money or your life 
 always, and at times when I think proper it's both»^* 
 
 " But you will spare me ?" 
 
 " I don't know that. Who do you think I am, now? I'm the well-known 
 highwayman, Claude Duval, so you had better make no resistance to me. You 
 can say you were robbed on Ealmg common by Clai7.de Duval." 
 
 Gentleman Jack before the conversation had got thus far, had quietly alighted 
 from his horse and crept towards the speakers.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 59 
 
 *' Comew" added the fellow, " I have a lantern here, and we'll see if you deliver 
 up all the mmmj you have or not. Have you any rings on your fingers ?" 
 
 «Ohno,i^. Oh, no." 
 
 " Nor in y<wr ears ?'* 
 
 " Not one, air. Oh, spare me." 
 
 " Ah, we shall see. We shall see." 
 
 There wai a sharp crackling noise, and the fellow had ignited a match, by which 
 he set li((ht to a small piece of wax candle in a lantern, which shed a dexterous 
 ray aroua4 it. 
 
 " Now," he said. "As sure as I am Claude Duval the celebrated highwayman, 
 I will have all your money." 
 
 " But," said Claude, suddenly grasping the fellow by the collar, and twisting 
 him round, "I thought Claude Duval never robbed defenceless women." 
 
 " Oh, murder ! murder ! Oh, dear !" cried the footpad. 
 
 " Go your way," said Claude to the poor woman, who was upon her knees 
 trembling, " go home. It is better that I and this gentleman should settle our ac- 
 counts alone. Good-night." 
 
 The terrified woman did not wait for a second bidding to 'begone, but started 
 off across the common at a great rate, leaving Claude to figlit hei battle in her 
 absence. 
 
 " Now," said Claude, " I want to know who you really are." 
 
 " Hands off. Keep your hands off me," cried the fellow, " or I shall lose my 
 temper. I am one you will be afraid to h«ar mentioned." 
 
 " Well, let me hear." 
 
 " I am the famous Claude Duval." 
 
 "Really. There must be two of the name, then, for folks have been in the liabit 
 of calling me Claude Duval, and you may see my horse there, by the light of your 
 lantern, waiting for me somewhat impatiently." 
 
 The fellow shook in every limb. 
 
 " Have mercy upon me," he said. " Oh, have mercy upon me." 
 
 " Did you ever show mercy ? Now, mark you. I have forgiven many a man 
 for aiming at my life — I have forgiven a few for doing me other iniuries, but I 
 never yet had an opportunity of askmg myself, until to-nisht, if I could forgive a 
 man for taking my name, and committing a dastardly action under cover of it." 
 
 " Oh, dear— oh, dear. " What will become of me ?" 
 
 "I don't know, just yet. I think I will give you a run upon the common for 
 your life." 
 
 "A— a run, sir?" 
 
 " Yes. What conditions do you jequire ?" 
 
 " If you will let me have it in the dark, sir, I— I think, that is, I hope, you" will 
 be^so good as to let me go, sir. Oh, dear." 
 
 " You think the darkness will be in your favour, do you ?" 
 
 *' Perhaps a little, sir." 
 
 " Very well, then I will put out the lantern you have. Turn its beams a little 
 to your left, and you will see a stagnant ditch, the delight of frogs and ducks. Do 
 you observe it ?" 
 
 "Ye — ^yes, sir." 
 
 " Then in that I will extinguish your like.**' 
 
 Claude was but a slight looking man, but upon more than one occasion he had 
 shown what amazing personal strength he possessed, as well as what astonishmg 
 tact he possessed in the management of it, but never upon any occasion had he so 
 exhibited both that strength and that dexterity as upon this. He by a sudden 
 movement, caught the fellow up by the middle, and fairly flung him forward, nearly 
 fifteen feet into the black, stagnant ditch, which he had just alluded to. 
 
 A cry of despair and agony, eame from the lips of the footpad. Then there 
 was a tremendous splash, after whicli all was still. 
 
 Claude walked calmly back to where his horse was standing, slowly to himself 
 whistling the tune, to which he had danced with the bishop's Jady, and giving him-
 
 60 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 self not the smallest concern about the footpad ; indeed, when he had mounted, 
 and trotted off, the only remark he made, was— 
 
 " Tliat fellow being born to be hanged, is of course proof against any death of 
 a watery churacler." 
 
 Claude did not seem much to care in what direction he went, and as he was for 
 some time under the sliadow of trees, he did not feel that there was a great 
 change taking place in the weather. After he emerged, however, which was 
 soon the case, to a more open part of the heath, he became aware of that 
 fact. 
 
 At about a quarter of a mile ahead of him, he saw a dim flickering kind of light, 
 and as the wind began to sigh and moan among the large trees that skirted the 
 heath, he made his way at rather a swift canter iii that durection. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE GREYHOUND INN. — AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 The rain came jxittering down, and Claude paused immediately at sotne short t 
 distance from tiie light that he descried. He could not quije make up his mind, 
 whether to wait for a time, or to take further chances upon the road. ^ 
 
 Under these circiunstances, a simple piece of arithmetic, always with him decided 
 the question ; he began to reckon up how many hours his horse had been on 
 foot. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it is time you should have a rest, my Sue, so girl we will 
 e:o to this house, which if I mistake not is the Greyhound, and has been men- 
 tioned to me, as a place where I can be safe." ; 
 
 He soon reached the door of the hostel, which, howe'wpr was closed upon the ; 
 sound of his horse's feet ; it seemed as if some man who was on the watch got 
 curious, for he looked out at a window, nearly level with the road, saying— 
 
 " Who are you, old fellow?" 
 
 " Are you the landlord," said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, r am. What th^n. We don't take in travellers here so laic" 
 
 " A word in your ear my friend. Folks] call me Claude Duval, who know i 
 me. Hush ! I hear you .'iave company. My horse and I only want one hour's ' ■ 
 rest. Do not mention me to any one." 
 
 The landlord was all obsequiousness directly, and Claude had soon got into 
 the corner of a long room, in which were many persons, and one had just began 
 to speak, as follows— 
 
 " Fill your glasses, gentlemen, fill your glasses, and don't be afraid of seeing the 
 bottom—you wont see a worse reflection there than that of yourselves. Maids 
 jiave their glasses, and why not men. They are often as intoxicated with what ; 
 they see as ever knight of the road could feel when under the inspiring influence of 
 the choicest vintage." 
 
 " That is true," replied a tall grim-looking individual, who sat in one corner, and 
 who lifted up a large well-filled glass. " I have seen many things, and had some 
 narrow escapes, but that which I account the luckiest of all, was an escape from 
 matrimony." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! Escaped from matrimony, were you ever menaced ?" 
 
 *• Aye, aye, I have, but 1 escaped, and you see me here free, aye, as free as man 
 can desire to be, and I will yet drink the lasses, though I would turn down my . 
 glass at * matrimony.' " " [ ! 
 
 " You are wise," resumed the first speaker, " but if you will drink the lasses, • 
 \lo let it he, and when you have replenished both glass and pipe, I wUl find you in (| 
 
 -?^?srt!tei-:
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 61 
 
 a little food for the miud, by recDuntiug a matter that happened some few yeaxi 
 back, that will pass the time, and show you how a few things have been done." i 
 
 This proposition was acceded to by acclamation, and glasses were lifted high, 
 and the toast drunk by the boon compuuious, who changed their postures, and when 
 Uie silence which had been so loudly invaded was restored, the first speaker be- 
 gan. , 
 
 "It is now five-and-twenty years since what I am going to tell you took place,' 
 and will show you that the cause of many a deed is not that which appears upon 
 the face of it as the most immediate and the most probable. ' 
 
 "There was a dashing blade, called Overbury Tom, from the name of the place 
 of his birth, and sometimes Coventry Tom, or Dashing Tom of Coventry, because 
 he was well known in those parts, and feared, for Tom was really a desperate man. 
 He had been in the army for a short time, and had, I believe, served a short time 
 abroad, but upon his return he found himself with only his commission, and no 
 patrimony. 
 
 "This was especially distasteful to Tom, because he had rather a luxurious iaste 
 and extravagant habits, which were much promoted by the habits of his brother 
 officers, and yet still more by the fact that in addition to liis being an especial 
 favourite among women, he had fallen deeply in love with the daughter of one of 
 his superior officers, and it was lecessary that he should maintain a good appear- 
 ance, and have a well-filled purse. 
 
 " Under the circumstances, however, he could not very well do the latter, be- 
 cause there were no means of obtaining a supply, save at the gaming table, but Tom 
 Overbury was not the manHo thrive at the gaming-table, because there was too 
 much of the reckless elevation of spirit about him, that made him restless, and the 
 bottle had more charms for him than pla^, though he used to lose money that way, 
 but never made any money there. 
 
 " Things being in that state, he passed along, one thoughtful evening, and Tom's 
 evenings were generally jovous and riotous — he was passing down a Line near 
 Coventry, when he entered the yard of a lural public-house, not far from the main 
 road, but yet so far that it was somewhat surprising that it should find custom 
 enough to support it, and neither would Tom have alighted there, but he had 
 ridden many miles, and a storm began to rage with great fury, and being unwilling 
 to encounter it, as he had no particular object in so doing, besides as I said this 
 was a thoughtful evening with Tom, and he sought shelter in the small roadside 
 house. 
 
 " * There,* said he, to the horse-keeper,l ' take care of the animal. I will 
 come and see to him by-and-bye, and if you do your duty your fee wont be any the 
 less.' 
 
 " * All right, your honour,* said the stableman, or boy rather, for the young 
 fellow had not arrived at the years of manhood, who acted as horse keeper, * you 
 shall not complain of me.' 
 
 " * Have you any visitors liere ?' 
 
 " * A few.' 
 
 " Tom turned and entered the large kitchen, which appeared to be the only place 
 at the disposal of guests, but there was a large fire, beside wliich was seated two, 
 who bore the appearance of being travellers like himself. 
 
 " He took his seat before the nre, and called for the best the house afforded, and 
 entered into conversation with the two strangers who were there before him, and 
 endeavoured to throw off the gloom that had for once overtaken him. 
 
 " * Have you travelled far,' inquired one of the strangers ? 
 
 " * Not far, yet far enough to be fatigued,' replied Tom, * you seem somewhat 
 travel-worn yourself, thougli the weather, however, has made me turn in.* 
 
 " *Aye, you are fortunate to have no worse motive to seek shelter for the 
 night,* replied the stranger, * I have had a much more urgent motive.' 
 
 ♦« '^ May I inquire what that may be ?' continued Tom, since you openly allude 
 
 ' ' You may sir, I was stopped and robbed, and my horse wounded, I feared 
 
 I
 
 62 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 goiug any further, and I feared staying in a place, so dismal and distant from 
 other habitations as this, and yet now I do not regret it.* 
 "* You have seen enough to make you satisfied with yonr host, I presume? 
 " * Exactly — I have — I am more at ease, rest and a good draught of ale— the 
 only tnings they have here, have restored my senses, for 1 was well nigh unable 
 to judge which was my right hand, or which was my left/ 
 " ' You must have been sorely beset.' 
 
 " ' I was,' replied the stranger, '^aud I ran some danger of losing my life. lwa«» 
 anned with a brace of pistols.' 
 " * You were stopped by more than one man then ?' 
 
 " * Oh, dear no. I was riding, when I was overtaken by a man, whom I had 
 met at an inn I had left, and he entered into conversation, for half a mile or more, 
 and then suddenly he put a pistol to my breast, and demanded my money.' 
 " * And you complied,' said Tom ? 
 
 " ' Not at once, for I fired my pistols, but the fellow only laughed, as though he 
 had been bullet proof, and then I was at his mercy, and he struck me on the 
 head— felled and wounded my horse by firing at it, but very slightly ;to prevent 
 my giving chase, I suppose, robbed me of all he could find about ihe,"'?i^ -then 
 left me stunned on the ground.' 
 " * And when you got up he was gone ?' 
 
 " ' Yes, he was, but I was not hurt much, or my horse either, so we found our 
 way hither, and I hope in safety, but the rogue did not deprive me of my 
 money, save what he found loose on my person, and as that appeared large 
 enough to satisfy his wants, why he searched no further, and I escaped 
 with the most considerable part of my money.' 
 
 " ' You were fortunate sir,' replied Tom, * pray how could you contrive to evade 
 the search of a knight of the road. I thought their scrutiny was rigid, and long 
 praf ticc had rendered them so expert, that they were seldom foiled.' ' 
 
 " • You are correct in that supposition, I believe, but I haye very nearly three 
 hundred guineas in a belt round my person, and that is unusual, and thus I have 
 saved my money, though I have lost over forty guineas.* 
 ** * Ah, that was a clever trick,' said Tom. 
 
 " * I would recommend you to employ it, sir, if ever you travel with a cou- 
 siderable^sKim of money about you.' 
 
 " *I will, replied Tom, * though I must say, I do not need the stratagem, since 
 I am always armed, and my regimentals are enough, to cause my person to be 
 respected, they cannot expect of a soldier, who has seen a field of battle to 
 surrender.* 
 
 " * And have you been in the wars,* inquired the stranger. 
 " * Indeed I have, but I must not boast but I am armed and do not fear one or 
 two men, sbcv^. I^ltn in some measure used to deadly weapons, but I never had 
 occasion to do/end myself on the road yet.' 
 
 ** 'Do you iftiend to remain here for the night,* inquired the stranger. 
 " *I shall, if I be obliged, and yet if the storm holds up, I should prefer ridmg 
 on to the next market town, where I can be entertained more suitably.' 
 
 " ' Well,' said the stranger, * a king's officer is always welcome company, and 
 if you really go to-night, and will permit me to travel as your companion,!, will 
 defray all charges, and consider myself as greatly vour debtor.' 
 
 " ' 1 will accept your company, though I donH know that I can accept ypur 
 other offer, but I will see my horsn baited at once,' replied Tom. 
 
 " Ovcrbury Tom went out anc. ^aw the horse fed, and looked at the strangers 
 horse and saw the wound was but slight, and then ordered his own to be fed, 
 which being done he once more returned to the kitchen, where he sat, gnd had 
 some refreshment. 
 
 ** An idea had entered Tom's mind for the first time, which kept its ground, 
 despite his determination at first to resist the impulse, which was to voja his 
 intended companion upon their journey, and thus procure a rouiid sum. . 
 **Tom' had been very short of late, he had got into debt among some of hi* 
 
 .-■'-...■ .,•—■•• .■.:.;....-:i; ::--r'::: ;-;-- ■-?:':/—.•. - - - ■• -'- — -'---r-^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 63 
 
 fellow officers, and he feared being asked for it, and unable to satisfy the demand, 
 aiid he greJ«ly feared it hein^ at any lime wMs^ered th ,t his means were 
 limited, because it would tend to interfei e with his amour \/ith the daughter of 
 his superior officer. 
 
 " However, after much thought, he determined that he would at an unguarded 
 moment deprive him of his money, and then change his route, and thus escape 
 detection, and should the worst happen, he would at all events place himself far 
 above suspicion ; but there was no fear of his being detected, and his wants were 
 so pressing, and all his resources were dried up, and none for the future would be 
 open to lum, save the produce of his commission, which was mortgaged for some 
 time to come, and would not been enough to support iiim in his mode of life, being 
 scarce a fourth of his wants in the way of money. 
 
 " Things went on very well. They had some ale, for it was all they could get, 
 and then when the storm abated, which it did in about an hour, they both quitted 
 the hostel, and proceeded towards the next town in company, and travelled 
 along for a mile or two as Tcry good friends, until they came to a very lonely 
 spot, when Tom said— 
 
 " ' I should not much like to meet any highwayman here. It is so very 
 lonely a spot.* 
 
 " ' Nor should I,* replied his companion. *It was just such a place as that, I 
 was so lately stopped in — ^ 
 
 " ' And if you were again, you would not probably get off so cleverly.' 
 "* That's true,*' replied the other, *but then you see, I should have much 
 faith iu my belt, and that you know is a secret not divulged to any one.* 
 " ' Yes, there was another man in the room where we met.* 
 " * There was so, but he's not here, and it is unlikely I shall be again caught out 
 with so much money about me — it will be a warning to mc, and I shall never be 
 found such a goose as to do the like again.* 
 
 " ' Then those who desire to rob you, had better do so at once.' 
 '" Ah ! ah ! you are right, but it would take more than one or two to stop me 
 now with you by my side.' 
 
 " * True, but yet now I think of it, I am terribly in want of money. — I should 
 very much like to borrow a small sum of money— say three hundred pounds, 
 eh?' 
 
 " * Eh ? — What ?— I beg your pai'don,* stammered the traveller. 
 " ' Why you can have no objection to take the word of honour of a king's 
 officer for so paltry a sum as that, surely you don't hesitate ?' 
 
 " ' Oh dear no, but you see I can't spare the money, indeed I have*nt got 
 it.* 
 
 "'Your belt.' 
 
 " * Oil dear ! oh yes ! — but I can't lend it — because— bffl||use I want it.* 
 "'Exactly,' replied Tom, 'and I must borrow because I want it. So what 
 am I to do ? Must you or I go without, eh ?' said Tom, in an angry voice. 
 
 " *But to lend — I don't know you, and my own wants . "VVliat secuiity ? 
 
 You are joking. Oh dear, aye, I know, you only intend to joke.' 
 
 " * The devil a bit,* said Tom, who could hai-dly forbear laughing at the fellow's 
 amazement and fears. * I must tell you, you must lend me your belt. If you 
 doubt my honour, you must give me satisfaction. I shall take upon myself to 
 chastise you at once, and do not know but what I ought to shoot you at once, 
 and prevent any further trouble.' 
 
 " ' But good heavens ! you, an officer, don*t intent to commit robbery !' 
 " \No, I merely intend to borrow three hundred guineas of you, which as you 
 have objected to, I must insist upon as a matter of honour. Lend me that sum 
 at once, or you may depend upon it you will inhabit a coffin.' ' 
 
 *' • Oh my God !* exclaimed the traveller. * What shall I do.' 
 " ' Hand over your money, my friend,* said Tom, pulling out his pistol, which 
 he presented to the other's head, ' nand it over I say, and let this tell you how 
 much in jest I am, a single attempt at resistance will be fatal to you,* ,
 
 64; GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "The poor devil knew not what to thiflk, save indeed, that he was unable to 
 reast, ana had indeed, no power to do so, so with a ruelnl countenance, and a 
 sorrowing heart, he undid his belt, and reluctantly handed it over, saying,— 
 
 " ' There it is. I am a ruined man. Return me enough to pay my way home 
 —nay do not take all from me.' 
 
 " • There are some guineas to carry you back— but I must prevent you ^ing 
 anywhere on horseback, so I will just borrow your bridle, and 1 will leave it on 
 the first gate after I have passed two miles up yonder road, you will find it thec» 
 if you walk as far. Good-nidit.* 
 
 •' bo saying, he put the belt into his pocket, and slung the bridle on his arm, 
 and rode along at a rapid rate, left the bridle at the place he mentioned, and then 
 galloped across country, and in another hour and a half stopped at a small inn, a 
 distaaice of five and twenty or thirty miles from the scene of action. 
 
 " He soon after came to London) and paid his debts, or some of them, and 
 flourished with the remainder of the money. But light come, Hghtly go, says the 
 adage, and so it was with Tom, who no sooner got to the end of his money, than 
 
 he bethought liimself of turning out upon the road and obtaining a supply. 
 
 *' This was naturd enough. 'He haa once benefitted by laying contrioutions, and 
 his necessities were of that character, that he preferred chancing a halter. Life's a 
 game of chance, he would say, and if the game was well played who could grudge 
 the stake.'* 
 
 " And he was right," said one of the companv. 
 
 " Entirely so,'* added another. " I propose the memory of Overbury Tom." 
 
 "Overbury Tom** was echoed from every mouth, and deep draughts were quaffed 
 to the memory of the hero of the tale. 
 
 To proceed ; you see he was no chicken, a big, but not a clumsy man, of great 
 
 strength and activity, of undoubted courage, and was more thau a match for any 
 
 one whom he might chance to meet with. He did turn out and again was suc- 
 
 1 1 cessful. He returned with a well filled purse, and became the idol of his com- 
 
 ii panions. 
 
 ' " He was proceeding very fast in the amour with the young lady I spoke of, but 
 he had gone so far, that it became the duty of her parents to mquure into the state 
 of our friend's income, which was somewhat inconvenient. He fenced about for 
 some time, aud evaded it, but there was no avoiding it, and he declared he had no 
 property, and all he had to depend upon was the pay he received, and the volun- 
 tary contributions of his relatives, which he expected would increase rather than 
 diminish ^ter marriage. 
 
 "There's no disguising the fact, but he was not very urgent in pressing the mar- 
 riage, conscious I suppose of the precarious life she would be compelled to lead, and 
 yet he had gone too far to withdraw ; the result was the seduction.of the young lady^ 
 and a regular scene in the family, who took the girl away and secreted her, so that 
 Tom never afterward saw her, or even heard of her. I believe he shed tears in me- 
 mory of her, but yet after all they had done whatever under the circu?nst««ices was 
 j] best for her. 
 
 1 1 " With Tom, however, they determined hot to part, and he, was called to accQunt 
 ' by the father, and Tom was obliged to meet his superior officer, whom he con- 
 ceived he had injured. 
 
 " They met. Tom received his adversary*s fire, but refused to fire in return, but 
 after much remonstrance, he was compelled to diaclwtrge his weapon, and then a 
 second fire was demanded, arid As the nrst had been nearly fatal to Tom, he felt 
 exasperated, that so much rancour should be shewn towards him, and an 
 evident desire to destroy him manifested by his antagonist, whose enmity appeared 
 deadly. 
 
 "The second fire was granted, and it ended in the fall of the girrs father, ,who 
 ^as mortally wounded, and Tom himself escaped by a miracle, tor a button was 
 shot off his breast, and that was close work. . 
 
 "However, they sai^ a great deal about murder, and fitting his superior officer, 
 in such a way, that T<;m was determippd to quit the army to save himself from a
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 65 
 
 court-martial, and perhaps from being shot; for there was a great influence at work 
 against him. He once more took to the road, and had the good fortune to meet 
 with a man who carried much money about him. After many years of various 
 frotunes, he one day came upon a travelling party on the main road from London 
 to York. There were in the carriage two gentlemen, three ladies, besides the 
 driver, a .'man servant, and a woman behind. He darted down a small lane, and as 
 the carriage ascended a sharp hill, he rode up and commanded the postilion to stop. 
 " ' Your money or your life,* said Tom. * You are a bold man to attack so 
 many, said an elderly gentleman. ♦ No more words— money !' said Tom. A 
 youns: eentleman who was in the carriage, and about being married to a beautiful 
 
 young girl by his side, gave orders for the men to make use of their arms. A 
 servant, while in the act of levelling his gun, was shot by Tom. The young man 
 rising to teize him, was fired at, but the bullet missing him, entered the young 
 lady's breast ; she jumped up, but instantly fell back again with a faint scream, and 
 died. The destined husband blindly threw himself upon Tom, who cleft his 
 skull in two with his sword, which he ever retained by his side. ' Enough,' said 
 the elderly gentleman, who was afflicted beyond measure, and barely able to under- 
 stand his position, for the other two ladies had fainted, and were covered with 
 blood : ' take what you want, man, and go hence— you have done what you cannot 
 undo— more blood may be shed, but money will not buy back the lives of these.*
 
 66 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 •* Away flew Tom to the nearest market town, where he sold his horse, aad 
 obtained another, for his own was scarcely fit for such hard service as w&s 
 required of him, for he justly thought this last affair would cause a terrible com- 
 motion among travellers, and he should be hunted from place to place, and the 
 best thing he could do was to place himself in a situation to baffle them, and esCTpe 
 by his fleetness, perhaps to Scotland, and if that would not do, to go to Wales, 
 and thence to the south of England, and perhaps to London itself/ 
 
 " It was no bad idea, and on went worthy Tom, but it was a long journey, and 
 attended by difficulty and danger, but he was equal to that. 
 
 " However, he had but little time to spend, here he rested one night, and 
 ^finding the hue and cry out after him, he took flight and proceeded to York. Here 
 he rested a day or two, but finding he was sought, he started for Darlington, ^d 
 then to Morpeth, and after a day or two got near Edinboro', where he found 
 himself headed by the Londoners, who were let loose after him, and he was 
 recognised, and a capture attempted, 
 
 " But he vas not the man to surrender at any odds, for he said neither Tybura 
 nor York would ever see his fuiQeral procession, or execution, he fought, and 
 killing one, and mortally woundiag the other, the third fl-ed for Edinboro'. 
 
 *' Tom now headed back, sought refuge in Durham, but he knew he was not safe, 
 and quitted that place by daybreak, being determined to get away by flight, but 
 resolved to die at bay, and have no last dying speech and confession. 
 
 "He was a good man — a brave man, and he continued his journey for a day 
 or two till he got to Derby, where he resolved to stay for a few hours, and then 
 set out for Coventry, Gloucester, and Bristol, and then pursue what road he 
 thought proper; but he never got to any of these places, the pursvdt was hotter 
 than he bad any ncstion of, and men had been sent from London m another 
 direction, upon hesaing he had been turned from Scotland, and they came up 
 with hini— or I shcmld say they met uith him a few miles on the London side 
 of Derby, in a lone spot, where there was no escape save by fleetness back again, 
 but he came upon them too suddenly at the turn in the road near a wood, whick 
 obstructed Ms view, and he was fairly caught. 
 
 " ' Surremier, or you are a dead man !' "said the first. 
 
 " * I am a dead man if I do,' said Tom, ' so I have no encouragement to di» ab,' 
 and as he spoke he shot the man down, and drawing his sword soon charged ikuaa 
 milltary[fasli!on, which so disconcerted them from the strange mode of resistance, sni 
 his being in the midst of them, that he itearly escaped, though pistol shots w^eflyii^ 
 about in abundance, till one shot him through the back ; "he lingered but a few 
 hours and then died ; peace be with him, he was a brave and daring man.* " 
 " Aad that's all, is it," said one, who had listened attentively to the recital. 
 " Yes, and enough too," said a»oth«*, " but I have something to say. There 
 is a stramger in the comer of thfrlPOQm tiiere, who has heard all ^and says' nothing. 
 He takes his diink in silence. We 'Smx't know him, aad as we consider ourselves 
 hikks here, and good fellows, I ijSfaeni to have him oat.** 
 
 All eyes were now turned upioa Claude Duval, as he sat in sik»ce in the 
 aojrner of the room to which he ibad retired. His thoughts were at that moment 
 full of her whom he loved, and bitter imaginings were chasing each other like a 
 "hideous brooding phantom through his brain. 
 
 And often amid all other considerations, aad painful reflections, the remem- 
 brance of the appearance of Sixteen-string Jack upon Ealing Common would 
 obtrude itself, giving, when it did so come ' across his memory, a powerful and 
 almost electric shock to his nerves. 
 
 Eor a moment or two he was not conscious of having become the object of 
 so much attention, but when with a wink at his comrades, the ntan who had talked 
 of bringing him out walked up to the table, and gave it a blow with his hand, 
 Claude looked up. 
 " Hilloa ! my friend," said the fellow. " Is this your brandy ?" 
 " Yes," said Claude.
 
 LD^E ON THE ROAD. &7 
 
 *' Very well, then I will show you what good fellowship is by drinking it of( 
 for you, since you have been nursing it so long/ 
 
 As he spoke he finished Claude's glass. 
 
 " Landlord," said Claude, " another glass of brandy-and-water." 
 
 The steaming beverage was brought to him, and then taking it -ia one hand, lie 
 rose, saying, — 
 
 " You have just drank one glass of liquor belonging to me, to please yourself. 
 You shall now drink another to please me." 
 
 Before then any one could interfere, he dashed the fellow's mouth open with a 
 blow of his disengaged hand, and poured the whole glass of hot spirits and water 
 iato it. 
 
 A general scene of confusion ensued. The man was within an aee of being 
 <;hoked, and several voices cried out to know who the stranger was. 
 
 "I am Claude Duval," he said. " Good-night, gentlemen." 
 
 The effect of the pronunciation of the name was quite electric. They all 
 crowded round him now, as though he had been some liero, and the unfortunate 
 *' brick" who wanted to bring him out looked panic-stricktai. Again Claude 
 said, " Good-night !" and then one of them cried, — 
 
 "What are you for the road, captain, again to-aigjji ?'* 
 
 "I am," said Claude, "I am." 
 
 " A storm is brewing." 
 
 " No matter. My vocation is on the road, and there can be no storms of the 
 elements equal to the storm that will at times rage in a man's heart. I do not 
 feel at ease to-night." 
 
 At this moment a man entered the room, and whispered to Claude that there 
 was a young lad without, who had a note for him. A cold sensation somehow 
 crept over Claude's heart, and he could not but tell himself at once that there 
 \i'ere such things as omens in this world. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 THE EBTTER FROM LONDON. — THE FALSE CHAEGE. 
 
 All who were present and saw the effect which was produced upon the re- 
 doubtable Claude Duval by the mere reception of a letter, could scarcely think it 
 possible that in him they beheld the man who was so proverbially careless of life 
 that a pistol shot was considered as but an ordinary occurrence. They could 
 scarcely comprehend the proposition that there might be the greatest possible 
 amount of physical courage, and yet a large share of what is called nervous 
 feeling; 
 
 Duval, or Gentleman Jack, as it will be now more convenient, as well as more 
 proper to call him, heeded not whether his conduct created surprise, censure, 
 applause, or any other feeling. He was completely absorbed in reading the letter 
 wKich had been placed in his hands. 
 
 It was as follows,, and was from, his sisier May. 
 
 "Claude, 
 
 " Dear Claude, for you are still dear to me, notwithstanding the past, you 
 are called upon solemnly to do an act of justice. Mr. Mark Brereton is falsely 
 accused by Tom Brereton of robbing and attacking him on the highway, and in 
 fact your deeds on Ealing Common, when you stopped the carriage, ai-e sought by 
 Tom' Brereton to be fixed upon the innocent Mr. Mark. Remember that Mark is 
 Cicely's brother. 
 
 " This is from one who still calls herself 
 
 "May Duyal."
 
 08 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB. 
 
 *' My horse," cried Claude, " my horse !" 
 
 " In a moment, captain," cried one, "in a moment ; and when you come this 
 way again, don't forget to call here." 
 
 " I will not, you may be assured. I am one who forgets and forgives many 
 iujuries, but a kind word sinks deeply into my heart, and is never forgotten. Good 
 night to you all, and good fortune." 
 
 " Three cheers," shouted one, " three cheers for Gentleman Jack !" 
 
 " No, no— oh, no," said the landlord. "Eemember that quietness is security. 
 Don't do it, though if time and place were fitting, there is no one who would 
 stretch his lungs more than I should in such a cause." 
 
 " You are right," said Jack. " Let us have no cheering. I am well pleased to 
 know that I leave friends behind me here.'* 
 
 , " Your horse is ready, captain," said a man, coming that moment into the 
 room ; " but there are two horsemen haunting about the road." 
 
 " Do you know them ?" 
 
 " No, captain ; but they look woundy suspicious, that they do. If 
 you take the path by the coppice at the back of the house, though, you will avoid 
 them." 
 
 " No," said Claude, "I would not run the chance of avoiding a friend, for fear I 
 should happen to meet an enemy." 
 
 He waved his hand to those who were assembled, and strode to tlie door. 
 There was a look of gloom upon his brow, although his words had been light and 
 careless, but the sight of his gallant steed pawing the earth with impaiienee 
 to be off, roused him, and he patted the creature's neck, as he said, — 
 
 " Ah ! my Sue, you are as fond of the road as your master !" 
 
 "She never had such a master until she knew you, captain," said the 
 landlord, 
 
 " And she shall never have another/' responded Claude, as he sprang lightly 
 into the saddle. 
 
 " Remember what my man told you about the horsemen," whispered the land- 
 lord. " They bode you no good, you may depend." 
 
 « Thanks, thanks. All is right.'* 
 
 In another moment Claude darted into the darkness, but wheii he had got 
 some distance from the public-house, he pulled rein and dismounted, laying his 
 ear flat against the ground, and then he distinctly heard the sound of horses' feet 
 at a gentle walk ; and having ascertained that they were coming towards where he 
 was, from the direction of London, he mounted again, and at a gentle canter went 
 on his way to meet them. 
 
 In the course of a few minutes, the sound of the advancing horses' feet was 
 quite plainly to be heard without an^^thing in the shape ot extraordinary vigilance, 
 acd then, through the dusky night air, Claude saw those whom he had good reason 
 to suppose his foes, advancing. 
 
 They, too, must have observed him about the same moment, for, putting their 
 hoises to a trot, they came rapidly up to him ; and one cried,— 
 
 " Stand, in the king's name !" 
 
 " Well, what then ?" said Claude. 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " A gentleman. Has the king turned highwayman by deputy, and are you about 
 to attempt to rob me ?" . 
 
 " You are my p.risoner !" said one of the men, suddenly making a catch at the 
 bridle of Claude's horse. 
 
 " Paws off, Pompey," said Claude, as with the heavily silver-mounted butt end 
 of one of his pistols he struck the man on the back of the hand, putting him to the 
 most exquisite pain. 
 
 The other immediately fired a pistol full in Claude's face, and the bullet actually f 
 took up the skin by bis cheek so finely, that it looked more like as if he had 
 received a very slight graze than anything else. In fact, at the moment he was
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. ' 69 
 
 perfectly unconscious of having been touched at all, and could hardly in any way 
 account for the bullet missing him. 
 
 " Confound the fellow/' cried he who had fired the pistol, when he saw that 
 Claude still maintnined his seat in the saddle. " He is certainly made of cast 
 iron !" 
 
 "Perhaps I am," said Claude, as he fired at him ; "are you?'* 
 
 The man fell from his horse with a deep groan j and the other cried, in loud 
 accents,-— 
 
 " Villain, you have murdered the man T 
 
 "Eortune," said Claude. "If ever there was in this world an unprovoked 
 attack, it was that made upon me. I only acted upon the defensive. Take care 
 that vou don't fall into the same condition as your friend. I would fain spare you, 
 if I can." 
 
 " You spare me !" 
 
 " Yes. Beware, I say ! Are you drunk or mad that you bar my path, and so 
 tempt me to lay you prostrate ? I am not in my usual mood," 
 
 " I know you. You are the highwayman, Claude Duval. I am John Jeffries, 
 the officer ; and I have made up my mind to take you." 
 
 " You are a gallant fellow 1" 
 
 •'What do you mean?" i 
 
 " I mean that I do not believe there is another officer in England who would 
 say so m.uch to me alone upon a country road. I never take a life, or commit an 
 injury upon any one if I can avoid it. Get out of my path, I conjure you, for the 
 S£^e of yourself and any whom you love." 
 
 " No, dead or alive, I will have you ! Take that.'* 
 
 During this brief dialogue the officer had been quietly pointing a pistol at 
 Claude, and now, as he spoke, he pulled the trigger, but the 'weapon only 
 flashed m the pan, upon which he turned his horse's head, and tried to escape at 
 full gallop. 
 
 " Indeed," said Claude Daval, as he set his teeth. " So you are for a race, my 
 friend ; so be it. Now, Sue, girl, now." 
 
 A touch of the heel of his boot on the flank of the mare, and a slidit movement 
 of the rein was all that it required to put Sue to her metal, and ofi she was like 
 the wind. 
 
 No doubt the man who had thus made so violent an attack upon the life of 
 ' Claude heard the noise behind him of his pursuer, for his speed evidently in- 
 creased, and he went on at a break-neck pace, while Sue, dthough gaining iinoa 
 him, by no means seemed to be doing too much work. 
 
 It was a fearful race that which was now taking place between those two men ; 
 the one was actuated by the most abject fear for his life, and the other with some- 
 thing of a spirit of revenge. 
 
 And yet neither of those passions really belonged to them. In the first place, 
 the officer was a man of decided courage, but when he found that, after niakinf^ 
 an absolute attempt upon the life of Claude Duval, he was unarmed, he fully 
 expected nothing short of destruction ; and the fear of present death will often 
 unman the stoutfst heart. 
 
 Then, again, as we well know, Claude Duval was not, by any means, a man of 
 revengeful spirit ; but who, in the moment of excited feeling, contingent upon 
 an attack of the nature we have recorded, could help feeling some decree of 
 irritation ? 
 
 We do not represent Claude as other than hum^u, and there are few indeed 
 (Who would have even commenced the chase as he commenced it, and fewer 
 still who would have ended it as we shall see he ended it — nobly and chiva? 
 rously. ' 
 
 Claude had arms, with which, probably, he might have brought the affair to a 
 rapid conclusion, for his aim was alinost unerrino-, but he sufficiently controlled 
 himself not to use them ; but with the frightful speed that Sue was capable 
 so ea:;ily of making, gained each .moment upon the desperate officer.
 
 70 GENTLEMAN JACK; OK, 
 
 The only hope which the latter now had of escape consisted in the fact that 
 there was a turupike jjjate about a half a mile a-head of him, and he thought that 
 if he could but gain that before he was overtaken bj Claude Duval, that the high- 
 wayman would hesitate before he committed any deed of Wood in the presence of a 
 wiiness. 
 
 Claude well knew of the existence of that gate, and revolved in his mind what 
 he should do upon reaching it. Although there was littlo enough time for reflec- 
 tion upon the subject, for in the course of half a minute more, he heard the officer 
 shouting in a loud voice — 
 
 "Open tlie gate — open the gate.'* 
 
 "Hilloa !" cried the man, wno had charge of the highway obstruction, "hiUoa-^ 
 who are you 'f 
 
 " Open the gate at once ! I am an officer^pen the gate for God's sake — thrare 
 is some one behind me." 
 
 A light flashed amid the darkness, and Claude, as Sue flew on like the 
 wind, could see the white rails of the turnpike gate flashing in the dam 
 gloom. 
 
 The officer now drew rein, and cried again— 
 
 " For God's sake let me through the gate, and then close it again against Claude 
 Duval, or I am a dead man. 
 
 The turnpike-man flung the gate open, exclaiming as he did so — 
 
 " You can pass on ; but if you think that my gate ean keep out Claude DuvaL 
 you are much mistaken. What the deuce is he commg after you for ?'* 
 
 The officer darted through the gate, and the man flung it shut again at the mo- 
 ment, and then held up his lantern to see who was really in pursuit of the alarmed 
 officer. 
 
 " Now Sue !" cried Jack. 
 
 In another moment she was over the turnpike gate, as lightly as though she had 
 been a feather wafted by the wind ! 
 
 The officer's horse Vfas exhausted. He reared, and then ntaking a fearful plunge 
 threw its rider on the road, and gallopped oft" full of fright, for it had not been _ ac- 
 customed to the violent manner in which it had been urged to such desperate flight 
 by its rider. 
 
 The turnpike-man looked aghast and terrified, and he could not, in the hurry and 
 excitement of the moment, interfere one way or the other, and if Claude Duval had 
 been actuated by the sanguinary feelings which the officer in his own mind had at- 
 tributed to him, he'might easily have taken his life. 
 
 A touch to the rein of Sue brought the faithful and obedient creature to a stand, 
 aud Claude dismounted leisurely. 
 
 "A short chase," he said. 
 
 " W — w — what do you mean, sir ?" stammered the turnpike man. 
 
 " Nothing particular. " 
 
 " Mercy — have mercy upon me," said the officer, as stunned a»d half disaWed by 
 his fall, he assumed a cioucbiug position on the ground. I did but try to»do my 
 duty. You would have done as much if you had been m my place. Maife mercy 
 upon me, as 1 would upon you. 
 
 ' " Permit me to doubt that," said Claude. " Your merey upon me would hsuve 
 consisted of a bullet in my brains," 
 
 "Oh, no— no " ' 
 
 " Hush ! For your own sake, at such an awful moment as this, do not lie t** 
 
 As he spoke, Claude took a pistol from his pocket, and approached the 
 officer, who uttered a cry of terror, while the turnpike-maH, turning very p«^, 
 said — 
 
 " You will not murder him on my threshold ?" 
 *•' You have said it," replied Claude. 
 '^ And he still approached the officer, until he was near enough to grasp him by the 
 collar, and then, while the tren-tbling wretch was gasping in all the agony of tha 
 immediate expectation of death, Claude spoke, in a iii-m clear voice-^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 71 
 
 " You have made a dastardly attempt upon ray life, and now you expect me to 
 Spare you." ,ssaa 
 
 "Mtwey— mercy l" 
 ] ' " Bid you show any ? Prepare yourself for-*—** > 
 
 I « Beath— 'death !" cried the officer, " death at last V* 
 
 " If your pistol had not missed fire, I should have been a dead man now, 
 and, therefore, having caught you, I have but a few words to say to you." 
 
 The officer fell back and closed his eyes as he thought, no doubt, upon the 
 world for ever. Heaven and his own heart can only know how fearful were his 
 sufferings during that short space of time. No doubt if he had committed any 
 evil deeds, tliey crowded to his recollection, and he suffered much more tiian 
 the pangs of death could possibly have amounted to. 
 
 Clau(k Buval placed his mouth to his ear, and whispered,-* 
 f " When next you meet me take care your powder is dry." 
 
 Rising then from his stooping attitude, Duval sprung upon his horse again, and 
 waving his hand to the petrified turnpike man, he went off towards London at a 
 sharp trot. 
 
 For a few moments- after he had left them, neither the officer nor the man in 
 charge of the toll gate moved, but the latter called out,— . 
 
 "Why he hasn't killed you." 
 
 The officer lay quite motionless upon the ground and ma^e no reply, and when 
 the toll-keeper reached up to him, and examined him by the aid of his lantern, 
 he was astonished and terrified to find his eyes having a fixed appearance, while 
 a pallid hue of death was on his face. 
 
 CHATTER XVni. 
 
 THE INTEETTCW WITH THE ATTOB^EY. THE ATTEMPTED ARUEST. 
 
 We will follow Claude to London, where he was doomed to pass through some 
 adventures of most unparalleled audacity and risk. 
 
 The chase of the officer had extended far enough up the London road, to shorten 
 the distance that Claude had been from the metropolis considerably, and the first 
 faint grey light of dawn was making its appearance in the east when he entered 
 Oxford-street. 
 
 Then he slightly drew rein, so as to reduce the pace of Sue to a walk, instead of 
 
 the easy canter she had be^un at. A shade of care was upon the face of Claude. 
 
 "Wliat am I going to do?" he asked himself. "Am I upon the point of 
 
 making a sacrifice of myself for another, or am I after all doing an act of common 
 
 i justice, which at all risks all men who have any principle of honour at their hearts 
 
 I are bound to do? Ah, Cicely, Cicely, were it not for you, I think ere now a 
 
 i feeling of despair would come across my heart, and I should fancy the w(»Id and 
 
 \ all its uses not for me. What shall I do ?" 
 
 I He paused a moment, and it was doubtful just then, whether or not he would 
 
 persevere in his intention of making an effort to save Markham Brereton j but then he 
 
 ; suddenly told himself, that it was not a? Markham Brereton that he would try to 
 
 ' save him, but as the brother of Cicely, and the mere pronunciation of her name 
 
 was a spell so potent that in a moment it banished all his scruples. 
 
 " It shall be done," he cried. " It shall be done, at whatever risks, it shall be 
 done." !. 
 
 The dawn came creeping'slowly on as he paced down Oxford-street, and as he 
 ^azed befojre him, he saw the night-clouds m the east gradually opening to the 
 beams of the great luminary that as yet had not reached the horizon, but sent his
 
 72 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 rays like the advance guard of an army, to clear tlie way for the main bodyand dis^ 
 lodge all minor enemies — then by little and little the shadowy east became lit up 
 by a faint glow of colour, at first a grey— then the grey deepened — and here and 
 there a warmer tint crept over the edge of the clouds, many of which soon after 
 assumed a purple tint, while a fiery glow shot along the parallel of clouds, and 
 wh 'n the space opened, a golden light streamed forth. 
 
 Claude Duval gazed upon the beauties of the east, they were no less marked 
 tliua those of the west, which come like the illumined cover of a great book to 
 close upon the day ; now the cover was turning — ^the giver of all things was opening 
 the book to commence the day— and from it streamed light, and ^ that brings 
 good to man. 
 
 The houses came irregular and at intervals, no sign of life could' he see save 
 that here and there a coach-dog opened its deep-toned throat and bayed at the 
 passing stranger, and the cocks from the roost gave clear and shrill notice of the 
 break of day. 
 
 He looked upon the dark forms of the houses, many of them much alike, but 
 yet he could not well distinguish ihem. quickly, for the light not yet being strong, ^ 
 he could see those best whose forms soared nigh and stood in relief against the 
 sky, which was each moment becoming stronger. 
 
 Claude Duval had a tolerably fair recollection of the house, in at the window of 
 which he had been received by his sister, on that most eventful morning when he 
 had been so daring as to shake hands with Sixteen-string Jack, and he looked out 
 sharplv for it. 
 
 Still there were so many houses alike that he might have been rather puzzled 
 but for one circumstance, and that was his observing fluttering from one of the 
 windows of a house a white handkerchief, -- •^= 
 
 "That is it," he said, "May has adopted such a mode of making her house 
 known to me without fear of mistake, and that white wnblem is significatory of 
 the innocence and purity of the dwellers in that house. Yes, I will at any risk 
 do what is right'* ^■■•■■ 
 
 He halted at the door of the house and as he cast his eyes up to the window 
 he saw the hankerchief suddenly removed. ..^. 
 
 " May sees me," he said, "the poor girl has been upon the watch." '^' 
 
 Then as some new thought came across his mind, he knit his brows, and 
 muttered. 
 
 " Does she love this Markham Brereton ?** "^ ._^_. _ 
 
 He then strove to recollect every look and every tone of hers whila she had 
 been speaking of the brother of Cicely, in order to see if he could cwne to a con- 
 clusion with regard to this new idea of his, but he could not take upon himself 
 to say that absolutely he had seen or heard anything that gave a colour to it, 
 
 " I will say nothing to her upon the subject," he thought, " until I know more 
 than I do now concerning it." 
 
 At this moment the door of the house opened, and May, covered up in a grey 
 cloak so that no one not rery intimate^with her appearance could have known her 
 made her appearance. " -^^ 
 
 "Dear Claude,** she said, "you have'obeyed my summons." ^^' 
 
 " I have. May, but how you found me I am at a loss to imagine.«^It is 
 not every one who can pounce upon mj whereabouts as your messenger contrived 
 to- do." ' { 
 
 " No matter, Claude, no matter. There is ample time for me to explain all 
 that to you, but at present thmgs of tax greater moment call for your attention. 
 You must save Markham Brereton." 
 
 "Why must I, May?" 
 
 He looked as sharply into her face as he propounded this question as the dim 
 light enabled him to do, but he could not trace staj deepemng colour, or other 
 symptom of a more than just interest in Brereton's fate. 
 
 "Becauae it is just to do so," replied May, 
 
 **Aia I always treated justly ?**
 
 GENTLE MAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE^OAD^ 73 
 
 •• Perhap* not, Claude, but are you to be wicked because al) the world is not iiaht»ou8? Vo no 
 I know your nature better, Claude. Yo-j wou.d not have come here at all, if you had not meant to 
 do all there was to do. There is an attorney of the rame of Ham.ntrMon, and you must come vith 
 me to him, to tell him confidentially how innocent Markham is." " An atto ney?" "Yes but an 
 honest, honourable man, strange as it may appear. Come, Claude, I wiil walk by the side of jour 
 horse." •' Not so," said Claude, " I will lead Sue by the bridle, and walk with you Ii the dia. 
 tance far ?" " Oh, no. It is but a street or two. Ob, Claude, you will not play us false ? Yoa 
 will snatch from destruction one whom you know to be innocent ?" " Yes," said Claude "I will 
 save him if I can. Heaven will not see an innocent man thus perish." "No. no, it will not" 
 cried May. " Ah, Claude, something ot your better natuie still clings to you." •• Did you thinkit 
 all gone. May ?" " No , no," she sobbed, " I always hoped— always thought that »he day wotildL 
 
 come, w^»«n you would forsake your present mod* of life and " "No iflore of that— no 
 
 more of that. May." ciied Claude. " What I am I must remain, but you ought to believe the same 
 that I am still human. Wh; do jou pause ?" "We are now," said May, " at the door of Mr. 
 HAmmerstou'a house." , 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 clawdk's promisb.— ths escape. 
 C;.AVDE might well pause for a rew moments ere, even now, he committed himself so far « to 
 walk into what might still be a snare made for him. The street was a solitary and deserted on6 at 
 a I limes, and at that early hour of the morning most particularly so, for not a sosl was to be seen. 
 ^\^-r^ Caude looked both to the right and to the left, anxiously and scrutin-zingly. He then, 
 while M.y knocked timidly and with a degree of uncertainty at the door of the house, fastened 
 the biidle of his gallant steed to the large iron railings in front of it, and calmly awaited
 
 74 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 the issue of an adventure which was so fruaght with peril, that few in his situation, 
 would have placed themselves in the way to encounter. 
 
 May had to repeat her summons several times before a head was projected from 
 one of the windows, and a gruff voice demanded who was there. 
 
 " That is you, Mr. Hammerston, I am certain it is you, I know your voice, sir, 
 and I know likewise, that it will give you pleasure to hear. that I can bring yoa 
 proof of the innocence of Markham Brereton." 
 
 " If you can do that," said the attorney, from the window, "I shall not reglret 
 having my rest disturbed." 
 
 The window was closed, and the 'head was withdrawn ; notlang -was spoken be- 
 tween the brother and sister for the next Ive minutes, after which the attorney 
 opened the door himself, hasti^ dressed, to welcome liis laimvn and unknown 
 visitors. 
 
 " Come in, come in," he said, ** probably yon =think you have discovered some- 
 thing which convinces you of his innocence, but Which won't convince the laws." 
 
 *• Oh, do not say so, Mr. Hammerston, do not say so," added May, " even yon 
 would be convinced. I bring with me a fearful proof." 
 
 I The attorney led the way to a small room upon the ground'%or, closely followed 
 by Claude and his sister May. The door was dlosed, and the highwayman flunff 
 himself into a seat which May pointed to him, and the words she seemed dispos^ 
 to utter died away on her lips. 
 
 The window of the apartment looked towards the east, and there was sufl&cient 
 light already in the glowing morning to enable each of 'the persons in that small 
 i apartment to 'see each other distinctly, so that there was no need for artificial 
 I light, and as Claude sat immediately facing the window, the attoiney had an ex- 
 tremely good view of him. 
 
 " WJiy do you not speak ?" said Hammerston. " Who is this person you have- 
 brought with you ?" 
 
 "The proof, the proof," gasped May, and she could say no more. 
 "Hola," said Claude. "Suffer me to speak. Let me ask you, sir, is Mr. 
 Markham Brereton accused bgr his cousin, Mr. Tom Brereton, trf «ay crime ?" 
 
 "Yes," said the attorney, "a highway robbery, and the whole ftjiair has placed 
 me in a most embarrassing position, being as I am, the attorney for the family, 
 all parties come to me, and now 'that the Breretons may bfe considered as a 
 house divided against itself, I really don't know what to do among them." 
 
 "I do not ask, sir," added Claude, "from idle curiosity, but 1 would fain know 
 upon what grounds Mr. Markham Brereton is accused by his cousin ?" 
 
 " Simply these. Tom Brereton states that the first arrangement was for the 
 whole family, consisting of himself, Markham Brereton, the old lady, and Cicely, ta 
 come to town together in the family coach, but that Markham Brereton for no 
 ostensible reason in the world, must needs go on in advance on horseback, and that 
 he, Tom, having in his pocket all the necessary documents to prove who and what 
 he was, felt naturally anxious concerning them, but important as the possession of 
 those documents were to Markham Brereton, he little suspected any attempt from 
 that quarter to deprive him of them." 
 " Nor was there any," exclaimed May. 
 " Allow Mr. Hammerston to proceed," said Claude. 
 
 " Tom Brereton then goes on to state," continued the lawyer, " that somewhere 
 about Ealing Common, the carriage was stopped by a disguised horseman, and 
 those yery papers stolen from him, he having every reason to suspect such disguised 
 horseman was no other than Markham Brereton, and that the terror of Mrs. 
 Brereton and Cicely was only affected." 
 " And the result of all this," said Claude. 
 " The result is that Markham Brereton is now in Newgate." 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 "True, nevertheless, and if his cousin chooses to swear to his identity, he will 
 find it an extremely difficult matter to escape the accusation.** 
 " And yet," said May, " he is innocent.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 75 
 
 " Completely innocent," eclioed Claude, " this accusation is the most monstrous 
 thing I ever heard of." 
 
 " An assertion of his innocence is of little moment," said Mr. Hammerston, 
 " have you proof ?" 
 
 May looked anxiously at her brother, and after a few moments* silence, Claude 
 spoke. 
 
 "Sir," he said, " I have prodf, such a proof that I think even you will admit 
 to be irrefragable. I am about to place a confidence in you which may appear to be 
 indiscreet, but I am solemnly called upon to save an innocent man, and I am here 
 to respond to the appeal. Tom Brereton was stopped and robbed near Ealing 
 Common upon the occasion to which he refers, and documents of importance were 
 taken from him, but not by Mr. Markham Brereton." 
 
 " By whom then, that is the question ?" 
 
 " A question easily answered. I was his assailant." 
 
 " You — and is it possible you come here, exposing yourself to frightful dan- 
 ger,—" 
 
 " No sir, I never expose myself to frightful danger ; neither you nor I need 
 suffer a momentary pang of disquietude. I can protect myself, and the same 
 feelings that brought me to this house, will save me from becoming the easy prey 
 of treachery." 
 
 The attorney drew a long breath, as he looked anxiously at Claude, and added 
 in a low tone, — 
 
 " Have you any objection to tell me who you are?" 
 
 " Not in the least. I am Claude Duval." 
 
 The attorney's chair ran upon castors, and at the mention of the well-known 
 name of Claude Duval he backed it precipitately until he reached the wall. 
 
 _ " Is it possible !" he exclaimed " I see before me the — the — the — notorious 
 highwayman." 
 
 "Yes," said Claude, "lam he. I was on Ealing Common on the night in 
 question, and you may come to a safe conclusion as to whether I or Mr. Markham 
 Brereton stopped the carriage. I see sir, that you bend looks of surprise and 
 distrust upon this young lady, you know her by the name of May Russel, 
 and as the companion of Cicely Brereton ; her real name is Duval, she is 
 my sister, and remember sir, that that is a secret confided to your honour." 
 
 " I am all amazement," said Mr. Hammerston " and in the wildest supposi- 
 tions, even in my dreams, I could never have expected to see Claude Duval in 
 this apartment," 
 
 At this moment a door, but not the one through which the attorney had 
 brought his guests, suddenly flew open, precipitating some one who had been 
 incautiously leaning against it to listen, into the apartment, Claude sprang from 
 his seat in an instant, and seized the intruder by the collar, exclaiming as he 
 did so— 
 
 " Do you keep spies, sir, on your premises ?" 
 
 "In faith no," said the attorney, "bat this is my articled clerk, atd I assure 
 you I had no more idea that he was without, than you had. Samuel Spark, 
 how came you to leave your bed at such an hour? It's a hard case to get 
 you up in anything like reasonable time when you are required for actual busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Have mercy upon me," said Samuel Spark, " I was passing the door as 
 aforesaid, and accidentally touching the panel, it gave way as herein before 
 stated ; I have heard nothing, and know nothing, in as whereby and nevertheless, 
 and notwithstanding — '* 
 
 " Let me beg him off," said Mr. Hammerston, * he is harmless enough.'* 
 
 " As you please, sir," said Claude, and he released the affrighted clerki " such 
 persons, however, are full of mischief; at your intercession f release him, but I 
 anticipate danger." 
 
 Samuel made his way from the room, looking heartily rejoiced at his escape.
 
 76 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 and the attoraey again assured Claude that he need be under no sort of appre- 
 hension. 
 
 The latter however, did not appear to share the confidence of the attorney, 
 but kept a wary eye around him, during the continuanee of the interview. 
 
 " In what way, sir," he said, " can I save this falsely-accused gentleman, and 
 at the same time preserve myself from the hangman's hands ?** 
 
 " I own myself puzrlcd," said Hammerston, "it is a question that deserves and 
 requires serious consideration, and I must not ^ive a precipitate answer ; you have 
 doubtless established some mode of communication between yourself and your 
 sister, so that without your endangering your safety by coming here again, i can 
 through her communicate with you." 
 
 " Be it so," said Claude, rising, " and if this is to be my last exploit, it will not 
 be a dishonourable one; I shall not have in vain preserved what you, my sister, I 
 presume will call a remnant of virtue." 
 " Oh Claude, Claude." 
 
 May burst into tears, and flung herself upon her brother's neck, sobbing with ai 
 convulsive energy that sufficiently shewed how highly wrought must have been her 
 feelings. Mr. Hammerston was affected, and took a huge pinch of snuff, which he 
 pretended made him sneeze ferociously. 
 " Calm youiself," said Claude, " c^ra yourself." 
 "Can you ask me?" 
 
 "Yes, and wish it too. Why yon were once one of the most courageous ot 
 girls." 
 
 " I was, but that was trhen I felt no shame in——" 
 " Let me complete the sentence for you — ^in your brother." 
 "Well, really," put in Mr. Hammerston, "this is a most distressing affair. I 
 must say that it has altogether taken me so much by surprise, that it seems more 
 like a dream to me than anything else. Could you not make it convenient, Mr. 
 Duval, to alter your mode of life." 
 
 " Oh yes, yes," cried May, with frantic energy, " urge him upon that point, sir, 
 and may the eloquence of an angel hang upon your words." 
 . " No, no—forbear !" said Claude, " forbear !" 
 
 " Do not forbear," cried May, " to ur^e him upon such a point. — Claude,. 
 Claude ! you know not who are your best friends. Do you fancy tnere is no room 
 for reformation, because you have hitherto carried on a reckless career ? — Oil, sir,, 
 speak to him, your voice mav be more potent than mine." 
 
 Claude Duval waved his hand to bespeak silence, and then, in a voice which 
 •ommanded attention, he said— 
 
 " Hear me once and for all. I cannot, and do not for one moment deny but 
 that I am pursuing a desperate course — a course which must end in my de- 
 struction—nor am I disposed to doubt the purity of the intentions of those 
 who would dissuade me from it ; but I have learned a truth in my intercourse with 
 the world, which both of you seem to be ignorant of, and that is, if you make one 
 deviation from the ordinary routine of correct living, you are lost.— Do you think 
 that I, the notorious Claude Duval, a man whose name has become a terror and a 
 by-word, could ever be received among the smooth-tongued hypocrites of society on 
 a footing with themselves ? No ; I sa^, emphatically, it is too late, by far too late. 
 I have taken a step from which there is no redemption, and although' I might hu- 
 miliate myself, I cannot save myself." 
 "These words are terrible," said May. 
 "Truth frequently partakes of that character," added Claude. 
 ITiere was a slight pause, and then, before any one could make another remark, 
 fee higawayman sprung to his feet, and assumed an attitude of listening.
 
 LIFE Or.' THE RO.U), 17 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN ALARM, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 The listening attitude assumed by Claude soon found imitators in May and ]\rr. 
 Hammerston, the attorney ; they heard nothing, but, as their eyes were directed 
 towards Duval for an explanation, he spoke — 
 
 " My ears," he said, " are aceustomcd to catch slight sounds ; it may or 
 may not be a matter of any moment, but I distinctly heard the crco{)ing of 
 footsteps in the passage, and wherever I have found secrecy and caution, I have 
 likewise generally found danger." 
 
 " You surprise me," said tlie lawyer, " indeed, I am convinced that no one is up 
 in tlic kouse but myself." 
 
 " You forget your clerk, and as yet we know not what he may have listened 
 fco.'' 
 
 " That is true ; and yet I hardly think he would dare — lie's one of the most 
 tim d of men r." 
 
 " And therefore," said Claude, " one of the most dangerous. I tell you 
 frankly, sir, that my impression is, that he has overheard most of wliat has 
 passed in this room, and, among the rest, the all important fact of whom I 
 am. I regret this, as it may produce confusion and bloodshed in your house," 
 
 "Bloodshed?" 
 
 "Yes. Do you think I am going to be taken while I liave arms in m^ 
 possession ? • No, sir ; woe be to those who have temerity sufficient to stop my 
 progress." 
 
 " What is to be done — what is to be done," cried May. " I did not bring you 
 here, Claude, to expose you to danger. Mr. Hammerston, I call upon you 
 to protect him ; it is in some measure your duty so to do. He has come 
 unaer your roof trustfully, and it is your duty, sir, to see him depart un- 
 harmecf." 
 
 Tlie attorney stood irresolute, and seemed somewhat confounded by what was 
 passing around him. After a few moments, however, he recovered himself. 
 
 " Hush — hush !" he said, " for God's sake don't speak so loud. I will soon as- 
 certain if there be any danger — remain here in peace, and expect my return in a 
 few moments, and above all things, do not harbour the remotest idea of my playing 
 you false. 1 should detest myself if I were to do so, as well as considering 1, 
 should rightly earn the detestation of every honest man." ] { 
 
 With these words, he left the apftrtment, and during his brief absence not a ; i 
 word passed bo^iveen Claude and May — they were both too far intent upon listen- 1 1 
 ing for the attorney's return, to indulge in any conversation whicli might liave the ■ ; 
 effect of preventing them from hearing of the first indication of his approach. At 1 1 
 length he came into the room, and his pale face showed that something must have i ! 
 happened to discompose him greatly. He trembled as he closed the door hastily 1 1 
 behmd him, and turned the key in the lock. " • 
 
 " You are right — ^you are right," he said, " and probably in an emergency like ' 
 this you can best say whai it will be desirable to do." " * , 
 
 "I guessed as much.'' said Claude. "Now, sir, tell me the precise dan-- j 
 ger" _ i 
 
 "Back and front, the house is guarded by men who are no doubt anxious to ■' 
 claim the reward for your apprehension. j 
 
 " And your clerk ?" j | 
 
 " Is on the step of the front door, rubbing his hands in glee, in aniicipation of i 
 his share of the profits." ' ! 
 
 " On the step," mused Claude, " on the step.-^Is he close (o the door — could a j 
 band stretched out grasp him, think you r" |
 
 78 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OK, 
 
 " Unquestionably it might, as I saw him. There is a small window, as you must 
 have observed when you first came here, on each side of the door, and through one 
 of those it was that 1 saw liim." 
 
 " It IS necessapry," said Claude, calmly, " that I sliould speak to him, probably I 
 shall be able to make terms with him — wait for me one moment, the attempt is 
 worth the making." 
 
 " Oh, no, Claude," cried May, " you will not be so mad as to venture into the 
 street ; recollect, that although you may succeed in taking several lives, that fresh 
 enemies will momentarily crowd around you, and you cannot resist a multitude- 
 be merciful to me, aud rush not into too great danger — Claude, Claude, I pray you 
 
 be not over reckless " 
 
 4fc" Time is precious, sister, each moment is of more vast importance than its 
 predecessor. You are desirous of but one thing, and that is, I should save my- 
 self. Permit me, from my more extended experience to judge, what is the best 
 mode of accomplishing that object. Be traaquil for the present." 
 
 There was such a tone of command about Claude, as he uttered these w ords, 
 that May did not dream of resisting them, nnd as for Mr. Hammerston he looked 
 on with the air of a man, who was so bewildered by the rapidity of passing events, 
 as to find it alike impossible to stem the current, or thoroughly to comprehend all 
 that it was significant of. 
 
 Claude then did not hesitate another moment, but leaving the room, walked 
 rapidly to the street door, where he made it his first business to inspect the 
 laslcuings, and having satisfied himself that they might have been securely put up 
 \«ithin the smallest possible space of time — he no longer hesitated about what 
 he meaut to do. Opening the door a short distance, he said in a whisper — 
 " Hist, Hist ! are you there ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried the clerk, who was so anxious to seive him so scurvy a 
 trick, and rushing forward he presented himself at the aperture with eagerness. 
 
 To stretch out his arm and grasp him by the collar, and drag him into the 
 passage, as though he had come suddenly under the .influence of tremendous 
 velocity, was to Claude the work of a moment, and then the street door was 
 closed ai;ain, and a chain and bar appended to it, before the bewildered individual 
 exactly knew where he was. 
 
 "Murder, murder!" he cried, but C'aude clapped liis hand upon his mouth, 
 with an energy that loosened all his teeth, as he said — 
 " I would strongly recommend silence." 
 
 Hurrying him then along the passage he passed in another moment to the astonish- 
 ment of Mr. Hammerston, into the apartment which he, Claude, had so recently 
 quitted. 
 " Gracious Heavens !" said the attorney, " is that you, Samuel ?" 
 " Yes," said Samuel, " and I'm a dead man. On, sir, I didn't mean to do 
 anything. I've not the least idea that you are Claude Duval, the great high- 
 man, and as for catcl)ing you, sir, that never came into my mind." 
 
 " And yet," said Claude, " you have caught something, if it's only a 
 Tartar." 
 
 " Spare him," said Mr. Hammerston, he is tluree parts a fool." 
 " And the fourth a rogue," said Claude, " but it is no business of mine' to care 
 what he is, and as to putting out the small light of his existence, I should take, 
 shame To myself for the attempt." 
 
 "Thank you, sir, oh, thank vou," said Samuel. "I'm too contemptible, sir, and 
 always was. I've been kicked five times, and pumped upon twice, if you please, 
 and I have quite lost count of how many times my nose has been pulled." 
 
 Claude Duval looked at the animal before him, for some moments with am- 
 expression of undisguised contempt ; and even May, gentle and indulgent as she 
 was to all the faults of humanity, shrunk with something like contempt, from the 
 contemplation of such a specimen of human nature. 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Hammerston. " I certainly had not the very highest opinion of 
 your courage, but what you state of yourself now, transcends what ever I should
 
 LIEE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 79 
 
 have imagined. Is it possible you can be so debased ; at the same time, Mr. Duval, 
 I hope," added the attorney, turning to Claude, " I hope that you will not put 
 yourself out of the way to exercise any vengeance upon such a person this." 
 
 " Not in the least, not in the least," said Claude, " I thank God T cannot accuse 
 myself of having taken vengeance on any one, but I can truly say that I have had 
 forbearance where few would have had it ; and where attacks have been made on 
 my very existence, I passed them ovei' lightly, as though they were nothing, con 
 ceivhi^ as I did that the line of life I was leading specially called upon me to run 
 such risks ; be under no apprehension, therefore, sir, thatjl sliall exceed moderation 
 in dealing with such a man as this." 
 
 "In spite of my reason," said the aitorncv, "in spite of ray profession, in spite 
 of all my prejudices, you win upon me, Claude Duval. I am sorry for it, but I 
 cannot help it." 
 
 *' Say no more," interrupted. Claude, "time is precious," 
 "Then you ain't a-going to do anything to me," whined Samuel, "then you ain't 
 a-going to do anything to me ?" 
 
 " Upon one condition," said Claude, " you are safe." 
 
 "Oh, sir, name it — name it, what am I to do ? Am I to tell you who is waiting 
 for you, and how to get the better of them — only say what I am to do, and I'll 
 do it in a moment." 
 
 "And so betray the very people," interposed Mr, Hammerston, "you have 
 given notice to of Claude Duval's presence here." 
 
 "I do not ask him so much," said Claude, " my question is a simple one, if he 
 answer it not the consequences be upon his own head." 
 
 " Oh, speak — speak, sir," cried Samuel. " I'll answer it as if I were on my 
 death-bed, and a respectable clergyman was called to hear my last dying-speech 
 and confession, only speak, sir, and I'll answer you in a moment." 
 
 " You'll have little trouble," said Claude, with a sneer of contempt. " Where's 
 my horse, that is the only question I have to ask ?" 
 
 There was a silence for a moment, and then the clerk in a whining tone, rc- 
 pliedi — 
 
 "He was taken to a livery stable on the other side of the way, and they were 
 told noc to give him up unless a gentleman of the name of Park came for him." 
 "And who is Park?" 
 
 "A constable, he lives in the next street, and when I heard that you were here, 
 I thought I'd run and get him." 
 
 I " I'm obliged truly, and now, Samuel, I wish you to stand up, for I wish to see 
 ; how tall you are. You look a long, shambling, ill put together piece of goods, aad 
 i I want to see if you are near enough my height, to be for once mistaken for a 
 better man than you are." 
 
 Samuel stood up with fear upon his countenance, he was trembling in every 
 limb, but by a significant nod Claude Duval seemed to say that he was satisfied, and 
 turning to the attorney, he said, — 
 
 " I believe, sir, you justly consider you are under sufHeleni durance by my pre- 
 sence here, as not to be able to oppose what I may choose to dictate ?" 
 
 These words were accompanied by aside glance at Samuel, which sufficiently in- 
 formed Mr. Hammerston they were intended to provide against any ulterior conse- 
 quences that might arise from his aiding and assisting liini in escaping the fangs of 
 the law, and Mr. Hammerston fairly understood the side glance, replying judiciously 
 at once to it, by saying, — 
 
 *' I am acting entirely under durance, and therefore cannot be accused of com- 
 forting and abetting- a felon Wh:it is it you wish, Mr. Duval ?" 
 "A coil of rope, if }ou have such a tiling." 
 
 "In the upper part of the house, i thiuk we may accommodate you." 
 Claude nodded, and then taking a grasp of Samuel's arm, which to that indivi- 
 dual felt extremely like as if he h:Kl been suddenly caught in a vice, conducted him 
 from the apartment, followed by the atioriiey, into one of the upper rooms of the 
 place, then taking Mr. Haramerston aside, Claude let him know what were his in.
 
 
 80 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 tcntions, and as they will best show themselves in their progress and result, we 
 shall proceed to detail them. 
 
 The attorney pointed to a small flight of stairs which led to the roof of the 
 house, and at ihe same time produced from a cupboard a small coil of rope which 
 at various times had been used for the purpose of cording trunks and other heavy 
 packages. 
 
 Claude still kept a firm hold upon the arm of Samuel, and so conducted the 
 trembling coward up the flight of steps, closely followed by May and Mr, Ham- 
 incrsron, who were curious and excited spectators of his proceedings. 
 
 J3y this time it may well be supposed, that the morning had made progress, and 
 indeed a clear and distinct light had broken in upon all surrounding objects — the 
 haze of twilight having completely disappeared, thus it was that Claude knew 
 very well that any object from the roof of the house would become a very clear 
 and dis;iuct point of observation, he took the coil of rope in his hand, and made 
 his way to the parapet, and looked over into the street. 
 
 A loud shout from the officer to whom the alarm had been given of his presence 
 in the house, sufficiently testified to the fact that he was seen, and then in that 
 dircciiou his object was accomplished, proceeding then to the back of the house 
 which looked into some mews, he made a similar transient appearance and was 
 greeted by another shout, then he turned to Samuel and spoke in a low but 
 decisive tone. 
 
 " I cannot disguise from you but your position is one of danger, that is, pro- 
 vided you but make the smallest resistance to what I require of you ; if you do 
 not you are perfectly safe." 
 
 " Save my life," said Samuel, " save my life, but take all my property. Oh 
 good God, you are surely not going to hang me. Oh Mary Ai||i, Mary Anne, 
 what will you do on Sunday afternoon." 
 
 This remark about hanging, arose probably from the fact that Claude had 
 made with great rapidity a sort of running noose at the end of the coil of rope ; 
 he returned no answer to Samuel, but flung it over him, and drawing it tightly 
 under his arms, and then dragging him to the verge of the parapet of the house, 
 he said, — 
 
 " One advantage of a light weight is that a slight cord will suffice as a support ; 
 now Samuel by your own confession you are used to being kicked, but prooabiy 
 those operations have been used to be performed upon levelground ; circumstances 
 constrain me to introduce a variety in the performance of that operatiott— I 
 am now about to kick von off the roof of a house." 
 
 Samuel was too much dismayed to answer, and Claude D uval had fairlv wrapped 
 round the terrified clerk his coat, and placed upon his head the rakisli looking 
 hat, before poor Samuel could come to any conclusion as to what was to be the 
 object of such a transformation. 
 
 in another moment he was launched over the parapet and dangling by the 
 rope. 
 
 "'Hurrah! hurrah!" cried the officers, from below, "here he comes, call all 
 the fellows from the front, we'll have him, hurrah ! hurrah !" 
 
 Claude continued to let down Samuel until he was about half-way — ^he then 
 fastened the other end of the rope to some beams that were close at hand, and still 
 preserving liis stooping posture, so that he could not be seen from below, he 
 spoke to May and to Mr. Hamraerston. 
 
 ** I do not wish," he .said, " tl>at even such a person as Samuel should run any 
 great risk for my safety's sake, nor do I think he will by dangling there for a few 
 minutes, during which time if he be mistaken for me, by virtue of my hat and 
 coat, my object will be accomplished, and now Mav look over the pai-apet and teU 
 me if the oflicers are congregating at the back of the house." 
 
 With .inxious eagerness May obeyed the trembling behests of her brother, for 
 she began to comprehend exactly how it was he intended to effect his escape, 
 and that he should succeed became to her a chief and crime object of exis- 
 tence.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 81 
 
 As soon as she withdrew from the parapet she informed Claude that nine men 
 were assemhled at the back of the house, but that the front was quite clear. 
 He instantly bade them a hurried farewell, darted down the staircase, and at 
 once made to the open gate of a livery stable, where he made no doubt he should 
 find his mare. "Mr. Park has sent for the brown mare," he said to a man 
 lounging on the spot. It was brought, and with a sudden movement Claude 
 sprang into the saddle ; and then, to the astonishment of the man, on went 
 horse and rider at a pace few would have attempted to rival — the mare seeming 
 to catch a portion of her rider's spirit. 
 
 No. 11.
 
 82 GENTLEMAl^ JACK; 0B» 
 
 Green fields and tall trees soon met the grateful sight of Claude, and the town, 
 where he never entered but from sheer necessity, and never left but with gladness, 
 graduaJij disappeared behind him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A STOUM. — THE tJXBRIDGE WAGGON. — TEE SPECTEE AGAIIT. 
 
 Claude gallopped on, until he had left far behind him the canopy of smoke that 
 hangs like an evil dispensation over London. The morning was advancing — birds 
 went twittering from tree to tree, and there was about the air that wild, fragrant 
 freshness, which is so grateful to the senses of all who have not become actually 
 callous to all that is beautiful and natural. 
 
 It was not for some time that Clq^ude began to notice how low the birds were 
 flying, and that, although the morning was evidently advancing, it more resembled 
 the coming on of night, for a deep gloom began to gather over the face of nature, 
 and then when he scanned the heavens, standing as high as he could in the saddle, 
 to stretch his gaze far and near, he saw that masses of heavy clouds had piled 
 themselves up, and a low rumbling sound of thunder, announced to him that some 
 war of the elements was about to ensue. 
 
 *' A storm— a storm !" he cried. " We must seek some shelter. Sue." 
 
 He had branched off from the western road, considerably to the right, so 
 that the low neighbourhood of Kilbum, Wilsden, and Neasdon, was close to 
 him. 
 
 This district, however, seemed to be pregnant with disagreeable associa- 
 tions, for Claude abruptly turned his horse's head, and again made for the Uxbridge 
 Road. 
 
 by this time, however, the storm had begun to do its worst ! Vivid flashes of 
 lightning darted from cloud to cloud, and the thunder, although not remarkable 
 for loudness, was almost incessant. Occasionally too, a deluge of rain would come, 
 and then as suddenly cease ; so that the state of external affairs was about as 
 disagreeable as could be for a horseman, who had so little to protect him as 
 Claude. No wonder then, that an anxious desire for shelter soon found a home in 
 his breast, and upon gaining an eminence on the western road, and which com- 
 manded a view of it, he glanced around him with a hope of finding some habitation, 
 where with safety he might remain, at all events until the worst fury of the tem- 
 pest was over. , , , i, , , , 
 
 While thus occupied, he observed a couple of horsemen, well dressed and 
 mounted, but perfectly bedraggled with mud, slowly emerge from a green lane, 
 from the opposite side" of the road. Their attention seemed to be directed to 
 something which was following them, and presently a small, closely shut-up coach 
 made its appearance, driven by a boy, from whom the rain waspouring in torrents. 
 One of the horsemen made an impatient gesture vdth his riding-whip, to hurry 
 on ; but the horse appeared to be exhausiejd by dragging the vehicle, small as 
 it was, through the deep clay of the lane, but would not proceed but at an ordinary 
 
 Another object was soon added to the group, and that consisted of the Uxbridge 
 waggon creeping slowly on towards its destination, through the mire that lay at 
 least a foot thick in the road. , xi. r ^.■, 
 
 Claude might well wonder what all this meant, and as from the favourable 
 position he occupied, he was an easy spectator of what was ^oing on, he resolved 
 lor a few minutes as he was to notice how the various parties would dispose of 
 
 ihemselves. ix <• i. 
 
 The two horsemen noticed the waggon, and then after a bnet consultation tney 
 spoke to the b»y who drove the vehicle, after which, dismounting from their horses, 
 

 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 83 
 
 lliey had their bridles fastened to the tail of the waggon, and then ingloriousl/ 
 took shelter beneath its capacious canopy, and the whole affair proceeded like 
 a procession, the carriage which the boy was driving, bringing up the rear. 
 
 Claude's curiosity was strongly excited, he was quick at resolves, and in a few 
 moments made up nisvmind what to do, as an adventure of any kind under the 
 present circumstajices Vould he thought tend greatly to withdraw his mind from 
 a too keen perception of matters which otherwise pr^pssed heavily upon his spirits. 
 He took a flying gallop along the meadows until he reached a point of the road 
 about half a mile higher tlian the waggon, and there he awaited its slow arrival i 
 beneath the spreading branches of a lime, which in some slight degree saved him ! 
 from the fury of the now rapidly descending rain. 
 
 Slow as was the pace of the waggon, but a very short time had elapsed before 
 it had reached the point of the road at which Claude had stationed himself; he 
 then trotted oat, and the driver, seeing a mounted man, stopped his team, when 
 Claude propounded to him a desire for a similar accommodation to that which had 
 been accorded to the two horsemen who had so snugly ensconced themselves in the 
 vehicle. i 
 
 The only difficulty that presented itself to the carrying out of this request 
 consisted in the attachment of a third horse by its bridle to the tack of the wag- , 
 gon, but that trouble was soon overruled by Claude, who in a few moments more ; 
 found himself an inmate of the cumbrous machine, which performed its periodical 
 journies between Uxbridge and London. ^ | 
 
 The rain continued to descend in torrents, so that every available piece of can- i 
 vass was so placed as to exclude it, and this had the effect of course of consider- : 
 ably darkening the interior of the vehicle. Indeed it was some minutes before 
 Claude, suddenly coming in out of the daylight, could distingush one object from : 
 another, but at length the forms of the various persons began to be dimly per- 
 ceptible to him, and ensconcing himself in the straw, as well and *s quietly 
 as he could, he listened to a conversation which was pending the moment he 
 entered. 
 
 p " Highwaymen, madam," said a somewhat affected male voice, "highwaymen— 
 oh, certainly, I have met a highwayman in my time, but I always give Wem such a 
 warm reception that they don't wish to meet me again." 
 
 " Well," said an elderly lady, who was surrounded by an immense number of 
 packages, " well there's one comfort in travelling, at all events, you are not likely 
 to have your throat cut or your pocket picked." 
 
 "There, my dear madam," said the former speaker, "you are quite wrong for 
 if any highwayman were to see my horse, which is attached to the tail of this wag^ 
 gon, he would at once guess there was a gentleman who had something to lose, 
 and then there is no knowing what the consequences would be, that is, if it. 
 was anybody else but myself, for I make short work of these things.'* 
 
 " Well, that's a comfort.'* said the old lady. 
 
 " Oh, you've no notion, ma'am, how often I've had brushes of this kind. I 
 believe I may truly say that for several months, I drove the well-known Claude 
 Duval off the western marshes.** 
 
 " You don't say so, sir ?" 
 
 "Yes, it is a fact. I was travelling on horseback, and heard a cry of distress 
 near midnight. The cry was in a female voice, and of course that was' enough for 
 me, I clapped spurs to my horse, and gaUopped on, when what should I see but 
 two young ladies and an old gentleman being robbed by a mounted highway- 
 man." 
 
 " But how could you see, sir, at night ?" said the old lady. 
 
 " He had his spectacles with him, madam," said Claude. 
 
 "Eh ? Who dared speak to me in such a way ? Who was it that ma^e that 
 dreadfully audacious remark ? Of course I saw very well, for the moon just peeped 
 from a cloud at tkat moment, and enabled me to do so," 
 
 , " Oh, I beg your pardon," said Claude, "pray go on, sir, I long to hear the 
 rest of the story."
 
 84 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 "Very goods if anybody begs my pardon, that's enough— otherwise — ^but no 
 matter. Well, as I was saying, I gallopped up, when the fellow called out to me 
 • Stand off, or tiJce the consequences, I m Claude Duval.* 
 
 " *Are you,* said I, * what's that to me, when I hear the voice of a female in 
 distress;* that was the way I spoke to him, do you see, when what did \^ 
 do, but pull out a large horse-pistol, and fired it at me, blowing my left whis- 
 ker all to atoms. I grappled with him, and down he went, so 1 made him beg 
 pardon of the old ^ntleman, and the two young ladies, and likewise of me, 
 which he did upon his knees in the mud, and ever after that he was so afraid of 
 my being upon the road, that he scarcely touched anybody for a month." 
 " But pernaps it was not the celebrated highwayman,'* said Claude. 
 
 ** Ot, yes, it was. I made him write his name upon the fly-leaf of my pocket- 
 book, and I have got it here ; besides, my friend here, Mr. Smithers, knows it's all 
 a fact." 
 
 " Why, yes," said the boaster's companion, "yes, it's all right enougn." 
 
 "May I ask, gentlemen," said Claude, "what sort of wild beast yotrve got in 
 the coach at the back ?" 
 
 "What's that to you, sir? We are upon duty, charitable duty too, and if you 
 must know, we are conveyii^ an insane young lady into the country." 
 
 By the rustling of paper, Claude could well perceive that the fellow was endea. 
 vouring to substantiate his story of the meeting with the highwayman, by actually 
 writing the name of Claude Duval. 
 
 Clade had now an opportunity, as the weather cleared a little, of seeing ex- 
 actly how many persons were in the wagon, and he found they consisted of a 
 ejuiet working laan, who had not spoken, three females, who had not yet spoken, 
 and who now aimitted to the nature of the contents of the single horse carriage 
 driven by the boy. 
 
 He made his determination in a momtent, and rising from the comer in which 
 he had ensconced himself, he said, 
 
 " I shall never believe that story of the highwayman, unless I really see his 
 name in your pocket-book, sir." 
 
 " There it is then," said the fellow, and he handed Claude a leaf which he tore 
 out, and on which was written in great scrawling characters, " Claude Duval." 
 
 " A forgery," cried Claude. 
 
 "A what? a forgery! how do you know?— that is to say, feow dareyoa?'* 
 
 " Of my daring, you shall soon have proof, and as regards my means of knowing, 
 I ouglit to be the best w tness in the world ; I deliberately declare, I never wrote 
 these words." 
 
 " You never wrot e " 
 
 " Certainly not, and yet I am Claude Duval, the highwayman !" 
 
 The old lady uttered a shriek, the younger ones fooked deeply interested, the 
 fnend of the gentleman who had told the Boasting anecdote, had contrived in a 
 moment to hide himself completely among the straw, while the individual who 
 had committed himself by such open and advised speaking, seemed for a moment 
 paralyzed with terror, then recovering himself, he shouted, — 
 
 " Murder ! murder ! stop the waggon — stop the wagou ! Murder ! murder !'* 
 
 "Yes," cried Claude, springing to his feet. " Stop the wagon, and ihere may 
 be murder too, if you will have it." 
 
 She waggoner hearing the confused sounds and cries of alarm from within 
 tis vehicle, stopped the horses, upon which Claude called out to him,— 
 
 " Hark you, waggoner, you must do as your betters tave done under similar 
 circumstances, be quiet for your safety's sake 1 am Claude DuvaI, and whether 
 you've heard the name or not before, matters little, I have but to warn you that 
 your safety lies in submission, 
 
 " Oh, help, help !" cried the old lady, " we shall all be dead in two minnteli 
 Fire— fire.** 
 
 " How interesting," said one of the younger ladies. 
 
 •* And not at all a bad looking man," said the other.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 85 
 
 " Ladies," interposed Claude, " be under no alarm ; it is certain I am Clau<k 
 Duval, and it is equally certain that I feel indignation at the vile fabrication con- 
 cerning me which nas passed the lips of a person in this company. That indig- 
 nation, however, has its sole foundation in the mistatement that I was attacking 
 two ladies and an elderly gentleman. No such circumstance occurred as ray 
 meeting this person on tlie road, but since he is anxious to have an anecdote 
 of Claude Duval, he will be most abundantly gratified, 
 
 ** Spare my life,'* said the man. " Spare my life, it was only a ioke ; there's 
 my purse ; ladies, ladies, give up all you've got quietly, don't mate any resis- 
 tance, or we shall all be murdered. 1 assure you, sir, it was only a joke." 
 
 " Well," said Claude, " we will take it as a joke, and end it as one. I musC, 
 however, have my little jest as well as you yours, and now, sir, for fear you should 
 show this little scrap of paper ie any ons else as the haud-writing of Claude Du- 
 val, I will trouble you to swallow it." 
 
 " Swallow it ? did you say swallow V* 
 
 "I did." 
 
 *• Oh, Lord, but you don't mean it. Why, it's an uncommonly stiff bit oi paper. 
 I could not do it. Help, help ! Oh, dear. I can't and wont.** 
 
 " You can and will." 
 
 " Oh no, no. Young ladies say a word for me. Good, kind young ladies, don't 
 let me be murdered before your eyes." 
 
 " These young ladies," said Claude, " are too beautiful to interest themselves 
 in such a person as you are. Besides, they know very well that the swallowing of 
 a small piece of paper will not be the death of you. If you will not bv fair means 
 go through the ceremony you must by foul, and I shall be under the disagreeable 
 necessity of ramming it down your throat with the barrel of a pistol." 
 
 As he uttered these words, Claude handed the paper to the vain boaster, and 
 after a little further reluctance, he made it up into a small a space as he could, 
 and fairly swallowed it, to the great amusement of the younger ladies, and the 
 j.reat alarm of the elder one, who thought to be sure that choke he must. 
 
 " Now," said Claude, " you may pursue your journey. The storm is over, an4 
 I no longer require the shelter of the vehicle. But beware how you again trijfl* 
 with my name, for I may not be always in the humour to make a jest of it, as I 
 have done to-day. Ladies, for any alarm that I may have given you, I beg you 
 ten thousand pardons.'* 
 
 " Oh, we are not at all alarmed," said one. 
 
 " Oh, dear no,** cried the other. 
 
 " I am rejoiced to hear you s&y so," added Claude, ** and now suffer me to bid 
 you good day, and to wish yon a pleasant journey." 
 
 As he went down the waggon, he purposely trod upon the cowardly passenger, 
 who had hidden himself in the straw, and a howl of pain succeeded. 
 
 *' I was not aware that any curs were in the waggon," remarked Claude, and 
 then after a hearty kick he left the fellow, and sprung into the road, where Sue 
 was with some degree of impatience, awaiting the arrival of her master, and in. 
 her way testified her joy at seeing him. 
 
 The value Claude set upon his steed was so great, that pleasure abvays beamed' 
 from his face, when after a brief period of absence, he patted the neck of the^ 
 beautiful animal. 
 
 " My Sue," he said, " we must be away to more stirring adventures, we a*_ 
 not doing the kind of business which will suit us. Come, my noble creature, let u» 
 to the road once more. 
 
 Claude was about to mount, when he suddenly recollected that he had ex-: 
 pressed an intention of seeing who was really tlie occupant of the one horse^ 
 carriage that had been under the escort of the cwo persons so signally defeated 
 b^ him in the waggon, and yet he hesitated a moment, tor he dreaded ' lest he | 
 might be haunted b^ some pale spectral looking face, devoid of speculation. It was. I 
 but the impulse of a moment and he migiit have been off, but his feeliup-s rup* j 
 Uie other way, and he strode to the door of the vehicle.
 
 86 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OB, 
 
 The boy who drove the carriage, hearing or seeing that something was amiss, 
 was crouching down in an attitude of fear on the driver's seat, the blinds were 
 closely drawn of the vehicle, and the handle of the door seemed to be secured in 
 some way, so that Claude was forced to use force to get it open. 
 
 When he did so, the bright light of day shone into the carriage, and there he 
 saw a female form apparently prostrated by ^ief, for the face was hidden by the 
 hands, and deeps sobs burst from the labourmg breast. 
 
 " Fear nothing," cried Claude, " if you have been persecuted, I am not one 
 of your persecutors." 
 
 At this sound of his voice there came a shriek from the lips of the unknown, 
 the hands were withdrawn from before one of the sweetest faces the world 
 ever gazed upon. 
 
 It was Cicely Brereton. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 ADVENTUHES IN A EUTN.— ^THE HUNT lOK A HlQHWATllAK. 
 
 This most sudden and unexpected appearance of Cicely came upon Claude 
 ' with all the stunning effect of an apparition. Full as were his thoughts now 
 continually of her, he would have as soon expected to see again in life his own 
 father, as at such a time and at such a place, to look upon the face of her who 
 was his best beloved. 
 
 Joy, sunrise, aye even fear, for at one moment he thought that he must be 
 going maa, and nothing but a deranged fancy could have raised np such an 
 apparition, struggled for mastery in his countenance. 
 
 But if surprise during this species of mental excitement were visible upon the coun« 
 tenance of Claude, how accutely were those feelings reflected in the face of Cicely. 
 She too looked for a few moments like one newly awakened from a, dream, but 
 vet she was the first to break the spell of silence, which had fallen upon then> 
 both. 
 
 " Save me— save me, Claude Duval. Save me and protect me," she cried. 
 " Indeed I am not mad." 
 
 " Protect you," he shouted, "aye, with my life; tell me who has dared to place 
 you in this position." 
 
 " I know not. Except that our cousin Tom Brereton has something to do with 
 it. Save me I implore you, do not let them drag me to a mad-house. As the 
 thought is too — too horrible." 
 
 " Be at peace, be at peace Cicely, there is no danger. I am here to protect 
 jrou." 
 
 " But you know not your foes— they are armed with what they call authority 
 to drag me to a civH death. Oh, if you would save me, take me to some pl9ce 
 of safety." 
 
 Cl|^ude Duval knew sufficient of the world to be quite aware that the most 
 frighttul and notorious iniquities were enacted under the mask of authorities, 
 and in conformity to the precepts of the law, and although he felt that while 
 Cicely was dependent upon him for protection, he was actuated by a thousand 
 haunts, still he felt that all he could do was to die in her cause, and as to live 
 in it, was a far more blessed condition, he determined upon hastening from the 
 spot and seeking an asylum, where at least he might have the dear felicity of 
 talking to her alone, and perhaps even in those moments of dread and dangai^ 
 telling her how truly he loved her. 
 
 He passed from the vehicle in the direction of the waggon, and then he iftw 
 that the two persons, over whom he had obtained so recent and signal a victory.
 
 LIEE ON THE ROAD. ,$7 i 
 
 had clambered up to a steep bank upon the side of the;,Ix6ad/a4iH ^yere^ainBig 
 their hats, as though they saw some assistance near at hand. 
 
 There was not a moment to be lost, Claude shut the <Jqqc- of th^ yehiclg,..and 
 secured it as well as he was able under spur of the moippnt, and then springiaff 
 upon the coach-box he took the boy by the collar, and placed him. in the jo^d 
 as gently as was consistent with rapidity. Again then reaching terra jBrma, he 
 sprang upon the back of his own horse, and with his right limid grasping the 
 bridle of the animal that drew the chaise, he went off at ja ^uiclc, piadCj^ &r^^^ 
 tea speed, which in truth it was seldom in the habit of exerting.' ^.'^rl-^^^r^^^ 
 
 This was a state of things however, which could not -laslj foj: ' .^6t p||y^^^^ j^fc 
 extremely inconvenient both to Sue and to Claude, to .tie thus yoked, as it" wefjB 
 to the animal in thi^'thaise, but it was quite evident iKe latter could' ?iot ke^ 
 up anything like speed which wa? failing each moment. . VrA/L^ifi-, rri.v 'i /■ * ' 
 
 Claude paused, and raising himself m his stirrups took/ 4 Jpi^g2"^^eMr.f^ 
 him. A pang, perhaps the first lie had ever felt shot across h^^ hearty as^'^h^ ,^aw 
 in the distance about a dozen, horsemen, headed, h^ felt c6nvinced_i by the two 
 persons he had already so si^Bjually discomfitted, makisg al"ter him at a rapid pace* 
 The chance would have been a short one under its present circumstances, biit 
 Claude was both fertile in devising expedients, ami jraj^id "i carrying oul ,4;he 
 suggestions of his ingenious fancy. ,./..'. .>^> 
 
 " For once my Sae, you must carry double, and, - yau will tcfil . ^but littl^ Ja^- 
 prehension from the light and sylph-like form of hei^ whoopi Vlg^T. i|^|i|t "t^^^ 
 addition to your usual load." I ^i^ t:/ - • m \ . . *, 
 
 Once again he sought the carriage door, and having. opened it,, ije p^i,^ in |Ptt^3 
 of emotion. '. ' ' , ,. " 
 
 " Miss Brereton there are many pursuing us, and I am but one. j could die , 
 in your defence, but then you would be without an arni to protect y6\i. X think 
 vou would rather fly with me to a place of safety, ti^^ ^w-aitjt^/|jss.u^^9j[ |l()j 4es- 
 perate a conflict." V' ../'.^k ,,^,^"j u{'i\^ u 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes!" cried Cicely, " a thousand times Over," ' s 
 
 JFor the first time Claude Duval clasped that lovely fornj, Jto iii3 heart, |ina 
 even at the moment he cjuld not help asking himsell, what he Had done to deserve 
 so much happiness — placing her then as gently and tenderly as a ra other \r6ul| 
 her babe, upon his steed, he sprung up behind her echoing the words of tlig 
 old romance, he cried in tones of joyous exultation— T' 
 
 " Away, away my love, they'll have fleet steeds who f©llow/' _,, 
 
 For a moment Sue gave' a curvetting bound, Clau^p touched the geuerbu* 
 creature lightly on the neck, its ears were thrown ba'ck, its nostiriis expanded, 
 and off it flew with its double burden like the wind. ; : . 
 
 Fright no doubt, induced poor Cicely tooling ploMr. to, Qjpde^Duv^ j^lieiishe 
 otherwise would have done, but he would not,:lmve excliah^eij tfce, J9y"6^ 
 embrace for kiugdoms. ' . . ' ,' 
 
 At the rate they were proceeding, anything in the sliape of cdnveysatioii "wa^ 
 quite out of the question, and vet Claude could not help telling hjmself> how'strafto;'^' 
 a thing it was that he should be in his present situation, and liow pddiy fate hat^ 
 made him the defender of her, for whom he would gladly--6h, most gladly, havi^ 
 sacrificed his existence. . . ■• 
 
 There were moments too, in which he could not help .asking hj[msel/j if Itwas 
 
 real, and anything else than some vision of his slumbers, tut tjti^n again wheji ,he 
 
 felt that she was really with him, his heart boupded with new born-exultation,' and 
 
 for once Claude Duval was really happy, ,. > f 
 
 "Haik, hark!" cried Cicely, after a iji^e. "Oh, liark, they cpme. Iliej. 
 
 come!" ; ; ^^, . ;, ; : ''^ 
 
 " Fear nothuag. Are you not with me ?'* , ,, ^ . .^ ,^^; 
 
 " Yes. But you do not know the hoErr^^vto 5^(^.:they s^Q^S, idr^',^ei* 
 Oh, save me,'save me." 1 -.7 i^ ;j% • .^j^.-'.' r^lT, ' ' " :,. 
 
 "You cut me to the heart, Cicely. Do. jp%,#iftk| ^, ' pol^ij^ 
 desert you?" . ' :i : '
 
 SS GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 No, no, and yet— and ye 
 Yet what r 
 
 Your enemies are so numerous. Oh, I have much to tell you— very much, 
 i^^ou will not believe that I am mad." 
 
 " Never, never !" 
 
 The clatter of the horses feet of those who were pursuing them now came 
 most distinctly upon their ears, and Claude urged the willing steed he rode to 
 renewed exertion. It was probably fancy, or possibly the fact that Sue was not 
 Accustomed to carry double, but Claude certainly thought that he had never found 
 her lag as she now did to his perceptions, and yet the speed she really made, 
 . burthened as she was, amounted to something prodigious. It was the imagina- 
 tion of Claiide which outstripped her. 
 , " Are. we distancing them ?'* whispered Cicely. 
 
 " Yes, yes. You see yon cluster of trees ?" -V 
 
 "Yes. It seen»a little forest." 
 
 "To the eye it is. If w» reach them I think I can procure you more safety, 
 than' in this headlong flight.' 
 ^ , " ^hose are happy words." 
 
 There was a cross road now close to them, and as evil fortune would have it, 
 there issued from the cross road, a man on horseback. Claude saw him, and from 
 ^the moment that he did so, there was a something about the fellow's countenance 
 which told him that he saw an enemy. A dull, brutalised look was about the 
 stranger's face until ,he heard the shouts of Claude's pursuers, and then he be- 
 came more animated, as he cried,— • 
 
 " Phj, so you are running ayray, are you." 
 _ ,**;Out of my path,** cried Claude. 
 "J f* Indeed;, you don't mean it?" 
 
 •* By heaven you know iiot your own danger ! Clear the way." 
 
 " Not till I have stopped you. There's a reward, perhaps, and I have no sort 
 pf objectipn tg a good mornihg^s work. Come on." 
 
 J7Jyery incKeof ground was of importance to Claude, and yet rather than chance 
 ^ actuarcjollisiou with thie stranger, he swerved from the high road to endeavour 
 to^p^s Bin, but, thAi was a manner that the man would not permit of, for 
 drawing a lairge horse pistol ffoih his saddle he presented it, crying, 
 
 " I am never withput one of iny little bull dogs. Come, resistance is as use- 
 legs sa i^ is fooUsh. Stop, Iconimand you." 
 ; ** You will have it then,", said Ulaude. 
 
 "Havewhjit?'*' "' ' "'. 
 
 ;"That!','. , , . "' 
 
 J^s he spoke^ Claude drew from "his breast the small pistol he always kept there 
 for a last extremity, ahcl upon wnicli he knew he coula well rely, and fired at the 
 ^tjr^ger. Almost ^t the same.moment, the harsh report of the large horse pistol 
 pame.uppn their esu^s, arid Claude felt the ball whistle past his ears. There was a 
 Cryihpugh from ji human voice at the instant, and wnen Cicely opened her eyes 
 Mf^ip, fpr she had momentarily closed them in terror, she saw that the saddle of 
 the stranger's horse was empty. ' 
 ../*§uc|i i^[theieward of ^Hy," sai^ Claude. 
 ..".What has happeue^—t^hat has happened ?" 
 I i..f*Npthing--npthing, but what was absolutely necessary," said Claude. "I 
 ' regret such things, but they must Tie, and now mj Sue to your work again." 
 ..09ce more tlie gallant .,a^mal that had carried Claude through so many 
 dangers, stsurted on in its headlong career. The little wood he had alluded to 
 was still about a mile distant, and his great object was to reach it, and plunge 
 
 inw Its. jsecesisest ,, , 
 Short, liowevei*. ks \..\a the fiine which had elapsed during the encounter with 
 
 iji^Jimprijde^t steanger, ^jt jia4> yet sufficed to enable the pursuers of Claude, 
 i to gain conside"rabryui)oii him,' and the "consequence was, th^^ now with no 
 
 I doubt the hope of intimidating him, set up shouts of triumph as though their 
 
 ■^^S^gfc^^;::
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 80 
 
 victory over him was sure. These shouts alarmed Cicely, who urged him still 
 to increase his speed. He endeavoured to re-assure her, when she suddenly 
 exclaimed : — *' 
 
 " Who are those men in scarlet ? Why should we be hunted ?" 
 
 " Hunted !" 
 
 !i* ?^?T^®^* ^^®''® ^^^ ^®^ ^^ ^^^ coats, and hark l—what means that cry ?*' 
 
 Yoicks! yoicks! tantivy!" cried a loud, clp r voice, and in an instant 
 
 Claude s path was crossed by other hunters, who, sef^fig that he was pursued, 
 
 endeavoured to stop him. He drew rein, presented a pair of pistols, and said,— 
 
 Mow, gentlemen; who among you will give up their lives for the satisfaction 
 
 ~~N0. 12. '^ --=:^-z=::=z=^ . - - -
 
 90 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 of feelinff Ihat the survivors have a chance of stopping me upon the king'i 
 highway. 
 
 I " Oh, come on — come on," said a portly personage. 
 
 ! " Thertainly," said a young gentleman, with a lisp. "I don't come out to \% 
 shot, not I." 
 
 They one and all turned their horses' heads on one side, and left a free passage 
 for Claude, who as he passed thwn, said, — 
 
 " Gentleman, I thank you, and I think you will none of you repent this act of 
 courtesy towards one who, whatever may be his errors is right for once. Good day, 
 gentlemen ." 
 
 Cicely was as much astonished at this, as the small-brained gentleman who 
 could find nothing better to do than to scamper after a hare, and before those 
 who had called upon the gentlemen who had been coming to stop the fugitives. 
 Sue was, with her master and Cicely, fairly beneath the umbrageous trees. 
 
 " Cheer up, cheer up," cried Claude, " the worst of our danger is past." 
 
 ♦♦All past ?" 
 
 " All that need give you any disquietude." 
 
 " But what are we to do here ? — for how long can such a place as this 
 afford us any shelter P Oh, what wiU become of us ?-^intO what danger have I 
 led you, who have made such efforts for me, I ought not — indeed I feel I ought 
 not m this manner to have thrown myself upon your hands." 
 
 " Fear nothing." . 
 
 " It is not fear, but regret that I feel." 
 
 " Ah, do not regret that you have made me so happy.** 
 
 "Happy?" 
 
 " Yes, most happy in the dear joy of being able to say to you that I have 
 saved you from your enemies, although who they are, who can be the enemies of 
 such as you are. Miss Brereton, I cannot devise. 
 
 "I will teU you all." 
 
 *•' Not yet — not yet. Let me first place you in absolute safety before you com- 
 mence your narration." 
 
 " But how can you do so ?" 
 
 " Hush — hush. We may have listeners." 
 
 Claude dismounted, and led the horse bv the bridle for a considerable distance, 
 until suddenly they arrived before an ancient residence, that at any other time 
 wrould have much interested Cicely to look at. 
 
 "We are safe — we are safe," cried Claude. "Do not weep. Cicely, I — I should 
 say Miss Brereton." 
 
 " Call me what you will," she replied, " so that you complete it with an assur- 
 ance of my safety." 
 
 " I can so complete it," said Claude, " and now let me ask you, can you, and 
 will you entirely trust me ?" 
 
 " With aU my heart." 
 
 A glow of pleasure and of pride came over the countenance of Claude, then it 
 was seconded by a look of unutterable woe, as he thought what a chasm his own 
 acts had created between him and Cicely. There was no time, however, just then, 
 for regretful thoughts. Actions were required, and he assisted Cicely to dismount 
 from tne horse, at the garden gate of the old mansion, close to which thef 
 wert w
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 01 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE ETJINED V1LLA..«*-A SEIGB AND A DEFENCE. 
 
 There was a moinent's pause after dismounting, and an uneasy feeling crept 
 over Claude as he lield Sue by the bridle — a shade of anxiety passed across his 
 brow as he looked at the beautiful animal, for the thought came uppermost in his 
 mind that his own and Cicely's safety was scarcely more necessary than that of 
 his mare. 
 
 " Without you, my Sue," he said, " we should be prisoners here, and with but a 
 poor chance of getting away, and tliough I have hidaen you safely ere now, yet 
 the numbers in chase of us are so great, and the certainty of our whereabouts so 
 great among them, that the search will be more rigid and lasting." 
 
 " Shall we be safe here, Claude," inquired Cicely anxiously, as she saw 
 there was a moment's hesitation in his manner. Can we not fly further ?" 
 
 " Scarcely, with a chance of getting off clear. Cicely — but my thought was for my 
 horse, because she is necessary to our safety ; but I am no longer doubtful, there 
 is no time for that, I will not leave you here for a moment, lest my retreat be 
 cut off to you by any accident." 
 
 " No, no," said Cicely, " I will not leave you, Claude. I shall be safer with 
 you than by remaining here even for you." 
 
 Claude's only answer was a gentle presure of his hand upon the waist, around 
 which his arm yet lingered, and they moved away. Cicely supported partially by 
 Claude with one arm, and with the other hand he led Sue. 
 
 Instead of entering the old mansion by the main entrance, Claude Duval led 
 the way across what had once been pleasure walks and flower beds, but bed and 
 walks were now alike undistinguishable. No sign remained of the once level 
 gravel, and trim and neatly kept borders, or the smoothly raked beds, where once 
 choice flowers grew and beautified the spot with their fragrance and their colours. 
 Rank vegetation grew and overspread all around, and it was with some difficulty 
 they could force their way through the thick and entangled mass. 
 
 Here and there they would indeed feel a hard soil underneath, and that told them 
 they trod on the gravel walks, and again Sue's hoofs would sink in the soft mould, 
 which informed them they were crossing what had once been flower beds, and 
 thus they passed over more than an acre of ground. 
 
 How great was the change, and were those to see it as it was at that moment, 
 and as it had been in the days of all its palmy glory, when youth and beauty have 
 graced those walls — when music and feasting added to the gaiety of that place, 
 which had of itself been extremely beautiful, and had all those charms to set it off 
 that natui'e and art could bestow— could any one have seen the two conditions, 
 then indeed, such could have known and understood the contrast, but the imagina- 
 tion is too faint and feeble to pourtray the contrast. 
 
 " Great changes there have been here," muttered Claude " yet sunk as the old 
 mansion is in its estate, it will afford us shelter, and I hope to make it good 
 against those who follow." . , \ 
 
 Claude came to a wild and dessolate spot, it was difficult to tell what it had 
 been used for—but there were many aged willows growing around, and there was 
 a large pool of stagnant water, covered by that species of aquatic herbage called, 
 by some the " green mantle of the pools." 
 
 "This has no doubt been at some time a fish pond and fountain— the fountain 
 has long ceased to play, and fhe water become stagnant and unwholesome, ahd I 
 have seen dead animals floating upon it — it is a lone spot, but here is a place 
 where I can place Sue with safety." 
 . *♦ In that water," inquired Cicely, looking up in amazement. 
 
 " No, indeed, Cicely, but there is some brushwood by that water, it ieems m
 
 92 GENTLEMAN JACK ; 0B» 
 
 f it were all surrounded there by water, that they in fact grow out of water ; 
 I must wade to get to them knee deep, but no matter for that^ there is a dry spot 
 there, like a ca ve or chamber, whicli I suppose has been used in connection with the 
 fountain there is room enough there for Sue. You had better remain here. Miss Brere- 
 ton for a short time. You will be safe here, but to reach the place of safety for Sue, 
 we must pass througli the water." 
 
 " Do not be long, Claude," said Cicely, " do not leave me for long, for I am 
 fearful of being alone," 
 
 " But a moment," said Claude, who led Sue through the stagnant water, to a 
 spot which rose again, and then entered an unseen excavation in the bank, the 
 entrance of which was quite "rown over by rank weeds and creepers, and thus 
 hid the entrance so completely, that none could detect the spot by the eye, and 
 had it been detected there would have been no known entrance, save through the 
 waters of the pond. 
 
 The cxcAvation did not appear larger than was necessary to admit the body of 
 the mare, and then having secured ner by the bridle, so that she should not push 
 her head out from among the green herbage and thus betray herself. Claude 
 Duval sprang back to the bank, and to the side of Cicely Brereton. 
 
 " Now Cicely," he said, " we have no time to lose. 1 think 1 can hear their 
 voices among the trees, but yet they are at some distance from u^, the wind brings 
 the sound to us, and makes them seem nearer than they are." 
 
 Then half supporting the fragile form of Cicely Brereton, he hurried her from 
 the spot across some other flower beds, or rather what had once been such, and 
 then entering at an ornamental shrubbery, he approached the back part of the old 
 filla. 
 
 The building was evidently m ruins, and yet there was much in its appearance 
 that denoted solidity and strength, and if it were possible to secure the entrances, 
 it would be possible to hold out successfully against a very formidable force. 
 
 Approaclung the villa by a terrace, he reached one of the large windows which 
 opened upon it— being glazed— but now every vestige of glass was gone ; scarcely, 
 indeed, did any memento of the glazier's art remain; through one of these openings 
 he assisted Cicely to enter, and then Claude followed, still giving her the support 
 of his arm. 
 
 "Will they not enter by the same means, Claude P" she inquired, pointing to 
 the open window or door. 
 
 *'ies. Cicely— they will. There are shutters, but they are of no use, the 
 hinges have long since become useless, the weather has rusted them, and they 
 have been broken for a long while, but the entrance will be of no use to those 
 who foUow-^the doors of the room remain yet good." 
 
 Claude Duval now left the room he had entered, and shutting the doors after 
 him, he by means of much exertion contrived to turn the massive but rusty lock, 
 and then the door was secure. 
 
 "There," he muttered, "that door fits too well, too close, and is too strong, 
 to be easily forced ; no human strength will, I think, accomplish the feat, though 
 if aided by the contrivances of man, it might be done, but they are unprepared 
 for such 9 thing ; if they get in, it will be from some more assailable point." 
 
 T\iming away, he entered a small and more secure apartment, there was a seat— 
 an old chaur — one that had probably been used in the nail, or garden, for it was a 
 rough piece of workmanship and yet strong. 
 
 "There Cicely," he said, "you had better sit there for awhile, you must need 
 rest, and while you remain here, I will go and secure all the approaches that can 
 be secured, against the admission of our enemies ; then I will return to you, and 
 while I live you shall not be torn away from me. 
 
 There was a look so full of gratitude and deep confidence in him, that Claude 
 for the moment forgot his purpose to look into the beaming eyes of Cicely — then 
 remembering himself— he hastened away to execute the necessary, but somewhat 
 difficult task, of makmg good all places of ingress against the enemy without, who 
 wo^d now, he felt convinced, soon be upon them. 
 
 ia/ i »uCi " I M»^ - " i. r^ . r i. w i i i 1 . 1 - i r. -i. < iiiiii.i I 11. I m i l l ■ .-■i nT '- W ' iii rtw i - ."T:^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 53 
 
 "'niey shall neither take me, or harm her, while I live,'* he muttered, " to die 
 Rt such a moment, and in defence of one so beautiful and so injured would be an 
 act that I might well covet, and one I will not shrink from." 
 
 There was an air of firm, but melancholy determination about Claude Duval, 
 that bespoke his sense of the danger, and his willingness to meet it, and at the 
 same time sadness sat upon his heart when he recollected that Cicely must share 
 it, and if he fell what would be the result to her. 
 
 "My life," he said to himself, "will; be forfeited if I fall, or if I am taken, but 
 lier's will be too horrible to think of, to be immured in a madhouse for life, — hor- 
 ribble, horrible ! My life is sought by every man who knows my name, but her's 
 only by those who call themselves her friends. And if I succeed, I save Cicely ; 
 let every other thought be banished — my reward must be in my own approving 
 itund, 'tis hard— but there is a gulf between us — I will not think of it." 
 
 Claude Duval now strode to the front door — this was fast and secure against all 
 attempts to force it— at least all such as could be made by the mere bodily strength 
 of those who were coming against it, then he examined the other and less secure 
 doors, and one by one made them as fast as the means at hand enabled him to do. 
 
 Turning aside from the hall, he went to the more indefen'^;ible portions of the 
 building; that part of the building which had been allotted to the offices and for 
 the domestics were not built so solidly, and much of the wood-work had com- 
 pletely rotted away, and one »mall door was entirely gon ' 
 
 "It is an easy entry," he muttered to himself, " but il i.uist be secured, for if 
 they find it, and find it out they are sure to, for there will not be a hole that is 
 not found out when they find they have been barricaded out of the place, and I 
 must have as few places that I am called upon to defend as possible, for being but 
 one, I can scarce defend more than one or two places at one and the same time. 
 Ah ! this wiU do." 
 
 This exclamation referred to a large butt that stood in the place, as if it had 
 been once the receptacle for water, but now it was empty, and had long been so, 
 this, he, by some exertion rolled to the empty doorway, and then raising it up, 
 he propped it up, so as ro fill up the aperture. 
 
 " That," he said, as he looked at it, " would keep them out, if it were heavy 
 enough to resist their efforts, but wanting that, I must try and add something to 
 it." 
 
 After a short search about, he found some heavy stones, which he threw into 
 the butt, and bricks— besides piling some old lumber across, and placing it so as 
 to strengthen the position. 
 
 Claude was now beneath the surface of the ear1;li, and his practised ear at once 
 told him that the enemy was not far off, he could hear the tread of men and horses 
 at a distance, he could feel the earth move, as if it conveyed the motion by waves. 
 He sprang up. 
 
 " I must to Cicely," he said. " I must to Cicely ; to live with or die for her 
 is my onlv hope, and my full determination. Heaven grant I escape this bout, 
 more on ter account than my own ; but for her my situation would not be so 
 desperate, ad if they press me, their position is as desperate as mine." 
 
 He left the place, and sought Cicely, whom he found where he had left her, 
 seated in the dark room. 
 
 "Hark! she said, listening. Do you hear nothing, Claude— do you hear 
 no sound as of some one approaching us." 
 
 " Yes, Cicely, yes I do, but do not be alarmed — I have secured the old villa as 
 weiyls I am able, it will resist some time at least of itself, and it will be my 
 part to assist in mjiing it more difficult of approach." 
 
 "Where will you stay, Claude," said Cicely, with a forced calmness, and ti-ying 
 to listen to eaten every sound. 
 
 " Dear Cicely," said Claude, taking her hand, "I will not tell you faliely that 
 there is no danger, there is, but we may rob it of some of its terrors, and even 
 render it less imminent by courage, and by throwing off tiift fear that will some- 
 times cling to us. I will protect you M'hiie I have life.
 
 9i GENTLEMAN JACK; GK, 
 
 " I know it, Claude, but ob, wbat a fearful risk bave I brougbt upon you 
 — without me you would not bave been sougbt after tbus.'* 
 
 " Say nothing of it," said Claude, and a cloud of sadness passed over bis brow» 
 " say notbing of tbat, danger is welcome to Claude Duval, so that be can save 
 Cicc*/ Brereton ; it will be a white page in my life ; but let us leave this place, 
 the rooms pbove afford us a greater security, because if they get in they must 
 come up the stab's, and that ^ives me an advantage." 
 
 They now ascended the stairs carefully, for strong as they were, or had been 
 originally, they had in places become decayed, and it was not upon every spot that 
 appeared to be secure tbat they dared to place their feet with perfect confideace 
 and securi'y, for some places crumbled beneath them. 
 
 " There will be more inaccessible places than this," remarked Claude, as he 
 looked down the flight of stairs that led dkectly to the ball, " and even here, 
 where v. c have come up in safety, thev rushing up headlong many together, will 
 80 damage the place as to endanger their own safety." 
 
 " They will get in then, Claude ?" said Cicely, enquiringly. 
 
 " I hope not, but yet it is possible, but it must all depend upon t heir efforts and 
 ardour, they are strong in numbers, and yet if they have not much courage, one 
 man may cause more misdiief than they would like to encounter— but bark ! I think 
 I hear them. I will see what means of observation I can find above here. Tliis 
 will be a safe place for you to remain in," said Claude, as be pointed to the staks 
 that ran upward, " there you would not be seen and reached, unless any one en- 
 tered the house, and ascended. 
 
 Cicely acquiesced in silence, and while Claude entered the various rooms on 
 the floor, to see what positions he could take for defending the various entrances 
 below, she sat upon one of the stairs, endeavouring to assume as much calmness 
 as her strength enabled her. 
 
 Claude Duvla saw at a glance that there wei e ample means for defenduag the place, 
 i had there been enough of men inside to put one or two in each room, but that 
 while be defended one place, another might be assailed, therefore, the chances were 
 much agaiu^st bis prospect of defence. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IHE INVESTTJEE OP THE OLD VILLA BY THB PT7RSTJEBS. 
 
 The pui'suers when they came to the wood, paused for a moment, not because 
 they doubted the way which the fugitives had gone, or the propriety of followii^ 
 them, but it was a Question whether it would not be a better plan to spread round 
 the place, and thus beat about as they would for game. 
 
 "Go after them," said a stout-lookmg countryman on a grey hade, "eo after 
 him, and don't lose time, he's got a devil of a horse that'll go anywhere, and if you 
 give him a minute's time the game's up." t /. i • . 
 
 " He's a sly old fox," said another, "and if you go straight after biia in coyer, 
 he'll double and get behind you." ...... 
 
 « He can't do that well, the scent's too warm. Vm for gomg nght m at nu at 
 once," said another. , , . , „ , ., t ,i j 
 
 "Why not surround the place?" said a third. ** Surround it by all means, and 
 then we all meet in the middle." _ , «,» . j « 
 
 "And leave Claude Duval only one man to meet mm at a place r" said one ot 
 the officers, " no— no, that would never do, you might as well think of his being 
 coaxed into a trap— no— no we must go to him in a body ; he's only a man, I mow.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 95 
 
 but he*s got the devil's luck, and iliat makes a great difference, you know ; sj)read 
 open if you will, but keep in each other's view, if you would be safe." 
 
 This proposal was apparently relished by most of the individuals present, who, 
 though valorous enough, and even quite willing to meet anybody on earth who wore 
 two legs, and yet somewhow, saVe one or two countrymen, they all kept close 
 together and did not spread themselves too much apart. 
 
 *'Dang Claude Duval,'* said a young farmer, "there be as good men as he, I'll 
 warrant, though he may have killed his man. I've got a pistol, too, and if he fire 
 first, or has a better eye than I have— why he'll not be taken bv Sam Hodges, 
 that's all." 
 
 "Push on, and don't spend time and breath to no purpose," shouted one of the 
 officers, who were present, " push on, 1 say, the more time they have the harder it 
 will be to unkennel them." 
 
 ** They will make for the old villa," shouted one, *' and try to make a stand 
 there— follow me, we shall soon be there. See, here are the footmarks of his 
 mare." 
 
 They now all pushed forward, following pretty closely the first who led the way, 
 and this was the more necessary when they got in, for the wood was close and 
 tangled, and there was no room to ride about, for the horse and rider could not find 
 room in which to do so. 
 
 There was less need either for their doing so, since there "vvas plain and evident 
 traces of Claude's progress through the wood — the open path was one sign, and 
 the footmarks were another, for the soil had been so soddeneci by the rain that the 
 marks were many and distinct, be^ides^ this, there was the s'>ure fore-knowledge 
 that they possessed, that he would make for the old deserted villa, and there make 
 a stagL 
 
 The two horsemen who had the charge of Cicely were incessant in their endea- 
 vours to urge their companions onwards. They were too fearful ihcmselves that 
 if they separated from the main body, the^ might again meet Claude, and ' then 
 what might happen made either shake in his saddle, so that there w as great danger 
 ©fa fall 
 
 They passed through a great portion of the wood, until they came to the 
 grounds which environed the villa, and as tiie trees were not quite .so close and 
 thick, they paused a few moments to allow their whole body to come np, and then 
 hold a council of war. 
 
 "Now," said one of the officers who ^had before spoken, "now we- are alto- 
 gether, let us determine upon our course of action. The man we have to deal 
 with, is a daring and determined fellow, and whoever takes him will be n9 cur, I 
 can promise ; but we must support one another." ^ 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is understood." 
 
 *'Then let us secure our nags here, in the event of our wanting them in a harry ; 
 if we take them closer to the nouee, why we may endanger their safety, at a tUme 
 too when some one may most require them. Secure the nags, and then "we 
 will walk up to the house— no doubt they are there, and we shall have to seartib 
 the place." 
 
 " No doubt he's there," said one of the pursuers. ^ I know the place, I have 
 been here before, not lately, but years ago, and I know then I could have made it 
 good against a regiment of soldiers/* 
 
 " Aye, but the bats can fly in and out now ; but we shall soon know now, if he 
 be there or no by the place being secured against us. That wiU be a good sign, 
 lads. Come, come, let's waste no more time, push on after me, and then rentem- 
 ber the reward." 
 
 There was some necessity for reminding them of that, as the near approach of 
 hostilities seemed to have quelled the spirits of some of those who were nasty and 
 hot at the entrance of the wood, and yet being all in a body, there was no great 
 want of courage or determination, but the toiie was subdued, as they approached 
 the old villa to reconnoitre. 
 
 "It's been a fine old place,'* said one of the horsemen.
 
 9« OSN'rliUMlN JAC£ 
 
 "And wmild be one pow, if it. were in good order, only f hey \Ptfdld- haTfe t« 
 make "a ;inile or iwQotrdad.tbgel t'ait.** ., ,. \ ^, ' " ' , ' . J.' , V ' ! ' .' 
 
 ^ Ttcy now walked up to tlie 4oor-i-^the maiii' entrance ; the' $j;eps vere . covered 
 with hei'bage and green moss, whioh had accamulated aud giyea - food and ^ root* 
 rpom to much Vje^etation. They . surveyed th^ door, a^^„ |hen tried it, but it .re- 
 sisted their efforti;^,, V(v :/..■•".'.' . — ," :i:C--^''\'^-/: .' '■'• ^: 
 .-;*^ It is useless to try there, that door is sound aUd sjirbng."^^ 
 
 " We may as well wake them at all events," said one or twio who had come up, 
 and they began beating the.door with theirheavy riding whips, ani kicking it with 
 their boots. ; : 
 
 ;" We shall hot get in here,** said one of the officer^; "there are other places 
 not so strong behind. Come round this way. 
 
 • " We had better have one or two on this side, les^ h^ attempt an escape unseen,'* ^ 
 skid another. ' 
 
 •' Yes, let two of you stay here, while we go round the angle-~one at each 'cor- 
 ner, so that you can assist each other, and see yet doTn the sides of the house- 
 give tongue, lads, if you see a mouse stirring." 
 
 " Aye, aye ; keep a look out at the windows, Bill," said another. I expecfc 
 every moment to see the muzzle of a pistol popping out somewhere or other, taking 
 a cool aim." I 
 
 Thus they left two men while the main bodv turned the sides of the building in 
 search of some more accessible place in the old villa, where they hoped lo get iu at. 
 They saw, however, that every place had been secured— not a loophole but what 
 had been barricaded. ' i; 
 
 " He is here, lads, of that there can be no doubt, none at &11. The old rmi6 
 were never left thus." 
 
 " No, no. I hsive been in here before to day, and I know the place was open; 
 any one who chose might enter it." i 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah ! then we have earthed the fox at last. Now, my boys, we 
 have only to get in, and then you know the value of Claude Duval's head.'* 
 
 "Aye, we hfAve only <o get in — aye, lad, something more than that either. We 
 have to get in first truly, and then we have to take the lion, no easy task, and yet 
 we can do it, or I would not make one in the attempt. We can run him down, and 
 walk over Mm if we keep together." 
 
 " One and all lads," said the officer. 
 
 " But where are we to get in," enquired one of the horsemen who had been so 
 defeated by Claude Duval. " I see no opening unless you climb up to some of 
 those windows." .ill 
 
 " No, no, that will be the last place to attempt ; but 'see, here are some wip- i 
 dows on this terrace that appear most likely to offer us the means of entrance." ^ ' ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXr. 
 
 THE JOBCED EN'TRY INTO THE OLD VILLA AND ITS CONSEaTTENCB 
 
 A siicJTirT announced that they had found a means of entering the <>J4 vilWjrjS 
 rushed to the spot, where it was seen to be the same rooms that Claude Uu- 
 val himself and Cicely had entered, and had left them in the same condition as he 
 found tliem, because, there was no means of securing large glass doors^and wmdow& 
 that opened from the floor, and the shutters of which were decayed, and quite 
 unmanajp^eable for the purpose of defence. - . :...,, . 
 
 ** Ah !" exclaimed one of the foremost. ^^ He must have forgotten tlus, or at
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 97 
 
 'Paib«B» lads, %• hsDglag back aov tk* tlma't 
 
 for 
 
 •11 tTsnto h« aould set tecar* It. 
 action ; vo ahall aaea ba at it" 
 
 Tba vfu sooa gainad aecets to what had onea been the bar^aettlBf hall : thay mada a nub ta 
 tba daor, but it obatlnataly restated theiz effarts to stix it. When they found themselTes th\rarted 
 an« of thalr nmmbar praposed to smoka tham out, but it waa objected to, everything being bo 
 damp flrom tha pieTiooa rains. Claude stood on the stairs, listening to this couTerse and to any 
 
 sounds that might iadfcato their entrance. There was a sound of heavy blows against the wall and 
 the door, and at each blow the place shook violently. They continued this battery, and Claude 
 continue* to watch Its efFects with great anxiety. •• It will never stand that long." ha thought, 
 " and if something be not done to prevent them forcing it, they will soon bo hero in a body ; but 
 there ia no place where I can overlook these fellows ; if there were they would not continue that game 
 BO uniatomiptedly."
 
 GENTLEMAN UCK; OB, 
 
 CkxAt had scaroely fonned this reflection, before the door split, aad its pieces 
 
 , *;»Hurrah! hurrah!" sb,ottted the men, *'now for Dnval*8 head! ii»v fct ^ 
 
 fttizcJ hurrah tar » Highwayman hunt:" jj^sht 
 
 . Claude Dural bit his lip, and a shade of paleiMiss eame ictqss his htQW fid ike 
 ^rd the cries of the mob of men who so savagely thirsted for his blood. 
 
 " If I have broken the laws," he muttered. ** J have hurt no one of these 
 jiaeddling fools, whose appetite for bloodshed mu£^ be satiated amongst them> 
 selves, for while I have arms and life, they shall not tondi me, much less shall they 
 lay their unhallowed hands upon Cicely Brereton." 
 
 One man was about to step over the broken fragments, and rush ?kk>ag the pas- 
 sage that divided him from the main staircase, on whidi stood Claude Duval, whose 
 voice suddenly arrested him. 
 
 "Hold— hold," he cried. 
 ' The man paused in the midst of a step he was about to take, indeed his leg 
 ^was lifted, and he stood in that posture for a moment or two, as ^enchanted. 
 
 "Hold!" again cried Claude, any aasai who attempts to pass iito the house 
 Is a corpse, keep back for your lives. I never miss my aim." s . • ' 
 
 There was a dead sijcnee for near a nttnutc, and then a ruA was made l^ those 
 behini who were not likely to-be touched by Claude's bullet upon the unhappy 
 wight in front, who, had he the desire to recede, would not have been perniitte4 
 for his rear supporters thrust him forward, shouting, — 
 
 " On, on, 'tis Claude JDuir^S. On-«K)n— capture him-^oh*t let him escape. 
 hurrah! hurrah for the reward|" , , _, 
 
 The man in front thus urgc^n, found himself m the passage, and -the "nest 
 moment the sharp report of thl pistol was heard, and the foremost wan stag- 
 gered, groaned and fell all hudtfed up in a heap, while some kept back, and some 
 rolled over him. % 
 
 " J'ire for fire," exclaimed onex)f the officers, who levelled his pistol at Ckude, 
 and fired, but Claude seeing so many men in the passage, knew that he exposed 
 tiimself needlessly as, a mark to all, for all no doubt carried fire arms-^^t was 
 usual to do so— therefore, he now hastened ta the side of Cicely, who ^uld r^ 
 quire all his care. ^ ^ '^ 
 
 There was a mom^tary pausi^^ong those below, and it seemed that Claude s 
 retreat was only Reefed in goofeime, for more than one pistol had been drawn, 
 and no doubt iife^ Wfituld sdl^^ve been discharged upon him, had he re- 
 mained. X. ^ 
 
 " Poor fellowt^ ^^ €a» «f th^bes^gers, as he assisted to bear the fallen man 
 away, " his time is ^ne— Iw's qi^te d^.'' 
 
 " Is he dead," encpired <jne of|fehe two horsemen, who had been the cause of 
 Claude's pursuit, and shuddered ikd shook from head to foot, 
 
 "Yes, quite dead, ; but go on v^ sta rs, and help to tafce Claude Du^> for he 
 will not be takemwfibtout a little (blood being spilt ; go ift, aad take ^j»ur share 
 ©fit." i' . , ^, , 
 
 This advice did iiot seem to be agreeable, netertheless the individual addressed 
 tfid go forward, but it was after many othra-s had goce up and screened him. 
 The stairs we.haveisaid were old and rotting; tlfflMgh many of the main beams 
 were' good and «eciare, and made of oak, yet the water occasionally sipaming 
 through tae house, and laying .there, had rotted much; still they coatfeued to 
 Upo-forVardi no* without some'*%ccidents of rather a serious nature — fro^n sUpSj, 
 and holes being forced through, and a man's body disappearing up to his wais^ 
 while his legs appeared below the flooring, and but for being qmckly extri- 
 ^ted/ he would have disappeared altc^ether, at the cost of his bones, , , 
 
 '*« Ah ! Clafede, Claude, save me," said Cicely, in a low, trembling Jlone, a« 
 she almost sunk in his arms. " They come for me ! they come for me !" 
 
 "Hush! Cicely-^hush ! and do not be alarmed; be courageous, find aU may 
 7et be v^ell— we have naany chances, prudence and caution may yet save us 
 
 •te=2==:=siS= 
 
 J
 
 LIFE ON THE HOAD. 99 
 
 fchraugh all ; but I ask you to keep up your courage, Cicely, and do not d«5pair, or 
 feel terrified at what you hear or see." 
 
 "I will trust all to you, Claude, I do trust in you. Do but sayis me fr«ta; 
 these men who would bear me away to a living death. I will but seie and hear 
 you, Claude." 
 
 As Cicely spoke she placed her hands upon his shoulder, and looked so implot-- 
 ingly, and yet so full of confidence upon him, and yet seemed to dread the coining 
 conftict, in wMch slie feared so much for Claude as well as for herself; she hardly 
 knew how to express her feelings to him, but he saw the tears course down her 
 cheeks, and saw her generous emotion, and the endeavour to suppress it-^and iii 
 ! a moment of ecstjicy, he pressed her to his bosom, saying,— * 
 
 " Dear Cicely, do not doubt, do not fear. I will run no unnecessary danger ; 
 ►my life is dear to me, because without it, I know what a sad fate awaits you — be 
 confident, and all may yet I hope be well." 
 
 Cicely turned her lips nearer Claude, as if she were about to say something in 
 reply, when urged by the opportunity, and the feeling of the moment, Claude's 
 lips met those of Cicely, She shrank not, the terror of the moment, and her con- 
 fidence in Claude was so great that she resisted not, but was passive, and her 
 clear blue eyes lookedueloquently iato his. 
 
 A thrill of pleasure that Claude had never before experienced, shot through bis 
 veins, and he felt for the moment giddy with excitement, but was quickly re- 
 called to the full sense of his situation by the shouts, and the sounds that kept 
 approaching him nearer and nearer. 
 
 " We must fly this place. Cicely ; when we pass across the head of the land- 
 ing, hasten up without me— I will keep them back until you are safe, and I wiU 
 rejoin you." 
 
 As he spoke, he passed out of the room in wliich he had been listening 
 to the sounds of the besiegers belpw, but he had scarcely done so before he 
 felt a hand grasp liim by the throat, and a pistol thrust into his face. 
 
 " Surrender, Ulaude Duval, s^irrender— you are my prisoner. I have taken you, 
 and you die if you resist." 
 
 " Take that, then," said Claude to this individual, who declared he had 'taken 
 him, and at the same time he dealt the man such a blow on his head 
 "With the butt of his pistol, that the adventurous man relaxed his hold, dropped 
 his weapon, and fell backwards down the stairs, overthrowing two more who 
 where hastening up to hie assistance, and this impeded all who were behind. 
 Claude Duval then hastened up a flight of stairs higher, but these were very 
 precarious, and' but for his rapid steps he must have fallen through the crumbling 
 boards ; once upon this landing, he paused, and after casting a glance below, he 
 examined some of the rooms, and then appearing satisfied, he placed Cicely in one, 
 isayin^ as he did sOj— ^ 
 
 "Do-you remain here, dear Cicely; I will not leave you,, I shaU be but OQ 
 
 the landing, ^d when ther iiave got so far, I shall ootue to you." ' 
 
 **I will not leave," she nmrmnred. "I will share the danger— yott shaQ 
 
 tot expose, yourself to this peril foe me, and yet I shrink feonv it<— -no, I will watch 
 
 with you " 
 
 ■ ^ISayiyoucan but increase the dfuag^p ;. Cicely, by myaelf^ I can take carfc 
 of nr^self, %nthout other thoughts ddstraobu^ ine;,W iuvrki I^imnst back to the 
 stairs, I hear them coming." 
 
 Ckude. rushed back to tlie landing, and found that the enemy! "Had' ^t up <fe 
 stairs-, and were within a short (fiataricci of the top, and.he was about levelling; his 
 pistol at'them, wh«n ft*om theic too great mimhera t^e place gjave ^ay, and* seve- 
 fai were precipitated down, below, causing much con^ojion and' diBBaay among fcBenl, 
 «o much so, that a short ccBsatioiiofe hostilities^ took place,, and the officers wtio 
 were present, spoke out— <» 
 
 "Come, my lads, do not hang- hack, oe be daunted hj one man,, encumbered 
 with a woman; we must hav* him, and I call u|^n. yoiiaU in tlie b>g*s;nartiB\t" 
 isiist metoapprehsidfMiiii.aliTOor dead. Xouralt koow ,liie rewai^ you, -^ 

 
 100 GBNTLEBfAN JACK; OB, 
 
 seltes from some future attack." » , utj^^si v?? $ r^ii Jl j«nv»foi» y, >. , 
 
 :•* '♦Butwd cant ir^t^at hirD,"'«Aidr'cme..' •/ >,; v ^U-? ".figt-otrt} i^iUt':i & y^..- • 
 
 •*0h, yes," replied the oflBccr, "where there's a will thciie'M^t^w^i W* PMWt 
 gp ijpthicse '.stairs one at, a time."-- v.^; •;v! ,•.«..;,> >: -v.)?.' .;.,•*■ •■/ 
 
 ;'*0»«.at a time,, and be will pick; us off," said another,. ,1 i - ,• 
 
 .; «• No," juplied the officer, "ihat must not be. t^^'hilei jouare.nuJdi^gTOur w^^ 
 we must be on the watch, ready to piok hiin off if he appear. One pariy togq fgjr- 
 ward, and another to fire if he shows his face, that at all events, will ensure our 
 geUi»g close to him^ and he can .l^ut^ fire 9nee l^foife wip tush ^u him,^ and be 
 i8ihqi,ourown." . "" J- '^.",. :]'..-'..'''.:" ^''. '/.'! '■'',/••'"'- 
 
 7hi8 seemed so feasible^ that it Wa? a^eed ujpb^ al^ adbpt it, and 
 
 haying seen blood flow, they were warmed to tbeir wqrk^ and felt' detfermm«d not to 
 be baffled by one man ; the desire of Tengeahce wsis uoW add6d to arrance, iand 
 they' at once "prepared to follow otit tlie plan de<^sed Iry the Bow-stre^tjmauw. 
 
 /'■—' ■-' ': ■ '■■-■'■■"■- :•:■ -' > ■■■' ■' .■>•'.,.:.;'• ),^-.:. , :. , - I ;_•; ,.,_; ,f../^ 
 
 : tir/fi- ^^J-Sii- j;!t^~- '..,->/■.) y>TifVi»<v.fr,><i|!) .<? )»,«««? -i.-? - 
 
 ,:)'«^,'ra 
 
 ■:^'.r' i3f !Va4<* *iU1'li^ lilRJli'irf ?'-:0-' ;;•.... ,.,• .■ . 
 
 ■•■•'• ■^•^'S ;n» ^=u-v? ^.,:.-. :»!.'' ,;:..>* I :>ifi .••vv>,., ,■,.; :.: ,-■ o f.:.; -I-'^ .tr.^(Vi • 
 
 ^Claupb Dtjval, wk) had stood upon .ti^e stairs, land pyerli^^;4,^ lyK^Je/of 
 tbi& dialogue, felt convinced that aowwas to. come his, greatest danger. , ]^t was ,not 
 not that he shrunk from any conflict, however unequal, for hi? boldness >in.d giood 
 fortune, had been proverbial, and they evfin yet e^ve hW confidcjice : t|ut i^ he fell 
 be felt how forlorn was. the sit^atiic^i of poor Cicely ; his *tro^|)les wp^d be ended by 
 bis ..death, but that, was not the mg to^K Cioely,, w|ij6wj .teffbra^ 
 their recommencement at his fall. •' • ' V , -^ 
 
 *^ I have faced worse and more inaninent risks," iie tihpught, " a^d % haTiB Is- 
 Oape4 and why, now I, t^are a good cause, to back me, should I failt ImitKey shall 
 pay a dear price for me, ere th»y say they have takc^.pla^dcPuyiaJ,; Or fi^^^ 
 ahall convsy Cicely Brer^ton toaxnadhouse^" V ,C - • : > V - "- V v^ 
 I The; thoughts of the.lapt peioe of barbarity nery^ hisjarm„an4. l^aiiwig oy.^,tb«, 
 rails, he perceived his enemies were coming oh slowly and o^utip.uslyop^.aft'cr^^ 
 «jih©r, ana otl^ers^weife waijtin^^pigtpl in Uapd.tp shoqt . him, a^d , tgtts tjiej ^prP- 
 eressed towards him. Stealthily he stole upon them,' and exerting grWstre^lth, 
 he ©yerthrew.a door w^h went over wit|i^^ noise , littje less })m ti^wfe ^ 
 epmi^etely stayed the oiiward mpti(ttiJof,tljM}8e M ^j^$^ jj^lp^t^^^ 1 
 
 ; that there was much mischief done. '^■'■y-^,'y'''"i,''lA 
 
 ■ ,;Jnd«c^ «e?*ral mea had bejen knocked dowip, and pi?e fleayly crj;slie4; tp! dfcafli; 
 Ijut^re Cfettde had gM back J^ the dpot of _the room' which he Ijad left Cicely 
 hii, abulia from pni? of the pfirty Ufew wljIJ^ past; hifn,^d,t^e,r^port rea^ 
 'li,£)ara.simultancottaly. ..,,'- .^ -.. .,,;j. >.,. \,.,„^ .. k,v'..'C^.^i- ,1..;.'.,.^^"". 
 
 "After him— foUow him close,*? .8hou1»d'#M&><dEc(».: njff'? WpaiS<?^^^^ 
 this.; some of you behind look to those, wtofimburt, l^ifj^)i^i^f^^X{oyA%^ 
 him ; mv shot did iipt miss him by much." ,-. /, ; ,^ '', \ ,'; , , 
 
 The doPr had not destroyed those who were 'nearest to Clan<l®, l?ut only,spme Pf 
 thpse. who were Ipifirer down,; ainong ivhpm were several who rece^yea^ iseycre 
 fKWttusions, and one nijaoL was carrieaaway completely disabled, and thus the 
 party strpi^gas.tbpy weyei had been Weakened by thief 41 pfsiever^5)f^t^(^fprc^ \ 
 
 la^iflg,. wavff^e j^pir on , Ihe samc/i^ 
 
 but yet they,bad gainedlbe nei^ti
 
 LIFE ON THfi-UiOAD.! ifli 
 
 GMdeltiliid Ck^Iy; and adeiperate ftttempt was made taforoe tbe door, btt with- 
 out any success in the first instance." . .< ; . ,. ,^, 
 
 "Fire a bullet through," said one. "You may chance to hit him, or afc>aU eients 
 make him keep-clear." - 
 
 This was done, and a small hole in the door soon proved that it ' had fckiiid its 
 way through; but they saw nothing^, and began anew to kick at the doOi*, the 
 pailels of which soon gavd way, and then the remainder of the -^woodwork, thus 
 wtekeh6d, fell in also with a loud crash. , - 
 
 in another moment they were in the toom, but the bird was'^owil'. 'ilndtheir 
 door at the opposite end at once explained the reason j and this was soon forced 
 open, and then another room was before them, but the boards had in many places 
 give^ way, aiid they could see the room belo^. It would take some trouble to get 
 across w^hout a faji> but it was possi " • , ! 
 
 Scarcely, however, ihad the foremost got .three parts oyer the rafters, before a 
 bullet from the pistol of Claude stretched him on them— balancing for ' some 
 seconds, and then pitched head foremost below. 
 
 There was a momentary pause — thg^. dead roan fell without motion, and lay like 
 a heavy log upon the floor, and those behind looked upon him, and then at the 
 place where the pistol was discharged from, and then aeain hesitating. But those 
 behind were too far advanced to retreat, and those behind thru* tnose in front 
 forward, aud thus a rush commence^, and. they x^eached the door, and then a small 
 night of stairs led upwards into a small room. 
 
 ** Pe is a dead man who attempts to follow," said the voice of Claude. " There 
 has 1)een bloodshed eribtigh for oiie day."* ' ^ ^•• 
 
 " We have lost too maa;^ men, Claudie DttVal," said the officer who had before 
 spoken. " 'Tis my duty to persevere, and I will. Upon your head will rest the 
 blood that has been shed— so surrender." 
 
 " Wiien 1 lose the desire of self-preservation. And as I fight but for life, and 
 sh'^d blood but to ptescrve my owii, afld joti'foir thtf ^afce or moneyj why I shall 
 abi^urrender— -so die!" ^ • . • . . . .^ 
 
 ' j'Atiin^ the prstol of Claude Was beard, and another mah fell; and ere the 
 sdi^hd ' of!; toe dislcharge could have ceased, two others were fired at Claude; 
 who^ however, Bad just sbifted" his position; and thus escaped by the narrowest 
 chancy. , 
 
 ** Onward ! forward!" cried the officer. ^ "He cahnot yibt have loaded ; besides, 
 his ^guiinuBi^on must run short. Ipi'thekiiig*s name, I charge you all to aid alid 
 assist inc in capturing a hiJE^hwayttian.**' " '■■■] 
 
 '•Yes, master, oflacer," said one of the countrymen ; "y<Js, but do you go firsts g 
 bit iiow. We^Il help you, but you mustn*t ei^ect it's tb do all the work, and have 
 ^1 the hits to ourselves." W ' ' 
 
 !« Are we not forward t" said the officer. ** Havf I not exchanged shots Wil^ 
 
 ' hii?i 'several times r* ;' "',/!"''''' ~"" '■''-''■';- \:.i'''-^ :.• ^:" ■:..•; -^ 
 
 , *' I w6n*t deny you'vfe fired, but We have baught the bUltetsi Hdwever, 1 hope 
 
 ' we shall have most Of the pounds, "Bit Tin wifliig enough to help to 'get ban, if 
 
 th^^t be possible." , , ' -•.'■•: 
 
 I , *^^!Pbs§ible^-aye, more* than possible-" shouted the officer, as he sprang past the 
 
 spVakier up the stairs into the room above, Whfch was empty, and then across a 
 
 ' small room, thrdiigh two or three more, iiAtil he came to another door, which 
 
 ; he, found p|»wi, and displayed a flight of stairs, or rather steps, ^ich had 'b«en 
 
 broken dow4 and t1»us m comtnunication from above was c^ut off. 
 
 *' He has gone this way ; we must be dowA after him. The distance is easily 
 dropped. ^ Keep a look out whiie I get doym, and if you see anything move, fire 
 ; at; it immediately," said the officer. " ^^ 
 
 In another moment the officer had dropped dowh on the flooring bcneathi 
 , without any itijury to'himself, and lie WiSS speedily followed by the Others ;, and 
 again a ch»sc was commenced from room to rborh, from floor to floofi after Claude 4 
 ITuv'al, who cbuld 'be s'een 'o6Ca!tofiaRjr"«r he strode 'from place to place, j
 
 102 GENTLEMAN JACK; OK, 
 
 as he &and them iadefensibles, aud so he deemed it too hazacdoos to 
 I there. 
 
 ■ Thej were now on the ground floor again, but they had got in quite a diilerent 
 
 " part of the old villa. It was growing dusk now — the sun nad set, and darkoesf- 
 
 was creeping over the scene — for some time had been consumed in making 
 
 the attack, and following Claude from room to room, stair to stair, and from 
 
 floor to floor. 
 
 "If this will but last another hour," said Claude, "we may yet succeed ia 
 escaping. Cicely, When darkness comes we may, indeed, have a chance of leaving^ 
 them behind." 
 
 " Oh I Claude, what terrible dangers you have run. When will they cease-* 
 when shall we be safe ?" 
 
 " Speak not of it. Cicely, You are my dearest care. All that man can do 
 shall be done. When they cease to pursue then we shall be safe, I do not hide 
 Our danger ; but all you need do will be to arm yourself with fortitude atnd 
 patience, and all yet may end well." 
 
 " ShaU we get out into the garden now, Claude ?" said Cicely, as she pointed to 
 a window that looked out into the shruJkbery. 
 
 " No, we cannot ; our egress is barred— besides we should be a fair mark and w» 
 should be taken— besides Wfe have not time ; this way Cicely. Go to the bottom 
 of those stairs, and there stand, for I hear, them coming." 
 
 Cicely went down slowly, feeling her way along as well as she could, while 
 Claude levelled his weapon at one of his foes, who fell, making another pause ia 
 the -pursuit. 
 
 " Now," said Claude, as he pulled and secured the door after himself, " we 
 are safe for a short time, this door they will be unable to burst open suddenly,^ 
 and then among the many passages here, they will not be able to distinguish the 
 one in which we may shelter ourselves, but Cicely the place is cold and damp, and 
 is indeed such that might well occasion you a shudder." 
 
 " Any where with you Claude, for ^ety," said Cicely, " any where, save me 
 from these men, Claude, and my lasting gratitude will be ;^ours." 
 
 " Dear Cicely, do not doubt my will or my endeavours, it must go hard indeed 
 if they tear you from me," said Cl^de, " but I fear your strength, Cieely, I fear 
 what you have gone through-^the hours of exertion, and of intense fear and 
 anxiety, must render you almost incapable of further exertions." 
 " Nay Claude, while we are in danger I feel no fatigue." 
 *' Bear upon me," said Claude, " and I will take you. oyer the rough ground, 
 we have got to go oyer. Ah! they baye broken open the door al- 
 ready." 
 
 In another moment, the pursuers were poiuripg down the steps. Claude looked 
 around him, he saw a door, opened it and drawing in Cicely he closed it, and 
 quietly asd quickly bolted^ it without being seen or heard by the pursuers, who 
 were now in utter darkness. 
 
 CHAFTERXnL 
 
 lUNACT. 
 
 It becomes absolutely necessary now, in order to the proper understanding of 
 che vaBOu£(,, aod m some instances coroj^lex curcumstances surrounding th«se 
 Qt our ehoracters in whom we have the greatest interest that we should fca a 
 fery brief ^jjiace of- time leave Claude and the beautiful Cicely B^reton, while lti» 
 *elateta the reader how it was that, Tonv Wcftusio* with all his fol^ Gaa60tfk 
 
 I
 
 LIFE ON THE EOAD. lOS 
 
 
 Mt npontlie notable scheme to her detrimenft, which has been sd happily frustrated 
 by the gallantry and chivalrous conduct of Claude Puval. 
 . ' When we last introduced Tom Brereton to the readers of this most veritable 
 narrative, that; individual was in anything but a pleasant situation, for he was 
 being carted off to Newgate in the chest, where, by the boldness of Claude, he had 
 been confined. 
 
 That such a mode of transit through a great portion of the meftropplis was 
 anything but pleasant, may be readily guessed, and after the cart had proceeded 
 some distance, Tom Brereton began to think it was hi^ time to wke some 
 effort in order to obtain his release. 
 
 Now there may be circumstances under which it is pleasant and advantageous 
 to be mistaken fdr some great character, but then, again such a mistake may 
 have its advantages, and certainly in this instance to Torn Brereton there was 
 little in the shape of gratification, to be extracted from the fact of his being 
 mistaken for so redoubtable a personage as Claude Duval. 
 
 The offic<srs had a full and hearty appreciation of the prowess of the redoubted 
 highwayman, and when they bad him, as they thought, in so very secure a position 
 as the great chest afforded, it was not likely that merely for the sake of a persona) 
 conflict they should let him out. 
 
 Suddenly, however, Tom made what our gallic neighbours would call a demon 
 stration within the chest, and which consisted in making a rather violent effort to 
 escape from it. 
 
 At the same time too, he called out as well as he could. 
 
 *' Murder! murder ^ 
 
 *' He's a making a rumpus,'* said one of the officers, 
 
 " What does he say, Joe." asked another. 
 
 " Murder I murder !" again cried Tom. 
 
 ** Why, don't you hear him, he says he'll murder us if we let him out." 
 
 "Does he?'* 
 
 " Yes. There he goes again. My eye, its a good thing that the sides of the 
 chest are thick and strong,"or else he'd pretty soon be out of it. Whip on the 
 horse, and let us get him to Newgate as soon as we can." 
 
 The horse which drew the cart was urged to inweased speed, so that Tom 
 Brereton gained notliing by making a distui'bance, but a good deal of additional 
 jolting over the stones with which Holborn was paved. 
 
 One of the officers, however, was still fearful that he would make good his exit 
 from the box, and for greater security he sat down upon the lid of it. ^ 
 
 Now it had so happened that there had been at on« time a large nail driven 
 through the lid of the chest, and afterwards extracted, having a small aperture 
 through which Tom Brereton had received air, and a small ray of liprht, but when 
 the officer sat down, both of these advantages were in a moment extinguished. 
 
 This was a state of things that the prisoner by no means approved of, and 
 at once guessing the cause of them, he set about devising in his small ingenuity a 
 remedy for them. 
 
 ^ What that remedy was, will best be seen in the result. 
 
 I •* He won't get out now," said the officer, who had taken his seat upon the 
 chest. If anything i^ more easy to break open than another, its the door, and I 
 flatter myself 1 have got that pretty fast now." 
 
 " All's right," said another, "only remember th^t we share the reward among us. 
 Let's have fair play." 
 
 " W^o want's anything else but fair play ?'* 
 
 " Oh, of course ; nobody, I only mentioned it, that's aJl. 
 
 " Well you neiadii't have mentioned it." 
 
 ** No offence." •;• •• ^ _ *•- 
 
 " YaB, there is lots. Aint we gentlemen? I'd sooner hftve jumped out of tte 
 cart bang into the road, than said anything about the money." 
 
 ** I should like to see you, you are too good a judge for that." 
 
 No sooner were these words, which sounded sg ismocent in themselves, spoke "
 
 104 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 than, M if th^j had possessed some m^cal power to accompUih the)? 
 own behests, up jumped the officer from the chest, with a loud shout that 
 terrified eyerjbodj who heard it, and fairly went orer the side of the cart into the 
 road. 
 
 " Murder ! murder ! Fire !" he cried. 
 
 The horse reared, and the other officers swore, but nobody knew, very well, what 
 H was all about, until, with a woeful countenance, the officer got into the cart, 
 and said something about the confounded fellow in the box poking a long pin 
 through the lid of it, and then the other officers could not contain their mirth, 
 but roared with laughter, and the lid for the remainder of the journey remained 
 untouched. 
 
 " I think I had somebody, then," muttered Tom to himself. " It was a lucky 
 thing I fastened one of my sleeves witd a pin." 
 
 Nothing further of moment occurred until the party reached the Old Bailey, and 
 then, when the cart drew up, one of the officers ran forward to announce to the 
 authorities of Newgate, the important capture they had made. 
 
 M the name of Claude Duval, all was excitement and confusion in the lobby 
 of the prison, and the governor himself was hastily summoned from his private 
 apartments to be present at the production of such a guest. 
 
 The greatest care was of course thought requisite to the unkennelling such a 
 personage, and the governor betrayed considerable excitement, when one of the 
 officers with a dubious shake of the head, had said to him,— 
 
 " We thought it best, sir, if you please, as we had him safe in a box, to keep 
 him there, until we got here, for you to tackle him, sir, for perhaps he's got a 
 double-barrelled pistol in each hand, for all we know." 
 
 " You don't mean that ?" said the governor. 
 
 ** Yes sir, we do." 
 
 •' Oh — hem ! Let me see. Dear rae, I should quite rejoice to drag the fellow 
 out myself, but 1 think I have got a letier to write that somehow can't be delayed. 
 You can let me know when you have got him all right, you know." 
 
 "Yes sir, but " 
 
 *' But what ? How dare you speak to me ? A pretty thing, indeed, that the 
 Governor of Newgate is to be told by a turnkey, that he must not write a 
 "letter." 
 
 The governor in a great affected huff, bounced out of the lobby, and sought at 
 once tho comfort and security of his own apartments. 
 
 The officers winked at each other, for they fully understood that the governor 
 was not one of the most valourous of mankind, and from the first, they had never 
 expected that he would wait until the chest was opened. 
 
 "Now Bill," said one, "you be ready to pOunce upon him, and clap on the 
 darbies as soon as the chest is open." 
 
 " All's right. Here you are^" said Bill 
 
 "Stop a bit," cried another. "Let Watkins have his blunderbuss ready. 
 Who knows what may happen ? I like to be on the safe side." 
 
 No one was so fool-hardy as to negative the proposition concerning the blunder- 
 buss, and Watkins acewdingly took ud his position with that formidable weapon, 
 pei^ectly ready to blow the supposed nighwayman to atoms, if he should make 
 any very violent or unexpeeted onslaught upon the authorities of Newgate. 
 
 A ring was formed around the chest, and the officer who took upon himself 
 the fearml task sf opening the lid, with great ingenuitjr adopted a mode of opera- 
 tions which he thought would have the effect of thwarting him completely, should 
 he attevpt any very great violence. 
 
 ** IktV^ are you all ready," said one. 
 
 "Xm, yts," was the respoase. 
 
 "It the gate fast?" 
 
 "Oh yes, aU's right," 
 ^ "Now for it then. A— hem ! Mi. Duval, I hope you will be so kind as id 
 'Utea to reason, and not kick up a row. You art in Newgate, recollect, and her*
 
 GENTLEMAN J-ACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 105 
 
 jitis i(t>out a^dozen of tis i«reH armed and d^teiioined felloWs-, ready to nab you as aoon as we can. 
 bou't lesigt,^ ]^got yon:" The speaker paused, expecting an answer; but no answer came, 
 ItBUch to the chagrin of thexfl^cer. 'Expectation wfis now on tiptoe, and the nerves (f all present 
 were on a flutter. The Jid was made loose and sJowIy opened by him who had stationed himself 
 behind it. A rush was made forward by the others, and iu the fiurry Wijkius drew tbe trigger of 
 the blunderbuss, and lodged some hur^dred slugs in the opposite wall, and then Tgm Brereton 
 m^de bis appeara&ce, with his eyes starting from their sockets, and his hair on ecdi with fright 
 
 The officers were so enraged at their disappointment, that they drew their prisoner f< rth by the 
 collar, and bestowed on him some hearty kicks aud cuff<», and there is no knowiijg where it 
 might iare ended if h soperi r had not arrived in time to rescue him. 
 
 We return, now, to thefortones of Gicely. Q aude Duval had only saved himself and <;;i*ely by 
 the natrowest chance imaginable, and it was niily through the darkness of the plac», for the cfficera 
 had come out of a partial light and were almost blinded by tie utter darkness ©f the 
 
 No. 14.
 
 106 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OE, 
 
 place ; the little light that came in, come from them to hirDj and enabled him to 
 shut the door unseen and unlieard, for the noise they made^ would have drowned 
 any he n)i;o:ht have caused in bolting the door. 
 
 In another moment, they heard several men rushing by them, and a shot was 
 
 fired by some of them, for the purpose of securing t heir progress, and in the hope 
 
 that iu the dark a stray shot might take effect ^ and another reason was, the flask 
 
 enabled them to see where they were. | 
 
 *' Be silent, dear Cicely," said Claude, as he felt her tremble and shudderj, ; 
 
 when the report reached her ears, and the place struck cold and damp to them j 
 
 both. _ _ ^ I 
 
 Claude paused a moment or two, and then feeling his way with his hand, he ; 
 
 led Cicely away, until they had got several yards from the spot — he then came to j 
 
 a shelt in the wall and found a bottle, he felt it over and over, it was corked, and | 
 
 covered with dust and cobwebs, he took it gently, and then placed it in liis j 
 
 pocke*^. ' 
 
 xVt a more convenient opportunity, he thought, I will ascertain what it contains, I 
 
 it may be a cordial, and if so it is welcome indeed, after many hours of abstinence, 
 
 iariger and fatigue. j 
 
 Again he made his way onward in the same manner as before, until he came 
 to some wood work, and upon examining it he found it was a door, he paused and | 
 listened, he heard no sign or sound beyond it, and then feeling for the look found j 
 it was secured, but it was so rotten, that but a slight exertion enabled him to | 
 destroy it, and open the way beyond. 
 
 There was a cold noisome air exhaled — earthy and moist, so cold and so chill 
 that even he, Claude Duval, paused ere he went farther, and Cicely completely shook 
 from head to foot so violently, that Claude knew not what to do ; he recollected- 
 suddeiily the bottle which he had picked up, and at once made up his mind to 
 use it, before going any farther. 
 
 " I have," Tie said, " got a bottle of something here ; it may be wine. Cicely. 
 I will open it, and as well as the means will allow, iji it be what I suspect it is, 
 you must partake of its contents — ^you are exhausted, and these cold shudd ers will 
 do you much mischief, unless you have a remedy." 
 
 Cicely made no reply, and Claud? Duval who listened a few seconds, then struck 
 the neeic off the bottle against the brick-work, and then from the broken fragment 
 of the bottle he tasted it. 
 
 " It is some of the finest port I ever tasted," he said ; " Cicely this will recall 
 some of your strength, and enable you to withstand the effects of the cold and. i 
 damp ; do not fear it, it is necessary that you should taste it." f 
 
 Cicely, as well as her trembling hands enabled her, tasted of the wine, and at the I 
 entreaty of Claude she swallowed several nioathfuls, and refused any more, but j 
 Claude himself, who liad suffered much from hunger and thirst and fatigue, vas i 
 not so sparing — he knew that much depended upon his courage and strengtli, and j 
 at once drank freely of it ; then throwing the fragments of the bottle away, he | 
 said — * I 
 
 ' I hear them: coming through the passages again. I cannot tell where these j 
 passages lead us to, but it is not improbable they will lead us to some spot, that j 
 is not guarded by our enemies." ! 
 
 " I will go wherever you lead, Claude. Wherever yon lead, do but take me j 
 from them, and my life is yours." ! 
 
 Claude pressed the confiding and gentle creature to his bosom, and then whis- \ 
 pering words of endearment into her ear, prepared to lead the way. ^ I 
 
 They advanged and but slowly, for the passage into which they had gotten was- j 
 low and damp ; they had to stoop their heads as they went onwards, to avoid the [ 
 brick-work, which in man^ places was destroyed, and fallen down. 
 
 But beneath them as they walked along, they felt little more than wet and soppy 
 earth, with here and there a pool of fetid water, broken and decayed bricks^ 
 and substances which they did not stop to examine. 
 In the meanwhile the pursuers were at fault.
 
 LIEE ON THE EOAD. 107 
 
 " Which way hs.ve they gone ?" enquured each man of his neighbour. " Wliicb 
 waj have they gone ?" . . 
 
 " Aye ! which way liave they gone indeed/' said the officer. " We want h'ghts, 
 ind then we can tell, but without lights we are not likely to find them, for there 
 ire so many holes and cellars about the place, that we should never hit upon thera, 
 save by chance." 
 " Can't we get lights ?" 
 
 " Yes, but not here ; some of the party had better take horse, and go to the 
 nearest town or house, and obtain lights, and if possible more assistance." 
 
 " There are enough here," remarked one of those present, " to take him, and 
 eat up the reward too, if you will," 
 
 " Well lads, I don't want any more, but we must stop in the old villa till we 
 obtain lights." 
 
 " 'Tis 'quite night," said another, " and before they can return, there will be an 
 end of the chace, 1 think." 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Because Claude Daval will creep out of the house, when it is dark." 
 " That can be avoided ; we can place each other as sentinels all over the lower 
 part of the house, each room, each staircase and passage can have its man, and 
 L defy the devil to pass without being seen, by some one amongst us, much less ! \i 
 can a man and woman do so ?" 
 
 This was so apparent that the plan was adopted, and every one was placed at 
 a post, the doors thrown open, and the windows, so that there was ample means 
 of communication from man to man in a moment. 
 
 The whole of the lower story, and a great part of the passages and cellars were 
 thus occupied, so that not a niousc could stir without being seen. 
 
 " And now," said the officer, " let me advise you all, to he as still and as quiet 
 as you can, you will then be better able to hear if anything be going on, which 
 we cannot see. He cannot have got out — he has to do that if he can, and I have 
 no doubt he will make the attempt, the darkness and silence he will think favourable 
 to his object, and if you listen, you may detect by sound, what you cannot see 
 in the dark.'* 
 
 This was at once acknowledged to be good counsel, and each man stood stiU 
 at his post. 
 
 " And now if you three," said the officer, to one of his companions, and two 
 of those who had joined the chace, " if you will ride and procure lights, we will 
 hunt him out yet before daylight begins," 
 
 " Aye, or burn the old place about his ears/' replied another. 
 " Well, I would not object if we cannot find him by any other means, and if we 
 can set it on fire all well and good, but if not we mast patiently set to work with 
 pick and shovel till we beat down every door, and break a hole in every v;all, and 
 m every cellar or passage, till we riddle the whole place from one end to the other, 
 and then a few more winters will bring the old villa down with a cra-5h, and a 
 crumbling heap of ruins it will be." 
 
 "That will be hard work," remarked one. 
 
 " Aye, but it will be paid for. I don't like burning until when all other means 
 fail — then indeed, we may try it, but if he be in, he would sooner be burned than 
 come out, and that you know would not answer our purpose, for a few blackened 
 cinders could not well be sv/orn to as belonging to Claude "Duval, and then where's 
 the reward to come from." 
 
 " Aye, or where is it to go to ?" ' 
 
 " That's easily settled, it wont go anywhere ; but we must wait the return of 
 our comrades. 
 
 Wiiile the officers where thus patiently awaiting the result of deputing a small 
 party to obtain the means of searching below in the dark, Claude Duval, and Cicely 
 Brereton were making their way through several long and tedious passages. 
 
 Nothing could be more disgusting and uncomfortable than their route, which 
 ^y in what might be truly cadled the accumulated muck of years, which had col-
 
 108 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 lected in long forgotten and underground passages, where nothing but slime and 
 
 darkness could ever penetrate. 
 j> ' More than once did Claude whisper words of comfort to Cicely, so chilled and 
 ' so damp, and so noisome was the air they breathed, that he himself felt it could not 
 ' be borne for any length of time with impunity. 
 
 I However, they had been an hour in endeavouring to get out of this long and 
 j apparently interminable labyrinth, when suddenly he came against an impedSnent 
 I tnat somewhat startled him. 
 
 I He suddenly came to a place which was high, and he was able to stand uy) in, 
 : and then he came against something warm, and a whinneying sound told him in a 
 
 moment that he had strangely enough come out in the very place where he had 
 
 secured his mare. 
 
 " Sue," he said in the first moment of his surprise. " Sue, we have, indeed, 
 i met ! Cicely, Cicely, we are saved, we are out of the old villa— -my horse— if now 
 I we can get away without being seen, we are saved." 
 
 ,. "Thank God !" cried Cicely, in a low fervent tone. \ 
 
 Claude Duval patted the neck of the noble creature, and then he paused to 
 I listen at the entrance of the cave, but could hear nothing, and in a few moments 
 I more he quitted it to reconnoitre. 
 
 "The coast appears clear," said Claude, as he came back, "they are no doubt, 
 I now busily engaged in searching the old villa, the darkness is now complete, and 
 I thev cannot see any distance from them ; I will lead Sue out of the cave, and then I 
 j will fetch you. Cicely, and a few moments more we shall leave them behind us as 
 I busy as they please to remain." 
 I Cicely remained passive, and Claude Duval led the mare outside the cave, and 
 
 then taJting Cieely in his arms, he followed, and placed her upon the saddle, saying 
 
 as he did so,— 
 
 "Sue will keep you clear of this stagnant water, and when once out of the villa 
 
 we shall be safe." 
 
 * But will they not see us— is there not light enough left ?" 
 
 "I think not, and if there were, these willows are a good screen from them, and 
 
 moreover I shall take the nearest copse, and by passing through that, I shaD 
 
 gain a path I think they know nothing of, and then we are safe from immediate 
 
 pursuit." 
 
 "And then, Claude?" 
 
 " And then," said Claude, mounting Sue behind her, and holding Cicely in his 
 
 arms, " and then, Cicely, I know a place where I can place you in safety, and 
 
 where you can have that rest and refreshment you need — the people may not be 
 
 of that kind that you have been used to — but kind treatment and safety are 
 
 insured," 
 
 CHAPTEH XXV. 
 
 THE BJETREAT. — AS ADVENTURE. 
 
 CiCELT was too well pleased and thankful for her escape from her pursuers not 
 to feel joyful at this proposal of Claude's, and assured him how amply grateful she 
 felt at the prospect that was thus opened to her of some retreat. . , , , 
 
 They now were silent, Cicely clinging to Claude, and Claude pressing her loved 
 and confiding form to his heart, while he slowly directed his horse towards an open- 
 ing in the forest that surrounded the ruined pleasure grounds, and then they entered 
 the wood. . , , M 1 M 4. 
 
 « And now, Cicely," said Claude, " I think we may breathe while we canter
 
 LIFE ON THE flOAD. 109 
 
 througli the wood, a short ride and we are upon a cross road leading to another 
 part of the country." 
 
 "Thank Heaven," exclaimed Cicely, "thank Heaven then we are free from the 
 many and immediate dangers to which we have been exposed, and oh, Claude, to 
 wliat danger have I not been the cause of bringing you, and how ever shal'l I 
 
 be able to " 
 
 " Nay, Cicely, I am rewarded by the knowledge that I hare assisted you in a 
 moment of need j it will be to me a dearer reward than any other you could imagine. 
 You are saved ! What is there I'd not willingly risk to secure your liberty and 
 happiness. A life would be well lost in such a cause j but, dear Cicely, I say I am 
 rewarded in being able to bear you away thus in my arms, from danger and 
 horrors." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, horrors, that make me shudder to think of.'* ' ' ' 
 
 " Think of them, no more. Cicely, forget them all — forget those who were the 
 the authors of your intended misery, and remember that liberty at least awaits 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you, Claude, how much it lightens my heart to hear you say so, but I 
 never can forget this night, and all the varying and changeful chances that have 
 so thickly beset it." 
 
 They had soon quitted the wood, and came out upon a cross road, and when 
 once fairly upon the road, Claude Duval put Sue to her paces, and in about an 
 hour a number of miles had been passed over, and the scenery ^of the country had 
 quite changed. 
 
 " We have not far to go now," said Claude Duval. "I will dismount and lead 
 the horse, while you ride. Cicely. Do you see yoder hill ?" 
 
 " Yes," cried Cicely, " I do." 
 
 " Well, before you come there, we shall arrive 'at the cottage I speak of. It 
 is kept by a worthy old couple, who are somewhat indebted to me for some little 
 benefits I have conferred upon them, and they will take as much care of you, 
 Cicely, as if you were their own child." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks," said Cicely, and she held out her hand, which Claude took, 
 and then pressed to his lips, " this will be adding to the benefits you have al- 
 ready conferred upon me. What a change, Claude, the horrors of a madhouse for 
 the quiet cottage." 
 
 " Yes, this is a change, Cicely ; but you have not told me, why you have been 
 thus used, and whom it was who was thus acting so infamously towards you. 
 How did it happen." 
 
 " I can hardly tell you ; it was more like some horrible dream than a reality ; 
 but it happened that while at home, I was seized under the pretence that I was 
 mad, and authority having been obtained to incarcerate me in some place — a mad- 
 house — ^I was suddenly seized, and despite my entreaties, I was thrust out of mj 
 own home, and thrust into a carriage which was standing at the door. 
 
 " I was quite unable to resist, and entreated to be spared the horrors that 
 awaited me, but they were deaf to my entreaties and prayers, and the door was 
 shut upon me, and one of the men said to me in a low voice, as he thrust me 
 back, — 
 
 " * If you choose to marry Mr. Thomag Brereton, you will be set free.'> 
 
 ** Then he looked very hard in my face, and paused a moment as if he anticipated 
 I should make some reply. 
 
 " * No, no,' I said, * and you do not, cannot act so basely as to ' 
 
 "'Then you must take the consequences of your own act,' and so sa;5ring he 
 slammed the door with great violence, and secured the handle on the outside, and 
 in another moment I was hurried away. 
 
 " Then indeed I felt all the horrors of my situation, and nothing but the most 
 incense grief swallowed up every other feeling. — I fell back in the carriage, and 
 submitted to my fate— tears and prayers alternately formed the sole means^ left 
 to express my terror and desolation. 
 
 " So deep was my grief, that I heard not the opening of the carriage, and but 
 V -. "
 
 110 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OK, 
 
 for feeling the cold air, I should not have known who it was that opened it, but 
 looking up, I saw you." 
 
 " And you are now safe," said Claude, " for the present at all events — but there 
 is some infernal plot hatched by the brain of Tom Brereton, Of that 1 am 
 convinced." 
 
 " I fear so," said Cicely. 
 
 " We have now arrived at our destination," said Claude, as he paused before a 
 small garden. 
 
 " This is the cottage," said Cicel^^. 
 
 " Yes," replied Claude, " here it is — ^it is a pretty and retired spot, and they 
 Lave but few visitors — they can spare you a bed and board, and will do so for, 
 my sake willingly, and when they know you, Cicely, they will do so for your : 
 own." I 
 
 " Oh Claude," said Cicely, with a s^^ eet smile, which lit up her face, and 
 caused a thrilling sensation to run through him. " Oh ! Claude, how kind it is of 
 you to say so." • I 
 
 " Nay," said Claude, " I speak from experience — but let me aid you to dis- 
 mount, and then come into the porch, where you will escape some of the cold 
 wind that blows after the rain." | 
 
 The cottage was one of those humble but sweet abodes which are but now and 
 then seen — it was near the road side — surrounded on all sides by a pretty and \ 
 somewhat spacious garden, save on the approach to the door, which was open and 
 guarded by a hedge-row on either side — and protected by a porch with two seats, ! 
 and a small gate a few feet nearer the pathway. 
 
 To this gate Claude Duval secured Sue, and patting the animal's neck he con- j 
 ducted her up towards the porch, and then he knocked gently at one of the bed- 
 room windows, which he was able to reach with his riding whip. The window was ; 
 one of the old-fashioned sort, a lattice one, and if there v/as not an air of wealth, ' 
 there was one of comfort and of much beauty, for it was surrounded by ivy of a 
 iuxuriaut growth. 
 
 A few moments passed, when a man came to the window. 
 
 «'Tis T, Johnston— 'tis I, Claude Duval." 
 
 "T will be wi(«h you in a moment," replied the man, who had just opened the 
 window in time to hear Duval mention his name, he shut the window again, and 
 after a short interval, they heard footsteps approaching, and in a few_ seconds 
 the door was opened, and Claude conducted Cicely into the passage, saying as he 
 did so, — 
 
 " Mr. Johnston. I have a favour to ask you." 
 
 *' You know, Mr. Duval, how happy i shall be to grant anything you can 
 desire — I owe too much to you to feel otherwise than glad to be able to oblige 
 you." 
 
 "This young lady, from circumstances which I will hereafter explain to you, has 
 need of an asyhim and secrecy — will you take charge of her and treat her as your 
 own child — for a time — great oppression and injustice have been used towards her, 
 and indeed but for an accident it would not have been in my power to defeat a 
 acheme of the greatest villany I ever heard of." 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Duval, let people say what they will, you are the good genius that 
 defeats the evil, and relieves the oppressed — be assured sir, I will not fail in my 
 ^art towards the young lady." 
 
 ** I am sure of that, Johnston." 
 
 "Walk in, my good young lady. What we can do for you we shall be happy 
 iiad proud to do. You will stay, Mr. Duval." 
 
 "No, I must be elsewhere, beside, my mare is outside. I cannot leave 
 her. I shall return in as short a period as I can — in the meantime all 
 I beg of you, is, to take charge of Cicely, and you will indeed make me your 
 debtor." ' 
 
 " You may be assured of it ; I will call my wife, and she -will at once see to 
 heit comfort."
 
 LIFE ON THE KOAD. Ill 
 
 I The old man departed, and Claude took the opportunity-of taking a tender leave 
 of Cicely, and whispering a few words of consolation and love in her ear, and in- 
 spiring her with confidence, and then shaking hands with the old man and his wife he 
 left the cottage, and once more mounted Sue, and tjirned towards the road, and rode 
 away at a brisk rate for some miles, intending to seek an asylum for liimself, where 
 he and his mare could remain in security. 
 
 j It was late, the time was making rapid strides towards midnight, and Claude 
 Duval began to cast about for some secure locality, where he and his mare could 
 repose in safety. The road was a lonely one, tall trees shaded it on both sides, 
 and the road was so dark, though the moon was not absolutely hidden, that 
 Claude had more than once to trust to his good mare, to pick her way, without 
 any guidance from him, but this he had done before, and felt no new emotion at 
 doing so noWo She did it with confidence. 
 
 i " Sue," he said, " your instinct will teach you what my reason cannot just noWj, 
 
 you can travel safely, where 1 cannot see a step before me, take it easy, take it 
 
 easy, and we will jog on together in safety. Adventure lies befo re us, we follow 
 
 in the wake of fortune, and meet whatever she pleases to place in our way ; wc 
 
 \ are all the creatures of circumstances." 
 
 i These thoughts crossed his mind, and he uttered them aloud, or we might say 
 that he was thinking aloud, for such was the fact, when Sue suddenly shewed 
 signs of disturbance. 
 
 I " Eh, lass," he said, " what now — the moon is behind a cloud, cans't not find 
 thy way, or has a rabbit crossed thy path." 
 
 { At that moment, the moon which had been hidden behind a mass of clouds, 
 now shone forth, and Claude Duval saw a saddle horse standing across the road, 
 without any rider. 
 
 " Ho ! ho !" said Claude, looking warily around. "What has Iiappened now. 
 Something has been done here." 
 
 He drew his bridle, and pausing, he gazed about for a minute or two, but: 
 he could make nothing oat of it. There was the liorse, a curiously marked 
 creature, black almost, with singular markings of white, hardly enough of the 
 latter, to make it a piebald, but there it stood quiet enough. 
 i " This is a stray animal, that has l®st its rider, either from being- thrown, or he 
 has met with some other accident ; he would hardly have stopped here, if the 
 horse had thrown his rider, he would have gone on, but I must be cautious and 
 ride on. Come Sue, pass him my girl, pass him." 
 
 ; Clftude pushed on gently, looking over the hedge rows, and examining the 
 road as he went along, the horse followed him, as if the animal did not at all like 
 being alone, and the company of a stranger was preferable to standing melan- 
 choly in the road at midnight'. 
 
 However, Claude had not gone far, before lie thought he heard the sounds of 
 ; a human voice or voices ; he pulled up and listened, and heard some one in angry 
 contention with another. 
 
 " An adventure, I suppose," thought Claude, " well, it cannot much maflfcer 
 what it is, so that something comes of it ; the air is still and cool, I'U ride quietly 
 towards those voices — I will just ascertain what is the matter, and then interfere 
 if I deem it necessary ; and should there be necessity for doing so, and daugci 
 near, you, my Sue ! must bear me away to safety." 
 
 He turned his horse's head towards the spot whence the voices came, and he found 
 that they came from the road-side — from a place where there were several hay- 
 stacks and labourers* cottages. The gate stood open, and Claude entered at a walk, 
 and then made towards the haystacks. 
 
 The moon was obscured, and the tall trees under which he was riding would 
 
 have been enough to have concealed him, had any one been suspicious or on the 
 
 look-out, and, added to that, the sound of his approach was not to be heard, for the 
 
 ' horse trod softly and silently upon the turf, and the noisy clamour of two men in 
 
 ' dispute rendered it very unlikely that he would have been overheard had the sound 
 
 of Sue's footsteps been more audible.
 
 113 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 At length he arrived at the haystacks, and, by standing up in his saddle, he could 
 see two men seated upon some loose hay, and in angry discussion with each 
 other ; while near by la^ a third individual, who was, however, secured by a rope, 
 with his hands behind him. I 
 
 This last was watching, with a rueful and anxious glance, the two men who were ' 
 sharing his personal property, j 
 
 " Now, I tells yer what. Spanking Jemmy, you may sav as what yer like, but ! 
 you ain't a honest cove, for to go for to cheat a comrade of his fair share of the 
 plunder." 
 
 " No gammon, Out-of-town Bob,'* replied Spanking Jemmy, who was a huge 
 specimen of humanity. 
 
 " Nor does I give you any," replied Gut-of-town Bob, "nor am I going for to 
 take any — you wants to take advantage of me, and I won't have it. Spanking 
 Jemmy, and I means to tell yer as kindly on't as I can." 
 
 ^ " Thank yer," said Spanking Jemmy. " The lesson is to be taken, recollect, not 
 given — I ain't a going to be done——'* 
 
 " Who wants yer ?" 
 
 " Then why don't you give me a fair share of the cove's plunder— ain't he got 
 sis-and-thirty guineas ?" 
 
 "Well, and what of it?" ^ 
 
 " Well—I'm entitled to eighteen of them.' 
 
 " Who wants to deny it. Bob ? Not I — take your share, man, take your share. 
 I always acts on the square." 
 
 " Not so fast, my gentleman pad, not so fast. I'm country all the world over— 
 but I'm York, and not to be be done by any leary cove from Lunnun." 
 
 " Well — what now, my pig poker ?" 
 
 "None of your joking— it won't do — haven't you got the watch ? don't tell me 
 you can't get ten guineas for that." 
 
 " No I can't ; but if you value it at that, give me five for your share, and you 
 shall have the watch. Come, that's fair, anyhow." 
 
 " No, it ain't fair." 
 
 "Then what is " 
 
 " I'll tell you : when a man acts up to his bargain— that's fair-^— when he shares 
 his plunder with his comrade, and lets him have the full value of his dues. You 
 know you promised to take the trinkets, and let me have my full share; and 
 here you want to offer me five pounds for • what you'll get, at least, thirty 
 for — —" 
 
 " I tell you I shan't—what, Out-of-town Bob, do you think I'd do a comrade ? 
 No ; I'd lose the whole spoil first. I'm willing to let you have the chance of 
 getting as much upon the watch as you think I shall — I can't do more— I can't 
 act fairer." 
 
 "Yes you may, \ 63 you may; why now look here, that cold watch was never 
 made under sixty guineas — hark how musically it sounds the hours and quarters 
 — you know where to plant these things, I do not, and that's why you agreed to 
 take the articles as your shave." 
 
 " Then it comes to this. Out-of-town Bob ; that I must take them according 
 
 to our agreement, at your valuation? No, no, I'm d d first!" said the 
 
 ruffian. " I'll not do it — I'm not such a pig-headed flat as that— as if I could get 
 the sum that it cist, if I fairiy sold it, much less can I get^ a tenth of it from 
 the fence — no — no ; do as you will — either you or I take it at the same valu- 
 ation.'* 
 
 " Well, Spanking Jemmy, my turn will come next, by-and-by; take it now; but 
 we don't do things on this plan any more, I can tell you, so your harvest won't be 
 a very long one." . 
 
 " May be not, but it will bring enough to my granary, and I own I don't like 
 doing bi'siness with a dissatisfied pal. And now, about the prisoner, what shall 
 we do wit h hiui ?" 
 
 " Oh, all ! I had forgotten him — he has heard too much, he will tell tales, an
 
 CTJ^i^^ EJ^^I^ACK ;0R. LIFE ON THE ROAD. 113 
 
 .u -, » , fhi^ ,f he live— be must be senled, and that at once and no mistake." 
 
 ,^eare sure to be "^''^^^^ "Vo^kVd tteir pistols and a>med them at the breast of the unfortunate 
 'As they spoke, t^ey *>°*^ ''°*'J^*^ ^^t , ^i.^«nnted and throwing hi* b.idle over the raila, be 
 
 Uavell/r. Meanwhile CUudeDava. had dUmouned a g^^._^^ ^^^ ^^^ ^.^^^.^^ 
 
 ; drew s Urge «'*'^%«"\":.fi.7;;e«Vthe travels seeing birr. " Infernal vLlains." said Claude 
 1 their ^eing aware of b».c.ity,^^^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ ,^, ^„, ,,,,,,,, ,„„ ,_let that be your 
 
 reward." he said, as he dealt VepeauTbTows. which felled them to the ^^flZTyoJZZ' 
 .ir." said Claude, as he released the traveller. " Now you had better take J^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 With many expressions of thanks, the stranger remounted ^'^^;'\*' /'J™^, desired to know to 
 he pulled up. and told bim that the town lay before b>°».7^«'^ *^; "^f,!^^^^^^ V Well. 
 
 Whom he was so deeply indebted for bis life *«/ Property. ^J^ ^J \., ^^^^,,, bead, and left the 
 you shall know it. I am Claude Daval !" and as be spoke be turaea 
 spot, before the amazed traveller could speak. 
 
 i^*.. No 15.
 
 114 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 CLAUDE DrVAL VISITS MS. IIABKHAM BRERETON IN NEWGATE. 
 
 After leaving the stranger trliom he had thus saved from death, petrified by 
 the knowledge of whom he was, Claude Duval turned his horse's head, and 
 cantered towards London, where he arrived about an hour after midnight, perhaps 
 later — but it mattered not to Claude, who well knew the road, and the quarter of 
 the town where he could with safety put up his Sue, for she, as well as himself, 
 felt the need of rest. 
 
 The air was cool, and the roads heavy-^-though perhaps not so bad for a saddle*- 
 
 horse as they were for wheels, aad Ckude always took care to ease his mare 
 
 whenever an opportunity offered, wid cantered her over the turf when such was 
 
 to be had, or some part of the road was better than another, that part would 
 
 I invariably be Sue's — unless in gr^fe hatste, when pursuit was hot, and even then 
 
 ' it was not always neglected. 
 
 It was with no regret for hims6lf or his horse, that Claude drew his bridle, 
 
 and walked up the ride to an old inn, where he had often stopped before, and 
 
 'dismounting, he led her up to a stable -door, at which he blocked with the 
 
 I butt of his whip, and whence appeared in a few moments a groom half clad and 
 
 but half awake. 
 
 'Joe," said Claude. "I want to put up my mare, have you got a spare box 
 by itself for about five hours." 
 
 "Yes sir," cried Joe, who no sooner heard Claude's voice, than he was 
 thoroughly aroused ; " come in this way," he added, pushing open the door, and 
 holding up his lantern. 
 
 " Have you many persons in the house ?" 
 
 " Yes they are pretty full," replied the man, — " most of 'em trom the country, 
 and some of them I think, will soon be returning — here is a nice bed for your 
 mare — she will roll about on the straw— you'll feed her yourself." 
 
 "Yes, Joe." 
 
 " Then you know where the oats are — there's some beans in that sieve yonder. 
 I dare say she's been over some ground." 
 
 " Yes Joe, she has. There, Sue my lass, is a good supper for yoa," said Duval, 
 tiS he patted the b^utiful creature on the neck, " and now Joe, I shall be glad 
 if you will brush and rub her down, it will lessen her fatigue — and she will be 
 more refreshed than if she rested at once." _ 
 
 " It shall be done," said Joe, who busied himself with executing Claude's 
 orders, and the latter went into the kitchen as if he knew all the arrangements of 
 the place, and procured what refreshments he required, and then sought his bed, 
 and in a few minutes more had fallen into a deep sleep. 
 
 The day was somewhat advanced, ere Claude awoke, and then jumping up he 
 dressed himself hurriedly, and then sought the stable in which his mare had been 
 placed ;the night before, 
 
 [ Joe had not neglect'ed her, but had betim es fed her and groomed her well, even 
 I to Claude Duval's thinking, so taking a half KS'Own out of his pocket, he said to 
 the groom, who took it with a glistening eye— 
 
 I " Now Joe I'm going to breakfast, m an hour's time let the mare have her 
 saddle and bridle on, and ready to start at a moment's notice." 
 
 " It shall be done," said Joe, patting the mare and dusting her coat, " she whall 
 he as bright as a duchess's daughter before that time, She's been fed, and hasn't 
 quite cleared out her manger yet." 
 
 " That will do, Joe," said Claude, as he gave a look of satisfaction at her appear- 
 ance, and then he returned to the room where he was to take his breakfast, and 
 listened to the cosLversation of the travellers.
 
 Claude then left the inn, and went to a house not far from Fleet-market, where 
 he purchased some clothes, and then returned to the inn, and dressed himself in 
 them, so that he was of quite a different appearance when he went out, and none 
 but those who knew him intimately, would have known him again. 
 
 A new coat, waistcoat, and hat were the chief articles he had put on, and added 
 to which was a large neckcloth, which was so contrived with a large brimmed hat, 
 to conceal the greater part of his face, and so to alter the other, that he considered 
 himself safe anywhere. 
 
 " And now for Newgate," he muttered, as he looked down upon his disguise, 
 *' Markham Brereton is there, and I will visit him. Yes, I'll go to Newgate of my 
 own will, but little will the authorities think whom they have within their walls. 
 It may be," he added, " I shall see my end there ; as matters have i urned out 
 though, I shodd sooner have found my death on the highway from a bidlet, 
 rather than in such 3 place, but Markham Brereton shall not fall from my 
 deed." 
 
 He quitted the inn a second time, and then walked towards the jail of 
 Newgate, it being about the hour at which visitors were admitted to see the 
 prisoners. 
 
 He walked along until he came to the large building, which he surveyed for a 
 moment or two, and then he walked up to the wicket, and then knocked, as the 
 man who kept it was not at the moment there, the cause of his absence however, 
 was easily explained, as he came smacking his lips, ard evidently disturbed in 
 some pleasing occupation, connected with the science of gastronomy, 
 " Well sir, what do you \»nt ?" 
 " 1 want to see Mr. Markham Brereton." 
 
 *' Ah" said the wicket-gate keeper with a deprecatory groan, " Mr. indeed. 
 We have people who calls themselves many things, but very few misters, and 
 they are only called so by themselves. I'll go bail, the governor's receipt aint for 
 any such article, as a mister, at any rate. 
 " Is the person I enquire for here ?" 
 
 " You know he is," said the irate wicket keeper, opening it and locking it again 
 rather ominously. " Here Sam, somebody wants to see your gentleman tobyman, 
 and calls him mister." 
 
 " My friend," said Claude Duval, to the gate-keeper, " the next time I come I 
 will not trouble you, but simply call upon the governor, since I can meet with 
 nothing but impertinence from his jailors." 
 
 " Well, I'm blest," said the man. " You must be the secretary of state— but 
 it's no business of mine, here Sam, just tell the tobyman he's wanted, by a pal I 
 'spose. I'm tired." 
 
 And with that the wicket-gate keeper sat down, and wiped his lips, as though 
 so much talking had made him hot and thirsty, but which really arose from the 
 fact, that he had been imbibing more than prison allowance, and of a much 
 stronger nature, than anything which is allowed to come openly into the 
 prison. 
 
 In a few moments more, Claude Duval following the steps of Sam, was con- 
 ducted to a part of the prison, where he was requested to wait a moment, and 
 then a door was opened and the name of Markham Brereton called aloud, and 
 in another moment there were heard approaching footsteps. 
 
 " You are wanted, Markham," said the turnkey. " A friend wants to speak with 
 you. You can come into this little side room if you please." 
 
 " Thank you," said Brereton, who was then left alone, and in another moment 
 Claude Duval was informed, he could go into the little room and speak to the 
 prisoner. Claude entered, and saw Brereton standing by a window, the only one 
 that admitted light, he was pale but collected, and examined Claude as ho 
 Advanced towards him with a scrutinizing glance, 
 
 " Mr. Markham Brereton," said Claude, " you may be surprised at the intra- 
 sion of a stranger, but I come with a good intention, and from no idle curiosity. 
 You are here in consequence of an accusation of Mr. Thomas Brereton.**
 
 116 GENTLEMAN JACK; GR, 
 
 A 
 
 ** Yes, that is true," replied Markham, looking very Auspiciously at GlaudC; 
 "^but what may I owe this visit to ?" 
 
 ",To sympathy sir.'* 
 ^ "To sympathy," repeated Markham, "I am a stranger to you, audi know of 
 1 nothing in or about me that can excite your attention. Allow me to enquire your 
 ^ name, and your object." 
 
 " My name you shall know before I go, and as to my object it is to assure 
 you that on your day of trial, you shall not sink as a guilty man, for I know you 
 are innocent." 
 
 " I know I am innocent," replied Markham, " but how you are aware of it, I 
 don't know, and as to your assurance respecting my trial, I can gain but little ad- 
 ditional comfort. I am innocent, and the only consolation or hope I have, is in 
 that fact." 
 
 "|I know you are innocent, Mr. Brereton, because I am the person who com- 
 mitted the robbery." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 "Yes, I.^ You see I have ample confidence in your honour. I run much, very 
 great risk, in coming here, a proscribed man as I am— one for whose head a heavy 
 sum is offered, but should all things go wrong, should you be in real and imminent 
 danger on your day of trial, I will step forward and admit that I am the man who 
 stopped Tom Brereton, and took his papers." 
 
 "But would the judge and jury take your unaccredited statement?" 
 
 " Yes, there can be no doubt, they especially, when I bring other proof, and above 
 all, when they hear my name." 
 And that is 
 
 J " Claude Duval," said Claude, glancing around. " I pledge my word to come 
 forward and save you if you stand in danger." 
 
 " But they would hang you," said Markham Brereton, after a pause, and gazing 
 upon^the highwayman with wonder and admiration. 
 
 *' They would, but it will not prevent my doing so ; in the meantime, have no un- 
 necessary fears, or feel any unnecessary want of confidence, in my sincerity you 
 may put every trust, I have given you an earnest of my truth by coming here and 
 placing myself in your power." 
 
 " Of that confidence I can take no advantage," said Brereton, "you have con- 
 fided in my honour, and I will do the same in your's." 
 
 " And you will do right. I will not deceive you. At the eleventh hour you 
 may depend upon my stepping forward — if such a step be absolutely necessary— if 
 not, you will know that I do not desire to throw away my life except in a case of 
 great emergency." 
 
 " I understand you, and feel fully the greatness of your sacrifice, and cannot in 
 any way expect any unnecessary risk on your part, when so few would make any, 
 but I hope something may yet turn up to expose the falsity of my cousin's accu- 
 sation against me." 
 
 "You are accused to keep you out of the way, I have no doubt," said Claude j. 
 " he would be glad to sacritice you." 
 
 " He does not appear unwilling to do so," replied Markham, " I am sure he 
 had no reason to suspect me." 
 
 "If you please," said the turnkey, putting his head in, — "time's almost up. | 
 Tm sorry to disturb you." j 
 
 " I must begone," said Claude, " farewell, and you may depend upon my pro- 
 mise." 
 
 " I do depend upon it, though it is more than 1 can reasonably expect of any 
 man, however, guilty he may be — but my time is up, farewell, and get clear of 
 this place as quickly as you can./' 
 
 "I am safe ; farewell." 
 
 Markham Brereton held out his hand to Claude, who eagerly grasped it, and 
 then the jailor again entered the little room or cell, saying it was time, and he re-
 
 LIFE ON THE KOAD. 117 
 
 conducted Markhaia Brereton to tlie ward in which he was confined, and thea 
 turning to Claude ne said, — 
 
 •' And now, iki, if you will corae this way, I will shew you the way out," 
 
 N.^ CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE EECOGNITION.— THE ESCAPE. 
 
 Claude Duval followed the gaoler through several of the tortuous passages 
 through which he had been brought in the first instance, but which now seemed 
 to have grown longer. 
 
 "These are queer places," thought Claude, "how many poor fellows have 
 stepped along these passages for thelast time — well 'tis no use in being sad, but 
 I sometimes think, that this business of Markham Brereton's will cost me some 
 such walk, and yet I should try to prevent it " 
 
 They now came across a gateway which had been opened to let some prisoners 
 into that part of the prison. Suddenly one of them stopped, and casting a 
 scrutinizing eye upon Claude, who returned the gaze, but felt uneasy at it, when 
 suddenly the former said aloud, — 
 
 " Claude Duval, by G—. What caught at last !— the pitcher that oft goes to 
 the well, will be broken at last." 
 
 " What are you talking about," enquired one of the turnkeys. 
 
 " I say, there is Claude Duval." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " There, that fellow alongside the turnkey, coming this way — the tall man — with 
 the big neck-cloth " 
 
 " Claude Duval." 
 
 " Aye, to be sure." 
 
 " Why, he is a visitor." 
 
 Ah," replied the man, "he ! he ! such a visitor as I am, I suppose you momi, 
 a visitor upon compulsion — but I'm sorry now I've said anything about the matter 
 if he ain't known ; I thought there were none of you but wlio knew Claude 
 Duval." 
 
 " We have all heard of him," replied the turnkey, and he added, turnini^ to 
 Claude, " we must detain you for a short time — only a few minutes, and if it is 
 all right, you won't be kept long." 
 
 "Kept long," replied Claude Duval, — "kept long — do you imagine I shall be 
 detained at ail. I will submit to nothing of the kind, and if you offer this moles- 
 tation to me you may depend upon it that neither you nor your employers will 
 escape without severe punishment." 
 
 "Oh," said the turnkey, "the punishment will f.ll upon him, if we are wrong, 
 and upon us, if we don't chance it." 
 
 " What do you mean," said Claude, taking a rapid stride or two towards the 
 little room, through which he had to pass to get to the wicket. 
 
 "Here Ikey — Nightingale, lend a hand. — An escape." 
 
 In another moment, tlie two men appeared, and Claude rushed forward — bi?t he 
 was seized upon by the man behind him, who hung upon the skirts of his coat, 
 and impeded his progress, and enabled the two men hastening towards him to bar 
 his exit. 
 
 Claude turned round, and in an instant laid this man low, with a blow from 
 his riding-whip, which he carried about him, and then threw himself upon the other 
 two, who were big burly men, and who appeared nothing loth for the encoiinter, 
 and a desperate struggle took place.
 
 113 GENTLEMAN JACK; OB,. 
 
 The whole were strong men, but Claude had the advantage, for his sinews were 
 hai-d end, and his breath good, and he was much more active— but then he had 
 two men to deal with, and assistance at hand. 
 
 " Help, help !" shouted the turnkeys who had felt the vigorous blows of 
 Claude's riding whip, and the blood flowed in many places ; nevertheless, they 
 hung upon him, and if one was stunned and brought to the earth for a minute, 
 another took his place, and kept Claude in work — but each fall caused them to 
 remain longer on the stones. j 
 
 Suddenly by one great and vigorous effort, he completely released himseK from ^ 
 them, and then he made a rush at the wicket, but was met Oy having the door 
 of the little room slammed, and the key turned, before he could do anything to 
 prevent it. ' 
 
 "Ah," said the wicket-keeper, who had performed this feat of dexterity, and 
 who presented himself to defend the passage. "Ah, so I thought you could bene , 
 good — I thought you were a tobymau when you seemed so precious high — Ws all 
 sham — an^L5::^»i'll have a—" 
 
 "You'll have that," replied Claude, dealing him a heavy blow on the head,' 
 which left him senseless on the floor, but seeing his progress barred in that direc- | 
 tion, he turned round, and seeing a door open, which led into the governor's house, ' 
 Claude at once entered it, and closing the door after him in time to elude the 
 turnkeys, who made a rush after him, Claude secured the door, on that side, 
 but not before an alarm had been given, and loud cries uttered his name. I 
 
 "Ah," said Claude, "you may shout, *Stop him — stop Claude Duval !' as loud aS 
 you will, but Claude Duval will not be so easily stopped ; and now for a new way ' 
 out." 
 
 Claude turned round, and was somewhat startled to see a man dressed in black 
 with a white neckcloth, a blanched countenance and an eye that seemed as if , 
 no speculation had entered there, he was terror-stricken, and was aa unable to ' 
 speak as move. 
 
 "WeU," said Claude, "what brought you here ?" 
 
 "Oh," said the figure with a groan, "my legs — that i o > n > Oh lord, have 
 mercy upon me, good Claude Duval." 
 
 "Oh, that's it, is it," said Claude, "well then as you came here upon your 
 legs, just show me the way out upon them, and depend upon it you will fare 
 worse than you can imagine, if you only attempt to play me false." 
 
 "Play !" repeated the terror-stricken ordinary, who smelt strongly ol wine. 
 " Play, I play — oh dear no." 
 
 " Well, then, where does this door lead to ?" 
 
 " To the governor's room, from whence I came, thinking it was the governor, 
 and whom I came to meet, but I found it was you-^don't kiU me." 
 
 "Lead on," said Claude, who did not choose to lose a moment's time, know- 
 ing how valuable it was to him, -and that life and deatii hung upon the dif- 
 ference. 
 
 In another moment they entered the governor's private room, where they 
 
 saw nothing but papers, and a table upon which stood one or two empty bottles, 
 
 and two wine glasses. 
 
 " This, I suppose is your private confessional, where you remain at devotion, 
 
 eh ?" inquired Claude. ,^^;^ I 
 
 " Sometimes we do come here." "^msir | 
 
 " And how were they emptied ?" inquired Claude, pointing to the glasses and 
 
 bottles. I 
 
 " By drinking," replied the diunken chaplain. I 
 
 " Now show me the way out," said Claude, who could hear the alarm bell , 
 
 ringing furiovisly, and knowing that no time was to be lost, and yet not wishing ' 
 
 to precipitate anything, for he wanted to get out without any hue and cry after ; 
 
 him, otherwitjfc.iie felt some suspicion that he might not get clear off' at alii
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 119 
 
 events he had few moments of irresolutioi»;axisiiig from not having it in his power 
 to decide upon his course at once. 
 
 He was much inclined to seize upon the ordinery and secure him at once, there 
 was something so sinister and treacherous about the face ; notwithstandmg the 
 drunken gravity, and the fear that seemed to sink deep in his heart, yet he feared 
 he would do any act that would cause Claude to be secured. 
 
 " You must lead the way to the do*.'* 
 
 " Yes," said the chaplain, " yes," and he moved towards the door, which they 
 had jvist come tlii'ough. 
 
 " But not that door," said Claude, sternly, "that is the way we have just com« 
 from, and you know I intend to go out at another— that which leads to the 
 street. You know who I am — you heard my name mentioned, you pro- 
 nounced it yourself. You know therefore what I am capable of doing. Now 
 listen to me. 
 
 " Yes, most worthy sir, I do. Amen." 
 
 " You appear to me to be treacherous. 1 iHi^ do yoii wrong— but if you at- 
 tempt the slightest act that will bring suspicion or notice upon me, I will fell 
 you like an ox with the iron butt of my riding whip, and you will hardly get up | 
 again." ! 
 
 *'My good Mr. Duval, I am the Lord's minister, and your servant, do as yon j 
 please, I will be obedient, but do not attempt anything concerning the iron-headed i 
 riding wliip." 
 
 " Mind what I tell you then, or be assured that the first word or sign you 
 make, by way of a signal, will be your condemned sermon," 
 
 " Have mercy I" 
 
 " As ^^ou deserve it — so now put on your hat and come with me. I intend to 
 honour you with my company a short distance, and T shall require you to be very 
 particular in your conduct." 
 
 The chaplain with a trembling hand, ^ut on his hat, but so much awry, that 
 Claude, not wishing to attract observation, pushed it on in a more becoming 
 manner, and then, with an admonitory shake of the heavy headed horsewhip, 
 pulled him towards the door, whispering, — 
 
 " Now lead to the street-door, and mind when you are outside, you do not look 
 at any one, but straight before you." 
 
 "Yes, yes, dependL upon me," he said, "depe-nd upon me-^but the iron-headed 
 horsewhip gives me the headache." 
 
 " It won't trouble you. if you act as I tell yoa ; otherwise, it will be a cold ap- 
 plication to your brains." 
 
 As Claude spoke, he led the way out of the room, and through the passage, 
 and in going along, they met one of the servant girls who curtsied and then opened 
 the door, as they were going out, thinking that the chaplain had a \-isitor, and 
 at the same time, she thought there was a strange look about the chaplain she 
 had never before observed. 
 
 They now emerged into the street, and at that moment there was a crowd of 
 persons coming out of the prison entrance, and Claude at once divining the state 
 of matters, pushed the chaplain straight across the road, and then hurried down one 
 of the lanes leading to the old Fleet Market. 
 
 " Come, sir, don't look so scared, or you will frighten any one ; you must -riecollcct 
 it is Claude Duval who has the keeping of you, vou must have your wits about 
 you." 
 
 It would seem that this was not likdy to be the case, for the chaplain was about 
 overcome with fear and drink ; Claude immediately pushed him into a lowpubTie- 
 house, saying to the servitor whom he met, 
 
 *' Here, my friend is very ill — talce care of him — put him into a private room, for 
 an hour, and you shall be liberally paid, mind he is a little cteliri'^iis, and mustn't 
 be lei out till he is quite calm; but I'll call for him in an hour'r time." *
 
 130 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 • As Claude spoke he put a crown into his hand, and quitted the house, first 
 seeing the chaplain pushed up stairs without any resistance on his part, by the pot- 
 boy, who locked him up in the room, despite aU remonstraace, for all he said was 
 put down to the score of insanity. 
 
 CHAl'TEK XXVIIL 
 
 TUB £JIB£SX Of CLA.T7DE.<«i»TH£ £SCAP£ FBOM TEE LOCK UP AI HENDON. 
 
 To some extent, Claude now felt satisfied that he had dbrjR all that it was his 
 duty to do as regarded the very painful situation in which Mr. Brereton was placed. 
 Whether he, Claude, would have taken so much pains, had there not been such a 
 being as Cicely Brereton in the case, it is scarcely our business to enquire, but 
 certainly, the bright eyes of Cicely were the magnets that attracted hmi, and upon 
 her breach for the future depended all his happiness. 
 
 Hence, of course, he could not but feel that it was as direct a road out of her 
 affections as he could possibly take, were he to abandon her brother to the unjust 
 charge made against liini by Tom Brereton, and his bad advisers, who, no doubt, 
 ultimately would make him, Tom, a sufferer, while they enriched themseves with the 
 proceeds of the Guildford property. 
 
 And that the acquisition of that property from all parties, was the main spring 
 «of the man's actions who was advising and urging on Tom Brereton, there could 
 not be a doubt. 
 
 Claude found no difficiilty in again procuring the companionship of Sue, and 
 .having mounted, he cast but one glance around him to see if he were followed, 
 then urgmg the gallant steed to an increased pace, he made for the northern 
 suburbs of London. 
 
 Claude Dnval seldom took any one particular direction without an object, and 
 now in going northward of the metropolis he had one. 
 
 That object now, was to make enquiry concerning the fate of him who had 
 •Buffered from the first pistol shot he, Claude, had ever fired, and likewise a strange 
 and growing desire had been for a long time coming over him to visit his old home, 
 the home of his infancy, where he had known so many joys and so many sorrows. 
 He thought he should have liked his sister May to have been with him, but as 
 that was not possible, without considerable difficulty and danger, he had given up 
 the idea, although for a time it had held a place in his brain, and he had reasoned 
 upon it to some extent. 
 
 At the period when the stirring incidents of our tale took place, London was so 
 contracted in its limits, in comparison to what it is now, that it was a much easier 
 task to get into the suburbs. Camden Town was hardly in existence, so that soon 
 after leaving Holborn, Claude found himself among gardens and hedge-rows. 
 
 Sue when she came to sniff the cool, balmy, country air, gave a short cry of plea- 
 sure, and in despite of Claude's wish to proceed leisurely, she started on for « mile 
 or two at a rapid pace until the hill of Hampstead was before them. 
 Then, as Claude had anticipated, she slackened her pace. ~. .-— 
 
 Claude looked around him upon the. beautiful country in which he was making 
 his way, and some of the blissful feelings of his early youth b.gan to stoftl over 
 him. 
 
 "Ak!" he exclaimed, "what place, be it ever so fair, is to the imagination so 
 beautiful as the scenes which we have known in those happy days when the cares 
 of the great world appeared to be too far off ever to reach us. What was I then ? 
 Alas, what am I now ?'*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 121 
 
 '''"* ^'"p . CLAUDE DUVAL PURSUING THE PHANTOM. - ■ 
 
 For some time be rode on in silence, as if mentally contrasting his present 
 position, as an outlawed man, one proscribed by the laws of man, and hunted down 
 like a beast of the forest, with his happy lot when he had a tender and loving 
 parent, who provided for his every want ; and a gentle sister, into whose ears he 
 poured forth his little troubles, and who was ever ready to soothe his youcg spirit. 
 But alas, how altered was the time now. His father had been dragged to an 
 untimely fate by an unscrupulous baronet, and his sister, though living, he could 
 not approacli with safety, for the instruments of that law he bad spurned were 
 always ready to pounce upon him with eagerness.
 
 If2 GENTLEMAN JACK; OE, 
 
 When he had ridden on some distance, he was attracted by observing a placard 
 upon a tree, and upon riding up to it, he found to his dismay that it was headed bj 
 the following words :— 
 
 " £300 Reward, for the Apprehension of Claude Duval.** 
 
 The placard then proceeded to detail that the above named sum would be paid 
 to any person, or persoi^, lodging the notorious highwayman in any of His Ma- 
 jesty's jails, and a further sum of £200 upon his conviction. 
 
 " Well," he said, "I shall not be deterred from proceeding by this bill. Let 
 those who have a desire to earn the money by my capture, take me if they can, and 
 the danger of the attempt may recoil upon their own heads." 
 
 Still, notwithstanding he did not feel inclined to place so much importance upon 
 the notification for his capture as to allow it to stop, him, yet it was (^nsidered by 
 him as desirable to be cautious. 
 
 A little way out of the main road was a house ccdled'the " Antlers,*" and it was 
 towards it that Claude now directed his steed. 
 
 This house had not been always devoted to its present ignoble purpose, but at 
 some period of time, considjerablj^ anterior to that concerning the. events (k which 
 we write, it had been a siipenor Hnd of farm-house. Now, however, one 
 portion of it had gone entirely to decay^ while the other was used- for the 
 purpose of providing^ as the sign- indicated, "Good entertainment :f 61?: nocan and 
 beast." 
 
 When Claud^ got sufficienth^ close to thishostdl for the sound of hkr horse's 
 hoofs to be heard upon the road, a lad- ran out to reconnoitre the traveller, 
 and to him Claude beckoned, and when he was close at hianxii hesaid*^ 
 
 "Does Mathew Larkin still keep the * Aiatlers' ?'* 
 
 "Oh-yes,"said the lad. "He's my ^raadfa4;.her.** 
 
 " Tell him then, that an old friend wishes to speak id him." 
 
 "Won't you come in, sir?'* 
 
 '^Not till I have seen and spoken to your grandfather.*' 
 
 With this message then the boy went into the house, and the result was that is 
 a few moments a portly individual made his appearance, and hurried towards 
 Claude, with some curiosity in his looks, but he did'nt seem to recognise him, for 
 the fact is, Claude had thought it but commonly prudent, under his present cir 
 cumstances, and in broad daylight, as he was^ to make what alterations he could 
 in his costume. 
 
 " Well, Mathew," he said. « You forgetmfi " 
 
 "The voice I loiew in a moment. You have quite given me a turn. Gooc 
 God! what brings you here, Claude?" S^irely you don't know your owi 
 danger ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know all about it." 
 
 " And yet you " 
 
 "And yet'l brave it. The fact is, Mathew, I ^ad an irresistible desire to see 
 the old neighbourhood, and let the danger be what it may, 1 mean to see ^ it. Ye 
 as I don't want to throw a chance into the bands of the Philistines, I think if you ca^ 
 give me shelter, that I would rather wait till night." 
 
 "Well, well, it can't be helped. Come along, and between us, we will put u^ 
 your horse, somehow, without troubling any one else." 
 
 Claude was always sensibly touched by anything in the shape of kindness, am 
 he could not help pressing the hand oi the old innkeeper, as he said, — 
 
 " If all the world had treated me as you treat me, I don't think I should be 
 what I am." 
 
 " Claude,'* said old Mathew, with an almost solemnity of manner, " Claude, 
 I don't shut my eyes to what you are. You are a highwayman, and I know it, 
 but you never stained your name by any act of cruelty, that 1 ever heard of, and 
 you never, let your necessities have been what they might, stooped to take from a 
 poor man his hard-earned mite." 
 
 " So help me Heaven !" exclaimed Claude, " I never did "
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 123 
 
 ** I know it. Now come on, my boy, and you shan't want for shelter so long 
 as old Mathew and the Antlers are above ground. Come along with you." 
 
 Claude had dismounted, and he now followed the old man into the public-house, 
 the porch of which was most picturesquely over hung by clustering ivy. Indeed 
 it was, take it altogether, a place of great natural as well as artificial beauty. 
 
 And there was scarcely a tree in all that neighbourhood which was not known to 
 Claude, and as is always the case when the mind is full of r^ecollections of the past, 
 a strange and settled sadness took possession of his spirits. ' 
 
 This Mathew saw, and after Sue had been properly housed in a stable, the 
 key of which Claude took possession of, the innkeeper took him by the arm, and led 
 him to a parlour sacred to himself and his most esteemed intimates, and then clo- 
 sing the door, he said, — 
 
 " Now in order to place you completely at your ease, and to show you that in 
 case of any alarm, your escape may be certain — look here." 
 
 As he spoke, he opened the lid of an old fashioned window seat, which, as is 
 common enough in old houses, made a chest likewise, and within there appeared 
 some litters merely. It was soon apparent, however, to Claude that a more ad- 
 mirable mode of escape from the room could not have been contrived, for upon 
 touching a small concealed spring the whole bottom of the window-seat dropped 
 like a door upon hinges. 
 
 " There," said Mathew, " below is a little staircase and a passage that leads you 
 to the window-seat of another room by which you might escape. No one in this 
 house knows of this place but myself, and you are the first to whom I have shown 
 it." 
 
 "I am most grateful to you,*Vsaid Claude, 
 
 "Pho — pho! don't mention that. Come now, we will have a cheerful glass, 
 aud you must recoyer your lost spirits." 
 
 OHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 .THE APPAHITION ON THE HEATH.— THE CHASE. 
 
 A BOTTLE of wine such as mine host of the Antlers only reserved for special 
 people, and for special occasions, tended in a great measure to dispel the gloom 
 that hung over Claude, and at all events he soon got into a better conversational 
 turn than he had been in for some few hours, and was able to speak with some 
 degree of hilarity. 
 
 " You will think it odd, Mathew," he said, '* that not having seen you for so 
 long, and really taking the pleasure that I do in your society, I should now ask to 
 leave it for a time." 
 
 " Leave it ? How do you mean ?" 
 
 "For three nights now, I have had no repose." 
 
 " Is that possible ?" 
 
 •* It is indeed, Mathew. One event and another has kept me in a constant 
 state of watchfulness for some time past, and the consequence naturally is, that 1 
 am worn out. The sight of a sofa in the room, here, is too inviting for me to . re- 
 sist stretching my wearied limbs upon it, and tasting the sweets of oblivion for a 
 few hours." 
 
 " With all my heart, Claude. Sleep as long as you like." 
 
 "No, let mc beg of you as a favour to awaken me at sunset. I then will pay 
 my visit to the heath, and those weU known spots where my boyish footsteps have 
 so often strayed, and then I must on the road again, for I have obligations now 
 which must be met. There are others now dependent upon me."
 
 12 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ** Why you have not a wife, have you ?" 
 
 " No," said Claude, as he flunff himself upon the sofa, " no, not yet, Mathew." 
 
 In a few moments he was sound i 
 
 Mathew paid strict attention to the injunctions of Claude, to awalcen him at. 
 sunset, and scaroely had the golden luminary sunk below the hills, when he touched 
 Claude's shoulder. 
 
 The highwayman, whom a touch would always awaken, was in an instant on his. 
 feet. 
 
 « What is it ?" he cried. " Keep off !" 
 
 **Why it's only me." 
 
 **0h, you, Mathew, I think I was dreaming. Is it sunset ?" 
 
 " Yes. You told me? to awaken you and I have, but you were starting and un- 
 easy in your sleep ; I fear your mind, sleeping or waking is but ill at ease, some-^ 
 times you woula moan, and sometimes you would cry out as though you were 
 engaged in some life and death conflict, such as you have, I daresay, had many q£ 
 in your time." 
 
 " Ah," said Claude, "if I had my time over again." 
 
 « Well, what then?" 
 
 "Why, I think I would Eh ! What noise is that ?" ^ 
 
 Claude sprung to his feet, for he thought — nay, he felt quite certain that a chair, 
 or some such article of furniture, had been thrown over by some one in the adjoin- 
 ing apartment. Old Mathew took the pipe from his mouth, and listened intently. 
 
 ** Did yoi^not hear ?" said Claude. 
 
 "Yes. Something I heard, but what it 'was, passes my wits, for the room 
 has been empty, for Heaven only knows the time. You remain here while I ^o 
 and see." 
 
 " Nay, if there is danger — " 
 
 " Oh, pho ! There cannot be danger. 
 
 ** But in case there should be, I will accompany you. I cannot permit that you 
 should be running any risk, while I perhaps, was sitting here in peace and perfect 
 security." 
 
 " Come on then." 
 
 They both rose, and advanced towards the door of communication between the 
 two rooms, but on attempting to open it, it was found to be fast. 
 • " A plague upon it," said Mathew, " the key is on the other side." 
 
 ** Which is a difficulty," said Claude, " easy to be remedied." 
 
 « As how ?" 
 
 "Thus." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude dashed himsell against the door, and it burst open in a- 
 moment. He and old Mathew at once entered the chamber, the latter bearing the- 
 light, but nothing was to be seen, nor was there any article of furniture in the room, 
 upset or standing, which could have made the noise Claude had heard. 
 
 " This is very strange," he said. 
 
 "Ah," said 'Mathew, "yoU may think so. but I, who am used to the old house, 
 think nothing of it. Lord bless you, if I was to pay attentipn to aU the odd noises 
 I hear at times here, 1 should have nothing else to do. They say the place is 
 haunted, but I never yet saw anything, whatever I have heard." 
 
 " Well," said Claude, **it's only once in my life, that shadows have appalled 
 me. 
 
 " Once,'— when was that ?" 
 
 "At some more convenient time ask me, Mathew. Now I wish to go out 
 upon the heath, for I see the gentle moon is rising. I know where to find Sue, 
 and you mav expect me back again in about an hour's time from now." 
 
 " You will find your supper ready, and another choice bottle of claret ; but 1st 
 me assist you with the horse, and good luck go witli you." 
 
 Sue was soon saddled, and Claude in a few moments, was upon Hampstead- 
 heath, with the cool breeze blowing upon his face.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 12i 
 
 The night was just such a one as Claude loved to be abroad in. 
 
 It was not dark, and yet it was not moonlight, for the bright and beautiful 
 luminary was yet young, and there were drifting clouds, wliich occasionally came 
 over the fair face of it in such a manner, that at periods of some minutes in 
 duration, you could not see your hand before your face. 
 
 Then again through some small crevice the young moon would just take a peep 
 at the world, shewing its fair face, like some coy beauty, to be admired and thai 
 witlidrawn. 
 
 A gentle dew was falling, which imparted a freshness to the air, and a crispness 
 lo the grass, while a nightingale with its soft melancholy notes made the night 
 zephyr full of melody and beauty. Take it for all in all, it was a gentle and 
 delicious night. 
 
 Claude, who knew the heath well, sought an elevated position upon it, where he 
 could command a view of many well-known objects. 
 
 He waited until the young moon peeped out to shew him the tree and house 
 that the years of boyhood had so often looked upon. 
 
 " Ah," he said, " if 1 could but have remained in some spot like this, and been 
 happy 1" 
 
 It was too late now for the gallant knight of the road to turn sentimental, so 
 Claude shook off from his spirit as best he might, the gloom that seemed inclined 
 to settle upon it. 
 
 " It is fate," he said. " It is fate. We have each our mission to fulfil, and I 
 am fulfiling mine. Destiny made me what I am, as destiny I suppose might 
 have made me an archbishop, not but what I doubt if in the latter case I should 
 have been a whit houester, as the world goes than I am now." 
 * Claude's reverence for the church was never very great. 
 
 A slight canter, of about a quarter of a mile, brought him to the cottage which 
 had been occupied by his father. The slight of it brought such a torrent of fear- 
 ful recollections, that after regarding it for a few moments in silence, he turned liis 
 horse's head, and fairly gallopped from the spot, but he did not well heed in what 
 direction he was going, and when he pulled rein and cast his eyes about him, he 
 to his horror and confusion, found himself within a few paces*^ of the still extant 
 gibbet, upon which his father had hung in chains. 
 
 A cr^ of horror burst from Claude, as all tlie events of that awful night came 
 upon his memory. He would gladly have flown from the place, but a species 
 of fascination seemed to bind him to the place, and he could not move for some 
 minutes. 
 
 When he had in some measure recovered, it was to utter passionate exclamations 
 of horror and of indignation, as the thought of the outrage which had been in- 
 flicted upon the dead rushed across his brain. 
 
 " Oh God ! can it be possible, that human justice ever can stoop to pursue 
 those who have been really criminal, after death has expiated all offences ? Father, 
 — father, — You were innocent, and yet they put you to a O'uel and a shameful 
 end, and placed your bones to blanch here in the winds of Heaven !" 
 
 Overcome by the violence of his emotions, Claude leant upon the pummel of 
 his saddle and wept. 
 
 This was a mood, however, not likely to last with one of his iron spirit, and 
 indignation soon again got the mastery over all other feelings. 
 
 " I avenged vou," he cried. " I avenged you ! I struck down the villain 
 who falsely took your life, and suborned others to bear false testimony against you. 
 father, I avenged you, and it was — it must have been right in the sight of Heaven, 
 that I should do so. Was I growing to manhood, to suffer your poor spirit to 
 cry out from the tomb for vengeance — ^no — -no — no, they denied you a tomb. They 
 denied you even a tomb. Oh, God, they could not confer upon you even that 
 small boon. 
 
 At this moment there slowly emerged from amid a mass of shadow cast by some 
 trees, on the other side of the' gibbet to that upon which Claude was stationed, 
 a solitary horseman, and so slow and utterly unexpected was his appearance V
 
 12G GENTLEMAN JACK; OE, 
 
 ! Claude, that to him it had all the effect as if the new comer had risen up out ol 
 the earth. 
 
 The new comer slowly approached the gibbet, and just as he took off his hat, 
 with what precise object Claude could not guess, the young moon peeped oufc 
 from a fissure in the clouds which were rapidly careering over its pilver 
 disc. 
 
 Claude could not be mist^en. It was Sixteen-string Jack ! 
 
 ******* 
 
 Claude sat on his horse, like one petrified, and yet he tried hard, even at that 
 moment of mortal perturbation to make himself think that he must be in some 
 manner the slave of an over-excited imagination. 
 
 There was only one circumstance that completely put an end to that feeling, 
 and prevented him from laying such a solace to his mind, and that was, he had 
 before that, in another scene and under other circumstances, seen the figure. 
 
 " It must be real," he gasped. 
 
 Soon, too, something else, conspired to make him think that it was not a de 
 lusion, and that was the fact that the spectre was evidently making great 
 speed to get away from him, which would not have been the case, he thought 5 his 
 fancy had conjured up the apparition. 
 
 Claude was by no means inclined, notwithstanding the horror that had come 
 over him, to give up the chase. 
 
 "What," he said to himself, "shall I live all the remainder of my life, be it 
 short or long, in dread of this visitation and its dreadful unknown powers. No 
 — no. Eather let me have the worst at once, than that imsigination should make 
 such a coward of me." 
 
 With this determination, he touched Sue slightly on the neck, and notwithstand- 
 ing that faithful animal had with the rare instinct of her nature, comprehended 
 that terror had usurped the place of courage and confidence in her master, she 
 bounded forward after the now Btpidly retreating horsemaa. 
 
 Claude, when once he made up his mind to any course, was, as the readers of 
 this most veritable and eventful chronicle of his achievments well know, not exactly 
 the sort of individual to draw back, and it was quite in. accordance with his general 
 character that now, as he gallopped after the rapidly retreating horseman, he cried, in 
 stentorian accents,— 
 
 " I'll follow you, wereit.to the infernal regions, and 
 
 Be thou a spirit of health or gohlin damned, 
 Bringst with thee airs from heayen or blasts from hell, 
 I'll speak to thee." 
 
 The wind swept the dim clouds over the fair face of the young moon, ^d 
 rather a moaning sound rustled the branches of the giant trees that were upon the 
 heath, while the only other sound that came upon the ears of Claude was the 
 beat of his own horse's feet upon the hard ground, as with such speed he puisued 
 , the spectre. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE STRANGE CAPTUKE.-^CLATJDE's INDOMITABLE C0T5KAGE. 
 
 CL.ATJDE knew that he was well-mounted. It was not from the partiality of 
 affection, or from the vanity of habit, that he had come to consider Sue as almost 
 unequalled, for he had had too many opportunities when life and liberty were at 
 stake, to test the powers of that noble. creature, not to feel that she needed not the 
 voice of unfair flattery to fix her as an unrivalled racer, and yet he now fancied that, ^ 
 the spectre k)r8emaa really gained upon him.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 127 
 
 If anything could, more than another, tend to make Cxaude believe that he whom 
 be pursued was really a something more than natural, it was this apparant fact of 
 bis distancing Sue. But his imagination had more to do with such a state of, 
 I things than anything else. 
 
 The spectre horseman took a route across the heath in the northern direction, so 
 that, at all events, it was not Hkely to be an embauassing one, by getting among 
 houses, for Claude well knew that between where he now was and the little bridge 
 over the Brent river, there were but few mansions, in none of which the retreat- 
 ing man or fiend was likely to find shelter. 
 
 " If I can but keep him in view," said Claude, as he glanced uf) to tlie clouds 
 which were rapidly, and to him, most provokingly, accumulating over tiie moon's 
 disc, " if I can but keep him in view, all will be well, but if he once gets out of 
 sight and hearing I shall feel that the night's chase is over, and that I have again to 
 waic untn the spectre-horseman crosses my path." 
 
 And now a new and most uncomfortable idea came across the mind of 
 Claude, and, although he was certainly not a person full of superstitious imagin- 
 ings, yet for a time he could not resist the strange impression which this notion 
 produced upon him. 
 
 It was this ! 
 
 "I have heard," he said, "that the appearance of the dead three times 
 to a living person, is at once quite conclusive of the rapidly approaching 
 fate of that person. I have now seen that spectre twice. Perhaps when 1 
 see it again I may be breathing almost my last in this world, and the blood- 
 hounds of the law may be sufficiently close upon my track to have me soon in their 
 meshes." 
 
 Claude was, like most persons who have led a strange, desultory, adventurous 
 sort of life, much of a fatalist, so that when both reason and imagination were 
 puzzled, he quietly threw himself back upon that belief, and submitted to what he 
 called his destiny. 
 
 A more convenient mode of getting rid of difficulties could nqt very well be 
 suggested. But still it answered its purpose, and, under many circumstances of 
 great danger, when ordinary men would have been perfectly appalled at not beiug 
 able to find some resource of safety, Claude awaited what he considered the course 
 of inevitable destiny with the calmness of a stoic. 
 
 He saw by the darker colour now by the road side, for he had got into a regular 
 road track, that there was a considerable patch of grass close at hand, and he 
 turned Sue on to it, for the purpose of sufficiently deadening the sound of her foot- 
 steps to enable him to listen for those of the spectre horseman. 
 _ A moment's strict attention sufficed to convince him- that the chase was con- 
 tinumg upon the high road to Hendon, and, so long as it did so continue, he con- 
 sidered that the result surely must be safe, for no mortal horse could for long con- 
 ' tinue a race with Sue, and that the spectre rode upon a mortal steed was surely 
 ^ evidenced by its hard tramp upon the road. 
 
 " Things of air and vapour," said [Claude, " do not make so palpable a tread 
 upon the green earth, so let us on, my Sue, and see if we cannot terminate this 
 wild adventure.'* 
 
 The sound of Claude's voice always had a cheerkg effect upon Sue, and in this 
 instance, accompanied as it was by a pat upon her neck, it did. not fail. She started 
 off again like the wind. 
 
 There had been, however, a slight pause while Claude was listening to the 
 sound of the horse's feet, so that the spectre might be fairly supposed to have got 
 an additional start of liim, but, at the rate Sue now proceeded,^ that start was not 
 ikely to last for long. 
 
 The clouds, too, that had obscured the face of the moon, were evidently clearing 
 off, and a soft, famt, white light began to spread itself over all objects. It was a 
 strange misty-like light, too, and had the effect of exciting the iraaginatioij of 
 Claude still more powerfully than before. However, he was not disposed upon 
 that accoumt to pause again, and just as he reached some high grouiid, which com-
 
 128 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 manded a view of the then little rustic bridge across the Brenf, he caught sight 
 of the retreating horseman, standing with his steed apparently motionless upon the 
 bridge. 
 
 Tliis was a slidit check to Claude, for it looked as if he were being waited for, 
 and after ail, with his courage, an interview in so solitary a spot, with a superna- 
 tural being, was not one of the most comfortable things to be looked forward k). 
 
 The moon suddenly bifoke through a mass of clouds, and there could be no 
 mistake about the horiie and man waitin^^ upon the bridge. Without relaxing his 
 speed in the least, Claude dashed on until he could not be farther from the ODJec* 
 of his pursuit than a distance which Sue in a few moments would have most com- 
 pletely obliterated, and then, both horse and rider disappeared over the parapet of 
 the bridge, or through its centre, Claude could not well decide which. 
 
 Now, that th s was the likely and probable mode by which a spectre should take 
 its leave of any one pursuing it, it came forcibly upon Claude's mind, and he ira- 
 raediately checked the speed of Sue, and with a saddened feeling, for it was dread- 
 hil to him, to be thus convinced of the supernatural character of the appearance, 
 he slowly made his way to the bridge, beneath which ran the brawling little Brent 
 river. 
 
 " Yes/' he said. " There can be no doubt. That was the spectre of poor 
 Jack." 
 
 The bridge was soon gained, and Claude stood exactly upon the spot where he 
 had seen the spectre so suddenly disappear from. 
 
 The clouds had again obscured the moon's disc, so that he could only hear, with- 
 out seeing, the waters below, which at that place formed a little cataract, and came 
 brawling along with mimic fury. The trees, and there were many, both tall and 
 stately, cast a deepened gloom upon the scene, while the wailing of the wind 
 amon^ their branches, seemed to him like the melancholy requiem of tbe dead, 
 or as if the natural elements had been affected by the recent appearance of that ap- 
 parition. 
 
 "This is moie than strange," said Claude. "It is horrible. 
 
 He shuddered as he spoke, and then asked himself what should be his next 
 step. At one moment, he thought that he had better at once proceed to London 
 again, or cut across the country to some of his old haunts upon the Western Road, 
 and then again he should break his word to old Mathew at the Antlers by not 
 returning. 
 
 " He will think something has scared me, and that I dare not come back," 
 said Claude. 
 
 This was quite a sufficient motive for him to turn his horse's head in the di- 
 rection of the old inn, and in another moment he would have been off, but that a 
 most unforeseen accident prevented him. 
 
 Just as he was upon the point of touching Sue's bridle, he heard a loud splash 
 in the water, upon the other side of the bridge to that where there was the 
 little cataract. 
 
 The splash was one loud enough to make itself heard above all the roar and dash 
 of the water, as it fell down the little fall, and rushed through the narrow con- 
 fines of the bridge. Nothing but the sudden descent into the stream of some very 
 heavy body, could have produced such a sound. In a moment, it turned the cur- 
 rent of all Claude's thoughts. 
 
 To fling himself from the back of Sue was his first impulse, and then rushing to 
 the parapet of the bridge, he looked eagerly over into the stream, when he saw, 
 notwithstanding the darkness, the form of a horse and rider stemmmg the little ca- 
 taract, and swimming towards the green sloping bank of an estate that coasted the 
 river for some distance to the spot, 
 
 Claude watched with the most intense interest the progress of the swimmkig 
 steed. He saw the creature urged on by its rider, make several ineffectual 'at- 
 tempts to leave the water, and climb up the bank of earth, that margined the lawn 
 that was skirted by the river. 
 
 The horseman, by both whip and spur, was urging the animal to desperatg 
 
 :l
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 129 
 
 TUP Hf SU-iCITATION OF SlXTEF,N-STfi^^;G JACK. 
 
 efforts, but all was use'es*. The moraent it, by a bold plunge, seemed something 
 ofa foothold, the crumbling ground gave way, and witli a loud splash it was m 
 the water again, t i i- 
 
 From this secure position upon the bridge, and with the parapet to steady his 
 aim, nothing would have been easier for Claude than to have shot the spectrte, lor 
 that it was the same form he had been pursuing he did not entertain a doubt ; 
 but the fact that, really or falsely, the form was the representation of Sixteen -strmg 
 Jack, stayed his hand.
 
 130 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " I think," he muttered to himself, ** that Sue would make good a footing even 
 upon that slippery grass and crumbling loam." 
 
 As he spoke, he saw that the hor.^eman was making use of a very different 
 method to overcome the difficulty he was in. 
 
 Throwing himself off his stead, he made himself for the bank, still retaining the 
 bridle in his hand, and thas released of his weight, and assisted by the bridle, the 
 horse soon regained the land. 
 
 By this time, Claude had felt himself compelled to come to a conclusion that it || 
 was no spectre that he was pursuing, and the onlv rational way in which he could 
 account for the whole affair was, that some knigTjt of the road who bad been 
 intimately acquainted with Sixteen-string Jack, had managed to make up his face 
 head, and figure, in such a way as so closely to resemble the deceased highway- 
 man, that even he, Claude, himself was taken in by the likeness. 
 
 At all events, he made up his mind now that he would know who it was that Ij 
 
 had giren him so much trouble and annoyance. | 
 
 " I will follow this apparition," he exclaimed, " if apparition it be, and if it I 
 
 be not, I will make him, who has so imposed upon me, receive the consequences I 
 
 of his folly." i 
 
 Whatever was to be done, it was quite clear now must be done quickly, and, 
 accordingly, Claude took Sue by the bridle, and led her by the side of the ' bridge 
 down a little deep descent that conducted to the water, and when there, he, by 
 the dim light, saw tolerably well what had been the abidi ng place of the spectre j 
 horseman, before, most probably by a mere slip, the horse plunged into the stream. 
 
 The stream was not so wide as in periods of heavy radn it was accustomed to be, \ 
 and so there was just beneath the bridge a small slip of Sj5.ndy-looking groundj 
 partly covered with ashes, where no doubt he who was pursued had fondly hoped 
 to find concealment for a time, 
 
 Claude noted this without making any delay in his progress, #pd mounting on 
 his own steed, he gently urged it to the water. 
 
 Sue could swim like a fish, and was quite as tractable in tfa^ »'ater as upon 
 land, so that Claude had n» diflSculty in guiding her to the e.dge pf the lawn, but 
 he went a little lower than the point where the spectre hjorsem^ h|^ fi?^de his 
 repeated failures, andcjose by the roots of a large willow, whose pendant branc^5 
 overhung a great portion of the stream, Claude found that the horse ol^ioiPd at 
 once a good foothold. 
 
 In another moment he was upon tke lawn. 
 
 By this manoBuyre of going lower down and being completely hidden by tlie 
 willow tree, Claude calculated that he might succeed in stealing a march, a* it 
 were, upon the spectre, and such indeed seemed to be the case, for he saw ffcat 
 personage just slowly walking his horse round the angl** of what seemed to be a 
 conservatory, as he (Clauele) reached the centre of the lawn. 
 
 A moment's consideration decided Claude that now to follow on foot would be 
 the safest plan. He well knew that Sue would not stray from the spot where be 
 might choose to leave her, and indeed the fine soft herbage of the well-kept l«wa 
 appeared to be very attractive lo her, and therefore, hastily dismountijag, he ran 
 forward, his footsteps being perfectly noiseless upon the grass. 
 
 The spectre, if we maybe ailowe.d still to call the retreating horseman by that 
 name, was mounted again ; it was a matter quite evident to Claude that he was 
 proceeding with the caution of one unacquainted with the premises. 
 
 "I shall at length," uttered Claude to himself, *' I shall at length resolve this 
 question, I presume, and find who it is that by such a marvellous chance, or by 
 such little less than marvellous art, contrives to make himself the very image of one 
 whom I know to be no more." 
 
 Some feeling of curiosity to know how far and to where he would go prevented 
 Claude from rushing at once upon the spectre, but he soon found cause oitterly to 
 repent of that amount of forbearance, for upon turning the corner of some flowing 
 tall shrubs, a low fence leading to a paddock presented itself, and in a moment 
 the spectre leaped it, and was off at a gallop. 
 
 . ^ - ' ' i - ^ - ' — *- ■ "^-^ ■ ^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 131 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE CAPTURE OF THE SPECTRE. — A SURPRISE. 
 
 Claude in a moment turned to mount, and with him this was usually the work 
 of a moment, but someiiow or other he was longer than customary ; his foot slipped 
 in his haste from the stirrup, and though such a trifling incident delayed him but 
 a moment, yet it gave the spectre an advantage he was rapidly increasing ; but a 
 moment more and Claude Duval was on horseback. 
 
 A gentle pressure of the spur upon the sides of Sue was enough to induce her to 
 follow the flight of the spectre, and away she flev^rover the wall in the pursuit. 
 
 *' Again eluded," thought Claude, ''but pursuit is not hopeless. I will be 
 satisfied this night, if it be possible, what the being is who has thus more than 
 once crossed my path. ' 
 
 When he got into the road he reined up, and cast a look towards town, but 
 there were no signs of anything moving, and though enshrouded in trees, yet he 
 could see far up the road ; he paused a moment, and turned his gaze in the other 
 direction; he could see nothing there either ; but on listening he fancied he heard 
 the sound of ahorse galloping away in the distance. 
 
 Without a thought more he pressed on in the chase, and after riding a few 
 hundred yards, he came more in the uncertain light of the moon, and thought he 
 could see before him the form of a horseman ; but the large trees that grew on 
 either side of the way offered so many impediments to vision that he could make 
 nothing out with certainty. 
 
 But he pressed on, and Sue did her duty right gallantly, for she stretched 
 onward with good will, and the ground was passed over so rapidly, that the flitting 
 spectre before them at length came into view, just in time to see him turn to the 
 right, and then he aga'n disappeared. 
 
 " Gone again," muttered Claude. " It flits before me like the phantom light 
 in fields and marshes." 
 
 Another moment and Claude had also reached the spot where the apparition 
 had disappeared. It was a broad opening, with an inn on the left hand, a smithy, 
 and some small houses, and then it suddenly narrowed as it ran down hill, and 
 was lost among the dark trees and the foliage of some woods and plantations. 
 
 Claude in a moment guessed how matters stood, and dashed at once across the 
 green, and into a small coppice at the end, and was soon amongst the trees. 
 
 The road was a descent for a few score yards, and then it led a short way up to 
 the right ; but here it was a very sharp ascent, but Claude heeded it not, but rode 
 rapidly up that, and then found, when on the summit, a bridle path, hardly 
 deserving the name, to the left, which he took. 
 
 This he followed for some minutes almost in utter darkness, for there was a 
 cloud over the moon, and if there had not been, the foliage would have rendered 
 the finest moonlight useless. 
 
 However, this did not remain 'ong, for on coming to an opening in some trees he 
 saw the stranger at a little distance ahead of him. It would seem as though the same 
 things that were impediments to Claude Duval's progress became the same to him. 
 
 Tois caused Claude to urge Sue on, and accordingly he dashed onward, but this 
 manoeuvre had been anticipated by the stranger, who had urged his own steed 
 onward. 
 
 After about ten minutes, they again emerged upon the same road, and Claude 
 could see the same spectre on ahead of him, about a score or two yards. This vvas 
 vexing, and Claude began to feel something more than the strange feeling with 
 which he had hitherto looked upon the strange apprrition. ' 
 
 He began to feel that he had been beaten, and his mare, he was convinced, was 
 as good as the stranger's. 
 
 '• He can't have abetter/' muttered Claude to himself, ** and if he gets away
 
 r- 
 
 13^2 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 it will be a strange thing to me ; something mors tluui u ual must be at work. 
 Con-e, Sue, we must step cut again," 
 
 As be muttcreci tlvese \\or(Js audibK', be pressed his legs against hia ira'e's tide, 
 and away she went, llic sound of b'.r feet upon the road came in regular and 
 rapid beats. All was still, save tlii?, and the sound accompanied biui as be rode 
 through the parish of Hendon. 
 
 However, Claude novir saw that he was gaining ground upon the stranger, who 
 had made many efforts to escape him, and who evidently had some object in 
 avoiding him. 
 
 Was it terror, or was it some unearth'y creature, who re-visited the earth with 
 the glimpses of the moon ? If it were, it certainly had shuffled off its old habits 
 witli its mortal coil, for the old roads and likely spots were its chosen stations. 
 
 Could it intend only to Isvy contributions upon the spirits passing from earth to 
 heaven. If it were so, it surely was usarping the functions of the clergy. 
 
 Be it what it might, Claude was more and more resolved to fathona the niyslery ; 
 the excitement of riding, and the chase, dissipated much of the undifined leelings 
 of dread or awe with which he had before regarded the strange appearance. 
 
 They had now ridden some distance, sometimes diving down some of the lanes 
 leading to Edgware, and then, breaking through gaps, and returning across the 
 fields. 
 
 This had been dbne more than once, when they were near an old fashioned 
 mansion, surrounded by tall trees, whose luxuriant growth bespoke the absence 
 of the woodman's axe. 
 
 Tp amongst these trees the stranger seemed to plunge, just as Claude Duval 
 thought he must be within his power, for Sue had overtaken them or neaily so ; and 
 to save himself, the str-^nger dashed into the grounds that immediately surrounded 
 the court-yard. 
 
 Here Claude reined up, and entered over a broken gate, and soon found himself 
 in an open avenue of frees. 
 
 The moon at that moment shed her light cheerily, though mildly, for a cloud 
 that had long been hanging over partially now passed away, and by this hght 
 Claude saw the stranger's horse looie in the avenue, and upon looking further, he 
 saw the same figure entering the mansion we have noticed. 
 
 Claude dashed up after him, and when near the door, dismounted,"and proceeded 
 as last as be could to secure the mare to the broken rails that yet stood ; this 
 done, he looked up at the mai sion as if to ascertain its character before he 
 entered it. 
 
 It was a fine old house, substantial but empty. 
 
 *• Ah !" said Claude, *• one that has had many a festive scene in it, I'll warrant ; 
 but I'll fathom this mystery, if 1 live.*' 
 
 As he epoke, he placed his foot upon the step connected with the door, when 
 he met the stranger's face, suddenly thrust out of the door with so much 
 precipitation, and the white moonlight came full upon it, and it looked so ghastly, 
 that Claude for the moment was unable to advance ; indeed he took a step or two 
 backwards. 
 
 A moments thought, however, suggested to him that the stranger's head had 
 only been thrown out to discover if his horse were safe, or if indeed he were pursued, 
 for on observing him it had been instantly withdrawn from the doorway. 
 
 What, however, struck Claude so much, v>as the certainty he felt that it was 
 the head and face of Sixteen-string Jack, 
 
 This for a moment had a great effect upon him ; but at length recovering from 
 bis surprise and amazeme»t, not to say consternation, he rushed into the house, 
 in search of this mysterious being, and by coming to a struggle to ascertain, if 
 possible, of what character he was, that kad so much alarmed him. 
 
 As soon as he got into the hall, he found that he was too late, for the spectre, if 
 such it were, was in the rooms above, for he could beai him moving across the 
 rooms overhead. 
 Up the flight of stone stairs before him, Claude Duval rushed with all the
 
 LIFE ON 'JHE KOAD. i^t.j 
 
 speed he could, and er-tc:cl the first room ibat pvcsor.tcd ifscdf, but ic was 
 empty. 
 
 Tiiere was no time to de'.ibeiaie; Ciande saw tin re wa^ anol'.er door, and to 
 that he flew and found anoiher, which led yet further through a small pas^a^'e 
 into a gallery ; here Claude again caught sight of the fieeting object of his 
 pursuit. 
 
 Claude had run from room to room, up one flight of s'airs and down another 
 until his breath vas nigh spent, but yet he was resolved to hunt down the object 
 that had caused him so much alarm and uneasiness, if he could exert a limb. 
 
 At length, he entered a room panting with haste, and had got across the apart- 
 ment before he was aware that there was no other outlet to it ; but on looking 
 round, the stranger had just shot through the very door which he himself had 
 entered, no doubt finding there was no other means of escape. 
 
 Claude Duval dashed after him, and they were hardly too paces apart, when some 
 of the woodwork of the stairs gave way under the stranger's feet, and he fell ; 
 Claude Duval also fell from the same cause, but he contrived to grasp the throat 
 of the s'raDger, who was decidedly flesh and blood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A STRANGE MEETING. — AN OLD FRIKND, 
 
 In a few minutes more they lay on the flooring at the foot of the stairs, bolh 
 half-stunned and out of breath, and incapable of making much exertion. The 
 moon's beams were hidden for a moment, and Claude could hear and feel that 
 the stranger breathed heavily and rapidly, as he himself breathed ; he felt he was a 
 living rafin like himself, and he was slowly rising to gain his advantage of 
 position over the fallen man, who, however, did the same thing himself, and had 
 j)artially arisen. 
 
 The moon's rays now fell full upon them, and Claude Duval's gaze fell full upon 
 the face and features of the supposed spectrC; and he now knew them fully as 
 being those of Sixteen-string Jack. The rays of the moon, however, had con- 
 tributed to throw over them a peculiar pallid hue, and they looked so unearthly 
 that Claude could not help an involuntary shuddei, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Sixteen-string Jack, by Heaven !' 
 
 " \\hnt, Claude Duval !" exclaimed the spectre, endeavouiing to rise, while 
 Claude, hearing his name repeated iu such well known accents, recoiled a little. 
 
 " 'Tis Claude," said the stranger, " 'tis his voice." 
 
 " Yes. I am Claude Duval," he said, recovering himseli', and rising upon his 
 feet; '^but— but— " 
 
 *• I am Sixteen-string Jack. Are you sorry to meet an old friend, Claude? You 
 Bought one ?" 
 
 *' Yes," said Claude, " I should be glad to see Sixteen-string Jack, but I saw 
 him hanged, and you know — " 
 
 " Thereby hangs a tale," said Jack, *' which I will unfold to you in a more 
 fitting place. I was hanged, Claude, you are right enough. 1 wish I had known 
 it was you who was riding after me, I would have spared my nag." 
 
 ** Well,'' said Claude, ** there are some things that we believe, yet cannot under- 
 stand them. I thought you a dead man, and yet I cannot doubt you live now, 
 though I can't understand how it is." 
 
 " That you shall soon, Claude Duval," replied Jack. " You thought me a'dead 
 man — well, you were right ; 1 was hantjed, and I believe dead; but here I am again. 
 Come, we had better fdjourn to a more convenient place than this ; you are sure 
 of who 1 am, Claude, are you not?"
 
 134 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 The inquiry was made because Claude still seemed unable to recover his wonted 
 spirits aud decision, and continued to gaze upon Jack in a most marked 
 manner. 
 
 *' Yes," replied Claude Duval, " I believe, though I don't understand ; but I 
 suppose there is something behind, that will appear on explanation." 
 
 ** It will, Claude ; and now we will seek our horses," continued Jack ; *' I left 
 mine loose, and 1 may have some trouble to find him.* 
 
 " I secured my horse," said Claude. 
 
 ** Then perhaps you'll give me your assistance to catch mine, since it is at liberty, 
 thouL'h she is very quiet." 
 
 ** With all my heart, Jack ; but where do you intend to go to when you are 
 mounted?" 
 
 " Wherever you like, Claude, I am very retired at present, indeed I can't well 
 show mysell anywhere where I have been known, lest I should cause what is 
 termed a sen.<iation." 
 
 "And scare your old friends from their propriety." 
 
 " Indeed, you are right ; my supposed death has cut me off from all the benefits 
 of society." 
 
 *' You are worse off," added Claude Duval, "than if you had not the benefit 
 of clergy." 
 
 *' Something of the same ; but no matter. Where do you live ? in what cave do 
 you contrive to elude the friendship of Bow-street ?'* 
 
 " You shall see presently , do you know Golder's -green ?" 
 
 "Yes. well.'* 
 
 ** You know the 'Antlers' there, I dare say ? " 
 
 ** I know there is" such a place, though I cannot say I have been often there," 
 said Jack. ** I may have been in the house, and indeed I think I have ; but it is 
 all strange to me." 
 
 " Well, there I am in safety, and it's an easy ride to Finchley or to London, and 
 for the matter of that, it's right for all roads on this side of the Thames, you 
 know." 
 
 ** Yet there are good roads from London toEdgware, and good cross reads, to) ; 
 and then you are soon on the Uxbridge, Oxford, and Bath roads." 
 
 ** Handy for all quarters," replied Claude. " But dow, Jack, we may as wellget 
 out of this place, since we neither have any business here or any purpose." 
 
 They both yot out of the place which they had fallen into, and then quitted the 
 old mansion, and walked down the avenue in search of theircattle, with very different 
 feelings to those with which they entered it. 
 
 " You must confess," said Claude, '* since you showed your heels, that you 
 had no idea the meeting would end so pleasantly by half, when you rolled down 
 stairs." 
 
 *' I will admit that ; but then you will have to admit a little too, for I believe 
 in my heart that you had any notion but the right one as to who I was and what 
 I was." 
 
 " Truly, I had no notion as to what you were, for I had more than one doubt 
 upon the subject ; I resolved to follow you and discover who and what you 
 were, 1 was so disturbed at your 'appearance ; and hence it was I determined to ran 
 you down." 
 
 *' And 1 endeavoured to run away." 
 
 *' You have escaped once or twice before," replied Claude. " I was so struck 
 with your likeness, that \ was unable to act promptly enough to attract your at- 
 tention." 
 
 " And I," said Sixteen-string Jack, " saw in every man a Bow-street officer, 
 one who was about to drag me to that death from which I had been recalled, and 
 which I have no wish to have done again." 
 
 *' The recovery of the hanging V 
 
 ** Neither— I would not desire to be brought to life again if I were again 
 hanged.'* 
 
 .tr„,^.. i,...v,... L, 1— ^ . i ^i iifiT^i r- -^ -^ — .-.—.-—„_..: — .--- ■'^— — .-.i^^i. — :
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 135 
 
 *' Well, here ia my mare," said Claude, *'and now for yours. Where did you 
 leave her?" 
 
 " In the avenue. I had no time to secure her among the trees 3,s I at first 
 designed. I thought if you passed by you might overloojc the mansion— and if 
 not, when once you ^vere in the house, why I could slip out, find my nag, pnd off 
 again," 
 
 " A good plan," said Clau4e, " a v^ery good pl^ini for ai) escape ; but Tpa glad 
 it failed.'' 
 
 '* Why, yes, as it has turned out, I am very glad it did fail ; you kept so close 
 upon me, that I had no time even to tarn, much less to get out and mount my 
 horse.'* ' 
 
 *' Well, wa shall have a night of it yet." 
 
 *'I see my horse, Duval ; do you ride down to the entrance, he may attempt 
 that road, and you can then secure him. I've no mind to walk to the Antlers,'* 
 
 " And the loss of a horse may be the loss of ahead," remarked Claude, pat ing 
 the neck of his own mare ; *• nay, Sue has saved my neck more than once, and 
 I expect she may do so again." 
 
 ** A good horse on the road, Claude, is half the battle." 
 
 " You are right," said Claude, as he trotted down the avenue of trees until he 
 came to the entrance, where he pulled up and waited the coming of Sixteen- string 
 Jack or his horse. 
 
 The latter's horse, however, had been somewhat blown, and sho'' ed no design 
 of running away, and allowed his rider to seize the bridle, and to bestride him 
 without any opposition ; then turning his head, Jack joined Claude Duval at the 
 entrance, and once more quitted the vicinity of the old mansion. 
 
 " Toirards London ?" said Jack. 
 
 " Yes, for a quarter of an hour's ride," said Claude Duval, "and then we shall 
 be in safety." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 SIXTEEN'STRING JACK S RELATION. 
 
 The moon was high and the evening fine, not a cloud remained to chequer the 
 sable expanse, as black as night is painted by poets ; but there were thousands of 
 stars ; faint, it is true, were their mimic rays ; but the moon shone so brightly that 
 she robbed night of half its power, and set a charm upon nature, that those who 
 have seen it alone can appreciate its beauty. 
 
 They rode along at a gentle trot, now and then glancing to the right and 
 left, as they gained upon grounds where they could have a full view of the 
 country. 
 
 " There is nobody out to-night," said Jack, as they rode along the road for 
 some distance without meeting any one. 
 
 "No," replied Claude, "I see none; just now it is as well, unless indeed it 
 were some one who carried a heavy purse.'' 
 ^ " Exactly !" 
 
 They rode on in silence for about half a mile, and then they came in sight of 
 the " Antlers." 
 
 "Here," remarked Claude, ''we shall at all events be secure for the night, 
 But wc must go cautiously, for old Matthew does not like too much disturbance ; 
 he may have visitors, and that might be only to awaken them to the fact that we 
 are come." 
 
 ** Do as you will," said Jack ; " I am obedient to your directions ; the promised
 
 136 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 rest and friendly intercourse is a boon to me, for I have been compelled to make 
 myself scarce even among intimates." 
 
 •* I guess as mucb/' replied Claude ; "but bere we are. I will dismount and 
 give the accustonned signal." 
 
 Claude Duval dismounted, and approaching a window, hs gave a tap at the 
 pane in a particular manner, at the same time the ostler came out and presented 
 himself. 
 
 •' We want stable room for two," said Claude ; " the horaes want well looking 
 to, and to be fed — you understand me ?" 
 
 ** I do, sir : lord love yer, I knows yer ways. I'll feed *em like princes, and Til 
 take care of e'em — but step this way, sir, and you shall see the bed I've got made 
 for one of 'em.** 
 
 " Then make one for the other," observed Jack. 
 
 *' Ay, ay, sir, I will, in the same stable— no stint of corn and straw here, 1 
 can tell you, sir. I'm manager of all that.** 
 
 "In that case we shall not forget the management, if it's liberal," remarked 
 Jack. 
 
 They followed the ostler into the stable, and saw the horses carefully at- 
 tended to ; then they adjourned to the house, in the passage of which they heard 
 some sounds of mirth and jollity, but Claude opening a snail door, old Matihew 
 appeared. 
 
 •* I want a private room, Matthew,'* said Claude. 
 
 ** You can have one," said old Matthew, in a whisper. 
 
 *' Good ; now let us have some of your choicest wine, Matthew," said Claude, 
 " for I have a friend whom I wish to honour; let us have a good supper — any- 
 thing good and quick.** ^ 
 
 "You may depend upon all that," replied the landlord. "I was waiting for 
 you myself." 
 
 *• What, is t' ere any one here }" 
 
 *' No, no, all right — a few in the parlour, but we know them all ; but you wont 
 see them.'* 
 
 *• Come on tlien,'* replied Claude. *' Lights and wine — we will have a toast or 
 two before we see daylight again.** 
 
 The landloid preceded them up stairs with a light, while Claude Duval and 
 SIxteen-string Jack followed into a small but neatly furnished' room, where 
 the landlord placed the candle on the table, saying as he walked to the 
 door— 
 
 *' I'm glal to see any friend of yours, Mr. Duval, and will do my best to enter- 
 tain him and you too, Mr. Duval." 
 
 " I know that, Matthew ; you know what good cheer is!" 
 
 The landlord left the room, and in a few minutes an excellent supper was set 
 before them, of which they partook heartily, for their ride had given them appe- 
 tites fit to dojustice to a less enticing meal. 
 
 When the supper things were cleared away, and the wine placed on the table, 
 Claude Duval in pouring out a bumper said to his companion— 
 
 •' Jack, I wish you prosperity and a long life — I am glad to see one back whom 
 I had looked upon as dead !*' 
 
 "Thank you, Claude,** said Jack ; "all I say is, let the dead alone when once 
 they are gone,'* 
 
 Jack took a bumper, and after quaffing it, said— 
 
 " You remember when and where you last j artcd with me V -^^ 
 
 "In Holborn." 
 
 " Yes, I was on my road to Tyburn.'* 
 
 " You were," ?aid Claude, "and little did I expect to find you upon any other 
 road again !" 
 
 " Perhaps not— here I am, however- I got to Tyburn in due course, and was 
 elevated in the usual manner, and attended by many a gaping fool and admiring 
 brother— the gentlemen connected with the object of the procession ; the rope was
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 157 i 
 
 CLAUDE AND SIXTEEN -STRli^fi JACK BETRAYED 
 
 OLD MATTHEW. 
 
 a-^justed as they call it, that is, it was put round my throat with due deliberation 
 and regard to immediate choking. 
 
 ** The next thing I felt was a sudden shock — pain, and a feeling as if the world 
 wefe swimming away from me. 
 
 "The next ?ensauon I experienced was dreadful — or rather it was a compound 
 and colleciion of all manner of evils that the human body can suffer. 
 
 " 1 felt as if I were on fire ; nails were being driven into my body ; suppose I had 
 been frozen thoroughly, and then imagine me put incautiously before a large fire, 
 
 No. 18.
 
 138 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 vfhen part of ray members beeia to char, the body swells, and the blood begins to 
 circulate with an agony that words cannot paint.*' 
 
 " It must have been no joke," replied Claude. 
 
 *' Indeed you are rfght, it was the most fearful moment that ever I felt in ray 
 life ; I ilo not desire such another, even to gain li.'.'. I think that it lasted a long 
 time ; but of time I had no idea : I was suffering a martyrdom, an agony inex- 
 pressible. 
 
 •' At one moment I fancied flashes of lightning were passing through my body 
 from one end to the other. I thought I could see flashes of light shoot from my 
 eyes. 
 
 "In time I sat up ; I think I made many attempts to do so; but I found myself 
 in a reclining position. 
 
 *' Life was returning. I looked about. 1 thought the rope had broken when I 
 had hung a minute or so, and that 1 was sujffering the effects of reanimation and 
 choking; fearful that 1 should suffer this again, 1 said,— 
 
 *< ' For God's sake han^ me and have done with it ; 1 don't want to be butchered 
 in this way.* 
 
 " • Oh, a'help me, Fatlier Abraham,' said a voice, * he tinks he's got the halter 
 about his neck ! Take courage, my tear.* 
 
 *' I did not understand it all ; I looked, or tried to look — iUy eyes had been 
 Bwolleiij and the light came in too great abundance* and rendered all a mass of 
 confusion. 
 
 ** At length I discovered I was not in a crowd at Tyburn, but in a small 
 room in which there were lights and a fire^ with isoi&ie strange apparatus. I 
 started up. 
 
 *'* Where am I?* I exclaimed. 
 
 ** * Ah, tere's a question,' said the same voice. ' I ktlow ntoin? tat he lives. Oh, 
 yes» when a m6n a^ks such a question as tat, you may depetid, tho' he's abroad tL 
 bit, he's alive.' 
 
 " "The truth was, I had been takeii to a Jew chemist, who had resolved to 
 practice some experiments respecting the supposed theory of recovering people 
 who have been «lead. 
 
 '* I recovered ; but the recovery was a thousand times worse than the death 
 inflicted. They behaved with humanity to me. I was placed in some blankets, 
 and some strong stimulants administered to me. Indeed, between one thing 
 and another — chemical experiments, and what hfe called electricity and strong 
 water—I fell bewildered^ and completely unable to tell how many lights burned in 
 the room, and fell into a state of insensibility^ much resemblir g a deep sleep. 
 * * * ik * 4 * 
 
 *'• When I. awoke I found it was daylight. The sun's beams broke through a 
 small window, across which were several ii^on bars. I lay in bed, and there was 
 some attempt at conveniences — mean — but enough for all purposes. 
 
 " I got up in bed — I felt that there was something the matter with me — my 
 neck was horribly painful. I immediately recollected the halter, and put my hand 
 up to my neck, when I found a large mark or swelling, at least, it felt so to me." 
 
 ** An uncomfortable sensation," remarked Claude. 
 
 '* Very," said Jack— "most uncomfortable, both from the fact and the associa- 
 tion, and so I thought at the time.'* 
 
 " You, however, recollect nothing?" 
 
 ** I do ; and what amazed me most was, that the time between the moment 
 when I was turned off, and that in which I came to life again, to me appeared to 
 be one and the same, — there was no interval between them, though, from what I 
 learned afterwards, it must have been two hours, at least, before 1 survived."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 SIXTEEN-STRING JACK's CONTRACT WITH THE JEW APOTHECARY. 
 
 " An unpleasant affair, but yet a narrow escape." 
 
 *' Well," said Jack, ** I can hardly call it an escape, because I was put through 
 the ordeal, and I absolutely entered the jaws of the monster, though 1 live to tell 
 the tale." 
 
 " And came out at the other end." 
 
 *' 1 certainly passed through all that I could. I could have felt, or been con- 
 scious of, no raoie, had I been left alone for a hundred years.'* 
 
 " That is true,'" remarked Claude, thoughtfully. " Had a bullet gone through 
 your brain, it wohM have prevented the possibihty of your recovery; but 1 think 
 you would have been conscious of no more." 
 
 •' Decidedly not," said Jack ; *' however, I found myself very feverish, and very 
 totterish. I was weak. 1 laid hold of the water at hand and drank. I felt myself 
 revived, though swallowing was not accomplished without a slight reminiscence of 
 the halter. I suffered some pain. 
 
 ** I began now to recollect the past — I recollected Tyburn — I recollected indis- 
 tinctly, the occurrences of the night before. I began t(^ 'ress myself, and I 
 succeeded in accomplishing my object. 
 
 " When I had walked about once or twice, I was anxious to leave the room, 
 and proceeded to open the door; but here I found myself at laulr, for the door was 
 secured. I examined the lock, and found there was no ke}. 
 
 *' I was puzzled. I looked a^ain. The key was evidently on !!)• other side. 
 
 *' Well, thought I, this is a very strasge affair. Locked in — the windows 
 barred — hanged and all. Was it a dream, or had aaybody secured me comfortable 
 lodgings in the next world ?" 
 
 " Ah, that was well thought of." 
 
 ** Indeed you are right ; but I hadn't been thus puzzled long before I heard 
 some one approach. The door was unlocked, and a yery strange and mysterious 
 child of Israel appeared." 
 
 •' Quite dramatic,'' said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, and with your permission, as I have had reason to know, I may add, quite 
 tragic too. • 
 
 *' The Jew entered, and stood for a moment looking at me with a twinkling eye 
 and pleased countenance, in which was a great deal of cunning, mixed with 
 mystery. 
 
 " ' Ah, my tear, so there you are, peautiful and plooming. Oh, you ish 
 nish ' 
 
 " < Why,* I replied, * I am better than I could expect to be.' 
 
 **'0h, no tout of it, my tear, I heard you walk about, so I thought yoii 
 wanted your preakfaet.' 
 
 •" 1 am obliged to you,' I replied ; * but I have much to thank somebody for, 
 and I don't know yet whom.' 
 
 " 'Oh, never mind about that, you may tank me — I did it all, you know ; but 
 you needn't tell anybody, you know. But come down stairs, and we will talk 
 over the matter. Come along, come along.' 
 
 " I accordingly followed him, and we entered into a small apartment, wher« 
 there was a breakfast laid for two. 
 
 " Sit town, my tear, and eat, and trink, and be merry, for to-raorrow we die, 
 he! he ! he I' 
 
 *" Yesterday we did, if you please,' said I ; ' but how came I here, I don't know; 
 but nevertberless I can enjoy my food, I think, despite all the inconvenience of a 
 sore ring round my gullet, thanks to the halter.' 
 
 " • Ah, never mind, my tear, you are safe ; eat, trink, and be wise, that's pctter 
 you know.'
 
 ] 40 G ENTLE M A N J A CK ; OR, 
 
 " The old Jew locked the door, and put the key in lib pocket, saving as he did 
 
 '0> — 
 
 '* ' Now, my tear, we can have a little conversation without any fear of inter- 
 ruption. You know very well you were hanged, do you not, eh, ray tear ?' 
 
 " • Yes/ I replied. 
 
 ** ' Very well. Now listen, but go on wi'h your preakfast ; you needn't leave 
 off eating. You -were going to say you were very gratefal, and all that sort of 
 ihing ; put never mind, you may show your gratitude if you have any, in a rauch 
 petter way than that, 'cause 'tis all worta.' 
 
 tt I Very well,' said I, eating very heartily of some bacon, * show me how, and I 
 will do it.' 
 
 *' • You know, my tear, though I brought you to life again, yet if I were to let 
 the runners know the least i:jkling of the fact, you'd soon see Tyburn again.' 
 
 *' * Yes, but that cannot be your object, else why did you recall me to life to treat 
 me thus?' 
 
 "'For this reason, my tear — you and I may do a litttle business, that may be 
 mutually beneficial.* 
 
 «* ' With all my heart,* said I. 
 
 *' * Well, then, my tear, you know life is worth having, and you will not object 
 to pay me fifteen shillings out of every pound you get on easy terms.* 
 
 «« « Well,' said I, somewhat startled, * you mean to say you'll take five shillings 
 out of every twenty !* 
 
 '**No, my tear, fifteen out of every twenty — ^not take, but you'll give — not 
 lake at all, my tear— 'lis life, and life is* very precious, very precious, indeed, and 
 worth it.* 
 
 « The terms are hard,' I replied, • but I will agree to them ; but I am atraid 
 that I shall be an unproductive servant, seeing I have neither horse nor means.' 
 
 " * All that shall be cared for, my tear,* replied the Jew, * now you have agreed 
 to my terms ; but beware of playing me false, for I have means of knowing 
 things that yDu cannot believe, or even understand ; so let me caution you.* 
 
 " * No fear of that,' said I ; 'but when do we commence operations V 
 
 •* * As soon as you please — to-morrow?" 
 
 '* 'Agreed,' said I. On the morrow I was put in possession of a good horse, 
 suit of clothes, case of pistols, and a purse with some ten or fifteen gold pieces." 
 
 "Well, said Claude Duval, "amost extraordinary circumstance ; but at what 
 a moderate price you were required to pay for your peimission to live." 
 
 "Very." 
 
 **And you paid it?" 
 
 •* I did ; 1 couldn't help it. 1 always found the Jew at my elbow. I once, 
 at Finchley, stopped a banker with about six hundred pounds.* 
 
 ** A good night's work. Jack." 
 
 *< It was. I made up my mind to quit London for the west of England, and 
 had scarcely set spurs to my horse, when I ran up against my friend the Jew. who 
 was always at hand in this manner, appealing where least expected, how I could 
 not tell." 
 
 *' He followed you," 
 
 " I can't tell ; I kept a sharp look-out after him, but never found him doing so ; 
 though the road before and behind was open for miles, there he was. 
 
 *' * Money,' said he. 
 
 it t V'ery well,' said I, and I gave him a hundred guineas. 
 
 '* * Three hundred and fifty guineas more, my tear,' said he ; * and if you were 
 generous, you'd give me my travelling expenses too." 
 
 " I gave the money ; I should have been tracked if I had not, and it's only by 
 paying him that I do not get into the hands of the officers. I don't know which 
 IS worst, to get taken and be hanged, or to pay him." 
 
 •* It must be very irksome, but can't be got rid of." 
 
 " It seems not. I would do it immediately if I could, but I can't succeed; 
 what to do I don't know, save it is that indefinite thing, the best one I can." 

 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 141 
 
 " Ar'd this Jew always attends npoi you thus^ to receive the money, does he. 
 Jack?" 
 
 " Yts, he does, and what is more, be seems always to have some kind of infor- 
 mation as to what I ought to give him." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 CAPTURE OF JACK AND HIS FRIEND CLAUDE DUVAL. 
 
 Therk was but Uttle time indeed to make anything in the shape of comment 
 upon the extraordinary tale toldby Sixteen-string Jack, for events now took place 
 of a nature calculated to obliterate all remembrance of it for a time in the all- 
 absorbing interest of the present. 
 
 Claude had just raised his wine glass to his lips, and was about to 'say some- 
 thing, when old Matthew came into the room in a hurried manner, exclaiming — 
 
 " Claude, Claude, there is a travelling carriage at the door. You need not let 
 such an opportunity escape you. Come to the window and you can see it easily. 
 This way; this way. Come along. You are in luck to-nlgh't, my boy, 1 can tell 
 you, for I have already seen a purse well filled with money." 
 
 At this intimation, both Claude and Jack naturally enough rose hurriedly from 
 the table and proceeded to the window, where they flattened their noses against 
 the glass in a vain effort to see anything on the outside of the old inn. 
 
 All was dim and obscure. 
 
 "There's no carriage," said Claude, " that I can see. Why, ©Id Matthew, you 
 must be gifted by the faculty of second sight; as the poet says, you 'see what 
 others cannot see.* * 
 
 Scarcely had these words escaped the lips of Claude than he found himself 
 seized by each arm, Aid upon turning from the window he felt the cold muzzle 
 of a pistol at each of his temples, while a voice said— 
 
 '* You are my priiioner," 
 
 *' Prisoner ?•» 
 
 "Yes, make any resistance, and you are a dead man. Our orders and our 
 determination are to lake you, whether you be dead or alive, and by Heaven we 
 intend to do it." 
 
 ** Well, gentlemen," said Claude, who felt the perfect futility of attempting 
 anything at such a moment, " I suppose I need not ask who you are P" 
 
 *' We are officers, of course." 
 
 " Very good, and may I ask if old Matthew there knew anything beforehand of 
 this little projected affair ?'* 
 
 «' Yes, he—" 
 
 ** Hold your tongue, you fool," cried Matthew. 
 
 " It's quite sufficient," added Chude. ** You have betrayed me, but remember 
 we shall meet again." 
 
 ** Ah, Jack, so they have nabbed you, too, have they ? Well, it can*t be helped, 
 and there's no use in making the worst of anything; but you may rest assured, 
 Matthew, that I will settle scores with you." 
 
 Matthew tried lo laugh, but surely never had anything so unlike a genuine laugh, 
 wi.h any real mirth in it, come from the lips of man. It was qui?e clear that he 
 positively writhed under the fear that came over him at the threats of Claude 
 Duval. 
 
 Had Claude betrayed passion and excitement, he might have had some hopes 
 that in cooler moments the threat would be forgotten ; but when such a person 
 with such absolute calmness, announced his determioation of settling scores \vith 
 him, it was enough to make Master Matthew wince.
 
 142 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ** You — you — don't mean what you say, Claude ?'' he stammered, ** You will 
 find' out that I am not guilty. I have nothing to do with it. How can I prevent 
 the tips from grabbing you?" 
 
 Claude disdained to give any answer to this whining appeal, but Sixteen-string 
 Jack, whose indignation showed itself mucVmore boisterously than Claude's, 
 spoke — 
 
 " You could have helped it by not peaching," he said ; *' but beware, for if any- 
 thing happens to Claude to prevent him from fulfilling his promise to settle scores 
 with you, remember that I owe you a similar debt/' 
 
 There can be no question but at that moment mine host of the Antlers bitterly 
 repented the part he had played. The heavy drops of perspiration stood upon 
 his brow, and, although he again and again tried to laugh and mutter something 
 about the good of society, he was clearly in a most wretched state of mind. 
 
 '^ Come," said one of the officers, " we cannot stop while you have an alter- 
 cation. We hat'e only done our duty. You are highwaymen, and we are officers, 
 so as cats catch mice, we catch yqu." 
 
 *• You may not find us such mice," said Claude. 
 
 " Well, that's as it may happen ; but to town we must go to-night," 
 
 *' I hav€ one favour to ask,'* said Claude, 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 *' That you "»*ill not place irons upon my wrists." 
 I " Hark you," said one of the officers, " it has been said that, whether you prp" 
 mised good or evil to any one, you never broke your word yet. Now if you will 
 say, upon your honour, that you will make no attempt to escape, you may ride 
 to London with us as comfortably as possible, and with your hands as free as 
 mine." 
 
 Claude was silent for a moment or two, and then, in a low voice, he said—. 
 
 *• I cannot promise." 
 
 *' Exactly," said the officer ; 'fa nod is as good asa wink to a blind horse. I 
 did not suppose you' would make such a promise, so on goes the darbies." 
 
 Claude made no opposition. It would have been madness, and possibly might 
 have resulted in his receiving some personal injury, which would have prevented 
 him from making any effort to obtain his liberty. All he did was to complain 
 that the handcuffs were much too tight, upon which the officer, after finding upon 
 examination that there really was a deep indention upon his wrist, apparently 
 from the pressure of the irons, changed them for a larger pair which he had in 
 his pocket. 
 
 As to Sixteen-string Jack, he seemed too much depressed to say anything for 
 a time. The anxious consideration in his mind was, whether he could actually be 
 hung again. 
 
 *' We have overheard your strange story," said the officer to him, as he was 
 locking the handcuffs, " You ought to have given up the old trade after such an 
 escape/* 
 
 *' If the old trade were to be given up," said Jack, *♦ what would become of 
 you?" 
 
 *' Ah, that's true enough." 
 
 The whole party were soon mounted and at the door of the Antlers, where the 
 thing that gave Claude most concern was, that he was not permitted to mount 
 his own horse, but was placed upon one belonging to the officers, while one of 
 those personages mounted Sue. 
 
 Claude smiled faintly as he said — 
 
 *' You had better let me ride rny own steed." 
 
 " No, thank you," said the officer. 
 
 " Very well. Hilloa ! Up, lass — ofi^ and away — woa ! Chirp, chirp !" 
 
 No sooner did. Sue hear these cries, than with a snort of defiance she rose upon 
 her hind legs, and then coming down again very suddenly, she made a demi-vtult, 
 and the officer lay sprawling in the road, to .the great amusement of hiscompaniong, 
 who wonderfully enjoyed the joke»
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 143 
 
 The officer managed to scramble to his feet in some way or another, and then 
 as he rubbed his head, which had received rather a severe concussion, he 
 muttered, — 
 
 *' Confound the beast, it is as wild as though it never had carried any one. I'll 
 be hanged if I ride it." 
 
 " Will youp" said Claude to the other officer. 
 
 '' No, thank you.'' 
 
 '* Then, gentlemen, I presume I may?" 
 
 *' Oh, yes ; confound the brute. Mount it yourself, and see what you can 
 make of it.'* 
 
 Claude smiled, and calling Sue to him, who came with all the gentleness of a pet 
 lamb, he mounted, and to the surprise of the officers, no creature could possibly 
 be more docle than she was. 
 
 " We have heard," said one, *' much of your mare." 
 
 "And let you have heard what you will," replied Claude, "you cannot have 
 heard too much of her excellences. I love her now, next to one other breathing 
 thing, dearer than I love else in all the world. She has saved me many a 
 time.* 
 
 *' Ah, your reign is over now !" said the officer. 
 
 '*We shall see," said Claude. 
 
 Matthew the innkeeper did not show himself again, and now the horses being 
 put to a trot, the whole party went off at good speed towards London. 
 
 From that moment Claude dismissed all other objects from his brain, and gave 
 up his whole intellect to a consideration of the means of escaping from the custody 
 of the officers. 
 
 In this consideration he felt that he must rather hope to take advantage of 
 circumstances as they might arise, that in any way attempt to evade those circum- 
 stances, and he thought that it would go hard with him indeed if som«thing did 
 not take place, even during the course of so briet a journey as was before him, by 
 which he should be able to make some strong effort to free himself. 
 
 The next thing he now wished was to get private speech of Sixteen-string 
 Jack for a few moments, but the officers took good care to keep .between their pri- 
 soners, so that anything of a private character takiug place would be necessrily 
 likewise communicated to those ears which it would be most urgent to keep it 
 from. 
 
 During these anxious considerations, Claude and his capturers arrived at the 
 verge of Hampstead Heath, and at the moment the party was emerging from 
 the heath, there came upon their ears suoh a terrific clap of thunder, that it was 
 enough really to appal the stoutest heart. 
 
 The officers paused and looked alarmed, which alarm was by no means 
 decreased as a sudden intense darkness swept over the face of nature, and made 
 no object even faintly visible within the space of half-a-dozen yards. Another 
 peal of thunder followed, almost sufficiently soon to mingle with the echoes of 
 the first. 
 
 ** What is all this 2" said one of the officers. 
 
 ** Only a little storm," said Claude. ** Are you afraid P If you are, I and my 
 friend will show you the right way, and take charge of you. You may depend 
 upon us. 
 
 "Afraid! No! no!" 
 
 " You speak as though you were !'' 
 
 A flash of lightning, of so awfully dazzling a character, that even in broad 
 daylight it must have been absolutely for the moment blinding, lit up the scene. 
 The officers instantly closed their eyes. The horses reared and showed every 
 sign of fear, but Claude did not even at such a moment of consternation as that, 
 think it worth while to make the attempt that he meant to make. A randi|in 
 shot, and the officers had their pistols ready, nwlght have rather ingloriously 
 terminated his career. 
 
 <^ \ ii 1 iiii» n II ■ I m i . ii ji . ■ i n iiii I . -^ n m ^ ^ 1 1 ,, . ^ . . . ii.i B .. . ■■.■i ]u i. aw i i| » , i ■ " ■' ' ■ "
 
 144 
 
 GENTLEMi^N JACR. 
 
 *' Steady, Jack/' was all he said, and that was in order to let Sixteen-string 
 Jack know that he was fully alive to what was passing around them. 
 
 *' Spur OD," cried the officer, who seemed to be best &ble to stand the terrors of 
 the storm which had begun with such unexampled fury. '* Spur on, and let us get 
 to Camden Town. There is a good lock-up there, and there we can wait till the 
 storm is over. Gome on, come on, and remember, prisoners, that I fire at you if 
 ycu make the least attempt to escape. I am not one who often misses what he 
 means to hit." 
 
 Claude made no reply, but accommodated the speed of Sue to the pace at 
 which the officers chose to go, so that the whole party swept down Hampstead Hill, 
 during one of the most terrific storms of thunder and lightning upon record, at a 
 pace that, if any one of the horses had stumbled, it must have hurled its rider to 
 absolute destruction at once. 
 
 Horses, however, by some dispensation, seldom stumble when going at a break* 
 neck speed, and the whole party reached the lower tract of land known then and 
 now by the general name of Pancras Vale, in safety. 
 
 At that period, fields and hedge-rows upon each side of the way were the only 
 distinguishing characteristics of a spot where now the railway and the suburban 
 villa share all between them. The storm each moment increased in violence, and 
 by the time they had gone half a mile further, and were fairly in the suburbs of 
 Camden Town, a hail shower came on, of such amazing force, that the horses 
 winced under the blows they received from the stones, with which they were 
 literally pelted. 
 
 *' Ride on, ride on !" cried the officr, as he saw the party were getting scattered 
 a little, " ride on, the lock-up is in sight.*' 
 
 It would seem that Sixteen-string Jack at this moment nad an idea that Claude 
 was letting a valuable opportunity for escape pass by him, and being quite unable 
 to control his impatience, he cried, — 
 
 " Claude ! Claude ! remember ray fate !** 
 
 " Peace," said Claude, *' I bide ray time.*' 
 
 The ofHcers grasped their pistols tighter, and swore many oaths to the eflfect 
 that instant death should be the result of the slightest attempt to escape ; but Claude 
 said with wonderful calmness, — 
 
 ** I am fatigued, and quite willing to go to the lock-up." 
 
 The exclamation of Sixteen-string Jack had had the effect, however, of putting 
 the officers more upon their guard, so that if Claude had meditated any movement 
 it certainly ^ould have been more difficult than before; but as he really did not 
 just at that time, no real mischic-f was done. 
 
 Luckily for them all, the hail-storm did not last above two minutes ; had it kept 
 up with ica first fury for any long period of time, it would have been utterly impos 
 sible to have borne up against it ; it ceased, however, at about a couple oi hundred 
 yards from the lock-up. 
 
 This lock-up at Camden Town, which in its day had the honour of holding some 
 very celebrated criminals, stood very near the corner of the present Park-street, 
 but it was entirely swept away in the year 1801, when some great changes took 
 place in that locality. 
 
 It was a strong compact building of one story, with an immense roof, in which 
 there were small flat red tiles, enough to serve for a whole row of more modern 
 houses. When we say it was a building of one story, we were not counting some 
 lofts just beneath its roof, the height of which was not above four feet at the 
 utmost. The place occupied a good-sized bit of ground, and from time to time so 
 much had been done to make it a place of security, into which might be thrust the 
 footpads and others that infested the North-road, that it was imagined by the 
 authorities to be al lost impregnable. 
 
 Such, however, was not the case, as we shall see. 
 
 " Thank the fates," said one of the officers, as he drew the rein of his horse. 
 **hfte we are at the lock-up. I never rode through such a storm in all my 
 life."
 
 -» — -*<- 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 145 
 
 CLAUDE AND SIXTEEN-STRTNG JACK ESCAPING FROM THE LOCK-UP. 
 
 " Nor I," said the other. 
 
 " I have, frequently," said Claude. 
 
 At the abrupt cessation of the trampling of the horses' feet at the door of the 
 lock-up, a man with a red worsted night- cap upon his head, and ?. pipe in his 
 mouth, looked out, saying— 
 
 " Hilloa ! any customers for me ?" 
 
 '* Yes," replied the officer. " Here is Claude Duval/ , 
 
 « The devil ! You are Mr. JefFeries, I think ?" 
 
 " The same. Open the door.'* 
 
 The officials of the place were soon all in a state of commotion. Lights flashed 
 
 •Mo. TO
 
 146 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 upon the darkness for a moment, but to be extinguished by the dashing rain that 
 had succeeded the hail, and now came down in one combined sheet of water, and 
 in the midst of all this, Claude and Jack were ushered into the building. 
 
 The outer room was long and narrow. A bright fire blazed at one end of it, and 
 above the chimney-piece was a goodly show of blunderbusse?', pistols, and cutlasses; 
 but it was not in this apartment that the prisoners were allowed to remain. A 
 door was opened which conducted to what was called the strong room, where the 
 more dangerous class of prisoners were stowed away. 
 
 •* Here/* said the constable, as he pushed through, " you may make yourselves 
 as comfortable as princes, if you only know how to set about it, and if you don't, 
 I'm sure I can't tell you, so you can set your ingenuity to work to find out. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!» 
 
 The door of the cell was closed upon Jack and Claude. 
 
 All was darkness with the exception of a few dim rays of light that found 
 their way through a narrow grating at the top of the door, and that grating, in 
 addition to admitting a dim uncertain kind of light, 'had likewise the faculty of 
 admitting the converstion of those without. 
 
 But if such was the case, it may be fairly concluded by a parity of reason- 
 ing, that whatever might be said by the prisoners might reach the ears of the 
 officers-— a consummation by no means, to the apprehension of Claude, devoutly 
 to be wished. 
 
 " VTe are lost!" said Jack: 
 
 " Say yeu so ?" responded Claude,4n a voice which was far from being of a 
 desponding character. 
 
 " Yes— what can save us ?" 
 
 " Silence and discretion," whispered Claude, in the ear of Jack. *'Doyou 
 not perceive, that by the nature of the arrangements of this place, that any 
 words we may say above the merest whisper will be overheard in the outer 
 room V 
 
 " I did not notice." 
 
 *• Jack, Jack ! you are as diiferent from your former self as possible. Time was 
 when you were so bold and so daring that I was emulous of being like you ; but 
 now, if my eyes did not convince me that it was you indeed whom I am with, I 
 should doubt your identity." 
 
 Jack was silent for a few moments, and then he said, in a low, dejected 
 voice — 
 
 " I will own to you, Claude, that since that horrible day when I was dragged 
 to the gallows, to be made a spectacle of to gaping thousands, I have not been the 
 same man that I was before, A sadness and nervousness has come over me. The 
 shock of that day's proceedings has left me little more than the weak shadow of 
 what I once was V* 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 CLAUDE DUVAL's ESCAPE, WITH SIXTEEN-STRING JACK, FROM THE lOCK-tJt il 
 
 CAMDEN TOWN. 
 
 SoMfe lime was passed in silence ; Claude Duval remained absorbed in thoughti 
 his active and energetic mind was engaged in examining the position he was. in, 
 not with regnrd to .iny amendment of his condition, but to a total change. Expe- 
 dient after expedient presented themselves, and were rejected as being impracti- 
 cable ; while his companion, Sixteen-string Jack, was absorbed in thoughts that 
 might almost bfi called fears.
 
 LUPE ON THE ROAD. 147 
 
 For this there was a resonable cause, for what Jack had recently suffered 
 was enough to shake the nerves of the boldest and the best ; for what between 
 hanging and resuscitation. Bow-street. Runners, and a mysterious and omnipresent 
 Jew, he was unable to have an entire command over his nerves or his thinking 
 faculties. 
 
 Besides this, they were in a terrible fix : caged in a strong room, which they had 
 no tools to force, and a number of men armed on the outside, where there was the 
 only chance of an escape. 
 
 ** Well,*' muttered Claude, between his teeth, ** this is a sudden and unexpected 
 change, thanks to old Mathew." 
 
 " Yes/* said Sixteen- string Jack, *' I begin to feel the halter round my neck 
 already — don't you?'* 
 
 *♦ I never had it there yet," remarked Claude, *' and I don't even now think it 
 will be there yet, though I confess we are very securely caged." 
 
 ** Hush ! they'll hear you. 1 w ish it were possible to lay down and die at once. 
 I've had enough to satisfy me with the pomp of suffering— I wish to escape all 
 that " 
 
 " Don't talk of dying," said Claude Duval, " we must encounter the grim 
 tyrant some time, but at the same time, I do not say I like it, and yet I am ready 
 to run my chance among those men." 
 
 *' What, the officers here ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh, it would be hopeless — don't think of it, Claude." 
 
 *' But I do think of it,. Jack— you have lost some of your nerve." 
 
 " I dare say,'* said Jack, dejectedly. 
 
 ** Never mind, Jack — keep your spirits up, man— you are worse now than when 
 I shook hands with you on Holborn-hill." 
 
 " Very likely — I've been hanged since then, you know." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but listen to the officers, and let us ascertain how the game is 
 to go with them — if we can learn their intentions, then \*e may be able to 
 make intentions of our own, and, what is more, we may be able to execnte 
 them." 
 
 Jack offered neither remark nor objection — he was completely cowed by the 
 late events — his nerves were completely shattered, and his spirits had sunk. 
 
 Meanwhile the officers were loud and noisy — theie was much congratulation and 
 boasting. 
 
 '* Well," said the keeper of the lock-up, " so you've nabbed the gentleman at 
 last, have you ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and a glorious haul it will be." 
 
 "You'll be set up for life." 
 
 " Very nearly— a few such hits, old boy, and I'm a made man, and every one 
 of us, and no mistake." 
 
 '* Did you have much trouble to take him ?" 
 
 *' No. It was a planned affair. The old landlord put me up to the affair — an 
 old dog — but he'll be well paid for it— and I came upon them when they couldn't 
 resist." 
 
 " He shall be well paid," said Claude to himself, " he is an old dog, as sure as 
 dogs wear tails." 
 
 " Well,'* remarked the lock-up keeper. ** I tell you what, you are an infernal 
 shabby fellow if you don*t stand handsomely all round, and make a happy night 
 of it for once." 
 
 ** I'll do it — but the prisoners must be looked to. I'm not going to lose such 
 a bird for a glass." 
 
 *' Oh, as to that— we ain't going to get drunk ; besides, we can go in every half 
 hour and see if they are all right, that will make your mind easy— besides, they 
 are handcuffed, and there is a strong door between this and them." 
 
 This was apparently well relished, and some liquor was sent out for, and fvs a 
 
 •~ ' ■ ....... - ■ ■ ., , ■ Sib' 1 , iiH I ll>| - I I Mil W llill II
 
 148 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, ] 
 
 commencement, three officers came to visit the prisoners and see that they were 
 quite safe. j ! 
 
 '• You will be well taken care of here, Mr. Duval," said one of them ; ** there's 
 little ceremony, tho' — but you'll have enough of that by-and-bye, when your turn 
 \s come.'* I 
 
 *' Yes," replied Claude, " you say very right — but all I can say is, that I am j 
 not hanged yet.*' I 
 
 *' All in good time," said the officer, shutting the door with a hang, and turning ! 
 the lock. The liquor came, and they commenced a carousal — drinking toasts— i 
 singin^^ songs, and every now and then making an examination of the prisoners, j 
 
 *' Now,'* remarked Claude Duval, after he had been listening to their sounds ; 
 for more'than an hour. " Now the time to make an escape is come. Can you ; 
 get your handcuffs off ?" I 
 
 *' No," said Jack. " And as for an escape, I don't see the time or the means. 
 —It's all up, Claude." ' 
 
 '* I never give in, Jack. If you can't get your handcuffs off, I can," and as he 
 spoke he slipped his hands through his irons, which were somewhat too big, and 
 then he examined Sixtecn-string Jack's. 
 
 The officers came again— but seeing them both as they were before, they re- 
 turned to their carousal — while the light they brought had given Claude a momen- 
 tary glance at a piece of iron — or something that glistened on the ground at a 
 little distance from ^ em. 
 
 Claude got up m i exan)ined it. — It was a key dropped by one of the officers or 
 turnkey— a handcuff key. 
 
 '* The very thing," muttered Claude, '* Now Jack, you handcuffs, let me see 
 what I can do with them." j 
 
 Claude put the key in, but it was evidently not the key that had been used for 
 them before, but" it was something for Claude to have a key at all, that was a 
 great point, for having got it> though the wrong one, yet it was an instrument of 
 which he could make some use, and by dint of using great exertions, he contrived 
 to make an effective use of it, for he forced it round a part of the way, just enough , 
 to liberate the ring. | 
 
 '* There," said Claude, " now. Jack, you must do as I do, and when the officerg 
 next come, rush upon them, and we must fight our way out." I 
 
 " It will be desperate." | 
 
 *' Granted, and we must be desperate too ; they are more than half overcome by 
 liquor, perhaps fully three parts intoxicated,^we are more than a match for any six 
 such men." * i 
 
 Jack made no reply, he followed Claude Duval to the door, where they had not 
 been a mmute, before two of the officers, the most active of the lot, came, and not 
 seeing them in the place where they last saw them, they made a rush into the 
 room. i 
 
 " Jack," said Claude, as he quickly got out, and Jack following, he drew the 
 door to and secured it. " That lessens the number. Now for it. Jack, don't 
 flinch." 
 
 The officers in&ide no sooner saw themselves shut in, than they guessed what 
 was the matter, and gave the alarm. Three or four more presented themselves 
 to prevent their fight, and shots were fired, but Claude flung both pair of hand- 
 cuffs at their heads, and then flung himself upon them, seconded by Jack, who 
 was rendered active by the prospect of escape, and they speedily overcame all 
 opposition, not without danger or blows, and then when outside the lock-up, 
 Claude secured the door of that also, and in a few minutes more they were some 
 hundred yards from the scene of their adventure. i 
 
 " Where shall we find refuge now ?" said Sixteen-string Jack. 
 ** In London, of course," said Claude. " If you wish to lose your friends, or 
 to evade yeur foes, let London be your place of refuge j but lam not going with- 
 out Sue." I
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 149 
 
 ** Good God! you will ruin all by remainicg merely to look after a horse. 
 Let ine implore you to come away at once, Claude, and consider your own safety.'* 
 
 " Do not attempt to ad rise me on such a subject." 
 
 " But listen to reason." 
 
 '* Jack, you are free to go where you like and leave me. You know I can look 
 after myself. Do not fancy I am angry with you by what I say, for I will meet 
 you were you like in London ; but you might an well attempt to turn by your 
 breath the current of the winds of heaven, as now prevent me from making an 
 effort to recover my gallant steed,*' 
 
 " Well, well." 
 
 *' You will go V 
 
 •«No, Claude, no; I will share your fortunes and assist you." 
 
 " That was spoken like yourself, Jack. And now let me tell you the task will 
 not be a very difficult one, for in yonder outhouse all the horses are placed." 
 
 The door of the outhouse was well secured by a large padlock, but a stone of 
 some half hundred weight which happened to be lying in the road furnished Claude 
 with a ready means of smashing the fastening and opening the door. 
 
 " You will not in the dark," said Jack, " be able to pick out your horse from 
 the others." 
 
 *' There is no occasion," said djlfeude, ** to make the attempt." Then he gave 
 a peculiar whistle, and in another moment there was a bustle in the stable, and 
 out rushed Sue. » 
 
 The saddle had not been removed, and with a look of triumph at Jack, Claude 
 caressed his steed for a moment ; then plunging into the outhouse, he caught 
 the first horse he could lay hands on for Jack, and in another minute they were 
 off and awav. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE NOTE FROM CICELY AND THE OPPORTUNB AKRIVAL, 
 
 It was towards London that our adventurers took their course, and for more 
 than a mile they galloped on at a speed which rendered coRversation entirely out 
 of the question. When, however, they got near to the end of Tottenham-eourt- 
 road Claude relaxed his speed a little. 
 
 "Jack," he said, " you know as many places of safety in London as I do. 
 Only name where you wish to go, and 1 will soon come to you.'* 
 
 ^'Can you not accompany me t" said Jack in a desponding tone. 
 
 « No ; I have some one to make a visit to who is dearer to me than life itself." 
 
 ** Must it be so ?" 
 
 ** Indeed it must. I am sorry to see you so much depressed. Rally yourself. 
 Come, come. Jack, remember your former reputation. Why, there was not a 
 knight of the road who could come near to you at one time, and now the merest 
 tyro would get the better of you." 
 
 " It is true — it is true." 
 
 " Well, knowing it to be so, why do you net make a gallant resistance against 
 such a state of mind V* 
 
 *' Say no more to me, Claude. I wish that I were dead." 
 
 *' We must talk over this' at another time, Jack. In the meantime let me ask 
 you if you are well provided with money, because if you are not, of course my 
 purse is your own." 
 
 To Claude's surprise he heard some deep sobs come from Jack, and when he 
 looked closely at him he saw that he was nearly falling from his horse. 
 
 *' Good heavens ! Jack," he said, *e what is the meaning of all this ?" 
 
 k
 
 160 GENTLEMAN JACK J OR, 
 
 •* Claude, will you do me ah act of mercy ?" 
 
 " Yes, gurely/V 
 
 " Take one of your pistols then, if you happen to have one about you, and blow 
 my brains out." 
 
 ** And act of murder, and of folly, you ought to have named that, Jack, and 
 not one of mercy. Yon must not groan in this way, or you will make nae fency 
 that you have gone out of your senses altogether, and I shall have to be at the 
 expense of keeping you com/ortable at some lunatic asylum." 
 
 Claude said this in rather a laughing manner, for his object was totally Jack 
 out of his despondency ; but, on the contrary, the mental agony of the latter rather 
 seemed to increase than to decrease, and turning to Claude, he said— 
 
 " I will delay my confession no longer. I have something to say." 
 
 ** Confession V 
 
 ** Yes, confession.'* 
 
 ** But you have nothing to confess to me." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, I have." 
 
 *• Well, well, go on then. Alas, poor fellow I" thought Claude to himself, 
 " is it as I suspected, his. wits have, decidedly forsaken him. That hanging busi- 
 ness has been the destruction of him, and it is a great pity the Jew doctor ever 
 restored him to life again after he had once shut his eyes upon this world.". 
 
 *' May I speak V* added Jack. 
 
 " Oh, certainly. Come now. Jack, tell me that you are having a jest with me, 
 and 1 shall be well pleased to forgive you for it, although just now, when many 
 cares assail me, it is rather ilUtitned." 
 
 *^ Jest !" repeated Sixteen. string Jack, ** I shall never jest again." 
 
 *' For Heaven's sake, then, tell me what you mean.'* 
 
 " There is such a person in the world — as — as—" 
 
 "As who?" 
 
 *' As — oh, Claude, you will kill me.** 
 
 •* Now, Jack» you are positively provoking. What name is it, in the name of 
 all that's troublesome, that sticks in your throat so ?" 
 
 "The name of Cicely Brereton." 
 
 Claude was so completely taken by su prise that he nearly fell off his horse, and 
 as it was he gave such a Start that Sue was prodigiously alarmed, and made a 
 bound that would have thrown any less practised rider. But the astonishment of 
 Claude soon took a less exciting course, and in a voice of command, he said— 
 
 ** What would you say of her ? Speak, I charge you. Jack." 
 
 "You shall know all." 
 *** " Quick, quick." 
 
 ** I will tell you as quickly as I can. I know you will kill me when you do know 
 all, but better to die by yoGr hands after putting you upon your guard, and so 
 making a sort of reparation, than to live the life of misery which I now live. Have 
 a little patience with me, and j'ou shall know all." 
 
 Claude did not speak, and Jack in a hoarse thick voice continued— 
 
 "The Jew to whom I owe my life came to me one day, and told me that it was 
 an object to get a Mr. Murkham Brereton executed for a supposed highway robbery, 
 and that a Mr. Tom Brereton would pay very handsomely for the job. At first I 
 resisted, but he threatened me with instant apprehension, and I was weak enough 
 to go into his schemes." 
 
 "Go on, go on.** 
 
 " He said he was likely in the whole affair to be foiled by you, and that it was 
 necessary to do a something to render abortive any attempts of yours to save Mr. 
 Markham. For this purpose he wanted a letter in a handwriting so strongly re- 
 sembling yours that indifferent persons who knew your hand would swear to i^ as 
 b^g yours, stating that you knew Mr. Markham had robbed Tom Brereton on the 
 western road, but that you- in consequence of Cicely promising to elope with you, 
 had made up your mind to take the responsibility of the robbery upon your own 
 shoulders,'* ',^^«?,
 
 LIFE ON THE HOAD. 151 
 
 *'Go on, go on." , 
 
 " This letter was liupposed to be written to Cicely, ^ud intercepted so that when 
 you should appear in couit, your gallant surrender of yourself would only result in 
 consigning you lo Newgate, while it would confirm th? itory of the guilt of Mr. 
 Markhaoi. They wanted some one to prepare that letter who knew your hand- 
 writing well enough to imitate it very exactly," 
 
 *' And you?" 
 
 "I— I-Ididitr 
 
 " No, no, Jack, you did not V* 
 
 *' Oh, God ! oh, God ! I did, Claude— I did. Will you not kill me now tJDo 
 you not abhor me ? Do you not look upon me as one accursed ? 
 
 *' No ; from the bottom of my heart you hav« mv pity." 
 
 *'Pity?" 
 
 •* Yes, I can feel towards you no otherwise. Oh, Jack, how you have fallen off 
 from what you were. I would rather have stood the fire of a troop of soldiers, 
 each intent upon my destruction, than I would have heard such a tale from ycur 
 lips. Go on^ go on.* 
 
 "This Jew, whose powers seem to be actually superhuman, told me that he had 
 discovered where you had placed Cicely." 
 
 «Ah!" 
 
 " Yes, he said that he should have her in his power by this morning. He ob- 
 scurely hinted that you as yet did not know the value of your prize j for that the 
 girl had become, by the death of some one in India, entitled to enormous wealth, 
 which he and Tom Brereton intended to share between them." 
 
 Claude stood for a moment, and then placing his hand upon the shoulder of 
 Jack, he said— 
 
 ** Cicely, Cicely, more of her ; can I save her from falling into the hands of that 
 monster ?" 
 
 " I spoke of making what reparation I could, and I will do so. The letter I 
 speak of is in the hands of the Governor of Newgate, and Cicely is to be met 
 by me and conducted to the Jew*s house within half an hour of this time. A 
 sh^m message from you, accompanied by a suit of boy's clothing, has been sent 
 to her, and she will be at the end of Oxford Street by seven this mornmg.'* 
 
 At this moment St. Giles's church clock chimed solemnly the three-quarters 
 past six. A crimson flush came over the countenance of Claude, who sat upon 
 his horse like a statue. 
 
 " Speak to me, Claude," murmured Jack ; ** for the love of mercy, speak to me. 
 You said that you pitied me : oh, pity me so much as to say but one word to me." 
 
 ** Jack." 
 
 " Yes, yes — go on, oh, go on." 
 
 " I forgive you ; but henceforward, between you and I, there is an abyss which 
 I shall never wish to cross, and which I warn you not to dare to attempt. Fare" 
 well !» 
 
 Claude turned his horse's head up Oxford Street, and, at a furious pace, went 
 towards the spot where he had been told Cicely would meet him. He never looked 
 back to see what became of Sixteen-string Jack, but with his thoughts quite full 
 of Cicely, and the unexampled treachery to which both he and she were then 
 subject, with an anxiety that was almost sufficient to make his heart burst in his 
 bosom, he pursued his course. 
 
 At the pace Claude went, the top of Oxford Street was soon gained, and then 
 he paused and looked most anxiously around him, but no figure that he could tell 
 himself was Cicely's met his gaze. And now strange and maddening thoughts came 
 across his brain, and more than once he half suspected that it was but some re- 
 finement upon the treacherous behaviour of Sixteen-string Jack, who had told him 
 that he should meet Cicely there, while, perchance, she was falling into the hand* 
 .of his and her enemies at some other place. 
 
 Then, again, the thought did strike him, that aft^ all it was just possible Jack 
 might be insane, and had conceived one-half of the story from his own disordered
 
 152 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 intellect; but, upon consideration, there was too much coherency about the whole 
 affair to admit oi that solution of the difficulty. 
 
 " No, no/' said Claude; " it is all true— it is all true !'* 
 
 There were very few passengers abroad at that hour, so that Claude could see 
 without obstruction some distance down the Uxbridge Road. No one resembling 
 Cicely was Tisible, and after ?ome thought and some waitings he made up his 
 mind to walk quietly down the road, in the hope of meeting Cicely. 
 
 Scarcely had he got a quarter of a mile on the road when he heard a cry 
 for help, and as some tall trees, just where the raod turned a little, prevented him 
 now from seeing above forty yards in advance of him, he put Soe to a gallop, and 
 soon cleared the distance, and came upon a group of persons most unexpectedly. 
 
 Two men were holding a youth, who was crying aloud for help. Could Claude 
 for one moment mistake the accents of that voice ? It was that of his Cicely. 
 
 To fling himself from his horse was the work of ft moment. The strength of 
 twenty men seemed to nerve his arms, and seizing the two ruffians in either hand, 
 he, by one vigorous movement, knocked their heads together with a sound that 
 was quite blood-curdling to hear. 
 
 They fell at his feet both of them in a state of insensibility. In another 
 moment Cicely was in his arms, and he pressed her to his heart. 
 
 " Oh, I have been so terrified/* she exclaimed ; " they said you would come." 
 
 "And that I am here, Cice!;.% is something almost like a miracle.** 
 
 " But you sent for me, Claj i i" 
 
 ** No, dear one, no. Btit th.. is no place for explanations. Come, I will take 
 you to where you will be safer than at your last place of abode.^' 
 
 He lifted her on to the horse, and then springing up behind her, he caught 
 the bridle in his left hand, while his right arm encircled the waist of her who was 
 his treasure, and whom he loved with a love that knew no bounds. At a fast 
 trot they proceeded to London. 
 
 *' What do you mean, Claude, by its being a miracle that brought you here ?" 
 
 *♦ I will tell you another time,*' he replied ; *• but I have now a much more 
 important question to ask of you, Cicely, and it is one which I hope you will 
 answer me at once with candour.** 
 
 *' I will, indeed.*' 
 
 " Will you be my wife. Cicely ?" 
 
 There was a moments pause, then it was in a soft low whisper, that Cicely 
 replied — 
 
 "Yes, yes.'* 
 
 Oh, what pen can describe the joy that came over the heart of Claude at this 
 moment. He could not speak, but Cicely thought proper to add something to her 
 consent. 
 
 •* I am already yours, Claude,'* she said. *< My fortunes are your fortunes.*' 
 
 <* Yes, Cicely. And with my life I will for ever stand between you and all 
 harm.** 
 
 " 1 know you love me.*' 
 
 *' As man never yet loved woman." 
 
 ** Ah, Claude, under what frightful circumstances our union will take place. 
 Are you not proscribed among men ? Is there not a price sat upon your life ?" 
 
 ** Yes. But with you as my guardian angel, I shall triumph yet." 
 
 ^' We must talk of this, Claude. England must not hold us long. In some 
 other land vou may find peace as well as security." 
 
 *' 'Tis a good thought. Cicely.** 
 
 ** It is one that I would have you seriously consider, Claude. What have you 
 to hold you to England ? and as for me, has it not been written that the wife shall 
 cleave nnto the husband ? Where you go there will I po, Claude, and asjl say, 
 yt)ur home shall be my home." 
 
 " Oh, what joy it is to hear you speak." 
 
 "But, Claude?** k'"- =^ 
 
 " Say on, say on.'*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 153 
 
 Claude Duval compels the Bishop to perform the Marriage Ceremony. 
 
 h " My brother. You will still save my brother. You will still reme nber that 
 . e is iunocent of that whicli is imputed to him, and although he may for a time 
 *ook coldly upon us, and deem that I have done an act \\h ch should alienate 
 me from his affections, he will think better of it, and we shall not have the loss 
 of his affections. You will save him, Claude 2*' | 
 
 Claud's voice, as he spoke, was full of emotion, and the tears glistened] in his 
 eyes as he pressed the hand of her who was so dear to him. 
 
 "Certainly," he said. " Have I ever said or promised aught^.to you whic*!! I 
 have afterwards failed in proving the truthfulness of ?'*j 
 
 "Never, never!*
 
 154 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, " ; 
 
 *' Then hear and beliere me now." 
 
 ** With all my heart and soul." ^ 
 
 '* I solemnly swear to you, that I will save your brother." 
 
 A gentle smile played upon the fair face of Cicely, but in a moment it was 
 displaced by a look of exquisite grief, and with a voice of agony, which went deep 
 into the heart of Claude, she said-- 
 
 " But you shall not sacrifice yourself. No, no, Claude, you must even let 
 Markham perish, rather than your life shall fall a sacrifice to those who will look 
 for vengeance upon some one." 
 
 *• Be tranquil,*' said Claude ; " all will be well. My life has now a value, 
 which will induce me to take extraordinary care of it. Be calm. Cicely." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE MARRIAOB Of][cLAI;dB AND CICELY BRBRETON. 
 
 P They proceeded onwards now for some time in silence, but it was that descrip- 
 tion of silence which is in reallity more eloquent than any words could possibly 
 be, for heart spoke to heart, and an occasional glance from the eyes of each 
 sufiiciently exemplified what were the thoughts passing in the brain, and how 
 weak and ineflicient language would be to the expression. 
 
 It was Claude, however, who at length broke the silence. 
 
 *• Cicely>'* he said, " what say you to a scheme I have now, for the purpose of 
 making you really and truly my own ?" 
 
 " But am I not really and truly your own, Claude ?'* 
 
 " Yes, dear one ; but listen to me. There is a clergyman, who resides not far 
 from here, and who has the power, in consequence of his rank in the church, ;^to 
 marnr us, if he had the will to perform the ceremony." 
 
 « Would he be induced, Claude V* 
 
 ** Not by anything we could say, in the way of entreaty, you [may depend. 
 Cicely." 
 
 •* Then it is hopeless." 
 
 '* Not so, not so." 
 
 " How otherwise, Claude ?" 
 
 •' I will tell you. This haughty prelate, for such he is, and I have met before 
 now, and no doubt he has in his mind a lively recollection of that meeting. I am 
 induced to think so from the significant fact, that he has offered one hundred 
 pounds reward to anyone who will apprehend me, and lodge me in Newgate/*. 
 
 " Is that possible, Claude V 
 
 «* It is both possible and true. Cicely. He has a personal quarrel with me, of 
 no light character, I assure you, and 1 will therefore take this opportunity of 
 being obliged to him for a favour." 
 
 "A favour?" 
 
 ** Yes. When I want a man to do anything for me, the consequence of which 
 may not be altogether pleasant for him, or tell well for his courage, I go to an 
 enemy ; and thus I mean to make this bishop marry us." 
 
 "A bishop?' 
 
 *' Oh, yes. The bishop of Exeter shall perform the service, if he be in London, 
 which I think he is. But it is necessary that I make some shght alteration in 
 my costume." 
 
 ^^The back portion of the saddle of Sue had a small recess in it, which was just 
 sufficient to hold some flimsy articles of apparel, chiefly made of silk, so that they 
 should go into a very small compass ; but it was quite wonderful, when Claude
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 155 
 
 had put them on, to see the effect, in the way of disguise, which they had upon 
 him. 
 
 A thin silk coat, of a silvery-gray colour, that buttoned quite up to hi s throat, 
 and then a white cravat, with long ends, and laced, made kim look as different as 
 possible from his former self, as any two things could possibly be. Cicely, who 
 was all unused to the many strange disguises in which Claude was at times, {during 
 his eventful career, compelled to show himself, could scarcely believe that any 
 human being could produce such an absolute metamorphosis in himself in so short 
 a space of time. 
 
 " I should not know you, Claude," she said. 
 •* Except by my voice ?* 
 
 *' Oh, yes, I should know your voice in a moment, Claude." 
 " Not always," cried Claude. 
 
 Cicely started, for in the utterance of those two words he had so completely 
 altered his usual mode of speaking, that she, for the moment, could scarcely think 
 but that some one close at hand had uttered them. 
 Claude laughed . 
 
 '• You must always say something,*' added Cicely, '* which shall let me be able 
 to penetrate your disguises, or I shall be very unhappy." 
 
 '* Yes, Cicely, I will always say something by which you may know me ; and 
 be assured, that however I may change and assume many Protean shapes to the 
 world, I will never change to you." 
 
 ?*" 1 believe it — 1 believe it, and it is in that belief that I will find my joy. 
 Where are we going now, Claude ? These are handsome houses." 
 
 *' Yes. In one of these lives our friend, the bishop, or rather our enemy the 
 bishop, whom we shall make do a friendly act without a frienaly motive,*' 
 " Ought you to venture ? * 
 
 " I ought and will. Say nothing now, for we are close at hand ; and beware 
 how the name of Claude passes your lips, for any premature devolopment of who 
 I am might be fatal." 
 
 They had now turned down a street to the left of Oxford-street, and which con- 
 ducted them to a square of the most aristocratic aspect and importance. Claude 
 deliberately paused before a large house, the front of which was dignified by a re- 
 markably heavy portico. It was the town abode of the well-known bishop, with 
 whose lady Claude had danced upon Hampstead Heath. Cicely trembled, for she 
 could not but feel that the errand upon which they now were was a most perilous 
 one, and she could not refrain from asking herself what would be her fate if he 
 should be taken from her. 
 
 Such reflections were, however, soon merged in the intense interest she felt in 
 what Claude was about, and in watching how he accomplished his object of se- 
 curing a private interview with the bishop. 
 
 The door of the mansion was open, and a footman, with a profusion of powder 
 on his head, was lounging at it, in an attitude which showed what a trouble it 
 was to him to live, and, at the same time, to support the great weight of dignity 
 that belonged to him and the ofiice. 
 
 When Claude paused before the door, he scarcely deigned to look at him, and 
 it was not until both Cicely and the highwayman had dismounted and ascended 
 the steps, that the official gentleman condescended to turn his eyes upon them, in 
 an easy sort of way. 
 
 *' The bishop," said Claude, '' is he up ?" 
 
 The footman seemed so perfectly astounded at the idea of any one coming to 
 see the bishop at so early an hour, that for some moments he could not reply, but 
 continued to stare at Claude as though he had been some remarkable and curious 
 specimen of some unknown animal. This close inspection of Claude's countenance 
 had, however, one good effect, and that was, its producing an impression, even 
 Upon the obtGSG raind of the footmani that its owner was not a man exactly to bs 
 triflid with*
 
 1 56 GENTLEMAN J A CK ; OR, ^ 
 
 " Ahem !" he said, by way of recovering his mental equipoise a little, *' ahem! 
 Did you say, up?" 
 •* Yes." 
 
 "Oh, very well; then I don't know." 
 
 " Very well. I have a proposal to make to you, which deserves your serious 
 attention. Will you taVe halfa-crown to go and inquire, or will you have your 
 nose pulled here for refusing to do so V* 
 •* My nose ?" 
 
 "Yes, your nose. Come, decide quickly." 
 
 "Well then, sir, I can only say, that I am not a man to be bullied, or made 
 game of. Nobody ever did that with me; and as to being frightened into anything, 
 it's not in my nature, so if you please, sir, give me the half-crown.*' 
 
 " You are a cleverer fellow than you look," said Claude, ** and I improve consC' 
 quently upon my terms. There are two half-crowns, and now, if you can get speech 
 of the bishop, just say that there is a gentleman at the door, who will place Claude 
 Duval, the highwayman, in his hands, and ask no reward for doing so.* 
 
 *• What, Claude Duval ? He they call Gentleman Jack, that robbed my lord 
 and kissed my lady ?*' 
 
 "The same.'* 
 
 " He'll see you, sir, if he were ten times over not up — but I think he is. Just 
 step into that room, and I'll manage it. I dare say I shall get something for my- 
 sslf out of him for bringing such good news. He did offer a hundred pounds 
 reward, and he might have paid it if he had been forced ; but didn't it stick in his 
 gizzard above a bit to think of paying away so much I" 
 
 *' Indeed.", 
 
 "Lord bless you, «ir, yes ; and you will be as welcome as flowers in May, if 
 you can save him the money." 
 
 " I can and will.'* 
 
 Claude and Cicely were both shown into a handsome reception room to the 
 right of the hall, and there they both waited with some natural degree of anxiety 
 the return of the footman. 
 
 *' Will this succeed ?*' whispered Cicely, ** It is an adventure full of peril." 
 
 *♦ I never ask myself," replied Claude in a louder tone, " if things will succeed 
 or not. It is sufficient for me, if I try my best ; in this instance, I do feel 
 pretty sure that I shall be able to give up Claude Duval to the bishop.*' 
 
 Claude looked so significantly at Cicely, -while he uttered this, that would 
 otherwise have been a strange speech, that she at once comprehended he had good 
 reason for uttering it. Following, then,|the direction of his eyes, she saw a door 
 partially open, and at the foot of it, part of the boot of a man. 
 
 They were being listened to ; but luckily, Claude had well-framed his answer 
 to the harmless remark of Cicely, and no real mischief was consequently 
 done. 
 
 In another moment the foot disappeared. 
 
 "That was a moment of real peril," whispered Claude. "Hush! make no 
 remark. All is well as yet, I am quite certain." 
 
 Cicely trembled at the danger which had just passed, for without a doubt had 
 , Claude made any answer to her, which would have declared their real in- 
 ' tentions to be different to what they had stated, a police force would have been 
 sent for, that would have made opposition madness on the part of Claudlt^. 
 
 In about five minutes the footman returned, followed by a slim, sleek-looking 
 personage, dressed in black, and with a perpetual hyena-like smile upon his 
 white face, which he intended should be evangelically beautiful. This was the 
 bishop's secretary, 
 
 <'So,** he said, "I understand that you know something of Claude Duval?" 
 
 •* Much," replied Claude. 
 
 " Well, the bishop presents his compliments, and will feel obliged at your 
 giving to me all thu information you can." 
 
 "About what?"
 
 . LIFE ON THE ROAD. 157 
 
 "The highwayman, of course." 
 
 " Give my compliments to the bishop, and say that I will give my information 
 to no one but himself, privately." 
 
 '• Well, but—but " 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 "Who you are I know not, even the knowledge of your name." 
 
 ** A state of ignorance in which I remain likewise concerning you." 
 
 " Oh, very well, I see we shall have to give you into custody, ray friend. We 
 connot be trifled with in this manner, upon a subject of consetiuence to his lord- 
 ship's feelings." 
 
 •' Now, hark you, sir," said Claude, *' I don't know and I don't care who you 
 are. I am here to see the bishop, and to do him a favour, and you threaten to 
 give me into custody for it. No if you do not at once apologise, I will leave 
 the house, and I don't think that just at present there is any one that can prevent 
 me doing so." 
 
 The secretary bit bis white lips, and looked confused, for the fact was, that all 
 he had said and done was without orders from the bishop, and merely to show his 
 own efficiency. At length he gave a sickly grin, as he said — 
 
 " Well, well, wait a little. I will go and see." 
 
 •* But the apology V 
 
 The secretary had left the room, but Claude added to himself, ** I will make 
 that fellow humble, even with all his glorious arrogance, befor I leave this 
 house." 
 
 " Oh, Claude, 1 tremble," whispered Cicely. 
 
 " Hush, dear one, hush! All is well — all is well. You may depend upon me. 
 I know well how this affair is going. We shall see the bishop, and after that our 
 difficulties and dangers are all over." 
 
 "Think you so ?" i . . 
 
 ** I know it." 
 
 The sickly secretary returned. 
 
 *' His lordship will see you." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " Follow me, if you please. You must not be surprised at our showing some 
 suspicion about strangers. There are so many men about London of seeming 
 fairness, but who are such rank hypocrites and rogues." 
 
 " You arc right," said Claude. " I have met one myself this morning of the 
 sort you mention.*' 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes. A man ia shiny black, with sleek hair, and a white face, upon which 
 was a perpetual faint smile." 
 
 The secretary shrank back, and looked very uncomfortable at the description of 
 himself, while Cicely was afraid each moment that the reckless courage of Claude 
 would plunge him into greater danger than was at all necessary, even under the 
 fearful circumstances, as she considered them, in which they were now plunged; 
 and yet there was a contagion of courage about the bold daring of Claude that 
 almost at times made her as firm as he was himself. 
 
 A handsome staircase was ascended, the balustrades of which were profusely 
 gilt, while the wails were hung with pictures, some of which were of anything 
 but a saintly character. The carpet, too, was so soft and beautiful, that any of 
 the apostles, a humble follower of whom of course the bishop was, would have 
 been perfectly astonished, and thought such things could only be in that world 
 beyond the stars which his faith promised him the enjoyment of in another state 
 of existence. But, then, bishops are so self-denying, so anxious to walk in the 
 footsteps of their great Teacher, as all the world, of course, knows of all the bishops. 
 
 To Cicely, whose mind was most intensely preoccupied, these things did not 
 present themselves as they did to Claude, who, now that he made sure of seeing 
 the bishop, also made sure «f his own safety and the safety of Cicely, and so was 
 nuch more mentally at leisure to notice circumstances of an extraneous character.
 
 158 OBNTLEMAN JACK ; OR,* 
 
 On the landing was some rare and exquisite statuary, upon which Claude co uld 
 not help casting a passing glance of admiration, and then a door, the panels of 
 which were of mahogany, and the corners gilt, was opened, and the bishop was 
 found sitting at a table, writing, or pretending to write. 
 
 All great men are always found writing or reading by those who visit them. 
 It looks grand, abstracted and overpoweringly intellectual. It is the custom, then, 
 always to look with quite an appearance of surprise, as if the visitor were not at alJ 
 expected, but had just trotted in out of the streets, without the slightest let or 
 hinderance to reaching the sanctum sanctorum of the great personage who had 
 taken perhaps half an hour to consider whether they should be admitted or 
 not. 
 
 The door of the room was opened, and Claude, with Cicely clinging to hb arm, 
 was in the presence of the bishop, who looked rather scrutinisingly upon them. 
 
 "Can you give me information, indeed, of the notorious Claude Duval?" 
 
 "lean." 
 
 *' And — and— and you do not want the reward ?" 
 
 *' By no means.'* 
 
 ** Pray be seated. My time, of course, is rather valuable, and I have to re. 
 quest that you will be so good as to say, as quickly as possible, what you have to 
 say." 
 
 " I have as little desire as your lordship can have," said Claude, " to occupy 
 valuable time ; I have much to do, and therefore cannot afford to waste my oppor- 
 tunities. Will you lordship tell me candidly if any one be listening?* 
 
 " Certainly not. You may proceed in perfect confidence." 
 
 " Weil, my lord, you see this small, exquisitely-mounted pistol, which never 
 misses fire, and carries a couple of bullets with the greatest steadiness." 
 
 '• Yes, I— 1. Oh, yes. Hold it the other way." 
 
 " Well, my lord, I took it from the secret pocket of Claude Duval's coat." 
 
 " You 4id ?" 
 
 «' I did, my lord." 
 
 ** And did he permit you, or had you''previously taken him prisoner — perhaps 
 killed him ? I should like to hang the rascal. Oh, that I could see him before 
 me." 
 
 "A wish easUy gratified. I am Claude Duval — nay, my lord, I shall trouble 
 you to be seated. Remembci this little weapon and its qualifications. You 
 wished to see Claude Duval before you without the necessity of paying a hundred 
 pounds, and you have your wish. Remove your hand from that beli-pull, my lord, 
 or I fire." 
 
 The bishop hastily enough took his hand off the bell -pull, and sunk back 
 into his chair again, from whence he had suddenly risen in the alarm of the 
 moment. 
 
 *' Well," added Claude, *' have you nothing to say ?" 
 
 *'This overwhelming assurance !'* gasped the bishop. 
 ' " Cannot be without an object more distinct and important," added Claude, 
 **than merely frightening a bishop. I have a motive far higher. This young 
 lady, for a young lady she is, despite her male attire, has agreed to make me so 
 jjappy as to become my wife ; |||e only return I ask of you for bringing you 
 Claude Duval without any reward, is that you marry us forthwith." 
 
 The bishop looked quite blue and spectral like. 
 
 ** Your answer," said Claude. *' Quick, your answer !" 
 
 '* I cannot." 
 
 <* Very well," 
 
 Claude deliberately cocked the pistol. 
 
 " That is to say, stop," said the bishop, " I think I will, although it is con- 
 trary to my usage. I — I really ought not. God bless me I wish dome one 
 Would come, I never was in such a horrid situation i" 
 
 " And I never m ftuch a pleagant one*" 
 
 " PleMftflt ene V* .: 
 
 --iif
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 159 
 
 *• Yes. Can anything be more pleasant than the prospect of an immediate 
 union with this young lady ? Come, my lord, delays are dangerous. I will trouble 
 you to proceed at once, and any shuffling at your peril. 1 am not a man to be 
 trifled with. I tell you candidly, that this is something like a trial ef strength be- 
 ween us, and I am determined to have the ma.stery. Quick, my lord ! where is 
 your book, or will you trust to your memory ? I am not very particular to a word 
 or two." 
 
 The bishop groaned. 
 
 " I — I don't think I can remember a word of it,*' he faltered. *' Indeed, I am 
 quite sure I cannot. I don't often marry people ; but if I must, I must, so I'll go 
 for my book at once." 
 
 *' If it be in this room you may get—if in another I will go with you; and 
 remember, upon the least appearance of treachery on your part, or even if 1 sus- 
 pect you wrongfully, I will blow your brains out.'* 
 
 The bishop groaned again. Then he rose and went to a book-case, from whence 
 he took a Book of Common Prayer, and that moment, the sickly-looking super- 
 ciUous secretary came into the room. 
 
 " My lord, I^ ' 
 
 ** Will give away the bride," cried Claude, finishing the sentence for him, and 
 at the same time seizing him by the collar, and flinging him into a corner of the 
 room, where he sat propped up by the wall, looking the picture of fright and sur- 
 prise. Claude now walked to the door and locked it, saying as he did so, " We 
 don't Want any one else, so now proceed at once. Cicely is the name of the lady, 
 and with my christian appellation you are already acquainted. Proceed my 
 lord." 
 
 " Dearly beloved," said the bishop with another groan, for the idea of being 
 forced to marry Claude Duval was gall and wormwood to him, and his thoughts 
 were wandering to what the wicked wits of the time would say, should the 
 affair get wind among them. More than once he thought of breaking off abruptly 
 in the midst of the service, but as often as the thought came over him to do so, 
 and he looked up from the prayer-book, his eyes were dazzled by a sight of 
 that provoking bright pistol barrel, to which Claude had given such commenda- 
 tions, and with another groan, he would resume. 
 
 Thus it was that Claude and Cicely were made man and wife. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 [tHB ESCAPl FROM THE OFFICERS.— NEVfOAIE AND ITS GOVERNOR. 
 
 The ring with which Cicely was married was one that had belonged to Claude's 
 mother, and which he had, until that occasion, worn constantly upon his little 
 finger. The dubious-looking secretary gave the bride away, and then shrunk back 
 into his corner again, where he thought it pruddlit to remain, until watching his 
 opportunity, he crept under a table, and so on to the door, and fairly escaped 
 from the room. 
 
 It may be presumed that Claude did not notice the absence of the secretary 
 till it was too late to prevent it. Cicely saw a flush of colour suddenly visit his 
 cheek, but she did not attribute it to any apprehension. Claude himself, how- 
 ever, the moment he became aware that the secretary was gone, knew his 
 danger. 
 
 But with so adventurous a spirit as he was, to know his danger was to know 
 almost at the same moment, as jif by intuition, some means of avoid- 
 ing it. ^
 
 160 - :6ENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 TurniDg to the bishop, he said—* 
 
 " My lord, you have done me a service, and I do not see why you should cherish 
 the unchristian resentment agauist me that you do. t must, however^ despite 
 that, make yoa useful to a yet greater extent.** 
 
 Something strongly resembling an oaih passed the bishop's lips. In fact, if he 
 had not been a bishop, nobody could have scrupled to own t^at he said, " D—a 
 itr' as audibly as possible. 
 
 " I think I must trouble you," added Claude, '* to accompany me down stairs." 
 The sight of the pistol again stopped all scruples, and down stairs they wei t 
 together. The moment they gained the passage, the street-door opened, and the 
 secretary appeared looking quite triumphaot, although, owin;? to suddenly con- 
 fronting Claude, he was a liitle cut up in his gratification. Duval took but one 
 step towards him; and then looking keenly in his face, he said, in a perfectly 
 calm tone— 
 
 " Will they beheVe soon ?" 
 
 «' Who — who— do you meani" stammered the secretary. 
 " Oh, pho ! The officers you have been for." 
 " Seize hija," said the bishop. , 
 
 " SLald !" said Claude, as he held the bishop's arm with a grip of iron — *' hold ! 
 I know that 1 bhall be taken, because I think you are angry enougli now, and 
 fierce enough to sacrifice your life for this object. 1 have sworn to myself to 
 take your life, or to leave this house in safety; and, by all that is sacred on earth 
 or in Heaven, I will keep my oath.? 
 
 " Go in peace," said the bishop, with a shudder, " go in peace." 
 "Order your carriage, then, and com3 with me. I will do you no harm, but 
 you must say it is a mistake of your officious secretary, and that I am a friend of 
 yours— or— your life I" 
 
 *' Yes, yes ! Oh, dear rae, yes.*' 
 
 "Where is he?" said a gruff voice, as two men rushed in the hall. 
 •* Who ?" said Claude. 
 " Duval, the highwayman, to be sure." 
 " Ask bis lordship." 
 
 •'There is no such ptrson here," said the bishop, "it is all a mistake. Thi? 
 gentleman is a friend of mine, and is going out with mejiu ray carriage. Oh 
 lord !" 
 
 ** Your lordship seems as if you would enjoy your drive,'* said one of the. 
 officers. " If I catch the fellow, who came round to my house and made a fool 
 of rae, ril make him remember it." 
 
 The secretary immediately hid himself behind a statue, and as he did so he 
 made noise enough for one of the officers to clance that wavi and sav- 
 "What's that?" ^ 
 
 "Only a cur," said Clande, as he gave the secretary some half-dozen heavy 
 kicks behind the statue, which the valorous individual put up with quietly, 
 rather than come out, and be put in the dilemma of contradicting the bishop, or 
 admitting he made a mistake in calling the officers. 
 
 *• Order the carriage/' cried Claude, as the footman made his appearance. 
 The bishop repeated the command, and tne carriage, which was just about ready, 
 was in a few minutes at the door ot the house. Claude whispered in the ear of the 
 bishop— 
 
 " You have played your part hitherto like a man of discretion, but circumstances 
 compel me, although leluctantly, to give you some more trouble. You must come 
 with we, until we are in a safer place thaqfthis." 
 
 The bishop had now no disposition to sacrifice his life, after going so far, and 
 he readily enough complied with Claude's wishes, that he should get in«o the car- 
 riage. In another moment they were all three stated in the luxurious vehicle, that 
 IS, its owner, Claude and Cicely. 
 
 The footman touched his hat as he shut the door, and lingered to know where 
 to drive to.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK} OR, LIFfe ON THE ROAD. ^ l$| 
 
 THE tAST jrEETlNa*OjfHJCy AND GENTLEMAN JACK, 
 
 " The C^t and Cucumber in Drury Lane/' said Claude. 
 
 "The what, sir?" 
 
 " The 'Cat and Cucumber/'in Drury Lane." * t 
 
 " Yes sir—oh yes.—A-hem! Certainly, my lord. The Cat and-a-hem !— I 
 Cucumber, in Drury Lane." * 
 
 The footman perked up his nose, as though there had been something noxious 
 at the extreme end of it, which he was afraid would fall into his mouth, unless he 
 was very careful, and then mounting behind, he gave the order to the astounded 
 coachman. 
 
 No. 21,
 
 162 • GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 There tvas another person, however, who heard the order where to drive to 
 with some gratification, and that other was one of the officers, who accordingly 
 jumped up behind the coach, resolved to see the end of the adventure. As may 
 be supposed, the bishop was rather ill at ease in his carriage with such company, 
 but he di;-sembled liis feelings the best way he could, and the vehicle 60oa reached 
 the classic regions of Drury Lane. 
 
 An inquiry or two on the part of tlie still irefal footman soon discovered the 
 Cat an J Cucumber, and probably never before in the annals of that establishment, 
 could there be recounted such a visit as was now paid to it. Claude alighted, 
 and handed out Cicely. The officer 'sprang from behind, and laying his hand 
 upon Claude's arm, said — 
 
 " You are my prisoner." 
 
 " By what authority ?" said Claude. 
 
 "The law. 1 know you are Duval.'* 
 
 *' And how came you here ?" 
 
 " At the back of the carriage." 
 
 *' That must have been uncomfortable. You shall return inside, which I assure 
 you is as convenient as it can possibly be made.^ It is not everybody who would 
 do so much for you." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude put forth all the extraordinary strength which he possessed, 
 and: which only upon extraordinary occasions he called into exercise. Lifting 
 the officer off his feet, he at once dashed him into the carriage, aRd closed the 
 door. In anpther moment he was in the puhlic-house called the *' Cat and 
 Cucuttiber,'* Tvith Cicely, 
 
 To the first person he met, Claude said— 
 
 " Go to the door. You will find that my horse has followed me, although I 
 came in a coach." 
 
 This was literally true. Sue had indeed followed the bishop's carriage, which the 
 sagacious creature had seen contained her master, and now stood waiting for 
 him at the door of the public-house. He had to show himself, before she would 
 allow herself to be removed. The officer, however, by this time had managed, 
 after doing some amount of personal damage to the bishop, to scramble out of the 
 carriage, and^ mad with anger and shame at his defeat, he rushed into the public- 
 house. 
 
 *• What do you want, Fletcher V said the landlord, advancing. 
 
 *' Claude Duval." 
 
 " You know as well as I do that you can't have him here. Come, come, be 
 wise and be off. Keep what sort of watch you like outside, but here, as y^u 
 are well aware, it is an understood thing you &re not to make prisoners. It won't 
 do, Fletcher, so don't try it on.*' 
 
 ** Confusion!" 
 
 ** Oh, that's likely enough ; but you know what's right, as well as I do, so get 
 along with you, unless you choose to come in the regular Way, and make yourself 
 comfortable and look about you a bit." 
 
 "* 1 must take him." 
 
 ** Nonsense, you have your regulars, you know as well as I do, so don't make a 
 fool of yourself. — Will you take anything to drink ?" 
 
 * This last was a proposition that had a mollif3ing effect upon the officer, whose 
 rage had cooled down sufficiently to convince him that a i^vr at the **Cat and 
 Cucumber," for the purpose of trying to make a prisoner, would be the most 
 ineffectual thing in all the world. 
 
 He took the something to drink, and left the place.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 163 
 
 ^ CHAPTER XL; 
 
 THE GOVERNOR OP NEWGATE'S INTERVIEW WITH TOM BRERETON. 
 
 That Claude and Cicely, who now so closely united her fortune to his, found 
 shelter and kindness at the Cat and Cucumber, we may well suppose. The 
 course of our narrative carries us now to gloomy Newgate. 
 
 In one of the apartments of the governor's house, sat that individual himself, 
 and Mr. Tom Brereton. The latter was explaining something with some amount 
 of vehemence, while the governor looked anything but pleased, and was biting 
 his pen, with which, by the papers lying before him, he appeared to have been 
 writing some letters, 
 
 Tom Brereton broke the silence that for some time had been maintained 
 between them, and which the govftrnor did not seem disposed to disturb. 
 
 ** It it as I tell you," he said. 
 
 " I cannot make it out," said the governor. 
 
 " No — nor I. I am quite sure she had the note purporting to come from Claude, 
 and I am equally sure, from further inquiries that I have made, that she had no 
 suspicions of its genuineness vsha:ever, but actually set out to walk to London, 
 However, she never reached the spot where my men were posted, to enai her 
 up." 
 
 ** So it appears." 
 
 *• Yes, and that's what puzzles me.'* 
 
 The governor shook his head, as he said— 
 
 '* Ah, you don*t know what sort of person you have to do with, Mr. Brereton ; I 
 can tell you that Claude Duval is capable of things that would make your hair 
 stand on end only to dream of." 
 
 *' I know that ; but how could he know what we meant to do?" 
 
 *' Can you trust the Jew ?* 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Can he trust his agents ?* ' 
 
 '* He had but one, he said, in whom he put any confidence or faith, and that 
 one he declared was so bound to him in every possible way, that he dared not 
 betray him, if he were ever so much inclined so to do." 
 
 "And yet he must have done so." 
 
 " Well, it's a hard case, after all my exertions to do myself some good in the 
 world, to be so thoroughly posed at all points. My plan was a good one enough, 
 too, I'm sure. * 
 
 ** Yeg. I never, tTiough, perfectly understood it." 
 
 " Why you understood you were to nave £500.** 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes.*' 
 
 " Well, then, I'll tell you the rest. You must know that eld Junks, a relation 
 of ours, has died in India, and most unaccountably Ult me nothing, though he 
 died worth £50,000 they say.'* 
 
 *• What was old Junks's objection to you ?" 
 
 *• Why, I have seen the will, in which he says, I hava heard something of a rela- 
 tion of mine, named Tom Brereton. He is Hot very bright, I hear, or very honest, 
 so I leave him nothing, convinced that he is just the sort of person to consign to 
 the care of Providence." 
 
 *' Humph I" 
 
 *' What do you say humph for ?** 
 
 " Why, I was just' thinking it was not very flattering to you." 
 
 '* Well, not very, certainly. Well, as I was saying, he left me nothing, and 
 goes on to divide all his propel ty between Markham Breieton and Cicely, and 
 ke says that if one of those should be dead, or die within twelve months,' the 
 other shall have the whole.*'
 
 164 --^ GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 « Humph l" 
 
 *' D— n it—why do you tay humph always V ^z 
 
 *'0h, that's nothing ; it's only a way I have got. Go on." 
 
 " Well, don't do it again, that's all. Where was I ? Oh, I know ; well, when I 
 found out that old Junks had left me nothing, of course I set about seeing 
 whether I could not make something out of it," 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 " Of course. Well, the grand thing was, that neither Markham nor Cicely 
 knew of old Junka's d^ath or will — I had that information all to myself.*' 
 
 *' A most important point." 
 
 '* Very. I have something to pay to the Jew, though ; but one can afford to 
 do that out of so much money, and I thought to myself that the nicest thing in 
 the world would be to get rid of Markham, so that Cicely should have all the 
 money, and then marry her." 
 
 ** A very good idea." 
 
 * I thought you would say that. Well, if Markham were hanged, of course 
 he is out of the way, you know, most effectually." 
 
 *' I should rather think he would." 
 
 " Of course. Well, as he weuld not do anything of his own accord to bring 
 him to a bad end, I thought the next best thing was to make others believe he 
 had." 
 
 •'Exactly. Hence the concoction of that letter, which is to be produced at 
 his trial, if Claude Duval should really be as good as his word, and come forward 
 to clear Brereton." 
 
 " You are right ; but as regards Cicely, somehow she never saw my merits." 
 
 «'No?" 
 
 "Never, never! So the only way was to get her to consent by some means 
 that had nothing to do with my merits, that she somehow don't or won't 
 see." 
 
 *' Spoken like an oracle.** 
 
 *• Very well. Don't bother me. I thought of getting her shut up somewhere, 
 and then telling her that the only way to save both herself and Markham, would 
 be to marry ms. What do you think of that ?" 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 " Good God, there you are, saying * humph !' again." 
 
 " Well, Where's the harm ?'' 
 
 ** Oh, no particular barm— only it's monstrous provoking, that's 'all, and you 
 ought not to do it, considering that you are to have five hundred pounds for 
 helping me." ,,^ 
 
 •• Yes, that is understood.*' 
 
 "Of course it is; and what makes it more provoking is, that she has given me 
 the slip, after all my trouble. Where can she be V* 
 
 *' Ah, humph ?" 
 
 " Do you -want to drive me mad ?'* ' 
 
 " Well, well, something will turn up, I daresay, to make all right enough ; of 
 course the letter in Claude's name will have a great effect, and you will at all 
 events have the satisfaction of getting rid of Duval, for he will be hung to all 
 intents and purposes." 
 
 « You really think so V* 
 
 •< I know so, my friend. But you are, I know, wasting your valuable time with 
 m«.*' 
 
 The governor rose as he spoke. It was his only way of getting rid of his 
 visitor, who was not the most welcome guest he Ccould have in the 
 world. 
 
 ♦' Very well," said Tom Brereton, " very well. You do the best you can, and 
 I will do the best I can ; and if, between us, we cannot get the better of this 
 Claude Duval, it will be a very hard case indeed." 
 
 Tom Brtreton now left Newgate, and sauntered down the Old Bailey towards
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 165 
 
 Holborn Hill, but just as he got to Fleet-market, some one touched him on the 
 arm, and upon turning abruptly, he saw, to his amazement and consternation, 
 Claude Duval. 
 
 " One word of alarm," whispered Claude, "one exclamation or gesture so 
 as to bring danger upon me, and [ will scatter your brains upon the pavement. 
 Take my arm, and walk gently. I want to speak to you." 
 
 Anger, rage, fear, all were struggling in the bosom of Tom Brereton, but he 
 knew well the determined spirit he had to ieal witb^ and he took the arm of 
 Claude, while his face turned as white as milk, and he trembled so he could 
 scarcely walk. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI, 
 
 THR EXTORTED DOrUMENT. — THE PROPOSED ROBBIRV IN iJUElN STREET. 
 
 '* You seem surprised," said Claude. 
 
 "I— I am a little." 
 
 " And terrified." 
 
 " Yes, yes, a little— only a little. I~I confess to being a little put out. It's 
 a fine day, ain't it V 
 
 ** Why, I think it's very gloomy." 
 
 *' Yes, yes, I — I mean gloomy." 
 
 **And yet the air is balmy, and on the whole the day is decidedly 
 cheerful." 
 
 ** Oh yes, decidedly cheerful." 
 
 Claude smiled to himself as he saw how thoroughly determiicd Tom Brereton 
 was to agree with him. Fut it did not suit him to spend his time in trifling, so 
 he at once proceeded to what 1" e meant. 
 
 •• You perfectly understand your position, Mr. Tom Breretor," he said. '* It 
 is one of some danger, if you do not use your opportunities with discretion ; but 
 if you wish to preserve yourself, you are too insignificant to make anything like 
 a serious effort to destroy." 
 
 "Oh,- said Tom. 
 
 " Yes. And now I want of you a written confession of the little piece of 
 villany, regarding the forging of my name to a letter, addressed to Markham 
 Brereton." 
 
 Tom was so completely astounded at the suddenness of this statement, that but 
 for the supporting arm of Claude, he must have fallen to the ground. The whole 
 street appeared to swim round with him, and thefjdea'he was found out in 
 what he considered one of the most cunning and secret things he ever did in his 
 life, was enough ta drive him out of his senses. 
 
 ** Answer me," said Claude. *' I insist upon an immediate answer.* 
 
 "What— what can I say?" 
 
 "That you will come to the nearest tavern, and write] the confession I want 
 of you." 
 
 " I— I must, I suppose." 
 
 ** You may be assursd that you must." 
 
 Tom Brereton uttered a deep groan, but he saw that there was no help for him, 
 and being quite sure that Claude Duval was one who kept his word, he did not 
 scruple to think discretion by far the better part of valour. 
 
 " Only say what you want of me," he cried, " and I'll do it." 
 
 «' I only want what I say. Come this way. Here is a house that ipay 
 afford the necessary accommodation to us. Attempt to move an inch otherwise 
 thsin I direct you> and you die***
 
 I 166 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Lord have mercy upon me !" 
 
 " He may, but I will have none, unless you speedily perform what I require of 
 you.** 
 
 The door of a tavern near at hand wns invitingly open, and into it Claude led 
 hie prisoner, for such Tom was, to all intents and purposes, and calling for a private 
 room and writing materials, he made Tom sit dov»n. 
 
 " You — you won't kill me,'* said Tom ; " oh dear me, you don't mean to 
 murder me, I hope ; do have some mercy upon me." 
 
 <' Why," said Claude, quite composedly, " when vou were dead you would only 
 be so much carrion, but while you are alive I think I may do some good with you, 
 notwithstanding your wish to be mischievous." 
 
 "Thea vou will spare my life V 
 
 "Yes.'*' 
 
 *' That's a comfort, I breathe again ; only spare my life, and tell me what to do 
 and I'll do it, you may depend.'* 
 
 •' I think that you will ; now write down, as clearly and distinctly as you can, the 
 particulars of the forged letter that the governor of Newgate has, and which it was 
 and is intended to produce at the trial of Mr. Markham Brereton, for the purpose 
 of quite confounding me, should I come forward as a witness in his favour." 
 
 *' Perhaps you won't mind telling me how you came to know " 
 
 " Write !" cried Claude, sternly ; ** it is my place to ask questions, yours to 
 answer them; I am in no humour for trifling, and will not endure it." 
 
 Thus admonished, Tom Brereton thought his best plan would be to commence 
 his enforced confession at once, and he did so, although with a reluctance that was 
 quite ridiculous to see. 
 
 When it was complete, he handed it to Claude, who then, finding that it was 
 qu'te as full as could be wished, made him sign it, and then, folding it carefully, be 
 said in a cnira, determined voice— 
 
 *' You are now at liberty ; but knowing as 1 do, that on the day of trial you will 
 seek to disown this document, and to say that it was extorted from you by force, 
 and has not truth in it, I warn you that in such a case a terrible retribution shall 
 be exacted of you." 
 
 Tom looked dreadfully pale. 
 
 " The same power," continued Claude, " which enabled me to discover that you 
 were pursuing such infamous courses, will arm me with the means of defeatinff you 
 when you make farther attempts to avoid the consequences of your crimes and 
 your follies.'* 
 
 So saying, Claude Duval left him at once. 
 
 Hurrying thiough several streets, so as to place considerable distance between 
 him and the house where Tom Brereton was left, Claude at length slackened 
 his pace, and appeared to be involved in deep thought. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said to himself, " that af^er all I have behaved so hastily to 
 Sixteen-string Jack ; to be sure he committed a serious offence against me, but 
 after all he did all he could do for the best, that is to say he confessed the truth 
 to me, and put me upon my guard ; I ought to have considered, too, that the 
 offence itself would not have been committed, had not his mind been theroughly 
 weakened and his intellect fiightfuUy subdued, by the strange and terrible adven- 
 tures he had gone through." 
 
 These thoughts thronged through the mind of Claude, and induced him to wish 
 much to discover Jack*8 retreat. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances he would have found no difficulty in doing 
 that; but since the execution, Sixteen-string Jack had been so frightfolly beset by 
 fears of re-execution, that he had not frequented any of his old haunts, so that 
 Claude was completely at fault concerning where to find him. 
 
 Suddenly, while he was thus ruminating, he fancied some one gently touched 
 him on tl^e arm, and turning suddenly he saw the object of his thoughts standing 
 with a we^ -begone face within a few paces of him.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 167 
 
 " Claude," said Jack, ** don't look so sternly on me. Oh, Claude, if you knew 
 what 1 have suffered !'* 
 
 Claude Duval held out his hand to Sixteen«string Jack, saying as he did so, in 
 a voioe of emotion — 
 
 " All is forgotten." 
 
 *' Oh, no— no—no." 
 
 " Yes, I say yes. All is forgotten and forgiven, Jack ; we are all to each other 
 as^ever we were. I only grieve that your sufferings have so far got the better of 
 you as to make you fell and think in a manner repugnant to your nature.*' 
 
 ** Can this be possible ?* 
 
 "It is true. Jack.'* 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack took Claude's arm, and they walked on for some short 
 distance together in silence. At length the former spoke. 
 
 *' This is the happiest moment," he said, ** that I have known for a long time." 
 
 ** May it be the worst,'* said Claude ; ** and all the moments that are to come, 
 as far transcend it in happiness as it transcends those that are past !" 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 ** Come, come, you must not despair.'* 
 
 •' No, no, C'aude, I will not now despair, since I have become reconciled to you, 
 but happy I can never be. I hive now but one ambition, and that is that you 
 will employ me in undoing some of the bad work that I have done." 
 
 "' Well, Jack, where does the Jew live V 
 
 •' The Jew doctor who restored me, and whose real name is Myers, lives here 
 in Queen Street." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 '-' " Yes, he has a large house there, full of the most costlv articles that the whole 
 of Europe can furnish him with. There is no limif' to his luxury and 
 extravagance." 
 
 •' Well, I propose paying him a vist.'* 
 
 *' A visit?" 
 
 •* Yes ; you must know. Jack, that I am not in funds just now, and it is <juite ne- 
 cessary that I should be. I rather think that that Brereton has not money to fee 
 counsel and to go to the necessary expenses for his defence against the false charge 
 that is brought against him. Cicely likewise must be differently provided for 
 from what she was, so that I really, one way and another, am in immediate want 
 of one hundred pounds, and I have no time to go on the road for it," 
 
 *' But you do not expect to get it of Myers ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 *» Impossible !" 
 
 " Not so impossible, perhaps, as at the first glance it appears. You used to be, 
 before you took to the road, as good a hand at a lock as was to be found in the 
 length and breadth of all England. Has your cunning deserted you ?** 
 
 ♦« I think not." 
 
 ** Then I have just but one question to ask of you." 
 
 «• And that—*' 
 
 "Is, will you accompany me to-night in an attempt to get some cash from the 
 Jew ?" 
 
 ** I will go with you, Claude, through fire and water— to the end of the world 
 or a step beyond it, if you wish me to do so." 
 
 " The devil I'* exclaimed Claude, suddenly. 
 
 " What is the matter V said Jack. 
 
 <' It's an awkward thing. Do you see who is coming I** 
 
 " Ah, yes, yes, Lucy.*' 
 
 ** To be .sure. Well, the fact is, I don*t want to have anything to say to the 
 girl, and would gladly avoid her," 
 
 «* You cannot. She sees you, and is coming fast. Talk quietly to her, end 
 don*t have a scene, if you can help it.** 
 
 «* I wish not for that,"
 
 I le*^ GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 LucVi 'whose dependence upon tbe promises of Claude had up to tbe last few 
 days Seen very strong, now made her appearance, and rushing up to him, she 
 seized him by the arm, and bursting into tears, exclaimed— 
 
 •' You do not care for me now, Claude ; you have forgotten me." 
 
 ** Not forgotten you, Lucy, but— but the fact is, I lead too bad a life for you 
 to care about me. I have not forgotten you, nor — ^but I want you to forget rae." 
 
 *• Forget you ?• 
 
 '•Yes, Lucy; you will find some one who can love you better than L" 
 
 *' Oh, Claude, Claude, this is a cruel jest." 
 
 " It is no jest, Lucy, my destiny calls me another way. Listen to me, my girl. 
 You must name some place where I can always send to you. You maybe assured 
 you shall never want." 
 
 *'Want"?'* 
 
 *' No. That shall never be the case, Lucy, while I have anything for you, you 
 may depend ; and you may have sufficient faith in my resources to feel assured 
 that I shall be always able to provide in some way for those whom I loye." 
 
 "Love?"! 
 
 " Yes, Lucy, love." 
 
 " Then Claude, you do — love me still ?'* 
 
 "Assuredly, you have been a good girl to me. Now and then, perhaps, when a 
 little jealousy got the better of you, you did not know very well what you were 
 about ; but as a general thing, 1 say you have been true to roc.** 
 
 " And yet you would cast me from you V* 
 
 " There ig a necessity that we should part." 
 
 " You love another ?" 
 
 Claude was silent. In the course of a few moments the girl abruptly held out 
 her hand to him, saying-* 
 
 "Good-by, Claude.*' 
 
 ** Good-by," he replied. " Tell me where to send to you to-morrow." 
 
 She passed her hand across her eyes, as she said in a low mournful voice— 
 
 *' Alas, how can I?** 
 
 " Surely— surely you know where you are going." 
 
 "I cannot help it.— How can I tell where the tide will take me?" 
 
 These last few words were said in so low a tone as she hurried away, that 
 Claude did not catch them, and turning to Sixteen-string Jack, he asked him if he 
 heard what she said. Jack had heard, but he shrank from telling Claude, and 
 replied in the negative, adding after a moment — ■ 
 
 •'Women say a world of things that they don't mean.'* 
 
 ••*Tistrae. Let us forget her. She will manage, no doubt, to let me know 
 where to find her, and I will keep my word regarding her, but live again with her 
 I cannot now. Higher motives own me." 
 
 Claude did not feel exactly disposed to tell Jack in precise words thai he was 
 married to Cicely, but left him to infer what he pleased from the ambiguous way 
 in which he spoke of the affair. No doubt Jack had his own surmises on the 
 subject, but he did not choose, after all that had taken place, to ask any questions 
 of Claude concerning Cicely. 
 
 ** Show me the Jew's house," said Claude. 
 
 This Jack did ; and after noting well the general aspect of it, and feeling as- 
 sured that he not only should know it again at any hour, either of the night or 
 the day, but that he had a tolerable notion of the plan of its internal ariange- 
 ments, he said-* 
 
 «* Well, Jack, where shall we meet to-night?" 
 
 '* Here, under this archway.** 
 
 "Agreed. You must provide yourself with all the tools necessary for making 
 good an entrance to the house." 
 
 " Certainly. 1 understand that part of the profession better than you do." 
 
 •' Yes, 1 will have everything ready." 
 
 Claude could not help seeing that Sixteen-string Jack was afraid of the adven
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 169 
 
 CLAUDE AND JACK WATCHINQ THE MOVEMENTS OF THE JEW. 
 
 ture, and indeed he could eis-ly suppose that under the peculiar circumstances, the 
 Jew had acquired a control over Jack's mind that bordered quite upon a super- 
 stitious fear. He hoped, however, to be able to rescue his old friend from such 
 a state of mental depression ; and if the night's enterprise had no other results 
 than filling Claude's empty purse, and letting Sixteen-string Jack see that the 
 Jew was not so all-powerful as he thought him, it would certainly not have been 
 undertaken in vain. ' 
 
 They agreed between them to meet under the archway, at one o'clock in the 
 morning. 
 
 No» 22.
 
 170 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE ROBBERY. — THE ADVENTURE AT THE JEW-PnYSIGIAN's. 
 
 The midnight In London on that eventful date was one of the most wild and 
 stormy that for years had shown itself in the great city. j 
 
 By about ten o'clock large masses of clouds had gathered together in the far | 
 west, like some invading host, and had then taken the next two hours to complete | 
 their march to thb oityi over which they hung like a huge black pall, threatening | 
 death and destruction to all beneath it. 
 
 The people of London, that is to say, the decent, orderly, and estimable portion 
 of the population, knew nothing of what was threatening, for they bad all retired 
 to rest ; but those persons who for rapine, robbery, and illicit pleasures, were la 
 the street, shrank within themselves at the prospect of the coming storm. 
 
 It was quite twelve, however, before the tempest showed any unequivocal signs 
 of its presence, and fairly awakened the sleepers in London. 
 
 At about that hour there came a vivid flash of lightning that for a brief moment 
 translated the whole city from intense darkness to a strange, lurid sort of light, 
 making all things look like the remnant of some vast conflagration, which in its 
 red dying embers was awful to look at. 
 
 The thunder that almost immediately followed, for the stofm was fairly over the 
 city» was perfeoUy terrific, and in an instant the whole population of London was 
 awake. Who could sleep with such a summons in their ears to be up and 
 Watching ? 
 
 Not the dread trumpet-blast which at the day of judgment is to summon] the 
 nations to the throne of Heaven^ could have creattpd greater consternation in the 
 ilciinds of many, than did that peel of thundet that startled them from sleep. 
 
 It was just at the moment it took place, that Claude Duval stood under the 
 atchway in Queen«street, waiting the arrival of Sitteen-string Jack. 
 
 Claude Duval was astonished at the storm, but he was not terrified, as ittiny 
 men. An enthusiastic lover of the beauties of nature as he was, he ever found too 
 mueh to admire in any of her operations, to find anything lo dread ; and now in 
 the Stern sublimity of the storm, he felt that elevation of spirit Which is ever the 
 accompaniment of a superior intellect. 
 
 Alas ! that that superior intellect which was given to Claudo should have been 
 desecrated, as it was, to base purposes. 
 
 He shrank back into the archway and watched the storm. 
 
 After the first clap of thunder, which had awakened everybody, there Was a 
 pause for many minutes, and then there came another, not so loud, and jet quite 
 loud enough to be very startling, and to keep fully up to the mark the fears of 
 those who had been alarmed at the first. The storm might then be fairly considered 
 to be raging, for the lightning and thunder went on with scarcely one moment's 
 intermission. Indeed the echo of one report blended into the actual reverbera- 
 tions of the next. 
 
 Claude was anxious for the appearance of Jack. 
 
 '^^ Where can he be ?'* he said to himself. *• Surely the tempest will not, even 
 in the weak and excited state of his nerves, have the effeci of frightening him from 
 the adventure." 
 
 Scarcely had Claude uttered these words, when some one in a low, crouching 
 attitude, entered the archway. 
 
 " Is It you ?" cried Claude, fancying that, if it were Jack, he would know the 
 sound of his, Claude's, voice. 
 
 " Heaven have mercy upon us 1'* replied Jack, for it was really he, 
 
 •* Ah, I am glad you are come,*' said Claude. 
 
 " Spare me ! Spare me !"
 
 fLIFE ON THE ROAD. 171 
 
 "" What do you mean ? What has happened ?" 
 
 As he spoke, Claude placed his hand upon Jack's arm, and the latter thereupon 
 gave a cry ot terror, 
 
 *' Gracious Heaven !" said Claude, " do you not know me ?" 
 
 " Oh I spare me." 
 
 ** Why, what is the meaning of this, Jack ? Have you at length fairly taken 
 leave of your senses ?" 
 
 By this time Sixteen-string Jack seemed to he aware who it was that was 
 speaking to him, and he said, faintly — 
 
 " I think it is you, Claude. Oh, yes, I wn sure now that it is you." 
 
 " Assuredly.*' 
 
 ** Thank God you are here, Claude. Did you hear it?" 
 
 ** Certainly— 1 were deaf else. You mean the thunder V* 
 
 " No-no— no." 
 
 '* What then ?" 
 
 ** The voice that came upon the storm with it. Did you not hear a voice say to 
 you, audibly, that the hour of vengeance was at hand, and that the end of the 
 world had come, even while we were plotting and planning a robbery ? Oh, Claude 
 — Claude, you must have heard il — you must have heard it. Would it not have 
 been dreadful for us to have been caught by the Almighty in iniquity ?" 
 
 ** You are mad. Jack." 
 
 " Oh, no — no. They are mad who heed not the visible warnings of the hurri- 
 cane. You and they, and all the world, are mad." 
 
 " Well," said Claude, with a despairing sort of .shrug of his shoulder; ** I am 
 sorry. Jack, to find you are in such a frame of mind. Your judgment was once 
 strong and able, but now I grieve to see that it is shattered. If you intend to 
 help me in easing your friend the Jew of some of his cash, say so; if not, just be 
 equallv explicit, and I will essay the adventure myself." 
 
 '* No, Claude, no." 
 
 *' You will not ?" 
 
 ** Come away, let us pray and repent.'' 
 
 '* I beg your pardon. Jack. Every one to his taste. I had rather not just now, 
 but don't say I stopped you. You can go and pray till all is blue, if you like. As 
 for me, I thmk this storm is a capital opportunity for attacking the house of the 
 Jew, so I shall set to work upon it." • 
 
 " No— no." 
 
 " Yes — yes, I say. Yes — yes. Why, how you shiver ! Your teeth chatter, 
 too, as though you were as cold as ice." 
 
 " I am cold." 
 
 Claude took from his pocket a small flask of brandy, and handed it to Jack, 
 saying as he did so — 
 
 "Then drink of that, it will perhnps bring you to a better fiame of mind. 
 The storm, too, is well-nigh over. Do you not see and hear how the rain Is 
 coming down ? We shall be washed out of the entry if we do not leave it volun- 
 tarily in a few moments more. Have you drunk some ?" I 
 *'Yes." ^^ [ 
 
 ** And how do you feel now ?" "^ \ 
 
 •* Better, I think, and — and if you really have made up you mind to break into 
 
 the Jew's house^ it would be a dastardly thing of me to desert you." ! j 
 
 «* Give me your hand," said Claude. "Now, old friend, I know you ag»in. |' 
 
 Why, you were but playing a part before, and in your disguise no one would have | j 
 
 recognised you as the bold, generous, daring Sixteen-etring Jack." | ^ 
 
 '* I am weak at times. Is there any more of that brandy ?" i 
 
 *' Certainly. Take another drop, and don't let us have any more snivelling and • 
 
 crying about praying and repenting, and all that sort of thing ; you know we are 
 
 men, and have got our work to do. Come on. Have you your tools with you ?*" 
 
 "Yes. There is not a lock in London can stop me, if I choose to say open." 
 
 "Good."
 
 172 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 They both left the archway, although the rain was coming down at a rate that 
 was sufficient to wash any one quite away. They ran until they reached the deep 
 portico in front of the Jew's house, where they had immediate shelter, as well as 
 concealment ; but it was rather an awkward thing for them to find that there was a 
 watchman's box close at hand. 
 
 ** What shall we do ?" whispered Jack. " There is a watch-box," 
 
 " And a watchman in it," said Claude» *' you may be sure." 
 
 " Think you so ?" 
 
 " Of course ; and no doubt fast enough asleep, where he will continue. The 
 only thing to dread is his suddenly awakening and fancying he hears an alarm, in 
 which case he will be springing his confounded rattle, to show his efficiency, as the 
 sleepiest watchmen are in the habit of doing, the moment they do chance to 
 awaken ; and then when they have made a tumult, they say they have scared away 
 some thieves.'' 
 
 •* Exactly. But what can we do ?" 
 
 •* Take away his rattle." 
 . *' Can you manage it?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, anything in reason." 
 
 Claude crept close to the watch-box, and looked in ; he saw by the faint light ot 
 the night, that the guardian of the property was fast asleep. 
 
 " Hilioa !" said Claude close to his ears, 
 
 **Eh!Eh! God bless me, what ? Eh !'* cried ihe affrighted watchman. 
 
 ** Here — your — your lantern,'* said Claude, " and your rattle.'* 
 
 *♦ Yes, yes. What's the matter ?'* 
 
 •' Spring your rattle well, you might get a gu'nea, and something else, if you 
 do." 
 
 ** Certainly, your hononr." 
 
 The watchman had quite a job to get his rattle, which was in the profound 
 depths of the pocket of his great white coat, but he did at length get it, and was 
 about to spring it, when Claude dexterously snatched it from his hand, 
 saying— 
 
 " Tou shall have the guinea another time, but the something else I promised 
 you, you shall have now." 
 
 A knock on the head with the rattle sent the guardian of the night in a heap 
 to the bottom of the watch-box, and then putting the rattle in his own pockety 
 Claude came back to Jack. 
 
 •< Is idl right ?" said Jack. 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes." 
 
 *< What hate you done with him V* 
 
 •« Oh, nothing particular. I have only advised him to be quiet for a time, end 
 he is prudent enough to accept the good counsel. Come, now, Jack. Begin 
 apon the doors with your keys. A more favourable night could not be for crack- 
 ing a crib than this, I suppose, although it is a sort of work that li new to me, 
 and rather out of my fine altogether. Be quick." 
 
 " I don't think we shall be interrupted," said Jack ; *'and as for cracking cribs, 
 I can assure you, there has been some very respectable people in this line, and I 
 don't myself see why it should be thought worse of than saying, 'stand and 
 deliver !' on the king's highway." 
 
 •* It's all a matter of taste. Jack." 
 
 <* So it is, so it is.' 
 
 Jack made clever use of a skeleton key that he had, and the click of the lock, 
 as he shot it back, sufficiently testified that he had succeeded. 
 
 " Humph !* he said, " it's all very well. But there is an iron bar in the inside." 
 
 *« What is to be done?" said Claude. 
 
 " Oh, it's «nly a matter of time, after all. The iron bars to doors are of the 
 worst and softest iron, usually. People think if they are heavy that's enough ; 
 but I have a saw here which will soon settle the matter, and in this rain it will 
 hardly be heard by any one."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 173 
 
 A fine saw blade soon made way through the bar of the door, but when that 
 obstacle was removed, it was found that there ^ere loo bolts to get rid of, so 
 that, with one thing and another, half an hour was consumed before the door of 
 the Jew's house yielded, and then both Claude and Jack thought that all the 
 labour would be in vain, for a bell that was communicated with it, rung violently 
 the moment they moved it. 
 
 *' Confound the suspicious rascal !" said Claude. 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Jack. 
 
 The bell ceased ringing and all was still. They could not tell, of cours'-; 
 whether any alarm was given or not, but they closed the street door, and fastened 
 it on the inside as well a.s they could, and then they stood in the dark passage 
 and listened. 
 
 For full five minutes they remained motionless, and then hearing no noise 
 they concluded that, amid the clatter of the descending rain, the noise made 
 by the bell had not been sufficient (0 awaken the Jew. 
 
 '' It's all right," said Claude. 
 
 ** It's hard to say," whispered Jack, '* but we must chance it. Come slowly up 
 stairs, and when we get past all observation from the fanlight oyer the door, 1 will 
 get a light." 
 
 ** You have matches ? * 
 
 ** Oh, yes, I never co»ne upon an expedition ©f this kind without all my tools 
 and implements with me, you may be sure." 
 
 " You*re right." 
 
 They carefully ascended the staircise, which, being well carpeted, returned no 
 sound of their footsteps, and when they reached the first landing, in another 
 moment a faint blue light which he had procured through the instrumentality of a 
 chemical match, enabled Claude to see about him. 
 
 When a lantern which Jack took from his pocket was lit, every object upon 
 which he turned the magnifiers was fully irradiated with lighf, and then they 
 found that the landing upon which they were, was fitted up in a very costly manner 
 indeed, and prevailed with so many luxuries, that Claude could not help 
 saying— 
 
 '' If the staircase be thus elaborately Airnished, what must the room, to which it 
 is only the thoroughfare, be ?*' 
 
 ** He is rich with plunder," faid Jack. 
 
 " No doubt — no doubt, and you have of late contributed not a little to his ill- 
 gotten wealth, Jack ?'* 
 I *' I have. The command he has had over me has been immense ; I hope some 
 . day to be able to shake it off." 
 
 I '* You have but to determine to do so, surely, and it may be considered to be 
 done, I should say." 
 
 *• Oh, you do not kaow him." \ 
 
 " He is a man.** 
 
 " Yes, with power seemingly more thau human." 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 Claude laid his hand upon the arm of Jack, who in a moment shut up the lan- 
 tern, so that all was darkness around then. 
 
 •• What did you hear?" whispered Jack. ^ 
 
 '< A footstep — look, there is a faint light, too. We must hide ourselves some, 
 where — ah — good luck ! this door is open — come. Jack, come in. The light in- 
 ci eases. Some one is evidently coming down the stairs. Who cam it be ?* 
 
 -^
 
 1 
 
 174 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 ^^l^-r^t THE FATE OF THE JEW.— JACK'S DELIVERANOB. 
 
 It was into a back room upon the first floor that Claude and Jack went for re- 
 fuge from the person who was coming slowly down the stairs, but they did not 
 close the door sufficiently to shut out all mean^ of observation, for they were 
 naturally anxious to know who it was that at such an hour was going about the 
 house. 
 
 *' Look," said Claude in a whisper to Jack, *' and tell me if you know who it is. 
 There— there he is." 
 
 *' It is the Jew," said Jack, with a shudder. 
 
 "Then the bell has alarmed him." 
 
 " No doubt — no doubt, and we are lost." 
 
 « Lost ! What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, you know him not as I know him. He has powersof mischief that trans- 
 cend all that you can imagine." 
 
 "I fear him not. Hush, only watch him narrowly." 
 
 Meyers, the Jew doctor, was a tall gaunt-looking man, of about fifty years of age, 
 and as he came slowly down the stairs which led to the upper portion of his house, 
 he looked more tall and gaunt than he really was, for he was attired in a 
 dressing-gown, the skirts of which swept the floor, and upon his head he wore a 
 strange conical cap. 
 
 In his hand he had a large knife. 
 
 It was impossible to draw any precise conclusion from his manner, as to whether 
 he had risen in consequence of the alarm given by the ringing of the bell, or not, 
 although Claude, as far as he could be said to have an opinion, was inclined to 
 think that it was not so. 
 
 There was an air of deliberation about Meyers which seemed to be very far 
 from the sort of feeling with which a man would get up in the night who thought 
 his house was attacked. Nor did he look at all aboat him, as one might naturally 
 have supposed he would under such circumstances. On the contrary, he proceeded 
 as though he had some perfectly definite object, which could not have been the 
 case in the event of a mere night alarm. 
 
 Both Claude and Jack were puzzled to know what to think about this odd con- 
 duct of the Jew. j 
 
 ** Patience, and let us watch him," whispered Claude. "There is no other re- ; 
 source ; we shall perhaps find out something very curious and interesting by a crose I 
 attention to his movements." ' ' i 
 
 The more they watched Meyers, the more they were convinced that it was not \ 
 the alarm of the bell ringing that had got him up at such an hour, and the j 
 more curious did they become, to know what on earth he could be about , stalking i 
 through his house at such a time, with a large and formidable-looking knife in his 
 hand. 
 
 In the course of a few minutes he reached the landing where they were, and 
 then he paused, as though to listen. 
 
 '* Kist— hist !" he said, in an odd, half articulate voice. *' Hist ! all is still. He 
 won't like it much ; and what if he do ?— ah, what if he do ?" 
 
 As Claude looked carefully at him, an idea came across him, and he whispered 
 to Jack, saying — 
 
 " He is asleep. Conscience has been exercising her power over that man, and 
 he has arisen in his sleep." 
 
 " Do you really think so," 
 
 *' Look at him, and you will not doubt it." 
 
 Jack looked earnestly in the face of Meyers, and then he said— 
 
 '*It-is so; as you say, Claude, he has arisen in his sleep. No doubt the
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 175 
 
 noise of the storm and tbe bell mingled with some visions of his slumbers, 
 and he has risen to repeat, perchance, some event of hia former waking 
 life." 
 
 *' Some'crime ?" 
 
 " Doubtless a crime. Such a man's life is made up of crimes. Hush, he speaks 
 again — let us hear him." 
 
 " Yes," said Meyers, *' blood is real — but what'of that ? Many things are real 
 as well as blood, and no one fears them. It is but a pang, and then all is over. He 
 must die some time, and when he does I may not have the diamonds, but if he 
 die now 1 do have tbem. Hush — hush — softly-— hush I" 
 ","A murder !" whispered Jack. 
 "No doubt of it." 
 
 '•To be sure," added Meyers, " he is one of my own people, but my own people 
 must die some time — I will do it.*' 
 *' A pretty rascal !" said Claude. 
 " Follow him— follow him." 
 
 Meyers opened the door that was next to that through which Ciuudfc and Jack 
 had just passed, to get out of his way, and in a moment he had left the landing. 
 There was no difficulty, however., in following him, for he left the door wide open, 
 so both Claude and Jack slipped into the room. 
 
 It was a large and handsome bed-chamber. In the centre was a great old- 
 fashioned bed with costly hangings, and a great plume of feathers at each of its 
 corners. All the appointments of the room, too, were of the first description, as 
 they could very well see by the light which the Jew carried. 
 
 Hi continued muttering something to nimself now which they could not very 
 well make out, and then he placed his light upon a table and approached the bed, 
 but he paused before he reached it, and said — 
 "Is all right below?" 
 
 After waiting apparently in a state of indecision for a few moments, he went to 
 a part of the room where there was a door, and opening it he disclosed a large 
 cupDoard. He stooped to the floor of it, and appeared to be making a great effort 
 to lift something. 
 
 It was a wonder that the exertion did not awaken him, but at length he 
 got up the lid of a hole in the cupboard, and then he rose muttering to 
 himself — 
 
 " Yes, yes, down there he will be safe. Let the dead consort with the dead. 
 It has received others, and it shall receive him. He came to sleep here for secu- 
 rity with his diamonds, and lo ! he dies the death, and the bright gems become 
 mine — yes, all mine !" 
 
 He then went to the table, and got the light, with which he advanced again to 
 the trap-door, and holding it so as to give as much light as possible into the depth 
 below, he stooped and looked down. 
 
 "What a grave!"* he said. "But he is not the first — no— no — no. How 
 should I be so rich if he were the first ? I shall be rich enough some day to go 
 to the East, and be a prince among my people. Yes, 1 shall be great in Jesusalem, 
 if I am rich, and all will bow down to me. Oh, yes, I must have the diamonds. 
 How deep down will he go ?" 
 
 •' About that depth," said Claude, as he put up his foot and sent the Jew 
 headlong down the trap entrance, 
 « Good God I" said Jack, 
 
 One shriek came up from the depths of the abyss, and then all was still. 
 '• Now, Jack," said Claude, " I have not taken this Jew's life for any sort of 
 quarrel that I had with him, or for any romantic feeling that I was doing an act 
 of justice towards society by ridding it of a bad member ; but it is for your sake 
 I have done it." 
 " For my sake V' 
 
 "Yes. Has not this man been as it were an incubus upon you? Has he 
 not completely made you his slave ? Has he not cenfounded all your faculties,
 
 176 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 and 80 overpowered your judgment nd jour imagination that you know not 
 yourself?" 
 
 "Yes— oh, yes." 
 
 ♦' Then yoo are firm?" , ., 
 
 Jack drew a long breath before he spoke, and then he only taid, 
 
 •* I hope so." 
 
 * You only hope so. Are you not sure P^' 
 « No, Claude- 
 
 '* Where are your doubts V 
 
 '* I have been so accustomed to think this man lomething more than human, 
 that although 1 have seen him disappear down that hole, I should not feel at all 
 surprised at his reappearance." 
 
 Claude laughed. 
 
 Jack shook his bead, as he added,—* 
 
 ".Wait a bit— wait a bit." r*v-w*^ 
 
 *' Well, well, Jack, at all events I suppose the house is our own, and we had 
 better take advantage of the opportunity and fill our purses, if we can. Come. It 
 is most probable that we shall find what we want in some strong box, which your 
 ingenuity will be taxed to open." 
 
 " My experience," said Jack, <' of these matters has taught me to believe that 
 it is in the bedrooms of such as Meyera that their principal moveable valuables 
 are kept, and to such a perfection has the science of robbery got, that there are 
 cracksmen iu London who will tell you in which drawers in a chest of drawers 
 money is most l«kely to be kept." 
 
 * Indeed !" 
 
 ** Yes, and they are mostly correct. Come on, if we are to do anything." 
 
 " All, Jack, you are yourself again, now that you have got rid of the terror of 
 that man.*' 
 
 «I feel better." 
 
 Jack smiled now in something of his old way, and he and Claude at once pro- 
 ceeded up stairs to the bedroom of the Jew, which they easily found. Claude 
 was rather surprised to find no one else in the house, but Jack told him that Meyers 
 was in the habit of only employing an old woaan in the daytime to attend upon 
 him, and that she did not sleep upon the premises. 
 
 " Then we are absolute masters here V* said Claude. 
 
 ** I presume so.* 
 
 In the Jew's bedroom they were nearly being foiled, for nothing of any value of 
 a portable character could they for a time find. At length close to the head of 
 the bed Claude saw a small keyhole in the wall, and be at once pointed it out to 
 Jick, saying,— 
 
 •* There, there^can you do anything with that V* 
 
 '* Ah, you hav?fc)und it." 
 
 "You think 80 r 
 
 *<I am certain of it ; and it will be a lock indeed that will resist the means I 
 have here of opening it. Hold the light, Chiude, and if this be the Jew's strong 
 box, I think we shall soon obtain a sight of its' contents." 
 
 Jack produced his skeleton keys, and commenced operations, but the lock was 
 certainly an ingenious one, for it resisted his efforts a considerate time. At 
 length, with a sudden click it was thrown back, and in another monent a small 
 iron door in the wall creaked upon itshinges, and showed a tolerahlf capacious 
 chest, let into the solid brick work of which the wall was composed. 
 
 Claude eagerly looked into the receptacle of some of the Jew's wealth, and the 
 strange miscellaneous collection of articles rather puzzled him, inasmuchiSiS there 
 was everything but cash. 
 
 Watches, rings, necklaces, bracelets, and every ornamental article of jewellery 
 was to be found, and no doubt all of value, but the difficulty of disposing of.^uch 
 thiugs was well known both to CUude and Jaick. 
 
 ♦' What are wa to dol" said the former.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 117 
 
 (tucy, Claude's deserted misitess, about to commit suicide.) 
 
 " We must take what we can get," said Jack. " I should advise that we do not 
 take too much at once, but come back again from time to time. Of course, hy 
 making a great sacrifice,we can manage to dispose of such property as we see here." 
 
 'Oh, yes." 
 
 Acting upon this advice, Claude and Jack each took some of the j'?wellery, and 
 carefully putting it in their pockets, after which they began to think t-f closing 'the 
 secret box, and quitting the house. 
 
 The lantern tha Jcckhad he placed upon a chair that was near/the bed-side, 
 and before he closed the Jew's strong box he sat down to trim the light a little. 
 
 No 2?.
 
 178 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 The moment, however, that he was fairly seated in the chair, dovin it went 
 through the floor like a flash of lightning, conveying Jack and the light with it, 
 and leaving Claude In total darkness. 
 
 This was so sudden and so totally unexpected that Claude was quite staggered 
 at it, and nearly fell forward through the opening which he supposed was now in 
 the floor. He had not time lo recover from his first surprise before another 
 awaited him. 
 
 He felt the whole floor of the room vibrate for a moment, and then he was con- 
 fident that it was slowly ascending. He could hear the creaking of pulleys by 
 which this mechanical feat was executed, and as the speed with which the ascend- 
 ing floor went increased, a horrible fear came across Claude at the £&>e which 
 awaited him, 
 
 " I am to be crushed," he cried, *' between the floor and the roof. Oh I what a 
 horrible fate. Jielp ! help I help \" 
 
 The sound of liis own voice roused him to that native 4i^ity of courage which 
 he posses8ed> and folding his arms, he, wit|i a heroism worthy o| % far more exalted 
 sphere of action, prepared himself to no^eet one of the mc^t ¥.orribe deaths in 
 silence. 
 
 In that total darkness he suffered mor^tljan death with the horri^ expecM^n 
 of its approach in such a form as it now presented itself ta him. Bjat tl^e |S^or 
 ascended much less rapidly than he had imagined, (^ his, io^it^tiou mac^e |^im 
 think the distance less. But at all events a very f«^ mpn^fj^^ more must ^^le 
 the dreadful business. 
 
 During that brief interval nearly the whole of th^ np^ost striking ev^ta ^i his 
 career rushed across the fancy of Claude, from the mc^^ao^t when he he^4 ^9^ ^y 
 the gallows tree upon which hung the remains of his feher, to tha| ij^ '^M^^ 
 Cicdy had told him she would be his. 
 
 It was the thought of her that inflicted the severest pang Tt^n him» 9fii^ llRftde 
 him indeed groan in spirit. 
 
 ** Farewell, npiy Cicely," he said, "farewell for evqr. If- ever life ha4 a cha^m 
 for me, it is uov? in your love ; but I must leave thee to the great warlc^ ^ftd all 
 its sorrows alone. Oh^ death, thou hast indeed a pang ng^y^, and such a pang as I 
 have in my pride thought thou ivould'st never h^ve to vs^ for I had looked upon 
 thee in many shapes, and feared thee not untij^ now. Ci^el^^ d^ar Cicejyy, dea]pe6t, 
 a last farewell.* 
 
 His head sunk upon his breast, and bu^^at his mj^e imply^ 9atar% f^p^ted 
 against such an act, he cpuld have wept, 
 
 For a few moments th^n i^e vibs^ 1^^^ ^'O^ ^^^^ instan^^ \^ exp^il^ i^^ the 
 death stroke would come. He lifted u^ais hands to try if (e could t^^UQl^ the 
 ceiling, but he felt nothing, and thea, h6; thought that the mfliv^ent of the floor 
 was not so rapid. 
 
 Hope— that radiant a.Q^l— came up in hia^ heart again, aadj^ li* began to fancy 
 that after all he might Veskved. — O what jfc soft delicious feelii^vipas that ! 
 
 " I may live yet—may live yet," he exclaimed, *' but let mjf life be lengthened 
 to as long a span as it may, never shall I forget the feelings of this dreadful 
 hour." 
 
 He now became convinced that the passage of the floor of the apartment through 
 the air had ceased, and he heard a voice which sounded startlingly near to him, say, 
 
 « Who art thou V' 
 
 "Whoever has had the strange power that, if evidently possessed by some one 
 here, ought to know," responded Claude. 
 
 "Who art thou?" said the voice again. 
 
 « Claude Duval i" 
 
 '< The robber ?" 
 
 ** Well, you might have chosen a more delicate mode of putting it; but have it 
 your own way. I am Claude Duval the robber." 
 
 "And afraid to die?" 
 
 •*No.'%^^.. ,. „______
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD: 179 
 
 *' Yes. — What will you give for your life ?" 
 
 "In truth, I have said stand and deliver to many men, but never yet had it said 
 to nie. Since, however, you put it in that light, I will give what I am worth, and 
 the more readily because I cannot see my foe, and know not his power. Who 
 art thou ?" 
 
 " One with power enough to crush thee. Thou hast walked into the trap, and 
 must pay the penalty." 
 
 *' What trap ? what penalty ?" 
 
 « Walk on." 
 
 Claude had two pistols about aim, and holding one in each hand, he stood 
 profoundly still, saying — 
 
 " No, I wait my time.'* 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 THE DEATH OP THE DESERTED. 
 
 j An event took place on that same night during which Claude Duval was 
 exposed to such great perils which deserves narration at our hands. It was this : 
 Those who are in the habit of considering human beings in a wholesome kind of 
 a way, vA\en there has occurred any lapse of what may be called the moralities of 
 life, may take a lesson from the sad fat.-; of the young girl who had for a time held 
 the unenvi«ble post of Claude's mistress. 
 
 We speak of her whom he had familiarly called Poll, and who with so much 
 love and so much jealousy, had followed him from place to place, and sought to 
 win him back to her. 
 
 At her last interview with Claude her manner had been strange, and she had 
 exhibited symptoms almost approaching to a derangement of intellect. Such ca 
 tastrophe might fairly be expected to occur, if no better or calmer feelings should 
 soon find a place in l,er heart during the next few hours. 
 
 For a time she stood gazing after him, the way that he had gone, and then, 
 with a gasping sob, she ran a few yards £,fter him, and then she paused again, as 
 .some sudden alteration of feeling came over her. 
 
 i "No, no/' she said. '' He has cast me otf, and I will beseech him no more. He 
 has cast me off for ever, and I will cast myself off — it is time for me to die now." 
 After the utterance of these mournful words she walked on in the way that she 
 had been going, but it was wit- an uncertain and staggering gait, so much so, 
 indeed, that any one would have supposed her intoxicated, but such was far from 
 being the case, 
 
 1^ Her soul was full of bitterness and woe, and as she went all she could continue 
 saying, was — 
 
 I ** He has cast me off tor ever, and I will now cast myself off." 
 I These words to her mind had a fearful meaning. They spoke a sentence of 
 death, which she was resolved to- carry out against herself. 
 
 But still, before she bade adieu to this world, and " all the vanity and vexation 
 of spirit," which had been hers while a dweller within its cities, she felt that she 
 had something 10 do, yet a something which to leave undone, would be to cloud 
 the death to her with double bitterness. 
 
 The rain came down in torrents soon after she had left Claude, but she walked 
 on at the same pace, as though she were completely unconscious of the state of 
 the weather, and no doubt she was. 
 
 She walked on until she came to a narrow street in Soiners-town, and seeking a 
 house in that street, which was of the most squalid character, she knocked at the 
 door.
 
 180 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Before it was opened, she pi t her hand into the breast of her apparel, and took 
 
 out some money, wrapped in } aper. ^ I 
 
 The door was not opened, but a window above it was thrown up, and a woman 
 
 called out — j 
 
 " Who is thai ?" 
 
 "Ah, is that you?" said the wretched girl. *• Don'i you know mc, Mrs 
 Green ?" ! 
 
 " Gracious goodness !'* 
 
 *' Why do you say gracious goodness ? Alas ! I have much need of grace and 
 goodness too." 
 
 The window was closed, and in a few moments the street door Was opened, 
 when Mrs. Green, gasping in an odd manner as she spoke, said— 
 
 " Why, why — did you — never leave — your address 1" 
 
 « My address ?" 
 
 « Yes, it is a month since you have been here to see after your child you gave 
 me to nurse." 
 
 " Yes, a month. I always, you know, come once a month to pay you. Here 
 is the money." 
 
 ''Yes, but— but " 
 
 «• But what V 
 
 " You know you have always refused to let us know where to find you.'* 
 
 ** Believe me, I had my reasons." 
 
 *' You have been away a month." 
 
 *« Gracious Grd ! why do you continue repeating that !" 
 
 " Because, because—" 
 
 " Because what ? You will drive me distracted. Speak to me, woman. Because 
 what, I say ?" 
 
 " During that time, your child — — " 
 
 ** My child ? ray child ? Did you say my child >*' 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " Go on, go on, or I will kill you." 
 
 " During that time your child has been dead—'* 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no!" 
 
 "And buried." 
 
 '« »Tis over. Thaak- thank God. 'Tis over." 
 
 The wretched mother dropped the small sum of money that she carefully laid 
 by to pay for the child's keep. It fell upon the pavement with a doll heavy sound, ' 
 and the poor bereaved mother staggered from the place. Again in a rushing torrent 
 came down the pitiless rain, dashing into her face, while the insulting wind 
 dragged from her head the frail soddened bonnet that she wore, and scatterod it 
 to fragments. I 
 
 She heeded nothings— she cared for nothing, but no doubt quit ^ i c«)»:sciou8 of 
 what had occurred, she still staggered on, and it was strange that she seemed to ' 
 know, even ia the midst of all her mental agony, whither she was going. | 
 
 She hurried up and down streets evidently with a design. It would almost 
 seem as if some unseen hand were leading her to destruction or to peace. j 
 
 "All is lost!" she said. ''All is lost !" and those were the only words she 
 uttered, as through the storm of wind and rain she took her way — to the' 
 river. | 
 
 Yes. That washer destination.— Winding her way up the long straggling;, 
 thoroughfare of Gray's Inn Lane, she reached Holborn, which she crossed, and^ 
 diving i::to the intricate neighbourhood of Fetter Lane, she soon found herself in 
 Bridge Street, Blackfriars, close to the old bridge. | 
 
 The storm of wind and rain had cleared the streets of all who had houses to 
 go to, and it seemed to that unhappy creature, so few persons did she meet, as if, 
 every one kept out of her way, as they would out of the way of something dyn^ 
 gerous or loathsome to sight or touch. { 
 
 That was her impression. Alas, poor creature ! She had deserted herself and ;
 
 — =71 
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAC, 181 
 
 now she found that all human kind deserted her. She was nbout to leave the 
 world, which henceforward contained for her no charm, and so she, with a pardon- 
 able error, thought that it was leaving her. 
 
 She was certainly ?cen and renoarked upon by two or thrre persons as she 
 went, but then, in London, to look woe-begone and spirit-broken, is to bespeak 
 thac shrinking and shunning with which the more cheerful and prosperous are 
 but too apt to treat their less fortunate brothers. 
 
 It is a melancholy fact that there is nothing from which human nature revolts 
 so much as from the sight of the misery of its fellows. 
 
 Of course there are many noble and brilliant exceptions to this state of 
 things. 
 
 An old watchman, who happened to awake, looked out of his box just in time 
 to see the pale, wan, heart-stricken being pass him. Her face happened to be 
 just upon a lerel with his as she flitted by. 
 
 He thought it was a ghost, and dropped to the bottom of his box in an agony 
 of apprehension at having such a personage upon his beat. 
 
 *' Lord forgive us !" he muttered. ** it's a ghost of some one who has met 
 death by some unfair means, and there has been no crowner's quest in the 
 parish." 
 
 She passed on, and now the surging noise of the rain upon the river could be 
 distinctly heard. She looked up the steep ascent of the bridge, but not a soul 
 was to be seen. Black, heavy masses of cloud obscured the fair face of Heaven, 
 and the starry boit, which else would have made such -a glorious canopy above 
 her head, and all between that and earth was the pelting of the storm, that 
 seemed to know no abatement. 
 
 The water came down in a stormy shower, and the mist of it came up in a 
 seething cloud. 
 
 Ail was miserable, cold desolation. 
 
 The miserable creature, who walked upon the margin of eternity, did not weep 
 —If God had granted tears to her, she yet might have found a something for the 
 love of which to cling to life, some faint hope to which she might have held» as 
 the wrecked mariner giasps at a floating reed, to sustain him amid the roar and 
 the dash of a raging sea. 
 
 But she had no tears and she had no hope. Her heart was a desert, over 
 which the simoom of wild passion had passed, and left not a green spot behind 
 it, to mark that there had ever been verdure or beauty. 
 
 No, all was despair. 
 
 And now she has climed up the steep ascent of the bridge, and she stands 
 near to the parapet of the eentre arch. Her arms are resting upon the cold wet 
 stone. Those arms which will soon want no rest, knowing no fatigue. 
 
 The wind scattered about her shoulders the dishevelled masses of her hair, and 
 her poor tattered garments are tossed in confusion by the stormy breeze. 
 
 She paused a moment, and a sort of shuddering horror of the deed she contem- 
 plated doing, crossed her mind. 
 
 "Oh, heaven forgive me," she said. " It is known above that if I were not so 
 i truly desolate as 1 am, I would not thus seek to die." 
 
 She paused as though she almost expected some distinct and not tangible 
 I answer to her appeal, and then in a few moments she spoke again as if she were 
 really holding some discourse ot argument concerning her condition with an 
 invisiblt and all powerful being. 
 
 I '* My child is no more," she said, " oh, then, what have I to live for? Ht 
 I whom I have loved has cast me from him. Another supplies tlie place in his 
 heart that once was mine. Why then am I urged to live ?' 
 
 She leant her face upon her hands, and shook as with a convulsion of grief, 
 but she shed no tears, and then she spoke again in a most melancholy and wailing 
 tone of voice, that muat have gone to the heart of any human being, if such had 
 heard the mournful tones. 
 
 "Yes, I was once virtuous ; I once bad friends who looked upon mc with eyes
 
 1 
 
 182 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 of love, and almost veneration. They said that I was beautiful too, but what am 
 I ncv ? I ask what am I now, that I should see to live ?" 
 I She gazed wildly around he, as though from the spirits of the storm that hus- 
 tled and wailed around her, she expected some answer iu confutation or acquies- 
 cence with the words she had last uttered to vacancy. 
 
 I The rain beat in her face, and the blustering wind scattered about her hair, now 
 blinding her as it was diashed across her eyes, and then streaming v»ildly like some 
 strange banner far from her. 
 
 j ** Claude— Claude,*' she gasped, " where are you now ? Oh f where are you 
 now, Claude ?" 
 
 j Suddenly she shrunk into one of the recesses of the bridge. A party of drunken 
 men were commg from the City side of the river, and chanting on their way some 
 rude Bacchanalian lay, which they thought it necessary to give utterance to at the 
 top of their lungs. 
 
 i The rain and the wind did not affect them. They were in the seventh heaven of 
 a drunkard's felicity. The headache and the repentance of the morrow never for 
 a moment crossed their minds, as they came swaggering on, occupying nearly the 
 whole of the carriage way. 
 
 They passed on without seeing the young girl, who shrunk from their observa- 
 tion as fearfully as if anything, in her then frame of mind, could harm her. 
 
 When they were gone — when their tipsy chant had decreased, in the distance, 
 to a faint murmur, she rose shivering from the corner where she had hidden her- 
 self. 
 
 It was strange at that moment what a sudden lull caiue over the tempest that 
 had been raging around her. The rain dropped, and the wind only came in small 
 scattering misty gusts. She looked op, and through a crevice in the clouds she saw 
 a small portion of a young moon. 
 
 Oh I never had it in her eyes looked so beautiful, and so full of calm and 
 serenitv. 
 
 The'exquisite beauty of that cloudy canopy, the fair planet that shone through 
 it, filled her whole soul. 
 
 She wrung her hands as she cried, frantically— 
 
 ♦* Oh, if I dared to live— oh, if 1 dared to live." 
 
 The cloud?, envious of so much calm majesty and beauty, swept ^again over the 
 face of the young moon. Again, with a sullen roar, the wind arose, and the rain 
 came down like an avalanche upon the devoted head of the poor wanderer. 
 
 The partial light that bad shone for a moment upon her soul was gone again, and 
 like the elements around her, her mind became once more all wild commotion. ! 
 
 She passed her hands several times across her face and brow, as to free her 
 vision from the tangled masses of her hair, which ever and anon flaunted in the 
 breeze, and haif-blinded her. Then she spoke — 
 
 "Farewell," she said, mournfully. " Farewell to all whom I loved — farewell 
 to all who love me. My little child is in heaven, and wants no prayer, but my 
 kst words to the great Master of all things shall be for thee, Claude Duval. May 
 you be yet blessed — yes, yet blessed." 3 '■ 
 
 She looked hastily around her ; no one was nigh. For all the sight or ^sp^nd 
 ©f human habitants that met her hasty observation, she might have bpeii^ii;^ |i 
 city of the dead. , | 
 
 ** Claude, Claude,'* she cried. She waved her arms frantically in the. niurky 
 air. " Farewell, Claude." :• J V • I 
 
 There was a rushing sound, a shriek, a plunge in the water of the Thames, and 
 all was over. The tide rolled over the life and the sorrows of that erring one, 
 who yet will not be despised of heaven,
 
 ; LIFE ON THE ROAD. 183 
 
 CHAP PER XLV. 
 
 FINISHES Claude's adventure in queen street. 
 
 We left Claude Duval in one of the most extraordinary and perilous situations' 
 it was his fortune to be in during the whole of his eventful career. j 
 
 The command which had been given to him to advance, he by no means felt; 
 inclined to obey. He was as yet, so far as he knew, standing upon solid ground,' 
 but he could not tell how much danger a single footstep forward might place him, 
 at once into. I 
 
 Hence was it that with his pistol in his hand, upon which he knew he,could 
 rely, he declared his intention of not obeying the command which was given him. i 
 
 If we were to say that under such totally unprecedented and extraordinary cir"' 
 cumstances in which Claude was now placed he pid not feel any amount of terror | 
 or uneasiness, we should be saying that he was not human, but certainly he felt no 
 fear, properly so called. 
 
 After he had breathed the sort of defiance that his last words implied, therei^as 
 a pause of some moments' duration, and the same voice said— 
 
 " Claude Duval, think again." 
 
 "About what?*' said Claude. 
 
 *' Advancing.*' 
 
 '*No ; I shall remain where I am." 
 
 *' You are a doomed man." 
 
 ** I will believe that when it happens," said Claude, <* but I decline putting faith 
 in it before." 
 
 ** Cast down your arms and yield." 
 
 " When I am better convinced of the power of my enemy I will take that course 
 into consideration." 
 
 '* Fool, are you sick of life ?* 
 
 **No, idiot, are you?" 
 
 Claude thought he heard the stealty footstep of some one close to him. 
 
 This was an idea that in the intense darkness with which he was surrounded 
 was none of the pleasantest, and he bent all his attention to listen for any confir- 
 mation of the supposition. 
 
 In the course of half a minute he feltqu-te sure that his senses had not deceived 
 him. He could hear, he thought, the suppressed breathing of some one. 
 
 '• Do it," said a voice. 
 
 A stealthy footstep approached nearer still, and then all was quiet. Claude 
 doubled his fist and launched out his right arm with violence. 
 
 He was not mistaken in the result, for some substance gave way before the 
 blow, and there was a great scufiling upon the floor of the place. 
 
 A suppressed voice uttered at the moment some of the most diabolical oaths 
 that he^ Claude, had ever in all his life heard. 
 
 " Stand otf," he cried. *' Stand off, I say, or advance another step at your own 
 peril. I am armed, and never yet scrupled to defend myself," 
 
 All was still. 
 
 Claude stoeped as low as he could, and then he hear a low voice say, — 
 
 *• Where is he V 
 
 "Hush!'* said another. ''Question him where he is. Claude Duval, attend 
 to what shall be said to you. You are adjured to do so by the bones of him who 
 suffered at Hampstead for the crime that was Sralither's.'* 
 
 " What more ?" cried Claude. "What more can you say or know upon that 
 subject ? You may enchain ray attention as surely as that of a three year old 'child 
 with a nursery tale, if you can tell me more than I myself know upon such a sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " We can tell all," said the voice.
 
 184 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "All? All?" 
 
 ••Ay, all, from the first to the last." \ 
 
 " Speak, then, I charge you." 
 
 "Advance." 
 
 Claude in his anxiety to hear what he could on the subject of his father's con. 
 demnation and execution for a crime of which he wa" cort^inly ^n'^c^nt. was 
 upon ilie p 'ill" of stepping forvvarl, biit i luo 'leni's* if fl- fton 'ird lii n p 'H-fr*, f^r 
 it Convinced hi n that noiliing mure ha been as yet &aid but what might be known 
 to ra uy. 
 
 * I will hear wh -.t you h-»ve to aav fr*»m my pr SP'if po^iio , * 'e ^d'rd, coldly. 
 
 "You are Inciedplous,' .-.airl the voice. 
 
 *• As Will 1 tnuy be. until 1 Lave more proot." 
 
 ** Weil, listen. Your father was accused of the murder of Sir Li 'll; I Faversham's 
 steward at Haropstead. Tbe principal witness against htm was Sir L ionel uimself. 
 Your father was innocent of the critne." 
 
 " Weil?" 
 
 •* !^ e siffered,nnd^»'&s hung in chains upon HampR'ead Hen'ft, but y^'i, while 
 yet a boy, and in coMipany with your only sister, May Duval revenged his death. 
 On a stormy, blustrous night, you shot Sir Lionel Faversham close to the gibbet 
 uf your dead father, and he rolled down a steep declivity a dead man, and lay a 
 mangled corpse at its base." 
 
 " And that is all ?" said Claude. 
 
 * Is it not enough?" 
 
 " Yes, for your knowledge, but not for your purposes. You have sought to 
 make an impression upon me, by detailing some particulars of my poor fa'her, 
 but well ■ know where you have gleaned them.* , 
 
 '• That is impossible. The secrets of occult science are not to be discovered so 
 hastily.' I 
 
 " There needs no occult science in this case. You have got a poor dupe, whose , 
 enfeebled intellect, I regret to say, has made him too readily fall iato your bands.' 
 You have gleaned from Sixteen. string Jack all that you have just told me." | 
 
 ** Wretched man, your c'eath be upon your own head unless you agree to our 
 terms." 
 
 *' Ay, what are they ?" 
 
 ** A league of mutual benefit. You will be protected upon all serious occasions, 
 and even restored lo life again if you should suffer at Tyburn, provided——" 
 
 *' Ay, provided," said Claude. *' What is the condition ? I think I can guess 
 •t." 
 
 " The consideration is, that you bring h^re a portion of your gains regu- 
 larly." ^ 
 
 " In fact, be your journeyman instead of my own master. That is the aflfair as 
 [ take it." 
 
 " Do not reject too lightly." 
 
 " Nor accept too lightly.*' 
 
 ** Hark you, Claude Duval ; you are upon the point of giving what you will 
 call a haughty defiance, and a hasty passionate answer to this proposition 
 Remember, however, that it is only made to a few, and if any one to whom it is 
 made refuses it, we never allow him to leave this place alive. " 
 
 " Indeed !" said Claude. *' Then it is time we began operations." 
 Daring the course of this little dialogue, Claude had bent all his energies 
 towards coming to an accurate judgment as to where the person was standing 
 with whom he was conversing, and he considered that he lelt fully certain upon the 
 subject. 
 
 Immediately after he had uttered the last words, he levelled his pistol in the 
 trection he thought would be certain to give him a fair chance in the dark of h it- 
 pting his unknown enemy. 
 
 '* Hark you," he added. " I have a pistol here, double-barrelled, aud with a goo d 
 pring bayonet attached.*'
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON T HE ROAD. 185 
 
 (Claude Daval in the Cellars of the Jew'i house.) 
 
 '• Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed some one. « Two barrels, say you ? Ha ! ha !" 
 *' Yes, and there's the contents of one of them.*' 
 
 As he spoke, he pulled the trigger, and a stunning report subdued all other 
 sounds for the moment. 
 
 " Murder !— murder!— murder ! Oh ! oh ! oh !" cried some one. " I'm done 
 for at last !' 
 
 " Glad to hear if," said Claude, as he dashed furiodsly in the direction of the 
 speaker. *• Only let me get hold of you, and I'll soon put you out of your misery.
 
 186 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ' ' ' ' ' ' m 
 
 you infernal scoundrel. You thought, I suppo&e, you had such a man as ' poor 
 enfeebled Sixteen-string Jack to deal with, but I suppose you have now found 
 out the diflference." 
 
 ** Ob, murder ! — murder !" 
 
 •' There were only three slugs in thepUtol, if you have got them all," added 
 Claude making another dart in the direction of the voice. 
 
 Suddenly be lost his footing, and the only thing that for half a moment stayed 
 his fall down some deep pit, was a rope that he fell across. He had just time to 
 seize it, and then down he went at a very rapid rate, hanging by it. 
 
 *' Ha ! ha !" said the voice, quite in composed accents. ** I shouldn't at all 
 wonder, my fine fellow, but you will break your neck. Ha I ha !'* 
 
 The rope must have met with some sort of impediment in its progress, or else 
 it would have been of but s mall service to Claude. As it was, however, it saved 
 his life, for although he came swiftly to the ground, it was feet foremost, and not 
 with force sufficient to give him a very tolerable shake. 
 
 It was not to be supposed but that he would feel a little confused at his rapid 
 descent, and for a few moments, if policy had not dictated silence, it is doubtful 
 if he could have found breath to utter a word. 
 
 At length he recovered a little, and gave himself a shake, to ascef tain that he 
 had really sustaised no serious injury. 
 
 All was impenetrable darkness, and Claude stumbled on for some few paces, 
 until he heard or fancied he heard a deep groanj and then before he coiiM speak 
 himself, a voice said-^ 
 
 *' Oh ! is this to be the end of uU ? Better had 1 died upon the scaffold ! Oh, 
 far better had I died upon the gallows, than thtts be prvserved to linger out a life 
 of torture here. Spare me I spare me ! I pray you, by kilting m6 at onoe» What 
 have 1 done to merit thtg at your hands 1*' 
 
 •* Surely,'* thought Claude, " that is Jack's voice." 
 
 He did not by any means wish too hurriedly to commit himself In aptiking, 
 80 he listened for some time, in the hope that the Toice would renew its real or 
 mm^ supplications. 
 
 In a few moments it did so. 
 
 «^0h, hbve mercy upon me ; indeed 1 will bring all plund«f fftithf^tlly,** it said ; 
 ** I only ask to live ; I will reserve nothing." 
 
 ** It is Jack's voice," said Claude, « but I really wonder how far 1 may trust 
 him. Has he played me felse or not ?'* 
 
 Claude hesitated for a few moments longer, and then the voice of Jack came 
 again to his ears, 
 
 ** What have I done that I should be thus condemned ? t know your power ! 
 t know that you have wonderful, and in all respects miraoulouft resources, but why 
 should you try to crush me ?" 
 
 •• If you betrayed another," said Claude, in au assniMed Voioi> "you would 
 betray me." 
 
 " Another? Betrayed another ? What do you mean ? 
 
 ** Your old friend and comrade Claude Duval ; have you not offered to sell him 
 to us?'' 
 
 " I— I offer to sell Claude Duval ?— now t understand you* I am to be mur- 
 dered because I would not do so, and your making it tny fault, by pretending that 
 I yielded, is but one of those bftter picees Of hotit, Ih Wliltsh you are so great and 
 profound. But if I am to die, or to suffer torments worse even, for not betraying 
 Claude into your hands, it must be so ; 1 am weak in many things, but npon that 
 I am as firm as a rock." 
 
 " Jack," said Claude, in his natural voice. "How do you find yourself, my 
 old pall?' '^^ 
 
 •* Oh, joy, joy ! is it you, Claude ?" 
 
 " Yes to he sure, and alive and kicking. Never fear, old fellow ; we shall do 
 well yet."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 187 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE CELLARS OF THE JEW's HOl'SE. 
 
 For a tew moments after Claude uttered these last words, Sixteen-string Jack 
 was silent, hut.it was the silence of excess of joy at finding Claude vias safe and 
 uninjured. He could not forbear shedding tears of gratification. 
 
 Alas ! poor Jack, he was a very different being indeed, now, to what he was 
 before his execution. No one had been more firm, bold, and full of spirits than 
 he ; but that awful event, although it had not resulted in depriving hiui of life, 
 had completely crushed and broken down his spirits. 
 
 He was, indeed, according to the phraseology of religious fanatics, a new roan, 
 and he had gained nothing by the novelty, as Claude and all who knew him could 
 well perceive. 
 
 *• Come, Jack," said Claude, " don't be whimpering and snivelling there like 
 a girl, but stir yourself up, and let us see or feel, for this place ia horridly dark, 
 wtiat we hare to do.'' 
 
 " Yes, Claude, I am here." 
 
 *' Well, 1 know you are there ; all I ask of you, is to be a man." 
 " I will do whatever you tell me, Claude. You have but to command me, and 
 I will obey. We are not safe here though. " 
 ** How do you know thst?" 
 *' Some one spoke to me, a few minutes since !" 
 
 " Oh, nevermind that," said Claude, who knew that it was to the short colloquy 
 he himself had had with Jack in an assumeii voice he now referred. ** Never 
 mind that. Jack ; can you give a guess as to where we are ?' 
 
 "We can be nowhere else than in the vaults of the Jew's house, as I think." 
 ** And can we get out ?" f 
 
 ** No !" said a loud %tern voice, that was not Jack's. 
 ** Oh, good gracious," said Jack, " we are lost." 
 
 " Silence," sh®uted Claude, "silence, I say : who was that who just now said, 
 ' No V " 
 
 " One who can say more, and as much to the purpose if he will," added the 
 voice ; " take that.' 
 
 Bang want a pistql, aud Claude felt the ball just touch his cheek as it passed 
 him. 
 
 '* Blaze away !" he cried in a voice of the greatest unconcern, as he immediately 
 fired in the direction where he had seen the flash of the weapon. " Blaze 
 away." 
 
 Crack went another pistol shot at Claude, but it missed him as before. His 
 usual luck did not now desert him upon the occasion. 
 
 ** All righf," he cried ; having taken the precautioii during his previous brief 
 conversation with Jack to reload the discharged barrel of his pistol, he was 
 able instantly to return this second fire, somewhat to the amazement of his 
 foes. 
 
 A deep groan came upon the air of the place after the echo of the firing had 
 ceased. 
 
 " Ob, said Claude, " I had one of you, had I ?" 
 
 He sat down upon the ground to reload his pistol, and he had while in that 
 position satisfactory proof that it was the safest he could assume, for another 
 shot was fired which just passed over his head. 
 
 By the flash of this' last shot he saw Sixteen-striflg Jack, not far from' him, 
 with something glittering in his hand. 
 
 ** What ia it you have, Jack ? " said Claude. 
 
 ** A sword that I have just picked up," replied Jack. *'I hope I shall be
 
 1«^8 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 able by its use to convince you, (!Jlaude, how very willing I ain to fight for 
 you.** 
 
 " AU'k right, I am ready again. Blaze away." 
 
 His foes did not seem so ready as before to fire at one who really seemed to 
 have a charmed life, and he rose from the ground to a standing posture with the 
 double barrelled pistol ready for immediate action, without having another shot 
 tried upon him. 
 
 Suddenly afamt light illuminated the most distant part of the strange cavern- 
 ous place in which he and Sixteen-string Jack were, and from which their 
 escape seemed to be difficult, if not very doubtful under the present aspect of 
 affairs, 
 
 Claude fixed his eyes upon the light, which looked more like that reflected from 
 some centie of illumination, which was sought to be hidden, than light especially 
 intended to be directed to that part of the cavernous place. 
 
 At all events, let it come how it might into the place, Claude by its assistance 
 saw the crouching figure of a man. 
 
 After the numerous shots that had been fired at him, it was not to be supposed 
 that he would feel much delicacy with regard to returning them. To fire at the 
 figure was the work of a moment. 
 
 " A miss. Try again,*' cried a voice. ** Ha, ha !" 
 
 Claude, contrary to his usual calm practice, sutFered himself at the moment to 
 be irritated into firing his other barrel, so that he held in his hand a discharged 
 pistol. 
 
 It would appear, that this was just the state of things he reijuired, for in a 
 moment a voice shouted— 
 
 ** On to him. Cut him down — cut him down. Do something so that he do 
 not, leave this place alive." 
 
 Four men immediately rushed from out the darkness upon Claude, while a fiftli 
 emerged from behind a door, and held up alighted flambeau, which cast a radiant 
 glow over the whole scene. 
 
 At any other time, no doubt Claude would have felt so.ne curiosity to look about 
 him, and see what sort of place he was in, but now to defend his life was the sole 
 thought that came across him. 
 
 The only weapon of defence or ofTcnce he had was that spring bayonet attached 
 to the pistol, which he had spoken of; a touch made that ready for use, but it was 
 a poor defence against four resolute armed men. 
 
 What force, however, will not do, finesse will sometimes accomplish, and in 
 Claude's situation of danger, any course of action was allowable. 
 
 Suddenly he flung himself upon the floor, and in a strange squatting attitude, 
 and rushing forward, he caught two of his enemies by the legs, and flung them 
 upon their backs before they were aware of what was going to happen to 
 them. 
 
 Springing to his feet, then, with a celerity that was truly astonishing, he made 
 another of them by far too intimately ac juainted with the power of the little 
 bayonet to be at all pleasant, and as that one staggered back, Claude wrenched 
 from his hand a sword with which he was armed, and stood upon his 
 defence. 
 
 The ruflian who had hitherto escaped the result of the encounter, stood for a 
 moment or so, like a man petrified, but it would appear as if he possessed courage, 
 for he advanced upon Claude with some show of determiaation. 
 
 *'Be it so," said Claude as their swords rung together, " you and I, if you 
 pleaae, without any tricks, will fight it out." 
 
 It was well for Claude Duval that among his minor accomplishments he in* 
 eluded that of a good knowledge of the use of the broadsword, or he would now 
 have found more than his match in the man to whom he was opposed. 
 
 As it was, the fight appeared to be about as fair a one as regarded equally 
 matched opponents as could very well be imagined. 
 
 Neither party gave way an inch, and the swords clashed together with a vehe-
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 189 
 
 mence which proved them to be right good steel to stand it. No wound had as 
 yet been given or received. 
 
 But Claude was not for many minutes to be left to such a fair stand-up fight. 
 The two vagabonds who had be^n upset by Claude, at the commencement of 
 the fracas, were not very likely lo amuse themselves by sitting upon the floor for 
 a longer period than they could possibly ]:elp ; and now they both rose and 5»d- 
 vanced to the attack with a serious celerity, that really threatened mischief 
 towards Claude. 
 
 The man who stood aloft with the torch, began to think that he might as well 
 have a hand in the affair ; accordingly, rushing forward, he dealt Claude a blow 
 upon the back of the head with the fl mibeau that brought from it, tiie torch, 
 such a shower of sparks as confused everybody, while it near y stunned 
 Claude. 
 
 The regular opponent who was fighting with Duval did not take any advantage 
 of this circumstance, but one of the others who had been so ignominiously upset 
 did so, and approaching Claude, he was upon the point of making a blow at him, 
 when veiy mysteriously at the moment down he fell with a fractured skull. 
 
 Ihii mystery, however, did not last above a moment, for when the fellow fell, 
 Claude saw Sixteen-stringJack standing close at hand brandishing a sword, and 
 looking absolutely furioue. 
 
 ** Come on," he cried, in a voice that was as different from that in which he 
 usually spoke, as thunder is to a penny whistle, " Come on, you vagabonds, 
 come on, and I'll soon make-mince meat of you. Come on, you thieves and mur- 
 derers, face me if you dare." 
 
 '* Bravo, Jack !" cried Claude. 
 
 The man with the torch made a blow at Jack with that most bewildering weapon, 
 but Jack thrust at him with his sword, and the point of it going into his mouth, 
 made such confusion among his teeth that he howled again, and danced about in 
 the most ludicrous manner imaginable. But Claude had too much real work 
 upon his hands to find time to laugh at what .Tack was doing. 
 
 " Come on," cried the man who had been fighting him, •' keep it up for a few 
 minutes." 
 
 *♦ What do you mean ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Fight rae till three in the morning, if you please." 
 
 " You are an odd fellow, what do you mean ?" said Claude. 
 
 A.t this moment the only other person of the attacking four who was in a 
 condition to do so, made a blow at Sixteen-string Jack, which brought him to his 
 knees. 
 
 " Claude—Claude !" he cried. <' Claude I" 
 
 " Coming, Jack," said Claude, and making two steps towards him, he clave the 
 man's skull open with one blow of the broad sword he had in his hand, and Jack 
 struggled with a confused look to his feet. 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" suddenly cried the man wbo had been fighting with Claude 
 Duval, " there's the chimes of some church clock going; it's three. Hip, hip, 
 hip. hurrah ! I'm out of his service at last." 
 
 The fellow threw down his sword, and cut such extraordinary caper.*, that 
 Claude was lost in astonishment, and did not see for a moment that the man with 
 the torch, notwithstanding his wound, and that he had cast the flambeau to the 
 ground, where it lay spirting and burning, was attempting to make his escape from 
 the scene of action. 
 
 **Stop him^" cried Sixteen-string Jack, pointing to the man who had held the 
 flambeau, " stop him, Claude." 
 
 *' Right willingly," said.CIaude^ '* if I mistake not, my friend, you came behind 
 ma with your torch, and very nearly put me beyond further troubles." > 
 
 *' Ob, no— no— no," cried the follow, as he darted on. "No, it was not I— it 
 was not 1." 
 
 **Indeed, but it was though. Defend yourself."
 
 190 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** Take that, then," s»id the fellow, as suddenly turning, with a large horse 
 pistol in hii hand, he fired, or rather pulled the trigger of it in Claude's face 
 The weapon only flashed in the pan. 
 
 ** Thank you," said Claude, ^' 1 believe that was very weH meant, but it btrikes 
 me that your powder could not have been dry. You see how dangerous such 
 negligence is." 
 
 One blow with the sword stretched the fellow at Claude's feet, and then turning 
 he saw the man with whom he had been so recently engaged, and who in such 
 a mysterious manner had suddenly left off fighting at ihree o'clock, clapping his 
 hands, and apparently quite enjoying the scene that was taking place. 
 
 " You are a strange fellow/' said Claude to him. *' Pray what is the meaning 
 of all this?" 
 *' All what?' 
 
 *' Why, your fighting against me with such hearty good-will at one mument^ 
 and then throwing down your sword the next." 
 •' Oh, it was three o'clock." 
 '* But what has that to do with it T 
 *' Everything in the world.*' 
 ** Indeed. Pray explain." 
 
 *' Why, I made a bargain with the Jew to serve him well and faithfully for 
 three months, you see, and to fight his battles for him and so on, without a^'king 
 any questions, and that bargain was made exactly three months ego at three 
 o'clock in the morning, when I was hard up." 
 •• Well ?" 
 
 " Wei), don't you see T was bound to cut away at you or anybody elae that he 
 was at war with, until my time was up, surely." 
 "You are a strange fellow." 
 
 " I don't see anything strange in that ; a bargain is a bargain, surely, and I 
 was bound to do it.* 
 
 " Well, you handle your sword well, and it was a good thing for one of us that 
 three o'clock did come. But now that you area free man, I presume you have no 
 objection to tell me where I am ?" 
 
 "None in the least. You are in the extensive cellars of the Jew's house. 
 They extend under-ground a long way, and come out at a little marine 
 dealer's in Wild-street." 
 *' A fence you mean ?'' 
 •* It's tlie same thing." 
 ' • And who arc you ?" 
 «' A prig. Who are you 2" 
 ♦* Claude Duval." 
 
 " What ! the famous highwayman they call Gentleman Jack ?" 
 " Yes," said Claude with a smile, " but you very nearly settled my affairs with 
 that sword of yours, my friend." 
 
 ** Lor ! only to think now that I was doing my best to put a stopper upon you 
 of whom I have heard so much, and so much wished to see and make acquain- 
 tance with. Well, it's all for the best, I dare say." 
 
 << That's a comfortable enough doctrine," said Claude, " but in my opinion it 
 will be better still if you can conduct me out of this place at once." 
 " Ob, yes, I cnn do that." 
 
 ♦* Come, Jack," cried Claude. •* I hope you are not hurt." 
 « Not at all," ^aid Sixtecn-string Jack. " Mj head is pretty hard, but I ad- 
 vise that we beat a retreat as soon as we can, for there is no knowing what may 
 be the amount of mischief the Jew may yet do to us. He is fertile enough in 
 expedients." 
 
 •' Why, you don't suppose he will trouble any of us any more?" said Claude's 
 new acquaintance, as he dashed away the charred end of {the flambeau, and made 
 it give a better light. 
 »' Why not ?" said Jack.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 191 
 
 *• Why not P just look at him." 
 
 He poinied to the dead body of the man who had carried tho torch, and when 
 Jack advanced and looked closely at him. he exclaimed — 
 
 *' By heavens ! it is indeed ihe Jew. Claude, I am free, and you will find in 
 me again what I was." 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 THE BALL AT ST. JAMES's PALACE. 
 
 *'Is he indeed no more ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Well," said the man, •• I think so. You have let daylight into his brains 
 and that oubgt to do for him." 
 
 ** By-the-bye, what's your name ?" said Claude. 
 
 "Why, sometimes one thing and sometimes another, but among those who, 
 know n.e I always answer to the name of the marquis." 
 
 ** The marquis of what ?" 
 
 *' On, nothing at all. Only the marquis." 
 
 ** AVell, then, marquis, as soon as you can find it convenient with your civility 
 to guide us oui of this place, I shall be much obliged ; come on at OQce." 
 
 '* Certainly. I have an appointment of some importance at four o'clock, and 
 am in no humour to delay it. This way, if you please, gentlemen. Follow your 
 noses and you can't go wrong, so long as they point towards the flambeau," 
 
 Neither Claude nor Jack were at all willing to stay one moment longer upon the 
 premises of the Jew than was absolutely necessary, so with all the good will in 
 the world th3y followed the marquis, who led them through a labyrinth and wil- 
 derness of dark cellars that they never could have found their way among without 
 a guide, unless they had been favoured by all the accidents that could possibly 
 happen to lead folks right instead of wrong. 
 
 At lenght they reached a small flight of rough wooden steps^'and the marquis 
 turn ing to Claude, said — 
 
 " These steps lead intD the shop I spoke of in Wild-street." 
 
 *' The marine-store dealer's ?" 
 
 " Yes ; the man and his wife who kept it are sworn friends of the Jew, but 
 there is a pass-word which I know, and which will prevent the necessity of knock- 
 ing them on the head." 
 
 "Just so," said Claude. 
 
 The marquis led the way, and raised a trap door above the flight of steps, when 
 a loud voice suddenly cried — 
 
 ** Hilloa! what's that ?" 
 
 *' Ask again," said the marquis, 
 
 " The old story ?" 
 
 •' Yes to be sure. Here, there, and everywhere." 
 
 " Oh, all's right here ; is anyting wrong in Queen-street ?'* 
 
 ** No, There was, but there ain't now. Is your door open, or are you going to 
 get up V* 
 
 *• Now do you fancy I have my door open, afterjtaking in all sorts of swag all 
 day? Might not some dishonest person take advantage of my being asleep and 
 take something ?" 
 
 *' Ah ! there's a good deal of thievery in the world." 
 
 *' I believe vou. Hilloa!" 
 
 "What's the row?" 
 
 ** You have got somebody with you," ' 
 
 " Yes." ^ 
 
 '• Who are they ?'*
 
 192 GENTLEMAN JACtC. 
 
 ** Pals— open the door and don't be a feci, you know me, and that's enough for 
 you, God Lless roe, you are as particular as if you were to be hung lor it. Upon<| 
 my life you won't do for this place long/' j 
 
 '* There's no occasion, markis, to put yoHrself in a passion," faid the man, as^ 
 he unlocked the shop door. " I only asked, and you know him as pays the piper; 
 is rather particular, and I shall have to tell him who has passed this way." 
 *' You will have to bawl pretty loud, then." 
 *' What do you mean ?" 
 •' Oh just that and nothing else. Good night." 
 
 The marquis and his two friends passed through the shop door into the street, 
 and the man, as he fastened his place up again, muttered to himself— 
 
 " I shall have to bawl pretty loud, shall I — what the deuce does he mean by that 
 now, I wonder ? Anything amiss with the governor? Lor ! if I only thought he'd 
 croaked, wouldn't I cut with all as was here pretty quick, and no mistako, that's 
 all. But there ain't no luck for honest people, let 'em strive ever so much ; he*s 
 all right enough Til be bound." 
 
 " That danger is passed," said the marquis. 
 *' Was it a danger?" asked Sixteen-string Jack. 
 
 " Yes, that fellow is one of the most unscrupulous in the world, and, though no 
 doubt in a scuffle, of course, we should heve got the betterof him, he would have 
 settled the affair of one of us. But now, gentlemen, what are you going to do ? I 
 will not conceal from you that I am busy." 
 
 " Is it a fair question," said Claude, *' to ask you what you are going to be 
 ; about, that occupies you so much V 
 
 ! " Certainly ; I am going to St. James's Palace, where a ball has been going on 
 I since twelve o'clock at night, to celebrate some nonsense or another about the old 
 j noodle of a king." 
 
 " And you are going 1" 
 I •*Whynot'r' 
 
 j " Oh, I have no reason why not, 1 would rather ask you why ?" 
 I " Well, that's the reason I'm called the marquis, because I go to the royal 
 , establishments and the nobility's parties." 
 I *' You surprise me." 
 
 ' " I do a great many people. Whenever there is anything very out of the way, 
 in the fchape of an entertainment at Ibe palace, where so many are invited that 
 it is impossible but there should be a number of strangers, I call myself the 
 
 ; marquis of something, and go '' 
 
 ! *• On the grabbing lay, of course ?" 
 
 I " " Oh, of course, and brought away on the last occasion nine gold watchcf, a 
 whcle handful of brooches, ai;d three diamond bracelets, besides a snuff-box set 
 in brilliants, and a necklace worth one hundred pcunds." 
 j " The deuce you dhl." 
 j *' Yes, just wait for me a moment." 
 
 I The marquis popped into a doorway, and was absent about two minutes, when he 
 j returned ^0 entirely transformed, that' well might Claude and Jack stare at him in 
 ; utter amazement. 
 
 I He had thrown off a coarse kind of wrapper that he wore, and got rid of some 
 leggings, likewise, and beneath he exhibited a court dress of the most fashinable 
 I and elegant description. 
 
 I " Excuse me keeping on my boots over my morocco shoes," he said. " The 
 street is rather damp." 
 
 This is indeed a transformation," said Claude. 
 
 At a word," cried tin; marquis, ** do you mean it ?'* 
 
 With all my heart." 
 
 It's settled, then. You shall go."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 193 
 
 CLAUDE DUVAL OBTAINS THE BRACELET PROM THE ROYAL PRINCESS. 
 
 " And I," said Jack. 
 
 " You likewise, if you like. But mind it*s a part to play." 
 
 " I know it. Only let me go with Claude Duval, I shall be able to get on very 
 well indeed.*' 
 
 Claude laughed as he looked at himself and Jack. 
 
 " We talk of going to a court ball, Jack," he said, "but we forget that we are 
 not, like our friend here, provided with the necessary trappings for the occasion ; we 
 cannot, as he has done, cast our skins, and from poor crawling worms rise up gor- 
 geous butterflies,"
 
 194 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 '* Yes you can,'* said the marquis. 
 
 " As how ?'* 
 
 **I know where to find you the clothing. Having made up your mind to go, all 
 you have to do is to follow me, and all the minor difficulties will soon vanish from 
 before you." 
 
 •* I'll follow you with pleasure ; but how do you gain admission to the palace 
 without a card V* 
 
 ** I walk in with a smile and a bow." 
 
 *' And does no one stop yeu V 
 
 ** Sometimes." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 *• Oh then I elevate my eyebrows and say, * Why, my good sir, it was you whom 
 I begged to recollect me, for that I should be back again when I had given orders 
 concerning the marchioness's carriage,' and then the fellow stammers out some 
 excuse, and on I go." 
 
 "And you have never failed ?" 
 
 " Never once. But mind I never venture into small aiicmblies ; there must be 
 a crowd when I go." 
 
 " I can understand that ; I can clearly enough see likewise that the vulgarity of 
 your manners and language, while we were in the Jew's cellais, were only assumed; 
 you have been ." 
 
 "A gentleman." 
 
 " I guessed as much." 
 
 " Say no more upon that head, but suffer me, as it may at the moment suit my 
 wayward humours, to seem to know much or little. You will, no doubt, be much 
 gratified by your visit to-night to St. James's. The place is well worth the seeing 
 of, the people are quite the reverse. If you have never been present at such a scene 
 It will be sure to make a lasting and pleasing impression upon you." 
 
 "Well," said Claude, " this adventure pleases me ; but don't let me at all in- 
 fluence you, Jack. How do vou feel ? " 
 
 " As if I should like to follow you." 
 
 "But there is peril, and there is much caution required; I speak as a friend, 
 Jack. Do you think you are equal to it ?" 
 
 *a do, Claude." 
 
 "Then come on. Is this the costumier's ?" 
 
 " You may call it by that fine word if you like." said the marquiis, *' but I call 
 it a clothes crib. Come along, you shall soon have a court suit that Will piiss you 
 anywhere." 
 
 *' If like yours, it will do." 
 
 ''All's right." 
 
 The marquis took up a handful of very small gritty dust from the r >ad, and cast 
 it at one of the windows of a dingy looking house, befare which they stopped. In 
 the course of a few moments a head was projected from th^wiudow. 
 
 *' All's J right," said the marquis ; " i a only me, No. 42, old cl ap ; you know 
 that, I suppose ?" 
 
 ** The marquis ? 
 
 ''Yes. The marquis. Come down, we want something in jojr way, and 
 quickly too, or it won't do." 
 
 " Coming," said the voice, and the head popped in again, the window being 
 closed with a bang. In less than a minute the street-door was opened, and the 
 marquis and his tv/o friends entered the house. The door was shut again 
 and secured, after which a flickering blue flame appeared in the passage, and a 
 lamp was lit, which showed Claude a man of mean appearance, who was half 
 dressed, and who, with an odd side-long sort of bow to the whole party, 
 said — 
 
 " Your humble servant, gentlemen ; what am I to do f j 
 
 " Look at me," said the marquis. - 1 
 
 •• With great pleasure," said the man. ■ %
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 195 
 
 " Well, these two gentlemen want court dresses, for we are all going together 
 to an acquaintance, who is giving a little dance to-night." 
 
 '•' Humph ! the palace V 
 
 •« Well if it be at the palace, what then P We know very well that that is not 
 the most respectable place to go to, but in this world one must not be too pa- 
 ticular." 
 
 " Certainly not. Certainly npt. Bob, Bob, Bob ! I say." 
 
 " Here you is," said a sleepy voice. 
 
 "Go and get a coach and bring it to the door. It will be wanted in about a 
 quarter of an hour." 
 
 '* Ah ! that*s well thought of," said the marquis. 
 
 The man led his visitors into a tolerably well furnished room, and after w^lkin^ 
 round and round Claude and Jack several times, he said — 
 
 " ril be with you in a few moments, gentlemen." 
 
 He was as good as his word, and in less than ten minutes they were both attired 
 in elegant court suits ; and if Sixteen-string Jack did not quite come up to one's 
 ideas of a nobleman, certainly Claude looked a most distinguished personage, and 
 would have, without the shadow of a doubt, passed as somebody in any court iu 
 Europe. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 CLAUDE AND THE ROYAL PRINCESS. 
 
 " Now I suppose," said Claude to the marquis, ** after all, one has really thp 
 most difficult part of the business to go through." 
 
 " Difficult >" 
 
 " Yes. We have to gain admission to the palace." 
 
 " Pho I I look upon that as settled. Come along, I hear the coach at the 
 door." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the costumier, " I will wait up for you, if you so 
 please." 
 
 "Do so," said the marquis ; " come along." 
 
 Claude and Sixteen-string Jack followed him to the door, and they all three 
 got into a roomy coach, and were in another moment proceeding at the usual 
 hackney«coach rate, of two miles and a half an hour, to St. James's. 
 
 " Being three of us, the trouble of getting in," said Sixteen-string Jack with ^ 
 sort of groan, " will be great." 
 
 " Not at all," said the marquis. " I tell you how we will do it. All that i^ 
 required in the whole affair, consists of what they are well used to about courtp 
 and palaces." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " Impudence." 
 
 " Certainly," said Claude. *' I don't suppose there is any lack of that commor 
 dity in the quarter to which we are now proceeding." 
 
 " There is not indeed. Let the proceedings be conducted as I shall point oul, 
 and 1 will answer for success. 
 
 " You shall decide." 
 
 " Very well. Now we will get out of this carriage at the outer gate. I knoi?! 
 the right path to take, and will guide you. Any delay on the route would betrav 
 us at once. All you have to do, is to follow ncie at about a dozen paces off, aim 
 bow and smile, and accede to aaythiHg I may require of you. It is you, Claudjq 
 Duva?, who I fully expect to have presence of mind sufficient to aid me in thfi 
 affair." I 
 
 *' You will find," said Claude, " that I shall not fail in that particular." '
 
 196 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Good ; here we are, and T shall be much obliged to year friend to say 
 nothing." 
 
 * I will not spoil anything, you may depend," said Jack ; " if I cannot feel 
 quite sure that anything I may aay will be to the purpose, you may rely upon my 
 silence.*' 
 
 *' That is right. Here we are !" 
 
 *' Right through the gates, gcmmen ?" said the coachman, in an inquiring tone, 
 as he drew up dose to the old Palace of St. James's, at which there was much 
 bustle. 
 
 " No, we alight here, and you wait for us, at the corner yonder, where that 
 house is being repaired. There is a guinea for you, and mind you take no other 
 fere but us, or you won't get the other." 
 
 '* The other, sir !" said the coachman, opening his eyes to an uncommon width. 
 " Sir — sir, you is a gemman, and no sort o' mistake. There ain't no fear o' me 
 taking another fare, you may take your davey !" 
 
 "Very well!" 
 
 The marquis walked on in the most easy and unconcerned manner in the world, 
 while Claude, with Sixteen-string Jack upon his arm, followed at a few paces 
 distant. 
 
 The sentinels offered no sort of opposition to their progress, as it was not their 
 duty to do so. It was in the first vestibule of the Palace that the ordeal had to be 
 gone through. 
 
 The air of the marquis as he went on, was most admirably calculated to deceive 
 any one. He wore an appearance of the most perfect self-possession and ease, 
 and indeed, might well be mistaken for some man of quality who was rather care- 
 less than otherwise regarding what his inferiors thought of him. 
 
 The only thing that eclipsed the marquis in point of personal appearance, was 
 Claude Duval, and no one could possibly look a more perfect gentleman than he 
 as, with Jack upon his arm, he followed the marquis into a small octagonal hall, 
 where a number of the yeomen of the guard were stationed in full dress. 
 
 These offered no opposition, but at the further end ot this room was a common 
 baize door, at which stood some of the gentlemen ushers, and several officers of the 
 Lord Chamberlain's office. 
 
 To pass these was the only difficulty, as their duty was to be specially strict as 
 to who was admitted^ and who was not, to the saloons. 
 
 The marquis now perpetrated one of the most brazen pieces of assurance that 
 could be conceived ; just as he was a few steps from the baize door, it was flung 
 open by one of the attendants, and Lord Clarendon came out rather hastily. 
 
 He almost ran against the marquis, who with the most admirable presence of 
 mind caught him by the hand, exclaiming — 
 
 **Ah! Clarendon, how are you? I have been looking for you all the 
 evening." 
 
 Lord Clarendon was confounded by the familiarity of the address, and thought 
 it surely must be some member of the House of Peers, whom he did not at the 
 moment recognise. 
 
 He actually said — 
 
 " Tery well, my lord. I — I — really— don't exactly—" 
 
 " No I" laughed the marquis " Ha! ha ! ha I Are you in haste, Clarendon ?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 "Then I won't detain you a moment. Don't upset the duke as you go out. 
 Ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 Clarendon was so confused at not recognising who it was that talked to him so 
 familiarly, that he did nearly fall into the arms of Claude, and having heard him 
 called the duke, he said — 
 
 " I beg your Grace's pardon." 
 
 " 'Tis I am in fault,'' said Claude, with a most courtly bow, which was returned 
 by the minister, who then passed on, more astounded than ever that he did not 
 know one ot the dukes. ,
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 197 
 
 All this passed very rapidly ; but none of it was lost upon the officers of 
 the Lord (Aamberlain's office, and the few gentlemen ushers who were upoa 
 the spot. 
 
 The baiKS door was opened most obsequiously for the presumed intimate friend 
 of Lord Clarendon, and the Dake of Something, who no doubt had some other 
 nobleman upon his arm. 
 
 *• Confound rae !'' whispered one of the Chamberlain's officers to another, when 
 Claude and his companion had passed on. '< Confound me, if I know one of them ; 
 and yet Clarendon called one of them, your grace.'* ^ 
 
 **0h, yes, yes." 
 
 " Do you know them ?'* 
 
 Now this other Chamberlain's officer wanted to appear knowing, so be put on 
 a cunniug look, as though he could see an amazing digtance further into a mill- 
 stone than any of his neighbours, and said— 
 
 *' Know them ? To be sure I do.'* 
 
 ** Ah ! — who are they ?" 
 
 " Mum's the word." 
 
 *' Well, but » 
 
 ** I'll tell you another time. Here's somebody coming." 
 
 Claude could hardly now believe even in the reality of the fact, that he had ac- 
 tually passed all barriers, and was within the ancient palace of St. James's an ad- 
 mitted guest. 
 
 After going through the baize door, they came upon a short passage, brilliantly 
 illuminated with wax candles, and covered with a rich piece of tapestry carpet. At 
 the end of this passage or corridor, was another door, at which were stationed two 
 of the yeomen of the guard, and one gentleman usher. 
 
 These persons were not, however, expected to exercise the smallest amount of 
 surveillance with regard to who went either in or out. All that was supposed to be 
 done in the outer vestibule; so the door was opened, and Claude, Jack, and the 
 marquis, Avere passed through, as a thing of course. 
 
 Tl«:ey were now in a handsome room, at the farther end of which was a large 
 space from floor to ceiling covered by a crimson velvet curtain. They could plainly 
 hear the sounds of music and of voices. 
 
 Claude now took the lead, at the request of the marquis, and flung aside the cur- 
 tain wide enough to allow a person to pass ; he walked through the aperture and 
 found himself in the old throne-room of the palace. 
 
 The scene which now burst upon Claude's view was most magnificent. The 
 immense apartment was brilliantly lighted and adorned, and crowded with all the 
 rank and beauty in London, that is to say, all the beauty which happened to have 
 the good fortune to be united to rank. 
 
 George the Third sat upon an arm chair at the end of the room farthest from 
 the entrance, looking as stupid as usual, while Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen 
 Charlotte, was busy in conversation with some German baron, who, hke herself, 
 had a gold snuff-box in his hand. 
 
 " What do you think of this ?'* whispered the marquis. 
 
 ** Very different from the Jew's cellar," replied Claude. 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 " How do you feel. Jack ?'* 
 
 ** Dumb-foundered," replied Sixteen- string Jack. 
 
 The marquis laughed. 
 
 " Do not let anything tempt you, Claude," he said, " to stay above an 
 hour. Let us all three meet in the entrance room at exactly one hour from 
 now." 
 
 « Agreed." 
 
 " During that time, mind that you make good use of your fingers, or we shall 
 have taken all our trouble for nothing ; and let us keep out of each othe'r's way. 
 Look at this." 
 
 *' A handsome gold watch l'* said Claude, as the marquis showed him one.
 
 198 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 "Yes; Lord Clarendon had it in his pocket before he met us in the ves- 
 tibule.'* 
 
 " Is it possible ?" 
 
 •* Ay, to be sure. Ten to one if he misses it until he gets fairly homp, and he 
 "will never know how he lost it." 
 
 " Nay, I am certain." 
 
 *• Perhaps." 
 
 " Well, I wish you more luck." 
 
 '< Thank you. We must work for ourselves. Don't be idle. They are getting 
 up a couple or three sets of quadrilles, I shall look out for spme old woman to 
 dance with. 
 
 *' Old woman V 
 
 " Ay, to be sure, covered with diamonds, my boy. There is sport for one. Ycu 
 don't seem to be half aA^ake." 
 
 Claude laughed as the marquis walked away. 
 
 The next moment the music sounded the notes of a qpadrille, and althovgh 
 there was not much hilarity in the way the dance was executed, there was a vast 
 amount of affectation, and what no doubt was thought dignity. 
 
 " Well," thought Claude to himself, when the quadrille was fairly over. *' As 
 yet I have done nothing, but as the marquis truly says, we must not be idlers." 
 
 While he was now considering in what manner he had best commence opera- 
 tions, another dance was called, and observing a rather silly-looking female sitting 
 upon a low seat, Claude went up to her, and in the most insinuating mannei", 
 said — 
 
 ** May I hope for the pleasure of your hand in the ensuing dance 1" 
 
 " Oh— I— certainly, sir, certainly." 
 
 The lady rose, and Claude was wonderfully attracted by a bracelet she wore, 
 and which his practised eyes assured him was of real diamonds. It must have 
 been worth a few thousand pounds, and Claude thought that if by fair means or by 
 foul he could get possession of it, it would answer exceedingly well for his share 
 of the evcnin§;'s plunder. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 THE REFRESHMENT BOOM. — THE BRACELET. 
 
 Claude had not the least idea of the rank of the lady he had asked to dance. 
 How should he ? It was not until he actually stood up with her in the dance that 
 he saw a diamond star on her breast. 
 
 Then, indeed, he began to have some vague surmises as to who she was, but he 
 felt how highly impolitic, under these circumstances, it would be for him to show 
 any hesitation or doubt regarding who it was that had done him the honour of 
 accepting his invitation to the dance. 
 
 The music struck up, and Claude and his partner were soon engaged with the 
 figure. 
 
 •• The heat is rather oppressive here," said Claude, as they rested while others 
 were engaged. 
 
 *' It always has been the fault of this room," replied his partner; "although we 
 have done all we can from time to time to remedy it." 
 
 ** We !** thought Claude. ♦* Who the devil can this be ?" 
 
 At this juncture an officer in a splendid uniform approached them, and said— 
 
 ** The queen would speak to your highness.* 
 
 "Say 1 am occupied with the dance.*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 199 
 
 " If your highness would excuse me." 
 
 •'Well, sir?" 
 
 •' The queen is very imperative." 
 
 **lt is in the family, sir.** 
 
 ** Your highness ?" 
 
 *' I say, sir, a little obstinacy and imperativeness is in the family ; and So again 
 1 am engaged. You have your answer, sir," 
 
 The messenger bowed and walked away. 
 
 " Humph I" thought Claude. •'* One of the royal princesses, it seems, has so 
 far honoured me.'* 
 
 Before he could frame a sentence which ke thought it would be advisable to 
 utter, it became the turn again of himself and partner to lead the dance ; and 
 certainly the figure and steps were performed by the princess with a vigour that 
 showed that she was not in the sweetest of tempers. 
 
 *• I must say the right thing just in the right place," thought Claude, " or else, 
 I see, ihere is a devil's own temper here that will soon leave me iu the lurch, and 
 destroy all my hopes of the diamond bracelet." 
 
 The slight flush of passion that was upon the face of the princess gradually 
 subsided, and Claude spoke to her. 
 
 ** What a happy hour is this !" 
 
 <i Sir ?" 
 
 " Forgive me, your highness — I thought aloud." 
 
 " There was nothing offensive in — in your saying this was a happy hour." 
 
 "It gilds even the golden lustre of the hour to hear you say so much. Your 
 highness is, by birth, a princess ; but were you the daughter of the humblest of 
 your father's subjects, you would still be one of the princesses of nature." 
 
 Gratified vanity beamed from the eyes of Claude's partner, and he thought to 
 himself, *' Princesses are only women, after all," 
 
 '* Sir, this is strange language." 
 
 " Is it strange, madam? " 
 
 *' Yes, in courts." 
 
 *'Ah, the atmosphere of courts, then, is not favourable to truth telling, 
 madam.* 
 
 •'Possibly not." 
 
 •' I know not by what miracle I am inspired by so much boldness as to speak 
 as I have done. Will it please you to walk, for the dance is over V 
 
 Another personage connected with the court came up to the princess, and after 
 a low bow, he said — 
 
 " Her raajestv the queen desires vour highness to retire from the ball-room.*' 
 
 "Retire, sir?" 
 
 *' Those were her majesty's words, not mine, madam.'* 
 
 "You could scarcely suppose that, for one moment, I imagined them yours. 
 Tell the queen that I will not be guilty of rudeness to one of her guests." 
 
 " But your highness will be pleased tc observe '* 
 
 " No, sir, I am not," 
 
 '* That her majesty the queen does not know the gentleman whom your highness 
 has honoured to dance with.'' 
 
 ♦* Nor ever will, in all probabilitv, sir." 
 
 " But—but " 
 
 " Is your message ended, sir?'* 
 
 *' Yes, madam.** 
 
 *« Then oblige me by getting out of the way." 
 
 The courtier retired, evidently chagrined, while the angry colour came again 
 to the brow of the princess. i 
 
 " riow much I regret," said Claude, *' that my hoppin^ss — for a real happiness 
 it is to me to be a short time only in your sociaty — is only to be purchased at the 
 expense of some annoyance to you in other quartern."
 
 200 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 *• Oh, it's no annoyance, sir. They ought to know by this time that it is of no 
 use speaking to me." 
 
 " You show, indeed, a most becoming spirit.* 
 
 " I hope so. Are you long at Saint James's V* 
 
 * Not very." 
 
 " I don't suppose you -will be honoured with another invite to the palace^ You 
 can call upon me on a reception day." 
 
 " How can I express my thanks ? Where does this door lead to ?" 
 
 ** To a refreshment room ; and if there be any cheese-cakes there, I shall be 
 glad to see them. They keep me out of cheese-cakes as much as they can, and I 
 know it is only done just to spite me, because they know how fond lam of them." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" 
 
 *' It is,' indeed ; and they do many more things, too, just to spite me. You are 
 the young Duke of Keteley, who has been for so long on the Spanish Embassy, I 
 think r 
 
 Claude bowed. 
 
 *• Well, if you want favour at court you had better at once forsake me, and go 
 to the queen's circle." 
 
 *' I want nothing but the joy of being near you, and of hearing you speak." 
 
 " Do you really mean what you say ? Oh, here are some cheese cakes, and such 
 fine ones too. Oh, here is a treat indeed. Do you like cheese cakes V* 
 
 " I will have one for the pleasure of taking something with you." 
 
 " Will you really though ? He ! he ! he !" 
 
 There was a silliness about the laugh that jarred upon the ears of Claude most 
 disagreeably, and he thought to himself, " Ah ! how infinitely superior is my Cicely 
 to this piece of vulgarity and vanity, born a princess." 
 
 But Claude had more important business in hand than making comparisons 
 between the favourites of fortune and the favourites of nature. 
 
 The possession of the diamond bracelet was what he looked to as the reward for 
 the violence he did his feel ings in saying complimentary things to his royal com- 
 panion. 
 
 Yet how to get from her wrist the costly bauble he knew not, but summoning all 
 the assurance he was master of to his aid, he said — 
 
 " What a happiness it will be to me to wait upon you, as you so kindly 
 suggest." 
 
 " Well I shall be glad to see you, for to tell the truth I do like cheese cakes and 
 fine men." 
 
 " Charming simplicity," thought Claude. " How the deuce shall I get the bracelet 
 and then be rid of the brute, I wonder." 
 
 " You will be sure to come," added the princess, as she spoke quiteindistinc ly 
 with her mouth full of cheese cakes, 
 
 " Oh, can you doubt me ?" 
 
 ** Well, I don't know. Perhaps somebody will call upon yoii, and tell you yoQ 
 must not come, as I ought not to receive visitors out of my own family j but neve* 
 you mind that.'* 
 
 '* So," thought Claude, " it has happened before." 
 
 " You may depend upon no one frightening me," he added, "I am not made oi' 
 such pliant materials." 
 
 •• Well, I'm glad to hear that. But how shall I be sure it is you ?" 
 
 *' How do you mean ?" 
 
 *' Why — why — once before when somebody was to come to see me, the name waS 
 announced, and 1 ordertd him to be introduced, when who should come but the 
 Bishop of London.' 
 
 '* Indeed ?" 
 
 ** Yes. Do you knew it had been found out, and they gent the- l^ishop to give 
 me a lecture." 
 
 " Is it possib 
 « Oh, yes.'*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 201 
 
 CLAUPE WATCHING THE MURDER COMMITTED BY THE MARQUIS . 
 
 "And wbatdid you do?" 
 
 ♦' What do you think, now T 
 
 "Well, really I can't say." 
 
 *'I gave him a foot ottoman at his head, and if you had but seen the powder 
 come out of his wig, you would have stared indeed." 
 
 " J have no doubt I should." 
 
 *' Oh, that you would, I'm sure. But I see all the cheese cakes are gone.'* 
 
 The princess heaved a sigh, that, like Hamlet's when he took leave of Ophelia, 
 seemed to — 
 
 *«Sii»tter all feet bulk," 
 
 TIT ^ e\/%
 
 202 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 and then she was anxious to get away to some other rotom, where more of h?r 
 favourite delicacy could be had. 
 
 " Listen to me," said Claude. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 ** It is not very likely, but just possible, that some spy may find out that 1 am 
 coming to see you, and so you may again be imposed upon. Now, could not some- 
 thing be done to prevent it ?" ^^ 
 
 *'What?" 
 
 " Well, 1 am thinking what. JSuppose when I come I send in something, that 
 you may be able when I am announced to be sure it is no trick ?" 
 
 " Yes, that would do. But what will you send ?'* 
 
 "It ought to be something that you know well the moment you see it." 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 •* Otherwise you would run the risk of being again deceived, you know." 
 
 *' Certainly — certainly.*' 
 
 '* Well, then, I will take this bracelet for the purpose. You will bt quite 
 certain to know that again, for I dare say you are sufficiently familiar with it." 
 
 As Claude spoke, he did not allow the princess a moment for consideration, but 
 unclasping the bracelet from her wrist, he transferred it to his pocket. She cer- 
 tainly looked a little astonished, and after a moment's pause, she said, in a hesita- 
 ting manner— 
 
 *' Would not something else do V 
 
 "Yes ; but it is not worth while changing the articles." 
 
 " liut— but " 
 
 "Ah, charming princess." 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 " Hush, somebody is coming. Let us get back to the ball-room. Who knows 
 but our absence has already been ascertained ? Let us come into the ball-room 
 again at once. It is the only way to avoid suspicion." 
 
 « Well, but " 
 
 " Yes, exactly. This way — this way.'* 
 
 Claude would not give Her Royal Higline« any time for further reflection, or 
 opportunity for speaking about the bracelet ; but hurrying her into tiie ball-room, 
 he kept interrupting her whenever she began to speak. 
 
 " Hush-hush ! Not a word — not a word. We had better now separate, and 
 then we shall not seem to have any understanding together. Remember the brace- 
 let. In a quarter of an hour I will manage to get round to where you are, and 
 then we will talk it over again." 
 
 So saying, Claude glided away from the astonished and rather suspicious 
 prinsess, who, however she admired cheese cakes and fine men, had a large share 
 of the family avarice about her, and dreaded the loss of her diamond bracelet. 
 
 " Now," thought Claude, "after this it would be sheer insanity to attempt any 
 petty speculation which might possibly have a disastrous result, and so include in 
 its consequences the loss of the diamond bracelet." 
 
 With this idea, Claude began t* think it would be as well to leave the ball- 
 room as speedily as possible ; so he slowly, without putting on the appearance of 
 any hurry, made his way to the curtains which shut out the ante-room, and in 
 which he was to meet his friend, the marquis, and Sixteen-string Jack, according 
 to arrangement. 
 
 Before, however, he could reach that point, some one touched him lightly upon 
 the a-m, and upon turning to see who it was, Claude observed a gentleman in a 
 full court suit, standing close to him, who said— 
 
 "Sir, you will pardon me if I request a few moments* conrersation with 
 you." 
 
 "You will pardon me if I delay doing myself that pleasure," said Claude, 
 ** until I have given some orders to my servants ; I shall be about five minutes." 
 
 " But, sir, the business is rather urgent." 
 
 " So I should suppose, as we are perfect strangers to each other, sir.'*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 203 
 
 ** I regret the disagreeable necessity." 
 
 " Don't name it, sir/' said Claude, as he walked on. 
 
 The person in the court suit bit his lips, and looked for a moment or two 
 irresolute. Then he suddenly turned round, and with more speed than decorum, 
 made his way through the throng of guests in an opposite direction to that which 
 Olaude was pursuing. 
 
 '* There is not a moment more to be lost," thought Claade to himself. "What 
 is the matter or what amount of suspicion lias been excited, 1 know not, but I 
 feel pretty certain that this is no place for me now, and that if I linger I shall 
 find myself under arrest in a few moment e." 
 
 This was anything but an agreeable reflection, so that Claudfe now became as 
 unceremonious in pushing his way through the tbrons: of guests towards the ante, 
 room as had been his late interrogator in proceeding in the other direction, no 
 doubt to give an order concerning him, which would turn out to be anything but 
 pleasant. 
 
 Some of the royal guests looked a little annoyed at the rather uncourteous 
 manner in which they were pushed right and left by Claude ; but he was past 
 before anything could be said or done. 
 
 He reached the curtain, and drawing it aside, he at once, with a sensation of 
 thankfulness, passed out of the ball-room at St. James's. 
 
 But he was yet far from being clear of the precincts of the palace. He was in 
 hopes that the hour which he had agreed with his companions, should be the limit 
 of their stay in the palace was past, and he looked eagerly about him for Jack and 
 the marquis. 
 
 Neither of them were to be seen. He would gladly. enough have waited for 
 them, but his own danger was much too imminent to enable him to do so. Ac- 
 cordingly he walked on, and passing the yeomen cf the guard and the gentlemen 
 ushers, he was soon in the court. 
 
 There he paused a moment to breathe the cool air, and seeing close at hand a 
 deep, dark, arched doorway, he plunged into it, resolved to wait there until he should 
 see Jack and the marquis come out of the palace, unless be should nee reason td 
 doubt the safety of his so doing. 
 
 CHAPTER h, 
 
 A COMPARISON OP PLUNDER. — THE FATE OF THE MARQUIS. 
 
 Claude kept his eyes fixed upon the doorway through which he had made his 
 exit, so opportunely as it would seem, from the palace. 
 
 His hope and expectation was speedily to see his companions, but although 
 for a short time he was disappointed in that, too, yet he saw enough to convince 
 him that his own hasty retreat was a wise enough measure. 
 
 In the course of about thre© minutes the same person who had spoken to him in 
 the ball-room made his appearance, accompanied by four other* with drawn swords. 
 Two of the four were stationed at the door, while he with the other two ran to the 
 great gate with all the speed they could muster. 
 
 There was immediately a commotion among the guards there stationed, and 
 Claude heard the sound of high voices. 
 
 •* Perhaps, after all," thought Claude, " I am in their toils." 
 
 He looked anxiously towards the door at which the two persons with drawn 
 swords stood as guards, for he waited to see what sort of scrutiny tho?e who now 
 came out were subjected to. It might be one that Jack and the marquis could 
 not satisfactorily stand the brunt of. 
 
 Several persons came out, and Claude had the satisfaction of seeing that they
 
 204 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 were only looked at, so that he had no loDger any doubt but that it was his arrest 
 tt at was sought, and that a description of him had been given. 
 
 Presently the individual who, either of his own authority and suspicions, or as 
 the agent of another, had made all the racket, came slowly from the outer gate, 
 accompanied by an officer of the foot guards then on duty. 
 
 They passed close to where Claude was hidden, so that he heard the officer say 
 quite plainly— - 
 
 " You must not rely, ray lord, upon the sentinels." 
 
 '* Well, but," replied the other, " they can answer a plain question, sir, can they 
 not?" 
 
 " Certainly they can, my lord. But I repeat that you must not, in such a 
 matter, altogether rely upon a soldier's report of who he has seen aud who he has 
 not Been.*' 
 
 "Indeed, sir?' 
 
 " Yes, indeed, my lord." 
 
 It was evident that the officer was somewhat piqued at something the ©therhad 
 said. 
 
 " Accept my apologies, sir," said he who was called my lord, " if, in the hurry 
 and excitement of this business, I have in any way offended you. I can only avow 
 that I had no such intention for a moment." 
 
 "That is more than sufficient, my lord," said the officer frankly. 
 
 " I £m glad to hear you say so.*' c 
 
 " You see," added the officer, *' the sentinels have a general order to take as 
 much notice as possible of any one, at all times, who may pass their posts ; but on 
 such an occasion as this, when so many are going to and fro, it is really asking 
 of them more than their not over-bright brains are equal to, that they sUould 
 recollect any one in particular." 
 
 *' True, tiue." 
 
 *' Nevertheless for what it is worth, you have their word that no one answeiing 
 the description of the person you mention, has passed out. 
 
 '* Which is very improbable." 
 
 " Very indeed, since, a« you say he had ample time to do so before you reached 
 the gate." 
 
 " Oh, ample. I could, o couim have secured him in the ball-room, but I did 
 not like to draw genera attention to the affair. Besides, the king is rather strange 
 to-night." 
 
 " Is he really ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, anything that gives him a sudden fright, or indeed any sort of intense 
 excitement, Dr. Lees assures us, would upset the small amount of mind that 
 remains to him." 
 
 *• That is a bad state of things." 
 
 *' Oh, very — very," 
 
 *' Well, my lord, all I can do now is to regret very much that you have 
 not secured the fellow." 
 
 " And I regret it extremely, and like you, can do no more. I wish you good 
 night, sir. Of course your men will detain such a one should they see him ?" 
 
 *• Of that, my lord, be assured.** 
 
 They bowed and parted, but Claude, who had heard every word of the con- 
 versation, was anything but pleased at the prospect before him. He was not one, 
 however, who was likely to sit down and despair while he had his faculties about 
 him, and he set about thinking how he could better his condition, instead of 
 deploring it. 
 
 *• The only description they could give of me," he thought, *' is one of drejs, 
 and surely I am ingenious enough to make some alteration m that, if needs be." 
 
 The moment this idea was started, Claude set lo work to carry it out, Th« 
 coat he had on was of chocolate-coloured velvet, richly trimmed with silver lace, 
 and it was lined throughout with pale gray silk. 
 
 *< Ministers and courtiors," said Claude, with a smile, '< are much in the habit of
 
 iLIFE ON THE ROAD, 205 
 
 turning their coats upon occasion ; I don't at all see, therefore, why 1 should not 
 turn mine." 
 
 As he spoke he took oft his coat, and turned it cleanly inside-out, and put 
 on that way. 
 
 To be sure it did not look quite so well as when it was the right side outwards, 
 but common soldiers were not likely to be very great connoisseurs in the matter, 
 and the first glance at a light gray silk coat would most probably lead them to 
 look no further at him, when a dark velvet one had been described to them as 
 worn by the man they must stop. 
 
 His height he thought might betray him, so he determined to assume an ap- 
 pearance of age, and stoop a little. 
 
 He had just completed the necessary arrangements to carry out this plan of 
 escape, when he saw Sixteen-string Jack and the marquis come out into the 
 court-yard. 
 
 It was evident from their manner that they were in some sort of anxiety about 
 him (Claude). They stood together and conversed eagerly, after which they 
 walked towards the gate, and went out into St. James's-street. 
 
 '^' I shall soon be with you," said Claude to himself, " or if I am not, these 
 sentinels are very clever fellows." 
 
 The last proposition was not a very likely one to come true, and Claude issued 
 from his hiding place with every assurance upon his own mind of escape. 
 
 Bending himself down, he slowly approached the gate. A sergeant of the guard 
 was there, whose duty it undoubtedly was to look closely at whoever should pass ; 
 but one glance at Claude seemed to satisfy him. 
 
 He bowed, and Claude passed on. 
 
 It was not till he got clear out of the gate that he chose to increase his speed, 
 for no one was more alivd than Claude to the proverb of not hilloaing until one is 
 fairly out of the wood. 
 
 Accordingly, if anything, he rather decreased than increased his pace, but still 
 he kept Jack and the marquis in view. 
 
 When, however, they had turned a corner, and he had dene so likewise, there 
 was no occasion for caution, so be quickened his pace and made up to them, and 
 when he got sufticiently near, he cried— 
 
 •* I arrest you both in the king's name." 
 
 It was quite ludicrous to see the jump they both gave, and Claude was very 
 near paying for his joke by the loss, for that evening, of his comrades, for they 
 both set off at good speed down Pall Mall. 
 
 " When Claude chose to run, however, there nl'ere few indeed who could cope 
 with him, and he soon caught the marquis, upon which Sixteen-string Jack 
 turned, and presenting a pistol at him, criea— 
 
 " Let go your hold, or you are a dead man," 
 
 *'I hope,*Jack," said Claude, in his natural voice, " that I am worth a great 
 many dead men yet." 
 
 ** Good God ! is it you V cried the marquis. 
 
 *' Yes, to be sure." 
 
 ** Well, I never was so deceived," said Jack. 
 
 ** Nor so frightened,** laughed Claude. 
 
 ** Oh, yes, I have been." 
 
 " But I have not," said the marquis, giving himself a shake. " I thought my 
 time had come at last, sure enough. What, in the name of all that's abominable, 
 made you serve us such a trick ?" 
 
 '* Only a thought of the moment." 
 
 " Confound your thoughts of the moment. But when did you leave the 
 palace ?'* , 
 
 "^ Before you both." 
 
 «* Before us 1" said Jack. ** We looked in vain for you," 
 
 ** Yes : and I am happy to say some other people looked in vain for me." 
 
 " Ah! you were in danger ?"
 
 206 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** I was, indeed.* 
 
 " Tell us all about it, Claude. Tell us all about it, do. I said something was 
 amiss when we did not meet tou in the ante<room according to agreemetit." 
 
 *• You might have sworn that, Jack," said Claude. 
 
 He then related to them all that had happened ; and when he had concluded, the 
 marquis said — 
 
 *• You beat us, Claude.- 
 
 "As how?" 
 
 " In your booty. We have spoils of conquest in the shape of a few watches 
 and snuff-boxes, but a diamond bracelet from the wrist of a princess must indeed 
 be something worth having.'' 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " You have beat us. lou are lucky." 
 
 " Yes ; I think vve are lucky to-night." 
 
 " We, did you say ?" 
 
 *< I did." 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 •'Why do you say humph >" 
 
 " Well, I say humph, because you say we are lucky, whereas, you are the only 
 one much in luck, with your diamond bracelet." 
 
 " Do yom take me for a pig V' said Claude. 
 
 "A what?'* 
 
 "Apig.- 
 
 **No ; I — I won't say you look much like a pig. Why do you ask so extraor- 
 dinary a question ?'* 
 
 " Because I think none but a pig would go on such an expedition is this in 
 company, and not share the result." 
 
 *' Do you mean to say you will share with us ?*' 
 
 *• I thought that was quite understood," said Claude, coldly, as he walked on. 
 
 " I should be content,'* said Jack, *♦ with «?hat I have ; Claude, you want 
 m»ney, I know." 
 
 " Which is no reason for my taking yours, Jack, or yours, marquis ; so, without 
 any further words or bother about it, remember we all three share and share alike 
 in this matter ; so now come on, and let us forget that the discussion ever 
 arose." 
 
 was quite clear to Jack that Claude was much hurt at what the marquis had 
 said, and the conversation now was rather constrained until tbey got near to the 
 house of the old costumier. 
 
 Then the marquis paused, and suddenly confronting Claude, he held out his 
 hand, saying — 
 
 " Claude Duval, I have offended you. Will you forgive me and forget it ?" 
 
 ** Willingly," said Claude, as he took the proffered hand, *' You are § clever 
 fellow, marquis, and I owe you much, for without you, we evidently might have 
 4 ad no small amount of difficulty in escaping from the Jew's cellars; but the 
 c nly unfortunate thing was, that you did not know me well enough to icel no 
 doubt of my honour." 
 
 « Well— well ; let it pass." 
 
 ** Right willingly."* 
 
 "You must know," added the marquis, dropping the previous subject of dis- 
 tourse. "You must know that the old costumier we are now going to, is an 
 excellent judge of jewels.'* 
 
 *' Is he 80 ? Then he shall see the diamond bracelet, if you think he may be 
 (ousted." 
 
 * You may depend upon him. Honour among * 
 
 ■ ** Thie/es," said Claude, with a laugh. 
 
 *' Well, there's truth in the proverb, Claude. In his youth he has often told 
 me he was an appretice to a lapidary, so that he got a good knowledge of pre- 
 cious stonei. Yon may be assured he will put a right value upon the bracelftt.'*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD* m 
 
 ** Can he purchase V* 
 
 « I think not." 
 
 It turned out to be precisely as the marquis had predicted. The old wardrobe 
 keeper was Bitting upon his stairs, much wondering: at the non-arrival his 
 customers. He admitted them with alacrity, and holding up a candl«, he cried — 
 
 " What luck ? What luck ?" 
 
 ** Tolerable," said the marquis. " I am famished.** 
 
 ** Which way ? With hunger or thirst >" 
 
 " Why, I don*t mind admitting^ to you that I could drink something." 
 
 *' Come in, all of you," cried the old man ; " I have not been unmindful that 
 you might want something. This way — this way. Poor fare, but a hearty wel- 
 come, I am quite prepared to oifer to you. This way — this way." 
 
 He led them to a small room at the back of his house, where a fable was neatly 
 enough spread. 
 
 " Hilloa!" cried Claude. " Do yc.u call this poor fare, my friend ?— may wo 
 never have worse." 
 
 ** What is there V said Jack. 
 
 '* Look— a ham— a couple of fowels— some claret, and about half a dozen bottlei 
 of champagne, as I take it." 
 
 " The deuce," said the marquis, 
 
 " Well, gentleman, the least I could do,'* said the old costumier, "was to pro- 
 vide you with a little bit of sapper." 
 
 " We are much obliged to you," said Claude* ** and I for one don't think that 
 yott will exactly lose by it." 
 
 ** You may be quite assured of that,** "iremarked Jack to the old man, ** if he 
 (pointing to Claude) says so." 
 
 " WelT^ gentlemen, you are welcome ;• fall to." 
 
 " But there are only three chairs here,*' said Claude ; " come, you must tit 
 down with us at all events, my friend." 
 
 *' Oh, I have had mine.** 
 
 ** Not off this table, for the ham and the fowels are uncut, and not a cork has 
 been drawn ; come, come—sit down.*' 
 
 Thus urged, the old man fetched himself a chair from the shop, and they all four 
 sat down together, as merry as kings, ay, and much merrier than any king. The 
 ham and fowls were cut up, and the wine proved excellent. 
 
 •* Now," said the marquis, " where's your bracelet, Claude.'* 
 
 '< Here— here. They tell me, ray old friend, that you are a judge of jewels?** 
 
 *' I was a lapidary," said the old man, " and ought to know something of them ; 
 I hope you have something worth an opinion.*' 
 
 ** He has,*' said the marquis, 
 
 " I think myself something of a judge," said Glatide, ** but of course I defer to 
 those who know better than I do ; what now is your candid opinion of that little 
 toy?" 
 
 He tossed the bracelet across the table to the old man as he spoke. 
 
 The old costumier took it in his hand, held it up to the light, and his countenance 
 changed, as he said, — 
 
 '* Sir, here is a rarity,** 
 
 "Good, are they?" 
 
 "The correct value of these diamonds I thould estimate at not leso than thiee 
 thousand pounds sterling,"
 
 208 - .^-p GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE ATTBMPTBD MURDER* 
 
 After this candid declaration of the old costumier, regarding the immense 
 value of the diamond bracelet, there was a pause of some minutes' duration. 
 
 Claude Duval was rather astonished, Sixteen-strin^ Jack looked, as he really 
 was, very inuch pleased, while the marquis, from feelings best known to himself, 
 but in reality not at all suspected by his companions, looked as pale as death 
 itself. 
 
 ** Three thousand pounds ?'* at length he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, at at the lowest, without saying one word of the gold, and the general 
 workmanship of the article." 
 
 "How pleased I am, Claude, for your sake," said Sixteen-string Jack; "you 
 will be able to do several things now, that I know you much wish to do." 
 
 *• There is a difficulty," said Claude. 
 
 •' There is indeed," said the old man ; " I can guess very well what difficulty 
 you mean. You allude to the trouble there will be in disposing of such an 
 artiole." ^ 
 
 " I do." 
 
 *' But yet that surely may be done/* said the marquis, eagerly, and fixing his 
 eyes upon the bracelet. 
 
 " There is but one man in London," added the old costumier, ** who will have 
 anything to do with it.'* 
 
 •' Indeed ?" 
 
 "Yes, but one, and even he may find it is rather a serious afiair, vou 
 see." 
 
 "It is— it is." 
 
 •* You must not calculate upon such a price for it as I have named." 
 
 "Nor anything like it, I suppose ?" said the marquis. 
 
 "Well, I think, under all the circumstances, you may fairlv enough expect one- 
 third of its value." 
 
 " One-third ?• 
 
 " Yes; you see whoever buys it, no doubt, will lay it by for a very long time. Per- 
 haps It nay not see the light again for years, if the individual diamonds should 
 be suspected to be known. If not, it can be taken to pieces and worked up into 
 some other costly trinket.* 
 
 ''That would be the best way," added the marquis. " You may depend that 
 nothing would pay so well as pulling out the ^diamonds and parting with them 
 separately, to any one who would give a fair price." 
 
 " It might be tried," said the old man. 
 
 '• Well,r said Claude, rising, " I will meet you here to-morrow in the latter 
 part of the day, marquis. At present, I must own, I am in some need of 
 repose.* 
 
 ~'ou will not think of leaving my house, gentlemen," said the old man. " I 
 
 very 
 - And I,** Said Jack. 
 
 "Well,'' said Claude, " if it is not putting vou to any inconvenience, I must 
 confess that I would rather have a few hours' rest here. It is quite morning now; 
 so if you will have the goodness to awaken me in about four hours, I dare say I 
 should be all right again. 
 
 "As you please, sir.** 
 
 They all rose, and Claude said with a laugh-.
 
 GEVTLEXUN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 209 
 
 (AstoniBl.mcnt ar,d Ter.or of the Maiqiis at Claude's Sudden Appcann e.) 
 
 " You must give mo son e room ihit T can tlioroughly darken, for unless I 
 can persuade myself that it is nighs I sball not be able to get a wink of 
 
 ^' *^^V^ery well, you shall have a room at the back of the house, where there are 
 Venetian blinds, so vou can m ike it as dark as you wish." ' ^^ 
 
 " That will do exactly," said Claude. " But Low knocked up you look. 
 
 " Who ? 1 ?" 
 
 *' Yes, you seem half asleep.''
 
 210 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " How can that be V* cried the marquis, and as he spoke Claude saw, or fan- 
 cied he saw, the marquis cast a very significant look at the old man. 
 
 " I don't know how it i?/' said the latfer, "but — I — I am certainly just a 
 little " I 
 
 *' A little what ?" roared the marquis angrily. 
 
 " A man may surely," said Claude, " be a little anything he likes, in hii own 
 house." I 
 
 *' I think so too," said Jack. I 
 
 '* Oh yes. Yes— yes— of course, only I could not think what was the matter 
 with him." I 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," said the old man, speaking thickly, "I shall go to bed 
 now — yes, 1 — I shall go to bed — tumble lo bed." i 
 
 " It's well you sa"d tumble," remarked the marquis. j 
 
 The marquis was right enough, for in truth the old costumier did rather tumble 
 than walk to bed, for he appeared hardly able to keep his feet as he went, and 
 had only just power to show Claude which was' his room, and Jack which was 
 his. I 
 
 Chagrin was evident uvon the countenance of the marquis, but why he should 
 be so amaze4 at a little drop *of wme overcoming the old costumier, was best 
 known to liimself. ■ i 
 
 As for Claude and Jack, they could not make out what it could matter to him.l 
 
 He made an effort, however, to recover something like good humour, or the 
 semblance of it,' before they all parted for the night, and he laughed as he 
 said — I 
 
 Good niglit, Claude Duval. Good night. I hope you will sleep soundly after 
 your royal adventure.*' | 
 
 '* I generally do sleep pretty well," said Claude, *' if all is quiet about me. The 
 the merest trifle will awaken me.' I 
 
 worst of me is though, 
 ''Willit?'' ■ '- 
 
 " Yes indeed, a something which would have no effect upon the slumbers of 
 any one else." 
 
 *' Well take care of the bracelet." 
 
 *' I mean to do so." • 
 
 "That's right. Good ni^ht—good nio;ht, Jack You ought to sleep the sounder 
 to-nig|i|; for (laving co'mpiejeJy got rid of the torments in which the Jew held 
 
 you.'-' ' "■■' '"''■'■ '■'■•■" ■'^^■' -^■-'* 
 
 •^ I hope I shall." 
 
 plaude walked into the room assigned hira and closed the door. There was a 
 night bolt on the inside of it, which he at once fa?tened, and then placing his 
 candle upon the table, and sitting down upon the side of the bed, he said — I 
 
 *' I don't knov>r how it is, but I certainly feel anything but comfortable to-night 
 — Some feeling that all is not right in this house, seems to come over me, I don't 
 know why." | 
 
 The more he thought over his condition the! less he seemed to be able to come 
 to any satisfactory conclusion with regard to the suspicions that beset him, and 
 at last he gave it up. j 
 
 He carefully closed the Venetian blinds so th- 1 wlen he did bio wouthig candle 
 the room was quite dark, but that he did not do until he had taken off his coat and 
 thrown it upon a chair. The rest of his apparel he kept on, and the diamond 
 bracelet, which was worth whatever care he could bestow upon it, he placed se- 
 curely between the bed and the mattress. | 
 
 " Well," he said, " I will not keep myself awake because of some vague suspi- 
 cion of I don't know what. I must have rest somehow or other, so here goes to 
 sleep, although I don't niuch like your manne*, master marquis, and although I do 
 think you are up to a something you would be very sorry for me to suspect." 
 
 * « * m y^ * iS 
 
 Claude had fallen into a slight sleep, which no doubt would have been the pre- 
 cursor of a much sounder one, if nothing had happened to disturb it.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 211 
 
 It had not, however, lasted above ten minutes when he was awakened by a 
 
 something, he knew not what, but certainly \o his perception it was a sound in his 
 
 chamber. 
 
 Although he opened his eyes he made no sort of movement, but lying perfectly 
 
 still he listened attentively. In a few moments he was rewarded for his caution by 
 
 hearing a stealthy footstep, and it seemed to him as if it approached the bed. 
 He had no arms within his reach, so he thought tke best thing he could do was 
 
 not to call out, for fear of provoking an immediate attack, or to remain quiet and 
 
 receive one, but to give some indication of being awake, and leaving whoever was 
 
 creeping about the room to make the most of it. 
 
 Accordingly he executed an exceedingly natural sneeze, and then said, in a low 
 
 voice— 
 
 I " Confound it. I have got a cold, I think." 
 ' The effect of this was immediately apparent, for with a shuffling noise some one 
 
 left the room very precipitately, no doubt not a little alarmed at finding Claude so 
 
 unexpectedly wakeful. 
 I *' Now, whatever can be the meaning of this," thought Claude. " To say the 
 
 least of it, it's devilish suspicious. It must be seen to. Farewell sleep, I think, 
 
 in this house." 
 ! He rose instantly, and feeling about in the very dim light of the room for his 
 
 coat, he got his pistols out of the pocket where he had left them. Then, without 
 
 touching the blinds, he made his way towards the door. 
 
 Contrary to the state iu which he had left it, it was only just closed, and not at 
 
 all fastened. How any one from without had contrived to remove the night bolt 
 
 he had no leisure to inquire, but opening the door just wide enough to allow him 
 
 to do so, he stepped out into the passage and looked about him. 
 j A dim ray of light came from the crevice of a slightly opened door opposite, and 
 
 treading lightly across the landing, Claude put his eye to the slender opening and 
 looked in. 
 
 I To his surprise he saw, by the aid of a rushlight that was upon a table, the old 
 costumier in bed, and apparently in a sound sleep, while the marquis, fully dresaed, 
 was shaking him by the shoulder, and speaking in a hurried low voice. 
 I " Confound yoiir blunders," he said. '* How was it that you took the drugged 
 I wine yourself, instead of giving it, as you intended, to Claude Duval? Awake, 
 awake." 
 
 j An inarticulate murmur was the only response. 
 
 I *' It's of no use," muttered the marquis. " How very provoking to bo sure ; 
 jwell arranged, too, as it was. The idea of the old fool drugging the wine for 
 another, so that he and I might cut hia throat comfortably and get the bracelet, and 
 then by some unaccountable and strange accident taking it himself." 
 "A pretty escape," thought Claude. 
 
 "And now the confounded fellow is awake," continued the marquis, "aaid 
 heaven only knows how long I may have to wait before I can do the job." 
 
 " I thmk," said Claude to himself, *' you will have to wail a long while before 
 you catch me asleep again here." 
 
 "And," added the marquis, *'it was all owing to the botheration in getting 
 off the night bolt. He must have been suspicious, or he would not have fastened 
 it." 
 
 *' Time, too," thought Claude. 
 , After a few moments' consideration, Claude's active brain thought of a plan of 
 operation which might bring a kind of retribution upon the old rascal of a costu- 
 mier, as well as defeating the marquis. By the light that straggled through the 
 door he saw a pair of boots on the landing, and as it was a well staircase beneath, 
 he dropped them into the passage below,
 
 212 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, ' 
 
 f I 
 
 CHAPTER ILll. 
 
 A SERIOUS MISTAKE. 
 
 In that quite hour of the morning, when all the house was so still, and every 
 one in it was rather anxious to contribute towards its noiselessness, the clatter 
 that the boots made as they descended into the passage below, was really some- 
 thing prodigious. 
 
 No wonder that they startled the marquis, for, although he knew so well what 
 produced the uproar, Claude felt a little startled himself. 
 
 The marquis in a moment came out of the room cccupicd by the old cos- 
 tumier. 
 
 Claude would have been detected had he not taken the precaution of retreating 
 just within his own doorway in time. He managed just to see the marquis, how- 
 ever, through a slight opening. 
 
 Alarm was in the would-be murderer's face, and after listening for about half a 
 minute in silence, he cried in a voice of terror— 
 
 " What, in the name of all that's troublesome, was that, I wonder ?" 
 
 Making iaquiries of himself, however, was not by any means a likely mode 
 of discovering the truth, so after a few moments spent in not the most pleasant 
 reflection, he muttered — 
 
 " I must go down and see what that was before I proceed with what I have to 
 do above stairs here. What on earth could it be." 
 
 I In his hurry— and indeed we may say his fright — he had snatched up the rush- 
 light that had been burning in tho old man's room, and now with it in his tremb- 
 ling grasg^ he proceeded down the stairs, looking very cautiously before him at each 
 step he took, and evidently impressed with an idea that he was upon the point of 
 'seeing something that would be not at all of an agreeable character. 
 I It was something truly ludicrous to be situated as Claude was, and see a man 
 'going down stairs with so much circumspection and caution, after a pair of old 
 ! boots that lay in the passage below. 
 
 But Claude had no time to spend in making useless reflections. Already in his 
 I mind had he matured the plais he intended to carry out, and when the marquis 
 had got sufficiently down the stairs, that it was not likely he could hear anything 
 that took place above, Claude immediately commenced operations. 
 j He glided into the old man's room, and when there he found that the daylight 
 had quite sufficiently advanced for him to see clearly and diUinctly any object 
 'within it. 
 
 I His first movement was directed to ascertaining if the old villanous cos- 
 jtumier, who with the marquis had plotted his murder, was really in a sound 
 sleep. 
 
 I Claude shook him violently, lut that had no efiFect upon him. Then he whis- 
 pered in his ear — 
 
 I " Awake— awake. What is to be done with Claude Duval ? What is to be 
 done with Claude Duval ?" 
 
 The old man at first only replied by an inarticulate sort of grunt. 
 
 " What is to be done with Claude Duval V again was vehemently whispered 
 in his ear. 
 
 This time he replied — 
 
 " Cut— cut— cut " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Cut his throat in the dark." 
 
 " That will do," said Claude. " I am truly much obliged. And now, my 
 friend, vre will see if something of a similar fate cannot be shifted on to your 
 shoulders," I 
 
 As he spoke, he stooped over the bed, and lifting the old man in his arms, he
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 213 
 
 carried him out of the room, and across the landing to the room he had himself 
 so recently occupied, and so provideniially escaped from. I 
 
 To lay him in the bed, and cover him with the clothes, was the work of a 
 moment. | 
 
 *' Now," said Claude, " I dislike the taking of a life, or anything in the shape 
 «f bbodshed, as much as most men, but if these two scoundrels like to practise 
 any such proceedings, it will be quite as well that they should do so upon each 
 j other instead of upon me.'* j 
 
 These operations and changes were just completed, when Claude heard the 
 j marquis creeping up the stairs again ; and as he came, muttering the most diabo-' 
 lical caths that the mind of the most profligate could conceive. | 
 
 I Claude vent into the room lately occupied by the old costumier, and got into 
 the bed, covering himself nearly all over with the bed«clothes. I 
 
 He hoped that if the marquis did come in he should be able, in that dim light,' 
 to'sustain the character of the old man for a little time. | 
 
 The rushlight gave but a miserable illumination to the room as the ma'quis 
 entered it. Indeed, the struggle that it inefficiently maintained with the rapidly 
 advancing daylight made the obscurity greater than as if the light had been ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 And now a most singular circumstance took place— a circumstance which made, 
 a deep impression upon Claude at the time and often afterwards. j 
 
 The marquis approached <he bed, and in a whisper said to the supposed old 
 man — 
 
 " Are you awake ?" 
 
 Claude returned no answer, and then, in the very words that Claude himself 
 had used, he said — 
 
 « What is to be done with Claude Duval V* 
 
 " Cut— cut— his throat," said Claude, " in the dark.'* 
 
 " I will." 
 
 The fellow glided from the room, leaving Claude with the rushlight, 
 
 " Is not this more than belongs to a common circumstance ?" said Claude. 
 " Surely Heaven has taken its own way of punishing these wretches t" 
 
 He rose, and creeping softly to the door, and then to the landing, he listened 
 attentively. All was still as the grave, and he went as far as the door of the 
 jroom that had been his, and fairly entered the apartment after the marquis. 
 j The Venetian blinds all remained closed, and the place was profoundly dark. 
 He heard the marquis run against a chair, and then utter a curse. 
 I No doubt the projected murderer thought that that slight noise would awaken 
 Claude, whom he imagined to be slumbering there, for he paised and listened for 
 a time, afier which he muttered to himself — 
 
 1 " He sleeps sound enough now, at nil events, for my purpose. The bracelet 
 I well be mine, ar.d then hurrah for America, as England will assuredly be too hot 
 to hold me after to-night's work.*' 
 
 "It will, indeed," thought Claude. 
 
 The fellow crept now slowly along the floor towards the bed. His eyes were 
 getting more accustomed to the semi-darkness of the place, and he got on with 
 more precision towards the bed than at first. 
 
 Claude did once ask himscU the question of, " Shall I or shall I not interfere 
 to step this act ?" 
 
 He had not much time lor consideration. Perhaps it was a pity that he decided 
 as he did decide ; but so it was. He determined upon a system of non-inter- 
 ference, and upon letting thin^^s take their course. 
 
 And now, as he stood near to the door of the room, fhc only sense he could 
 well brii.g to bear upon the proceedings of the marquis efficiently was that o\ 
 hearing. ' 
 
 To be sure, he could just see the dim outline of his figure as he stooped over 
 the bed ; but that was all.
 
 214 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 There was then a lustlirg sound, a short gtiuggle, and then a deep and dreadfl 
 groan. ... 
 
 '• tt is done !" cried the marquis, turning from the bed-side, and speaking in a 
 tone of fright. " It is done ! Where is my reward ?" 
 
 Claude was silent. A feeling of horror crept over him. He heard a strange 
 gurgling sound, and hi felt quite confident that the old man was yet dying, and 
 that those sounds were what he was constrained to make as he gasped for. 
 breath. | 
 
 He heard, too, a splashing sound tirip, drip upon the floor, and he knew, as 
 though he had seen it, that it was iht blood of the murdered, weltering forth from ' 
 some gaping wound, and dripping fi oui the bed. 
 
 It was truly horrible ! I 
 
 I Claude, perhaps, would not have recovered himself quite so soon, but he heard 
 the marquis speak again, and tluil roused him. ' j 
 
 I " The bracelet ^the bracelet !'" he said; " I must have the bracelet ! What^ 
 is the use of the murder without its gains l Light— light ! I must have a hght! 
 to look for the bracelet !*' .*; | 
 
 Claude felt that it was now necessary, if^he would know what further steps thei 
 murderer intended to take, to get out of the way. , | 
 
 The diamond bracelet which had been the instigation of the dreadful crime, he, 
 had securely in his pocket, so that the marquis might search in vain for it, as the' 
 reward of the horrible deed he had just cemmitted in the chamber. | 
 
 Whether at once to confront him and charge him with the deed, or yet to wait' 
 and watch him, was a matter of doubt in Claude's mind. 
 
 He decided upon the latter course, and as the only mode of getting out of his ' 
 way effectually, he retreated before him across the dark passage and into the 
 chamber of the old man. 
 
 The rushlight had burnt low by this time, and lent but a flickering light to the 
 room. Some clouds seemed to have interposed themselves between the earth and 
 the sunrise, for certainly there was not so much appearance of that event as there 
 had been a quarter of an hour previously, when Claude had watched the dimly 
 coming light. 
 
 Concealment was easy, for, as the marquis entered the room, Claude allowed 
 the opening door to make him a hiding-place behind it. 
 
 But any one might now have got successfully out of the way of that agitated 
 man. He was trembling fearfully, and all he could say was — 
 
 " A light ! a light ! 1 must have a light ! How can I see the diamonds if I 
 have no light V* 
 
 *' Alas !" thought Claude, *' what a cup of wretchedness you have filled to the 
 brim for yourself!" 
 
 Approaching the mantel-shelf in a strange, staggering sort of manner, he 
 grasped at the light, which had been by Claude previously removed there from the ' 
 table, and then abruptly he left the room with it. | 
 
 And now, indeed, commenced a part of that retribution which was surely to: 
 overtake the murderer; for, although he fully believed th at the object for which he | 
 had taken the life of a sleeping man was now to be had for the going for, he stood j 
 trembling in the passage, and could not gather even courage sufficient to walk into 
 the room. 
 
 Well he knew the sight that would there present itself to him, and no wonder ^ 
 he shrunk back aghast from encountering that horrible and gory spectacle. | 
 
 Claude watched him as he stood shaking upon ihe stair-head,' and muttering to 
 himself the awful suggestions of a disturbed and guilty fancy. 
 
 *' *Tis done, 'tis done 1" he said. •* Oh yes ! I have done the dreadful deed ! 
 It is the first deliberate, cold-blooded murder I have done ! 'Tis true 1 have taken 
 human life before now ; but it has been in the heat of conflict and in self-defence. 
 This is a murder—yes, this is a murder I Dare I go into that room V 
 
 He shuddered perceptibly : then, after a pause, he added— 
 
 *' And yet shall I leave the reward of my crime to be laid hands upon by others ?
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. \ 5 
 
 Shall I sow in blood that they may reap in sunshine ? No, no, no. I must have 
 the bracelet. The diamonds must be mine, and mine only. As mine was the 
 whole criminality, so mine must and shall tie the whole reward." 
 He advanced timidly another step or two. 
 *' Hush — hush!" he cried. '' What was that >" 
 
 Some imaginary noise had disturbed him, and he stood and shook like an aspen 
 leaf. 
 
 " Truly, truly," he added, *' I heard something ; yet all is still again. The 
 opium draught keeps one quiet who sleeps upon the floor, and the knife has put 
 the other to eternal sleep — what have I to fear ?" 
 After a moment or two he spoke again, saying— 
 
 "The old man recommended the death of the other; he said it would not be 
 safe to let one go. I must now take the life of Sixteen-string Jack. He sleeps 
 above — I had better settle him first, and then perhaps I shall be better able to 
 look for the necklace." 
 
 Claude had just time to dart back into the room from which he had emerged, 
 when the marquis, full of his new idea, turned to ascend a narrow staircase that 
 led to the chamber of Sixteen-string Jkck. 
 
 It was not likely that Claude would now ab stn from an active interferance, 
 when the life of his old friend was thus menaced. He allowed him, however, to 
 ascend the stairs in peace, if the wretched trembling state he was in deserved such 
 a name. 
 
 Claude hurried after him, and indeed so little caution did Claude use in ascend- 
 ing the attic stairs, that it was quite wonderful the marquis did not hear him. 
 Nothing, however, could show more forcibly the state gf mind he was in that this 
 fact that he started in dismay at imaginary noises, and was completely oblivious 
 to real ones. 
 
 Claude was in a fright le^t Sixteen-string Jack should sniffer some barm before 
 he could get up to the stairs, but t e moment he got on the landing, lie pushed 
 past the marquis, and stood between him and a door immediately opposite, and 
 which no doubt conducted to Jack's chamber. 
 
 " Hold !" cried Claude. *' Have you not already to-night imbrued your hands 
 in blood enough ?'' 
 
 The flickering unsteady light from the miserable candle carried by the marquis 
 pcll full upon the face of Claude Duval, so that at a glance he must have been re 
 cognised. 
 
 It did not strike Claude at the moment, so anxious was he for Jack's preserva- 
 tion, that the appearance of him to the marquis must be most horrible, as that 
 individual had all the reason in the world to believe that he, Claude, lay welter- 
 ing in his gore below. 
 
 The first exclamation of the marquis, however, made him aware of this. 
 A shriek burSt from his lips, and he cried — 
 " Mercy ! mercy ! The dead — the dead !" ' 
 
 He fell backwards down the staircase, candle and all, leaving Claude in the 
 dark on the attic landing. 
 
 " What's the matter? What's the matter ?" cried Sixteen-string Jack, from 
 his room. " Who is there 1" 
 
 " 'Tis I, Jack," said Claude. "Get up as quickly as you can. This is no 
 place for us." 
 
 CHAPTER LIIL 
 
 THE TRIAL OF MARKHAM BRERETON. 
 
 Claude spoke in a loud voice, so that Sixteen-string Jack should have no 
 difficulty in recognising who it was. The answer of Jack showed that he had 
 heard Claude and knew him at once.
 
 216 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Yes— yes," he said. " What do you want, Claude V 
 
 " I want you." 
 
 " 1 am here then. Is anything amiss ?" 
 
 " A trifle," replied Claude, 
 
 " Why, you speak strangely," said Jack, as he appeared putting on his coat as 
 well as he could see to do so. *' You aie, I think, for once in your life, surely 
 alarmed." . 
 
 ** I am, indeed. Jack." 
 
 " Is it possible ? 1 did but jest." 
 
 ** And many a true word is so spoken. Jack. Come dovirn stairs as quick as 
 you can, and let us admit all the light we can into this house." | 
 
 I There was a window upon the staircase, which Sixteen-string Jack had noticed ' 
 as he came along. It was only secured by a small .hook, that is to say the shut- j 
 ters of it, and Jack at once opened it. 
 
 i A stream of daylight made its way inio the house, and never did Claude feel 
 so grateful for anything as tor that soft, mild, morning light that fell upon .his 
 face, after the night of horrors he had passed through. | 
 
 I Jack," he said, as he laid his hand upon the arm of his old friend, ** you 
 would have been a dead man in another minute." 
 
 "If what?" 
 
 •' If 1 had no» interfered." 
 
 ♦' C aude, I owe then my life, as well as everything else, to you ?" 
 
 ** Don*t think of that. There has been murder here." 
 
 " The marquis ?" 
 
 " Yes. " 
 
 " By Heaven, I did not like his looks last night at supper, and I had a half sus- 
 picion, do you know, that there was some sort of understanding between him and 
 the old wardrobe man, that we knew nothing of." | 
 
 "If you had a whole suspicion that way tending, Jack, you would not have 
 been far out." 
 
 **Is it possible."" 
 
 ** Ay, possible and true." 
 
 " But what — wliat was the motive ?" 
 
 **This,* said Claude, holding up the diamond bracelet. 
 
 " But it*was settled the marquis was to share in the produce of that costly piece 
 of plunder." I 
 
 *' Yes, Jack ; but the marquis has a stomach that would digest it all, you see." 
 
 "The villain.'* 
 
 **The worse than villain. Jack." 
 
 ** How mean you?" 
 
 '* Come on, and I shall be able, I think, to show you a sight that will truly 
 astonish you, if it does not, as I think it will, absolutely shock you." I 
 
 As Claude spoke he hurried down the staircase as quickly as he could, and tlie 
 first object that met his gaze at the bottom of the first flight was the insensible 
 form of the marquis, who had struck his head heavily in the most awkward and 
 dangerous backward fall. 
 
 " Good God ! who is this V cried Jack. 
 
 " Look." 
 
 Jack did so, and recognised the features of the marqius. 
 
 '* Is he dead ?" 
 
 •* I think not," said Claude. 
 
 •* But you have not looked at him.*' 
 
 ♦' No, Jack. I formed my opinion upon the simple belief that if eYer a fellow 
 was born to bij hung it was this one. Am 1 right now ?" 
 
 The marquis uttered a groan. 
 
 "We will soon recover him/' said Jack. " I will get some water and dash in j 
 his face, 1 dare say that will put him to rights quickly enough. He don't seem I 
 
 " ' -^r=A 
 
 much hurt.'
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR LIFE ON THE ROAD. 217 
 
 GEiJTLEMAN JACK DISGUISED AS A CLERGYMAN IN THE COFFEE ROOM, 
 
 Jack ran up stairs, and In a moment or two oroitglit clown a jug of cold water, 
 which he threw with all the force he could into the face of the mdrquis, 
 
 " Murder— murder ! Oh ! murder !" he cried. 
 
 "Aword yououghtto be the first to avoid and thelast to prorounce, saidUaude. 
 *'Look, villain, and behold how you have been defeated." 
 
 The marquis did look up with a shudder, and for some moments he looked at 
 Claude with an expression of perfect astonishment. 
 
 " Can this be ?" he said. " Oh, no, no ; it is all a dream." 
 
 " I wish it was," said Claude. 
 
 ** Bat—but. Let me touch you. Are you a living man ?"
 
 218 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 '' I am." 
 
 *' And—and — and who— who— ?'' 
 
 He pointed to the chamber in which he had perpetrated the dreadful deed of 
 blood, and looked beseechingly at Claude for answer to his inquiry. 
 
 "Yon would ask," said Claude, *' who it is you have in that chamber sacrificed 
 to your rage and to your avarice ?* 
 
 **\es, yes, yes.'* 
 
 ** You thought to take my life while I slept ; you thought to kill me, even after 
 I had told you that you should receive a full and equal share with tiayself of the 
 proceeds of my exertions to-night." ♦ 
 
 " Yes, but—but—" 
 
 *• Hear me. You were not satisfied with much more than your proper deserving, 
 but, in order to stifle my claim wholly, you would have cut my throat." 
 
 « No, no." 
 
 " I say yes. It is useless now adding falsehood to your rascally Judas-like Con- 
 duct, and then, when you thought you had cut my throat, it occurred to you that, 
 for fear of the consequences, you must perform the same operation upon my 
 fr|end here." 
 
 *' Do not toiture me." 
 
 " What ? Do you talk of torturing V* 
 
 ** Yes, yes. This is worse than throat- cutting. Tell me, I implore you, who if( 
 it that lies in yonder room. Speak, oh, speak." 
 
 *♦ Who should there be ? Look at us." 
 
 The wretched man looked full at Claude, and then at Slxteen-string Jack, and 
 then he passed bis hand across his brow, as though he wei* in tod confused a state 
 to tell exactly who had been in the house, and who had not. 
 
 " 1—1 think," he said, " I think it still is all a dream.** 
 
 '* Do you P" 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 " Ah, that is quite another thing. I only wish it was. But he whoin yott find 
 missing from the supper party, who sat down so securely an hotir Ago, will moit 
 probably never sup again." 
 
 The marquis rose slowly to his feet. He cast about him one bewildered look, 
 and then he made a rush, not to eseape, but inio the chamber where the victim 
 of his avarice lay. 
 
 ** Let us follow him," said Jack. 
 
 *' As you please," replied Claude. «' Come on.* 
 
 When they entered the room, they found the marquis With the most frantic 
 eargerness drawing up the Venetian blinds, which shut out flie daylight from the 
 room, and when he hi d done so, he turned towards the bed. 
 
 The moment he looked upon the horrible sight which was there— and a truly 
 horrible sight it was, for the head of the old costumier was almost severed from his 
 body, and he lay ia a pool of blood— he commenced swearing in the most homWe 
 manner. 
 
 *' Gracious heaven ! what does he mean by that ?" cried Jack. " He cannot be 
 so tender-hearted, or he would not have used the knife so effectually." 
 
 "Why, what extra villany," said Claude, "consists in this murder above 
 all others ?" 
 
 The marquis gasped for breath, as he spoke slowly, sayine — 
 
 "He— he was my father!" 
 
 As he uttered these words, he fell forwards upon > his foce among the 
 blood. 
 
 ' Claude recoiled with terror, and the face of Sixteen-string Jack was blanched. 
 Little had they, either of them, suspected such a revelation as this, and for a time 
 It quite froze up their faculties. Claude at last spoke in a tone of bitter 
 regret — 
 
 " 1 could have prevented this deed. I shall never think of it without regretting
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 219 
 
 that I did not do so ; but I looked upon it as a sort of retribution upon both of 
 them, without for a moment suspecting its awful extent of severity." 
 
 " It is dreadful," said Jack. " What shall we do ?" 
 
 ** What can we do P" 
 
 ** It is a question that I cannot answer.'* 
 
 ** We must both answer it. Jack, by one word, and that is, nothing. This poor 
 wretch will suifFer enough, without human laws interfering with him ; and if we 
 were ever so much inclined to call down the penalties of the law upon him, we 
 are »n no position to do so," 
 
 "Then we had better coma away at once, Claude." 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "The sooner the better, then, for I am sickened by looking upon this 
 scene,'* 
 
 They both turned from the room, and ia a few moments had left the house to 
 the dead and the murderer, 
 
 *' Will you go out of town at once ?** said Jack. 
 
 " No, Jack, 1 cannot. To-morrow is Friday, and I have great reason for think- 
 ing that the trial of Mr. Brereton will come on, in which case I shall not be very 
 far from the Old Bailey." 
 
 ** A dangerous vicinity, Claude." 
 
 " Yes. But absolutely necessary to hold me to-morrow. What do yos pur- 
 pose doing ?" 
 
 •* Can you ask me ? Have I not already expressed a wish to join my fortunes 
 to yours, Claude P If you do not insist upon sending me from you, my place for 
 the future shall be your side in danger or in safety.'' 
 
 " Be it so, Jack ; I am grateful to you. There are but three persons in the 
 world for whom I think it worth the living," 
 
 "And those, Claude?" 
 
 *' Are Cicely Brereton, my sister May, and yourself.'" 
 
 Jack looked the thanks which he could not speak, and they both proceeded at 
 a very rapid rate from the house of the costumier, which they never wished to 
 see again. 
 
 They proceeded at once to the Old Bailey, where they put up at an hotel, 
 and Claude said to Jack, when they had duly arranged about their accommoda- 
 tion— 
 
 " I shall be here the first thing in the morning, Jack. But I shall be so changed 
 in appearance, that the people here will not know me ; I think, without any danger 
 of recognition, I shall be able to attend the court." 
 
 '• Be careful, Claude." 
 
 " I will, Jack, for more sakes than one; so now ^ood night, or rather good 
 morning. It is now six o'clock, and I shall be with you at nine, and if the 
 trial of Mr. Brereton does come on, I shall be able perhaps to astonish the folks 
 a little*' 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to state that Claude had had an interview with Cicely, 
 at which he again assured her that the safety of her brother should be his utmost 
 care. 
 
 It was likewise necessary that he should procure money for the defence of 
 Brereton, which he dia by borrowing a hundred pounds, for be had no hesitation 
 in doing that, feeling as he did, that when he had leisure to dispose of the bracelet 
 he should find no difficulty in repaying it. 
 
 And as regarded that bracelet, and the hands it had come from, it may be tiuly 
 said, that although Claude Duval never robbed any but the rich, he never appro- 
 priated any portion of another's property to his own purposes with less compunc- 
 tion than he did that. 
 
 L l lJI | U » t l H W»B<IW«WB«Wte3gW >Uj »l l»L»* M l,IIJIIi- 1l»II M I MUJJ—JML.M IIIMM Jt l M .IIMI _ ri iM l lJK^
 
 220 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THE TRIAL OF BRERETON. 
 
 The circumstances attendant upon the accusation, by Tom Brereton, of his 
 cousin Markham, of the robbery which he, Tow, knew perfectly well had been 
 committed by Claude Duval, were of so peculiar a character, that it becomes 
 necessary, now that the trial of Markham is on the tapis, to recapitulate them. 
 
 That these circumstances had a visible connection with the original circum- 
 stances, in which that part of the Brereton family, whom we have taken the 
 greatest interest in, is concerned, will be sufficiently obvious. 
 
 It will be remembered that Markham Brereton, Cicely, his sister, and his 
 mother, were subsisting rather penuriously in London, when they heard 
 tidings of the death of Torn Brereton, the only son of Mrs. Markham's late hus- 
 band's brother. 
 
 This event placed them in a position of heirs-at-law to a small freehold pro- 
 perty at Guilford, which, believing the circumstantial tale of the death of Tom 
 Brereton, they did not hesitate to take possession of. 
 
 The anomalous condition of the branch of the Brereton family to which 
 Markham belonged may be easily accounted for. Tom's father, who had become 
 a well-to-do man in the world, had been angry, or chosen to affect that he was so, 
 at his brother's— that is Cicely and Markham's — father's marriage, so that the two 
 families had not been for years in a state of communication with each other. 
 
 Hence it arose that the Breretons, whom we may call our Breretons, did not 
 even know Tom by sight. 
 
 It was quite, then, a surprise to them when that vulgar and most erratic per- 
 sonage suddenly made his appearance at Guilford, when they had made themselves 
 just comfortable, and in his coarse way announced who he was. 
 
 Fortunately Mr. Markham Brereton was at home, and his reply was what the 
 ep'y of any reasonable man would have been under similar circumstances. 
 
 •* Prove your identity," he said, *' and we will yield you up quiet possession of 
 that which we innocently, in the belief of your death, have taken possession of." 
 
 To this Tom Brereton was compelled to assent, and hence we found him tra- 
 velling from Guilford to London with the Breretons in the old family coach, upon 
 the occasion when Claude Duval stopped the vehicle upon Hounslow Heath, and 
 instantly robbed Tom of his pocket-book, containing all the documents he pos- 
 sessed, to prove that he was the person he bad represented himself to be. 
 
 Now, as we know, it had happened, that with a thorough disgust at the com- 
 panionship of Tom Brereton, Markham had ridden on before, and actually himself 
 been stopped by Claude Duval before the attack was made upon the carriage ; 
 and it was from the circumstance of Markham having gone on in advance, that 
 it was thought by Tom and his advisers there would be good ground for fixing 
 the robbery upon him. 
 
 But of course Tom had a sufficient motive for all this, and that motive was 
 this. 
 
 There had been a third brother in the Brereton family, who had gone abroad to 
 better his condition, and it appeared that he bettered in an extr; otdinary degree, 
 for he became a very rich man indeed, and when nearly on his death bed he had 
 sent a person to England, to make certain inquires concerning his relatives. 
 
 This person had in due course acquainted him with the alienation between his 
 two brothers, and in a freak of fancy he chose to leave the bulk of his fortune to 
 Cicely his niece, merely because she was named Cicely. 
 
 This was a fact that had come to the ears of Tom, through a low attorney who 
 acted for him, and who was named Newcourt, and then arose between them the 
 anxious quet^tion of what could be made of the knowledge before the executors of
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 221 
 
 the deceased Mr. James Biereton became energetic in taking means to carry out 
 the conditions of his will, which he had made at Calcntta. 
 
 It was thought that if a marriage could be knocked up between Tom and 
 Cicely, it would answer all the purposes, and the attorney got from him a contin- 
 gent bond for £ 10,000 as his share of the plunder, in case the marriage should be 
 brought about. 
 
 While Cicely was ia complete ignorance of her fortune, it was thought that an 
 offer from Tom of marriage, and the settlement of the Guilford property upon her, 
 would look amazingly generous, and be snapped at by the Breretona ; but to the an- 
 noyance of both Tom and the attorney, the former's offer was refused with a con- 
 siderable portion of superadded contempt. 
 
 Under the.«e circumstances, then, it became necessary to adopt some other plan, 
 or to give the matter up a- an impracticable job. That whs what neither of fhem 
 felt inclined to do, aid the end of the cogitation was, that the cha'g** of .obbery 
 agaiasr Markham should be got up. 
 
 The following were the advantages expected from this plan of operations, which 
 was certainly well projected. 
 
 The gnat affection subsiatinc; between Cicely and her brother was well known, 
 and it was thought that by playing upon her fears aiising from that affection, 
 she might be forced into a consent to the projected marriage, a .d so save 
 him. 
 
 Hence, then, the attorney, Newcourt, had made every poss ble exer'ion to get 
 up the meagre evidence in such a way, as to interlope Markham in its folds, while 
 at any time, provided Cicely consented to what was proposed to her, ht^ could 
 back out of the prosecution by pretending he had satisfactorily found out that he 
 was mistaken in the identity of the robber who had deprived Tom of his pocket- 
 book. 
 
 The sudden and most mysterious disappearanceof Cicely somewhat discomfitted 
 the plotters, but still the criminal procee-iings aguinst Makham would be public 
 enough ; they thought that if anything could possibly make Cicely show herself, 
 they would. 
 
 From the first, the attorney taking the scanty and limited view of human nature 
 incidental to his profession, and in accordance with the impulses ot his own mind, 
 had not for one rao2:ient imagined that any danger was to be apprehended frOfn the 
 appearance ot Claude at the trial, inasmuch as for him to come there would com- 
 promise his own safety. 
 
 Lawyers and such clients as Tom Brereton cannot ver) well comprehend the 
 motives that actuate such men as Claude Duval. 
 
 It was, however, soon discovered as a probability that Ciaude would, at the in- 
 stigation of the sister, attempt something for the prcser\ation of Mr. Markham 
 Brereton, and hence the letter which was to corifound Claude in court, was written 
 to the Governor of Newgate, who, for a consideration, had evidently lent himself 
 and his influence to the transaction. 
 
 How Claude had frightened the governor, with reference to the forged document, 
 we are already well aware, but that he run the very greatest possible risk in case 
 he should think proper to make his appearance in court, was a proposition quice 
 clear to his mind, and to the minds o( ah concerned. 
 
 Poor Cicely, now actually wed led to Chude, awaited in cO"cea mend most 
 anxiously the termination of au affair which involved the safetv and happiness of 
 the two beings most dear to her in the world. No wonder that Under ihe cir- 
 cua stances in which she was placed, her mind was torn and distracted by ct^nflict- 
 ing emotions. 
 
 Such then was the state of things upon that eventful morning, when Markham 
 Brereton was to be put upon his trial for an offence of which no one could be 
 more innocent. 
 
 The trial and the style of evidence which went towards the production of its 
 result, will eufficiently show what has often been much insisted upon, namely, 
 how easy it is, upon the most slender and apparently upon the most inefificient
 
 222 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR. 
 
 train of circumstances to place an innocent maa in a position of the most exceed- 
 ing peril. 
 
 It will show how small an amount of conspiring villany is sufficient to jeopar- 
 dise an existence, and with a shuddering apprehension of the truth of the idea, wc 
 cannot help thinking how oft«n the innocent must have suffered the pangs, mental 
 and bodily, of death on the scaffold. 
 
 Thus far having made certain conditions of circumstances clear and intelligible 
 to the reader, we at once proceed with the incidents of our tale in due order. 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack in vain endeavoured to snatch a few minutes' repoke at the 
 inn in the Old Bailey, while Claude Duval was absent from him. The stirring 
 scenes be had so recently gone through, combined with his great anxieties upon 
 tllaude's account, effectually succeeded in driving slumber, although not fatigue, 
 from his system. 
 
 Finding, then, that it was quite out of the question for him to get any rest, and 
 that he only tortured his imagination by being alone. Jack descended to the lower 
 room of the inn, relying upon certain changes, which, by the advice and aid of 
 Claude, he bad contrived the day before to make in his personal appearance, to 
 prevent recognition. 
 
 There can be no doubt but that he and Claude were quite as safe, if not safer, 
 from any danger of being known, in the Old Bailey, than anywhere ; for who would 
 for a moment have expected to find either of them there ? 
 
 The very existence, too, of S'Xteen-string Jack was unknown, so that even a 
 fancied strong resemblance would have failed to induce any of the officers to say 
 anything to hivo. He, therefore, might be considered to be doubly safe from any 
 consequences of showini^ himself in such a quarter. 
 
 JacK, when he got into the coffee-room of the inn, ^ound that much of the con<> 
 versatioo of the parties there was upon the expected trial of Markham Brereton, 
 and, knowing as he did from Claude, the real truth of the affair, he was both 
 amazed and confused at the different versions he heard from various persons of the 
 story. 
 
 Not one of thefie versions came near at all to the truth, and the whole affair set 
 Sixteen-string Jack thinking of how imperfect an idea, after all, the courts of law 
 can have of the cases upon which they decide. He could not but sigh to think 
 what might be the result of the approaching trial of Mr. Markham Brereton. 
 
 '* Alas !'* he said, " I much fear, indeed, thai poor Claude will, with his roman- 
 tic feeling, consider himself called upon to mitke some dreadful sacrifice, in pursu- 
 ance of his promise to his sister and to Cicely, that, at all risks, he will save 
 Markham." 
 
 At this moment, a gentlemanly-looking man, attired in rather ecclesiastical- 
 looking garments, made his appearance, and, after glancing round the ro«m, took 
 a seat close to Sixteen-string Jack. 
 
 The hair of the new-comer was like Hamlet's father's, 
 ♦* A sable silvered," 
 and altop:ether he looked one who had seen much of the world, and profited by 
 what he had seen. An aspect of fixed seriousness was upon his face, and the 
 only thing that struck Sixteen-string Jack as rather odd about his face, was the 
 thick eyebrows, of a gray colour, that he had. 
 
 "Sir,* said the stranger to Sixteen-string Jack, " are you able to tell me at what 
 hour the trials come on opposite F" 
 
 ** At nine,'* said Jack. 
 
 Now Jack fully meant by a short, brusque manner, to stop any further conver- 
 sation, but the new-comer had either too much obstinacy, or too much persever- 
 ance, to be 80 put off, and he looked earnestly at Jack, saying— 
 
 " 1 think, fcir,*^! have heard your voice before ?" 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack felt the perspiration break out ipon his forehead, as he 
 replied as firmly as he could-— 
 
 <' I do not think it possible, sir. I am a stranger here," 
 
 " And BO am I,* replied the other. 
 
 ' 11 ■ iiiiiiin ' iii II I ij^ i !!■ i T ci^ >n I I ' ll ' **!- n^M i. j i i» i II . ii. j ii M i- i II - i nr - I »_M itm>mt
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 223 
 
 Jack merely bowed slightly. 
 
 '* Humph !" said the ecclesiasticaUlooking personage. " The more I look at 
 you the more convinced am I that I know you ; I have the faculty of not forgetting 
 those whom I have once 'seen." 
 
 " Confound your faculties," muttered Jack to himself, and with perfect despera- 
 tion he said aloud to him — '* Pray then, sir, for whom do you take me ?" 
 
 '• For Sixteen-string Jack, the notorious highwayman," 
 
 Jack sprung to his feet. 
 
 '* Hush ! hush !" said the ecclesiastical-looking personage, " hush, no more ; 
 surely a discovery of identity is as dangerous to Claude Duval as to Sixteen-string 
 Jack in such a place as this." 
 
 These last words were spoken in Claude's natural tone, and Jack then for the 
 first time knew him. 
 
 *' Good God," be said, " is it possible that you have the faculty, Claude, of 
 thus effectiially disguising yourself.'* 
 
 " Yes, Jack, I almost think I must have such a faculty, since it seems that even 
 you did not know me ; but it gives me the satisfaction of feeling that my disguise 
 is very perfect— -I must leave you now and go over to the court at once, for Biere* 
 ton's trial will assuredly come on." 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 tun TRIA^L AND ITS BSSULT&» 
 
 Ths court of the Old Bailey was densely crowded. Scarcely could any one 
 person, in addition to those who already filled its rather confined area, be wedged 
 In, so closely packed together were people of all classes and conditions, anxiously 
 brought there to hear the trial of Markham Breretoa, 
 
 The case had been much commented upon by the press for some weeks pre- 
 viously, and the consequence was, that considerable amount of public curiosity 
 had resulted, and many more timers the number of persons then in the court would 
 have been glad to be present at the judicial proceedmgs. 
 
 As the trial was expected co be a long one, it was placed first upon the day's 
 list, so that when the Recorder of London, and the authorities whose duty it was 
 to attend the sessions, were duly seated, the accused, but most innocent young 
 man, was brought from his cell in Newgate and placed at the felon's bar. 
 
 Markham Brereton was very pale, but he was firm, and in his aspect there 
 seemed a struggling indignation, that he with difficulty kept down, while the clerk 
 of the arraigns was gabbling over the words of the indictment in the manner inci- 
 dental to such official characters. 
 
 When asked if he pleaded guilty or not guilty to the indictment^ he replied in 
 a clear loud, voice— 
 
 ** Not guilty, and they who institute this prosecution well know it." 
 
 ** Prisoner," said the judge, " you are adopting a foolish course. That was not 
 the proper manner of pleading to the indictment.* 
 
 " Not the usual manner, you mean, sir," said Markham ; " let conscious guilt or 
 slavish fear, cringe and whisper, but conscious innocence will speak Oat." 
 
 •• You do yourself an injury," 
 
 *« Which it 18 for the jury to decide and not the judge," said Markham, in a 
 tone of voice that did not exactly please the recorder, who, however, made bo 
 further remark, but allowed to proceed at once. 
 
 A notoriously unscrupulous barrister was retained for the prosecution, and 
 rising amid the most breathless attention of the densely crowded court, he spoke 
 as follows : — 
 
 ' Up
 
 324 Gfet^TLEMAN JACK. 
 
 iil 
 
 " My lord, and gentlemen of the jury— 
 
 " 1 shall, as briefly as 1 consider to be consistent with my duty, detail to you 
 the circumstances which will be put in evidence, before repeating the charge against 
 the prisoner 8t the bar. 
 
 *' It is not my province as representing the prosecution to amplify in any shape 
 or way, or to aggravate the charges brought forward in the indictment. I sball 
 only be too iiappy if my learned friend, the Attorney-General, who is for the 
 ieffflce, can invalidate the facis^which I shall feel it to be my duty to lay before 
 you.'*' 
 
 It was not news to the court that the Attorney-General had a brief for the 
 defence, for it had been whispered upon the bench, but it certainly was to the 
 present body of spectators. The fact is, Claude had placed the whole one 
 hundred .pounds he had borrowed for Markham*8 defence in the haods of a re- 
 «pect&bie attorney, and a fifty pound brief had brought the Attorney- General into 
 Court. 
 
 If this information amazed the spectators, it really much more amazed Markham 
 Brereton, who came into court under the full impression that he was undefended 
 by counsel upon the painful occasion — 
 
 •• Pardon me," he said, •• there must be some mistake.* 
 
 '♦ It I am to I e interrupted," said the counsel for the prosecution, to the pri- 
 soner at the bar, " I must appeal to the court to take some measures to put a stop 
 to such indecorous proceedings.'* 
 
 " The prisoner's conduct is disgusting.'* 
 
 " I protest against that expression," said the Attorney- General, 
 
 All eyes were immediately fixed upon the eminient lawyer who at the period 
 filled that important post, and the recorder's face suddenly reddened as he glared 
 upon him. 
 
 " I protest against that expression,*' continued-the Attorney ••General. ** Com- 
 ing from the bench, it is of moment. Had such af- remark come from a private in- 
 dividual, whose temper and capacity no one respected, it would have been of no 
 consequence ; but if that individual, so contemptible, is by some rare chance 
 which no one comprehends, made a judge, even his follies and his petulance be- 
 come of importance." 
 
 This reproof to the recorder was listened to with the profoundest satisfaction 
 by the bar, and by the whole body of spectators, while the learned individual, 
 although he dared not take to himself the direct application of the Attorney- 
 General's words, fully felt that the hypothetical case was intended for him. 
 
 From that moment he made up his mind to condemn Markham Brereton if he 
 possibly could, and by a stroi.g eflfort he recovered his composure suflBciently to 
 sayf— 
 
 ** It is far beneath the dignity of this bench to wrangle with an advocate who, 
 o£ course, wishes to make a favourable impression upon a jury ; but this court 
 cannot view tbes« interruptions by the prisoner with favourable eyes, nor will they 
 in the mind of any unprejudiced person benefit him in any way.* 
 
 *• U is due to me, then," said Markham Brereton, " that I should be allowed to 
 state the words of the interruption. I was naturally astonished, having not the 
 mean of feeing even a solieitor, to find so eminent a counsel standing up in my 
 behalf in the court, as His Majesty's Attori,ey-General." 
 
 *' Is the attorney here ?" said the recorder. 
 
 " Yes, my lord," said a gentJemanly-looking man, *'it's all right and regular." 
 
 "Very good. Pray proceed witti the prosecution." 
 
 ** It is not for me,'* c^^ntiaued the counsel for the prosecution, **td interfere 
 with any little episode which the prisoner or his friends and advisers may think 
 likely to benefit him; and, therefore, without the smallest amount of acerbity con- 
 sequent upon the interruption that has taken plice, I proceed. The prisoner at 
 the bar is accused of a crime only second in i*s capital nature to the highest 
 crime in the calendar. The crime of robbery, attended with personal violence 
 upon the King's highway. It appears that a Mr. Thomas Brereton became^ as
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 225 
 
 heir at law of his father's possessed of certfiin premises in fee si w pie at Guil- 
 ford ; and having occasion to go upon the sea, either for pleasure or for profit, as 
 his own good will, there arose a report that he was dead soon after his departure, 
 whereupon, without takitig any legal or proper steps upon the occasion, or even 
 waiting a reasonahle time,the pri^^oner at the bar, h^s sister, and his mother, rushed 
 to Guillord, and took possession of the property-. Now Mr. Tom Breretonj as it 
 appears he is most frequently called, who had in the phraseology of the old ballad 
 not been dead at all, came back, and with some surprise found relatives who had 
 never spoken a kind or even commonly civil word to him in their lives, in posses. 
 
 No. 29.
 
 226 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 sionof his property. He, of course, demanded a surrender, upon which they pat 
 him upon prgof of his identity forthwith, and at the end of rather a stormy inter- 
 view, they consented to accompany him to London to see what a solicitor would^ 
 say to the documents which tie, Tom Brereton, had in a pocket book, and A'hich he 
 showed to his kind relations, as those which would enable him to prove his iden- 
 tity. They all proceeded in a coach from Guilford to London ; that is to say,. 
 Mr. Tom Brereton, the prisoner's mother, sister, and a young person calling herself 
 May Russel, but of whom more hereafter, while Mr. Brereton, the prisoner at the 
 bar, rode on horseback by the side of the carriage. Now it appears that the fatnily 
 party whi<ih was with Mr. Tom Brereton drew the conversation much to the sub- 
 ject of highwaymen, so fi^at he was quite unable to get a word in edgeways, even* 
 upon any other, and so they went on till, at a most danger'6^ys fitt of the road, the 
 prisoner ^t the bar announced his intention of leaving t^hse ]^ttf ty and ridiag on 
 alone. To this Mr. Tim Brereton made no objection, for W^H^iro share in the 
 fears of the others respecting highwaymen ; and for stmt tfme the carriage 
 proceeded in saiety, until stopped by amounted man, n^lfii^h'ifisguised. And now,, 
 gentlemen of the jury, mark what occurred. This mou^fe'd man— .his highway- 
 ra*n, Si4igled out Mr. Tom Brereton foi*Stttack, and he tdok from his pocket- 
 book containing the papers which ^M to prove his chsiitti to the Guilford pro- 
 perty, and without which he migM hi iaydh'e^ in endless litigation. He was 
 quite courteous to the ladies, anvi ^e^fi^e V^^rds of absolute recognition passed 
 between him and the young persott nafted- Miy Russel, who made a pretence 
 of giving up her putse to the hi<^hwayt&ai^. My lord, and gentlemen of the 
 jury, in this highwayman, Mr. Tom Brereton from the first recognised the pri- 
 soner at the bar, his cousin, atfd h'^tice has arisen this most just and necessary 
 prosecutioh. 
 
 **It will be left in y6ur hands, gfefrtfetfien of tfhe jury, to decide whether or not 
 the evidence 1 shall bring before y6ti, will jroffi«e t6* support the allegations con- 
 tained in the indictment, which you tidve h^^'d ready and to which the prisoner has 
 pleaded 'Not Guilty.*" 
 
 The counsel ft^i^ t*re proi^iAiiiim> s*t 6mttr^ i*d ^"Wdently not much fault could' 
 be found w*^' iiM ?^lei?cfr, fer fre W»s really hiJisaself ^fteived^y the attorney inta 
 a belief tMt ^ai'kfetn' '^rf^fift'n ^'as gailt-^r 
 
 The ##*t \mne?s wa« >#ji^e l^f^*f*^. 
 
 " Wereywi a servaaW at the little ei?t«ie in §tl^M dt^itjg the occo^^'ey of 
 Mr. M«ft#»#ft' fi!*eretdftv *ftd Ms mo=th-6r aM gj^er?"' 
 
 " Do y^ nmi^Wfw «fee mts ii^ the home }" 
 
 '* Oh, yes ; J6iwi AtJ^'s, the <Sfd?feer, Phebe Lowes, the housemaid *' 
 
 "But I mejm -^klk, and upon &r, equality with the family ?" 
 " Oh, you tBPS^ Miss Russel?" 
 
 *' I don't njean anybody, I merely ask yoH a plain <5iueBtion, and want a plain* 
 answer, that fe all." 
 
 "Oh, yes, Miss Russel was there." 
 
 " Did you, or di4 you not, ever see this person at the bar pay marked atten- 
 tion to Miss Russel ?" 
 
 " Marked ? — maiked ? — I never saw him mark Miss Russel. He only courted 
 her now and then, I should say.'* 
 
 ** Oh, very well. Did you see them all start for town, after the visit of Mr. 
 Tom Brereton to Guilford ?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes, to be sure. There was Mrs. Brereton, Miss Cicely, Miss Russel, 
 and Mr. Tom in the carriage, and Mr. Markham on horseback." 
 " On what coloured horse?" 
 " A dark bay." 
 
 " Very well, you may go down." 
 
 " Nay, not quite so hasty," said the junior counsel, who with the Attorney 
 General, was for Markham. " Not quite so hasty — I wish to have a little con- 
 versation with this young lady.**
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 227 
 
 " Oh, certainly, sir !" said Jane, bridling up at the compliment. 
 " Weil, Jane, what was Miss Russel's christian name?" 
 " May." 
 
 ** Should you have liked to go to London in the carriage ?" 
 *' Oh, yes ; but there was not room for more than four." 
 " But tell us how It came about that Mr. Markham so violently prevented Mr. 
 ^m from riding on horseback ?* 
 
 '* Lord bless you, sir, you have got the wrong end of the story. Mr. Markham 
 .-says to Tom, * there's a good horse ; ride to London, and we will follow you in 
 j the carriage, which will just hold four.* But Tom, he says, * oh, dear no, I can* 
 ' ride/ says he, Met me go in the coach,' whereupon in he goes, and Mr. Mark- 
 1 ham rides." 
 
 I ** Oh, I suppose if Tom had riden on to London, and Mr. Markham had been 
 i in the coach some n:iles behind him, he could not very easily have robbed him 
 j on the king's highway.* 
 I *' How could he ?" 
 I *' Ay, how indeed ? That will do.'* 
 
 I Down went Jane, having damaged the prosecution considerably, by her revela- 
 j 'tions concerning what passed. 
 
 ! The attorney, Newcome, bit his lip, and whispered to the counsel for the pre- 
 secution, who turning over his brief, called — 
 
 *' Thomas Matthews.* And a rough-looking, half boy, half man, in the 
 costume of a groom, or coachman and groom, made his appearance, and was duly 
 I sworn. 
 
 , " Now* my friend," said the counsel for the prosecution, " did you drive 
 i the Brereton family from Guilford to London, upon the occasion named in the 
 ! indictment ?" 
 I *' No." 
 
 •* No ? — Here is some mistake surely. Is your name Matthews ?'* 
 ^' Ess." 
 j " Then do you mean to tell me you did not act as coachman upon that 
 jj occasion ?" 
 
 \ *' Never axed me that afore. Axed me if I druv family — never did that." 
 *' What did you do then ? You drove the coach, I suppose 1" 
 *' No. I druv the osses — esses dragged the cueh." 
 
 A roar of laughter in the court at Matthews's doggedness and singular style of 
 speech rather discoraposed the counsel, who,howevtr, made a laugh of it, quoting 
 from Hamlet, and saying — 
 
 " We must speak by the card, 
 
 Or this knave will ruin us with equivocation." 
 
 Matthews looked doggedly serious, while the court was in positive convulsions 
 of merriment upon his account, and it was some minutes before business could 
 be proceeded with. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 THE TRIAL CONTINUED. 
 
 If anything in the conduction of a trial, criminal or civil, can be more than 
 another annoying to counsel, it must certainly be to have the laugh turned against 
 him, and the barrister who was conducting the prosecution fully felt the awkward- 
 ness of his position. 
 
 But if anything can be more fatal than another, under such circumstances, it is 
 to make abortive attempts to recover the laugh. 
 
 ■^ ■■■' • ■ • ■ ■ - ' ■■'■■ ■ ■■■■ ' ■' ' ■ ■ ■ i.^ ' - i -: ■ . ' ' " •'•• v'" ' ': ' f ' ...-.ism^}*
 
 22S GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 This the counsel was by far too old a stager to do, and with a face of the 
 most imperturbable gravity, he continued the examination. 
 
 " Very well, it is admitted that you drove the horses that pulled the coach that 
 contained the persons mentioned/' 
 
 *'Ees» 
 
 •* Did anything particular happen upon the road previous to the coach being 
 stopped by a highwayman 2" . 
 
 *' Ees." 
 
 *' What was it V 
 
 " Near oss cast a shoe.* 
 
 " Anything else ?' 
 
 " Ees.'' 
 
 " Well, what was that ?" 
 
 " Nothin'.'* 
 
 Another roar of laughter disconceited the counsel, who fancied that the mode 
 of examination he was pursuing would never in this world elicit from the witness ' 
 the information he wanted. He accordingly changed it to quite another coarse, 
 and in a loud and clear voice, he said to him — 
 
 *' Did you recognize the highwayman who stopped the coach ?" 
 
 ** Wrong agin — didn't stop the cuch — stopped me, and I stopped osses." 
 
 *' Did you know him ?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 •' Was he, or was he not the prisoner at the bar, to the best of your belief }" 
 
 " Don't know." 
 
 **Then you know nothing ?'* 
 
 •• Why you and me is much of a muchness.** 
 
 *• You are the most incomprehensible idiot I ever met with." 
 
 " Ees." 
 
 " Stop," said the counsel for the defence. " Was the highwayman on a bay 
 horse of any peculiar tint V 
 
 ♦* Culiar ? I should think not. There's lots o' bay osses. What is there 'culiar 
 in a bay oss ?'* 
 
 •* Very well. How many persons would the coach hold V 
 
 *'Four. How many did you want it to hold, stupid?" 
 
 " Not one more, I assure you/' said the counsel, with a laugh. ** You may go 
 down now." 
 
 •♦Well, ain't I going ?" 
 
 *• Silence," said the crier of the court. 
 
 ** Silence yourself. Nobody makes half the noise you does." 
 
 ** Turn that man out of court, officers," said the judge. " He has given his 
 evidence, and we certainly do not want any further annoyance or interruption from 
 him." 
 
 Thomas Matthews was duly hustled out of court ; and so far as the trial had 
 gone, it was certainly all in favour of the accused person, for no jury could for a 
 moment have thought of convicting him upon such meagre evidence as had already 
 been addixed, but the principal witness was certainly to come. 
 
 *' Thomas Breretou," said the crier of the court, and Tom made his appearance 
 in the witness box. 
 
 He had evidently made up his mind to produce what he hoped ancS fully ex- 
 pected would be a favourable impression on the court by his style of dress, which 
 was a vulgar caricature of the fashion. 
 
 He looked pale, despite the assurance of his character, and there was about his 
 maryier an evident determination to go through any ordeal rather than flinch from 
 that which he had made up his mind to do. Even the counsel for the prosecu- 
 tion lool<ed at him with an expression of disgust, and did not seem half to like' 
 the side of the quesiiofc he was on. 
 
 Tcmwasnvorn, and when that C]rem)Hy was over his examination at once 
 commence*^.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 229 
 
 " Who and what are you, sir ?" 
 ; *« My name is Brereton, and everybody knows Vm a gentleman.* 
 
 " Well, well ; have you some property at Guilford?" 
 
 « Oh, yes." 
 
 " Pray relate how you came to be temporarily out of possession of that pro- 
 perty ?" 
 
 *' Why, you see. the little place came to me naturally when the governor went 
 off the hooks, but I found that my previous cousins had laid hold of it, and were 
 making themselves snug enough." 
 
 " What does he mean ?" said the judge. ♦* What governor does he allude to?" 
 
 •* His father, my lord.'* 
 
 " Oh, oh ;?,very well. Go on. I am sorry to hear the goveraor met with so 
 dreadful a death." 
 
 '« Eh ?'* said Tom, " what dreadful death ? Ke died in his bed all comfortable- 
 enough, I heard say." 
 ^ "In his bed?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure." 
 
 *' I thought you mentioned that he had to be got off some hooks?" 
 
 A scream of laughter followed this remark, and it was some minutes before the 
 gravity of the court could be at all restored. 
 
 *♦ Lord bless your reverence," said Tom, ** I only meant he had died, that's 
 all. It's my funny clever way of speaking, don't you see V* 
 
 « Oh, indeed. Go on, then." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Brereton," continued the counsel, "you found your patrimony in 
 the hands of your relations ; what did you do, therefore, sir?" 
 
 ** Why, I naturally enough asked 'em how the deuce they came there, and all I 
 could get out of 'em was, some cock and bull story about my being drowned, so I 
 told 'em to move off at once." 
 
 '* And then ?" 
 
 ** Oh, they said they had no particular objection if I would prove who I was, 
 so I showed 'em all my papers in my pocket-book, letters from the governor, my 
 own baptismal register, and so on, but they wouldn't say it was all right before 
 anybody but a lawyer ; so you see it was agreed we were all to come to London, 
 and ^o to one, when the matter was to be settled." 
 
 ** Now, sir, will you be so good as to answer the question I am about to put 
 to you as precisely and clearly as you can ? Was there, before starting from 
 Guilford to Loudon, any propositioH made to you to ride on in advance, and 
 meet the familr in London ?" 
 
 Tom winked fcis eye in a peculiar manner, and then with an air of the very 
 greatest effrontery, he said — 
 
 "No.' 
 
 '* Nothing of the sort?" 
 
 *' Oh, dear, no, nothing of the sort. Markham Brereton rode on, and I went in 
 the coach with the women folk.'' 
 
 ♦* Very well, sir ; now favour me by detailirig to the jury what happened during 
 the journey, of a noticeable character ?" 
 
 " Well, they began talking about highwaymen, until they nearly made one's 
 hair stand on end, and particularly the old card pitched it strong, pretending to 
 be all of a flutter every minute." 
 
 "The who?" 
 
 ** The old woman." 
 
 ** But you said somitking about an old card." 
 
 "Oh, that's ray funny way." 
 
 *' 1 wish," said the judge, " you would change your funny way for a natural 
 way." • 
 
 " Well," continued Tom, " as I was saying, they pattered away about highway- 
 men, and when we got at a good distance Maikham rode on at* brisk canter and 
 eft us to take care of ourselves. After that. Miss Cicely and the young person
 
 230 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 they called May Russel, were always looking out of window, and would not hardly 
 answer mo when I said anytiiing funny. At last thej-e was a bit of a row, and a 
 fellow on a horse came to the window, and pretended to be mighty civil, while he 
 coolly tells us we are to be robbed." 
 
 "The ladies, I suppose, were very much alarmed, Mr. Brereton ?" 
 " Well, 1 don't know— they took it pretty easy ; but I was, I can tell you," 
 <' What happened V' 
 
 " The fellow and I had a bit of a squabble, and he took away my pocket-book 
 with all my papers, and it seemed to me that he didn't care for much else.*' 
 '< Did he rob the ladies ?" 
 
 '* Not a bit of it. There was some nonsense about a little purse, but it was 
 ^uite clear to me that he and Miss Russel knew each other." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Brereton, oblige me by looking at the prisoner at the bar." 
 This was rather an ordeal for Tom to go through, but he did manage to turn 
 round and look upon the pale, thoughtful countenance of Markham Brereton, who 
 had listened with ineffable disgust to the examination. It was only for a moment 
 that Tom looked at him, and then he was glad to turn away his eyes from the 
 stern contempt of the glance that he encountered. 
 
 " Now, sir," pursued the counsel, "is the prisoner at the bar the person who 
 cobbed you of your pocket-book in the manner you have related V' 
 
 There was a death-like stillness in the court, pending the reply of Tom, who 
 almost gasped out the word— 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *• Liar!" said a loud voice from amid the dense body of spectators who were 
 -closely packed upon the floor of the court. 
 
 So thoroughly astounded was everybody by this most audacious interference, 
 that for some moments not a word was uttered— -judge— jury— counsel, and spec- 
 tators seemed to be electrified with astonishment, and even Markham Brereton's 
 •countenance wore a sudden flush, and he looked curiously in the direction from 
 whence the bold denial had proceeded. 
 The recorder half rose, and with an angry gesture, cried— 
 *• Officers, bring that man before me." 
 
 A great bustle ensued. The numerous officers connected with the court rushed 
 here and there among the crowd, but no culprit was forthcoming. 
 
 ••Is it possible," said the recorder, **that a person who has thus unsettled the 
 ^court cannot be found ? Do your duty, officers, and bring him before me directly." 
 This was much easier said than done. The officers were quite in an agony to 
 lay hold of somebody, and they did seize several persons, but the indignant re- 
 monstrances and asseverations of those close at hand forced them to let them go 
 ^gain, with the full conviction that they had made a mistake. 
 f* We can't find him, my lord," said one. 
 '*Not find him?" 
 
 «* No, my lord." . 
 
 "Then I shall take care to have every officer of this court reported for loeffi- 
 -ciency. Proceed with the examination of your witness, sir." 
 
 Tom Brereton was very pale, and holding for support to the rails of the witness 
 box. It was quite clear that the bold denial given to his evidence had had a 
 remarkable eflfect upon his nerves. He guessed pretty accurately from whom it 
 came, and he was vainly casting about in his own mind for the best means of 
 getting out of the rather difficult position in which he found himself. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Thomas Brereton," said the counsel, recaUing him to a recollection 
 of where he was, *' I trus\ this most unseemly and criminal interruption of the 
 court will not in the least intimidate you ?'* ca 
 
 "Oh, no— no— I— I— oh, no." 
 
 •* Well, sir, I wish to ask you if you have the least doubt or mental reserva- 
 tion in the shape of a doubt, concerning the identity of the prisoner now at the 
 bar, with the person who stopped the coach in which you were travelling from 
 Guilford to London upon the occasion now in question?" «f^ -^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD; 231 
 
 " How should I V 
 
 " But liave you? That is the question." 
 
 ** Oh, dear no; not the least." 
 
 *' And you have not recovered your pocket-boolc, containing documents of so 
 great importance to your personal interests ?" 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 ♦' Very well, sir. I do not see that there can be any necessity for my troubling ' 
 you witli any further questions upon minor points, when your testimony upon the 
 main particular is so clear and so distinct that the jury can come but to one con- 
 clusion upon the subject matter of the inquiry before them." 
 
 *' Thtn 1 may go ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, unless my learned friend for the defence thinks that anything 
 can be done in the way of cross-examining you." > 
 
 ** He will try," said the attorney-general, rising. 
 
 •' Oh, A ery good, very good.'' 
 
 "Ain't 1 to go ?'' said Tom. 
 
 ** Not yet, sir, if you please, however unwilling I am to detain you," said the 
 attorney, general. 
 
 " I wish you would excuse me ; I ain't very well." 
 
 ** Extremely sorry, but the pleasure of your company here in that box for a 
 short time longer is quite indispensable to my happiness, so you will be so good 
 as to remain where you are, and answer me a fev; plain questions." 
 
 Tom saw there was no escape, so he made an effort and mustered up all his 
 courage and impudence to endure the cross-examination, which everybody felt 
 certain would be in his case no joke. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 THE DEFENCE. 
 
 The f uditory shifted its position, and there was not a person present who did 
 I not look for something very troublesome to Tom Brereton from what the attorney- 
 I general was about now to commence with. 
 
 Tom looked him as steadily in the face as he could summon courage to do, and 
 then the attorney-general said, in quite a familiar tone — 
 
 ** How do you like horse-racing, Mr. Brereton, eh?" 
 
 " Horse-racing ?" 
 
 *' Yes, horse-racing. Don't you think now it's a pretty and gentlemanly-like 
 amusement ?" 
 
 " Well, I—I. Really, I— don't exactly—" 
 
 *' Oh, nonsersB; did you not win the ladies' cup once at Hatchara- park races by 
 riding a horse called Skyscraper ?" 
 
 *' Lord bless you ! I ride a race ?" 
 
 "Did you not?" 
 
 *' Come, you are on a wrong scent now. Why, what have you got in your head 2 
 I ride a race and win a plate ? Well, that is a good one." 
 
 " But you are a great horseman, as witness the celebrated steeplechase you rode 
 last year. Come, come, you won't deny that ?" 
 
 ♦' Yes, I will, though. What do you mean by bothering me about horse-racing 
 and steeple-chasing ? You know, I dare say, well enough, that it's all nonsense. I 
 don't like riding at all/* 
 
 *' Oh, you do." 
 
 *' I tell you I don't. I always avoid it." 
 
 *• Nonsense." 
 
 "It's you that's talking nonsense. Don't aggravate me. I tell you I am no 
 rider, and I don't like riding at all." 
 
 ** Aggravate you ? You are enough to aggravate me. Why, when Mr. Markham,.
 
 232 -._, GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 at Guilford, asked you to ride his bay horse to London while he followed ia the 
 carriage, you didn't pretend to be so frightened at riding." 
 
 " Why should I ? 1 don't want anybody to get the laugh of me." 
 
 "Oh.stufF." 
 
 " Besides, Cicely was there, and the other girl, and somehow, if girls don't think 
 ypii can do everything, they turn up their noses at you." 
 
 *' Ah, very likely. I wonder how my learned friend feels now ?" 
 
 As he spoke, the attorney-general cast his eyes towards the counsel for the pro- 
 secution, as he was biting his lips, for Tom had been seduced into admitting what 
 he had in the most positive manner denied, namely, that Markham Brereton had 
 ofiFered him the horse to proceed to London with in advance of the carriage. 
 
 " Very well," added the attorney-Ejeneral, who, now that he had gained his point, 
 had no wish to waste further time upon*the question of Tom's horsemanship. 
 
 *' We will look upon that as quite settled. You stated in your examination that 
 the conversation in the coach turned upon highwaymen ?' 
 
 '• Yes. Oh, yes." 
 
 " Was any particular highwayman mentioned ?*' 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You ar« quite sure of that now ?" 
 
 * ' Oh, yes, quite sure." 
 
 ♦' Very well, it's of no consequence. Was it before or after your accusation of 
 her brother, that Miss Cicely Brereton contemptuously rejected an offer of your 
 hand ?" 
 
 Tom looked horribly confused, as he stammered out,—" I— really — don't 
 recollect." _ * ^ 
 
 " Was it before cr after ?" eried the attorney-general, in a loud voice. 
 
 " W^ell, it was before, then." 
 
 <' Oh, you admit that, do you ? Come now, sir, you know you were very much 
 hurt and enraged at this young lady's refusal of your offer in the contemptuous 
 manner in which she did refuse. Between you and me, don't you think that that 
 contempt arose in a great measure from your expressions of fear, while in the coach 
 ■coming from Guilford, of being robbed by the notorious Claude Duval ?" 
 
 " How do I know ?" 
 
 " But it might have been." 
 
 " Well, have it your own way." 
 
 *' I am pretty well having it Bay own way, I think ; I don't know what may be 
 the opinion of my learned brothers." 
 
 '• The witness is a fool!" cried the counsel for the prosecution. 
 
 *' Save me from my friends," said the attorney-general with a laugh. 
 
 Tom looked confusedly from one to the other, not very well aware of how far he 
 had committed himself, and yet quite confident that he had done so in some rather 
 Jilarming way to make his own counsel so bitter against him. The aitorney- 
 geceral, amid the amusement of the whole court, continued his cross-examination 
 of the thoroughly exposed and discomfited Tom Brereton. 
 
 *'Now, sir," he said, " you have distinctly, and without doubt or reservation, 
 sworn to the identity of the prisoner at the bar, with the penson who robbed you 
 of jour pocket-book on the highway ?" 
 
 '* To be sure I have." 
 
 '* Well, how came you to know him so well ?" 
 
 " How came I ?" 
 
 •^ Yes, how came ycu ? Surely, that is a simple enough question to answer, even 
 for you." 
 
 '• Why, by his looks, of course." 
 
 "What? Do you mean to tell me that a man parted with you at Guilford, 
 and then was fool enough to rob you at Ealing CDmmon, trusting that you would 
 not know him again ?'' 
 
 "Oh, but he was disguised." 
 
 *' Oh ! indeed. Well, you penetrated his disguise, I suppose ?"
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OK, LIFE 0N THE ROAD. 233 
 
 ** Of course." 
 
 '* How did you do that ?" 
 
 <*GucI bless me. by taking a good look at hira, to be sure. How else could I, 
 I should like to know ?** r 
 
 " Well, if ycu took a g )od look at hiQi, yo i kaow wl a', be h id on. How ^ras 
 he attired V' 
 
 " He had a scarlet coat on." 
 
 "What eheV
 
 284 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR. 
 
 ** A lace cravat, white breeches, and tall boots." 
 
 *'0h ! What luggage did Mr. Markham Brereton carry with him when he 
 left the coach and rode on before to London ?" 
 
 " Luggage ! How could he have luggage on a horse?" 
 
 " Why, he must have carried his scarlet cloak, the lace cravat, the white 
 breeches, and the tdl boots somehow, you know, if he were the robber." 
 
 " Well, I don't know." 
 
 *' Of course you don't." 
 
 *' Well, don't ask me, then. You are enough to bother a man's life out, you 
 are." 
 
 "Ob, dear, no. You are by far too complimentary. Come, now, Mr. Tom 
 Brereton, you have sworn that the young lady r.amed May Russel was not 
 alarmed at the highwayman, but, on the contrary, appeared to know him." 
 
 '* Yes— oh, yes." 
 
 *' Do you know who that young lady is?" 
 
 *'No" 
 
 "■ Have you ever heard or suspected who she is?" 
 
 " No. How should I ?" 
 
 ** Very well. Now, of course, you felt highly indignant at the refusal of Miss 
 Cicely, your first cousin, to marry you. It was enough to aggravate anybody, I 
 can well believe." 
 
 ** Well, you would have been aggravated yourself." 
 
 " I should, but— but, Mr. Tom Brereton, I should not have been so ungentle- 
 manly as to taunt her with keeping about her as a bosom friend the sister of a 
 highwayman, which you told ne you had ascertained Miss Russel to be. Oh, 
 Mr. Tom, you should not have said that;" 
 
 " Well, I don't see much in that j when a man's aggravated he wtllisay things 
 that he wouldn't upon other occasions. You ought to know that/* 
 
 '* I do know it. And now, sir, first of all you swore distinctly that no offer had 
 been made to you to ride on befoie the carriage upon Mr. Markham 's bay horse, 
 and then you admitted you hasd refused such an offer.'— Perjury No. 1. Secondly, 
 you swear that, during the c«nversation held in the carriage, no name of a high- 
 wayman was mentioned, aiidthe« you admit that Claude Buval, one of the most 
 notorious of the whole fi^ternity, was mei^tioned as the subject of your dread.-— 
 Perjury No. 2. Thirdly, you swore that. you knew nothing further of Miss May 
 Russel than that she was MIrs May Russel, and then you admit that you taunted 
 Miss Cicely Brereton with the fact of her being the sister of a highwayman. — 
 Perjury No. 3 I" 
 
 Tom looked aghast. The counsel for the prosecution shut his eyes and leant 
 back in his seat, affecting to be half asleep, and quite wearied by the tiresome pro- 
 ceedings of the Attorney-Greneral, while the Recorder looked anything but pleased, 
 for he seemed to have come into court with quite an animus against Murkham 
 Brereton. The jury looked puzzled, as juries jook usually, and ti»e spectators were 
 delighted. 
 
 "I suppose I may go?*' whined Tom. 
 "Not yet." 
 
 He was compelled to remain, although it was quite clear that he was in an 
 amazing state of fidget, and had an awful dread of what would next be said to 
 him, during that most remorseless cross-examination. 
 
 " Now, sir," said the Attorney-General, " did you or did you not upon the 
 thirteenth of this month visit the Governor of Newgate in his private apartments 
 situated in that prison V 
 
 '* The thirteenth, did you say ?" ) 
 *<Ye8." 
 
 *< Well, I — I really don't know about the exact date." 
 *' But you did visit him ?" 
 I <• Ye — ye — yes, I suppose if you say so, I did."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 335 
 
 You are highly accommodating, Mr. Tom Brereton ; but I ask you, sir, upon 
 
 your oath, did you or did yoa not visit him ?' 
 " Very well— I did." 
 
 Very 
 
 *' What passed on that visit ?" 
 - The perspiration poured down Tom's face, and he fidgetted about. At length, 
 when the question was repeated ir; a voice of thunder, he said — 
 
 " I want to ask him to give what indulgence he could to Markham Brereton, 
 bpcause, bad as he was, he was still my cousin." 
 
 The Governor of Newgate, who was present, drew a long breath of exquisite 
 re'ief, and not a little amazed was he at the sudden display of ready wit upon the 
 part of Tom Brereton. 
 
 *' Well, what else .'" said the Atterney-General. 
 
 " He said he would do all that was consistent with his duty." 
 
 " Very good : and then, when you left him, who did you meet in the street ?— 
 who did yoa go into a public-house with? — who did you give a certain written 
 paper to, v,'hich I have now in ray hand — « written paper which contains a confes- 
 sion that you were getting up the prosecution of Mr. Markham Brereton solely from 
 malice, and that you knew the robber on Ealing Common was no other than Claude 
 Duval ?'• 
 
 *' Really,'"' said the counsel for the prosecution, rising, ''any man may write 
 any paper and sign it, if his life probably is to pay the penalty of his refusal." 
 
 " Yes," said Tom ; "that was it; I deny everything." 
 
 The Attorney-General shook his head at tbe counsel, as he said — 
 
 " How well y'-.u know that this interruption is most scandalous, and contrary 
 to all profei^sional practice. But you have succeeded in putting words into your 
 witness's mouth, although I have proved that nothing he says can be relied 
 upon for one moment. I trust I have proved that." 
 
 The Attc-ney-General sat down. 
 
 •' May I go now ?" said Tom. 
 
 " Ob, yes ; you can go now," said the counsel lor the prosecution. 
 
 "Stop," said t .e recorder. 
 
 Tom looked the picture of distress. 
 
 ** Do you still distinctly svvear to the pri -oner at the bar as the person ^ho robbed 
 you upon Ealing Common ofvour pocket-book ?*' 
 
 *' Yes— I do." 
 
 *' Well, I apprehend, gentlemen of the jury, that that, after all, is the point.'* 
 
 " And," said the Attorney-General, " I protest against the gross interference 
 on the part of the judge with these proceedings." 
 
 " I apprehened," Jraid the recorder, "it is always competent on the part of the 
 court to ask a question of a witness, Mr. Attorney- General I" 
 
 '* Yes, but not to draw an inference." 
 
 ' T regret diff ring with you, Mr. Attorney, but I am not aware that I have gone 
 beyond the province of a criminal jud^'o." 
 
 '• A long way, my lord.'' 
 
 "We diflfer upon that point.'* 
 
 •' As it appears, my lord ; and we are liUely to continue so to differ; but I trust 
 that the jury will dismiss from its mind an indiscretion, although it does come 
 from a high place, and hedged round with the authority of a judge's robes.'* 
 
 "This is scarcely proper, Mr. Attorney.'* 
 
 *' There we differ again, my lord.'* 
 
 " Let the trial proceed." 
 
 '• Most willingly, my lord ; most willingly. I shall endeavour to make the truth 
 apparent, even in 'spite of your lordship." 
 
 **I cannot sit here, Mr. Attorney, and allow the office I hold to be thus insulted 
 in my person. This conduct is most indecorous indeed." 
 
 *' If I have said anything indecorous to or of the office, I humbly apologise ; 
 but, my lord, it veas the man holding the office I spoke of, and permit me to say 
 that, after all, it is he alone who can desecrate and insult the office."
 
 236 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 There was a pause of a few moments' duration, after which the counsel for the 
 prosecution said — 
 
 ♦' That is the case against the prisoner, my lord, and I shall call no more wit- 
 nesses." ^ 
 
 *' The court adioHrns for an hour," said the recorder. 
 
 - . :."*'-r^^. '!^^^ CHAPTER LIX. "^-- 
 
 THE DEFENCE OF THE PRISONER. 
 
 During the short period that the judge and the official personages who had 
 seats npon the bench left the court, not one of the spectators made an effort to quit 
 his or her position. If they had done so, they had a very strong opinion that there 
 would be no such thing as getting back agr.in. 
 
 Markham Brereton took the opportunity of casting his eyes scrutinizingly around 
 the court to see if he could observe any one he knew, or any friendly face which 
 could give him assurance that, after all, he should not be made the victim of false 
 evidence. 
 
 In a remote corner, half hidden from him by a column supporting the roof of 
 the building, was a small knot of persons ; and among them he caught a glimpse, 
 and only a glimpse, of May Ra?sel. 
 
 The extraordinary disclosure made by the counsel, to the eflfect that May Russel 
 was the sister of a highwayman, had caused him infinite pain, and as he saw now 
 but a small portion of that delicate and pretty cheek, he could not bring himself to 
 believe that any species of criminality could find a home in one so nearly allied to 
 her. 
 
 " No, no," he though to himself; "all that will be contradicted. That May 
 is poor there can be no doubt, but that she is disreputable I will not believe." 
 
 The brief period of rest, however, was quickly over, and the recorder again 
 entering the court, accompanied by the Lord Mayor and both the sheriffs of 
 London, resumed his seat upon the bench. 
 
 The Attorney-General and the prisoner's counsel for the defence held together 
 a brief consultation, after which the former rose, amid the most marked silence of 
 this court, and commenced the defence, 
 
 "My lords and gentlemen of the jury," he said, •*! must confess that I came 
 into this court with a strong feeling upon my mind that there really was some- 
 thing like presumptive proof of the guilt of the prisoner at the bar to be fought 
 against, and that the evidence would be such as to seem to carry with it a 
 probability of his participation in the crime of which he is accused. But, gentle- 
 men, no doubt you are equally surprised with me at the^glaring want of common, 
 every-day, presumptive evidence in this case, so cruelly and scaftdalously got up 
 against an innocent man. It was to be expected, gentlemen, that \he footsteps 
 of Ml. Markham Brereton would almost have been reckoned upon the night in 
 question. It was to be expected that if there was a difficulty in saying posi- 
 tively he was at the robbery, there would have been an attempt to prove that he 
 was nowhere else ; but, on the contrarj^ what does the evidence for the prosecu- 
 tion amount to ? It is rather a strange thing, gentlemen of the jury, that the 
 evidence for the prosecution divides itself in the most natural way in the world 
 into two portions — one portion that can be believed, and one that cannot. What 
 is true is favourable to the prisoner, and what is false is not. All that was with 
 diflGiculiy wrung by my learned friend and myself from the perjured witnesses for 
 the prosecution was favourable to the prisoner, and so diabolical an attempt to 
 torture and transfigure the truth, I never, during the whole course of my experience, 
 met with in a court of justice. But to return to our question — what does the 
 evidence amount to ? Look at it fairly, and it comes to this^ and no more. Mr.
 
 LIFE ON THE EOAD. 237 
 
 Markham Brereton, owing to an erroneous belief in the death of the prosecutor, [ 
 takes possession of certain property. Well, the prosecutor, of whom it is adriiilted j 
 they knew nothing personally, appears and claims his property, to which Mr. j 
 Markham makes the natural reply, ' Come to a civilian, and let us settle the busi- 
 ness in a regular way. If you prove to the satisfaction of a respectable solicitor, 
 that this property ought to be surrendered to you, there it is at once without further 
 let or hinderance.' Well, this was too reasonable even for Mr. Tom Brereton 
 to object to, and after rejecting the use of the hors^, he rides in the carriage, which 
 would hold no more than four, so that one was necessitated to ride on horse- 
 back. We have it upon his own evidence that he might have ridden to town but 
 for his cowardice. Did that look suspicious ? Well, gentlemen, there was 
 nobody else to take the horse but Mr. Markham Brereton, and so the party pro- 
 ceeded. An attack is made by a highwayman upon the carriage, and the conclu- 
 Bion you are sought to be persuaded to come to is, that the attack was made 
 by Markham Brereton. You are to be told that having, accideotly, mind, been 
 compelled to ride to London, he then conceives the idea of robbing his cousin ; a 
 scarlet coat, white breeches, boots, and lace cravat, fall upon him. one must sup- 
 pose, from the skies, and he is equipped as a knight of the road. Can anything be 
 a greater insult to th-e understanding of Englishmen than this ? Well, but the 
 identify of Mr. Markham Brereton, we are told, with the highwayman, is duly and 
 distinctly sworn to. It is — but by whom ? By a man whose whole evidence was 
 a complication of perjuries ; by a man who, as sure as I live, shall be indicted for 
 perjury before this criminal session is over; by a man who for cowardice, cringing 
 manners, and rascality, scarcely has his equal. It is upon the evidence of such a man 
 alone that you are asked to commit one whose character is far above stain or reproach . 
 It is upon the evidence of a man who swore point blank that he was never asked 
 to ride at all, and then admitted he refused upon the ground of incapacity. It is 
 upon the evidence of a man, who swore distinctly that he never knew anything 
 whatever of a certain person, but her name, and then admits that he had re- 
 proached somebody else for keeping company with her on account of what he 
 had heard. But why pursue the falsehoods and inconsistencies of such a man as 
 Thomas Brereton ? They lie transparently before the jury, and it is impossible 
 — impossible, I say, conscientiously to convict any man of any offence upon such 
 testimony. Gentlemen, I look upon the prosecutor's case as so complete a 
 failure, that I am certain I might safely leave the affair in your hands at this 
 point; but, nevertheless, I will call some witnesses, who will further satisfy ycu. 
 Call Job Harley." 
 
 A most Bingular-looking specimen of humanity was pushed into the box and duly 
 swora. He wore a rough great coat, and had an enormous red face, with a pro- 
 fusion of whiskers. 
 
 " Well, Job, do you keep the turnpike gate at Acton Green r" 
 
 "Yes, I do." '• 
 
 " How long have you kept it ?" 
 
 *' Me and my son has kept it a matter of five years." 
 
 "Then, of course, you know such persons as frequently pass tl ro Jgh it V 
 
 '•' Rather." 
 
 " Do you remember on the night named in the indictneat — the 17th — any one 
 of a noticeable character passing through the gate ?" « 
 
 "To be sure, I do." 
 
 " Who was it ?" 
 
 "Claude Duval, the highwayman, on his bay mare, to be sure. He went 
 through at a sharp trot, and I said to myself— 'Ljok 0'j<-, whoever happens to 
 be upon the road with a well-filled purse.' " 
 
 "Have you any doubt about its leing himi" 
 
 " Lord bless, you, no. I know him as well as I know myself. '"< It was C'aude, 
 and no mistake, as was on the western road that n'ght ;' and, bciide?, he came 
 back again, and then I saw him, tco."
 
 238 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Very well, that is sufficient for me, Mr. Job. I shall not trouble you any- 
 further." 
 
 "Stop a moment," said the counsel for the prosecution, as Job was about to 
 leave the box, " stop a bit ; I have a few woids to say to you," 
 " Speak up, then." 
 
 " You say you frequently saw Claude Duval, the highwayman, pass your gate. 
 Now, did you ever make an attempt to stop the progress of so notorious a 
 criminal?" 
 " What ?" 
 
 " I fay, did you knowingly permit such a character to pass your gate, with a 
 full conviction that he was bent upon robbery, without making some effort to 
 apprehend him ?" 
 
 *' Apprehend him? I apprehend him ? Well, that's a good 'un. Whai's it 
 to me, who goes through the gate ? If I was to stop all the rogues I see, I should 
 hare enough to do." 
 
 **Then do you mean to tell me that, knowing a man is going on an errand of 
 robbery and pillage, you would let him go in peace?" 
 " Yes. You are a lawyer, ain't you ?" 
 " Yes, certainly," 
 
 "Well, I'd jet you go through any time." 
 
 A laugh ran through the crowd, during which the counsel sat down, finding 
 that nothing was to be made of the turnpike-keeper. 
 " Call May Ru?sel," said the Attorney-General. 
 
 Markham started and turned pale, and there was a visible stir of curiosity in 
 the court, when May was handed into the witness-box to be sworn. Her beauty 
 won all hearts, and the state of agitation she was in, only imparted a greater 
 interest to her personal appearance. 
 
 *' It shall be my careful endeavour to give you as little pain as possible, in the 
 questions it is my duty to ask you," said the Attorney-General, "and I sin- 
 cerely hopt my learned friend on the other side will follow my example." 
 May slightly bowed. 
 
 " Permit me to ask you if Russel is your real name ?"' 
 
 " It is not." i 
 
 There was a visible sensation in court, and Markham buried his face in his 
 hands; for he could not bear to look upon that face which he had so often pic- 
 tured to himself in dreams as all that was beautiful, with now a flush of shame 
 upon it. 
 
 " What is your name ?" ' 
 
 " May Duval !" 
 
 Various expressions of surprise broke from the spectators, and even the counsel 
 looked from the table curiously at' the fair young girl, 
 
 *' Then you are the sister of Claude Duval, the highwayman ?" 
 " 1 am Claude's unhappy sister." | 
 
 " How came you the friend and companion of the Breretons ?" 
 '• They took me in from charity, knowing me not, I call myself Russel. They 
 gave me a home full of kindness— God bless them ! God will bless them for it.*' 
 " Those are actions which are not forgotten. No\' tell us if you know anything 
 of this robbery upon Ealing Common of Mr. Tom Brereton ?" 
 
 " The coach was stopped." j 
 
 " By whom ?" I 
 
 " By my brother," ' 
 
 "You are certain ?" 
 
 "Do I not know him? There is not a feature, not a slight trick of voice or 
 
 gesture, that is unknown to me. As I stand before God, it was Claude who 
 
 stopped the carriage, and only Claude." } 
 
 " Have you anything further to add, bearin g upon the case ?" I 
 
 *' Yes. Claude owned to me the robbery. He handed to me the pocket-book, ! 
 
 with the contents uninjured," i
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 239 
 
 ** Where is that pocket-book ?" 
 
 " Here." 
 
 May took from her bosom the pocket-book, and handed it to the Attorney- 
 General. 
 
 ''It's mine— it's mine," cried Tom, ''give us hold of it. It's mine, I s^y. I'll 
 swear to it any day. Give it to me." 
 
 ** The pocket-book for the present must remain in the hands of the court," said 
 the recorder. 
 
 The Attorney-General intimated that he had more to say to May, ar.d the 
 connsel for the prosecution rose to cross-examine her. 
 
 *' So," he said, " you are the sister of Claude Duval ?" 
 
 ** I have said so !" 
 
 "And you have a sneaking kindness for the prisoner at the bar ?" 
 
 May's countenance flushed for a moment, but she made no reply. 
 
 *' I insist upon an answer." 
 
 " Which," said the Attorney-General, *' I fell bound to say, in defence of my 
 witness, you cannot do, nor will the court aid you." 
 
 *' Oh, very well, very well, I will take it for granted. I suppose, Miss Duval, you 
 are- aware that your worthy brother has committed numerous robberies^ and pro. 
 bably you think that to clap one which he did not commit upon his shoulders, will 
 do him no harm, and your lover much gooil. Now answer me upon your oath, was 
 not the pocket-book you have handed to the court, given to you by the prisoner 
 at the bar ?" 
 
 -Sir?" 
 
 " Oh, you are highly offended at the supposition ; you are very sensitive, I 
 suppose." 
 
 *' i do not perhaps, sir,'* said Maj-, '/ li ve in «he atmosphere of falsehood and 
 duplicity familiar to you, who may hear your oath riJicialed without construing 
 it as an'insult." 
 
 '•' Dear me! — I suppose you read that in some romance; but now we deal in 
 realities. If you did not receive the pocket-bo(;k from the prisoner at the bar, 
 you probably received it from some Oite to vvhom he handed ir, and, at all events, 
 for your consolation in this affair, I can inform you that yoa are liable to a crinai- 
 nal indictment." 
 
 *' I know it." 
 
 ** Oh, you know it ? Now upon your oaih, vvcre you not, all of you, that is to 
 say, you and your brother, and his sweetheart Cicely Brei-eton, asid your love, 
 the prisoner at the bar, and the old lady, mixed up togetlier in a nice little plot 
 to get Mr. Tom Brereton's property by fair means or by foul ?" 
 
 ** The supposition, sir, can only show the contemptible character of the ima- 
 gination which could conceive it, and the shameless licence of the tongue that 
 could utter it." 
 
 " Upon stilts again ! Well, Miss Duval, I shall leave the jury to form their 
 own estimate of your evidence^ and your abilities in this transaction. I have no 
 doubt but that you have said your lesson here in a manner (hat will give the 
 greatest satisfacfion to your friends and admirers. Can you tell me where Miss 
 Cicely Brereton is ?" 
 
 *' No." 
 
 *' Very well ; you can go down, my dear." 
 
 Thoroughly vexed and embitrered, far beyond anything she had ever before felt 
 in the shape of anger. May left the witness box; but yet the cross-examiHation 
 had been a complete failure, and the Attorney-General looked with a smile at 
 the junior counsel, as much as to say, our learned friend on the opposite side is 
 particularly unhappy to-day.
 
 240 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 THE VERDICT. 
 
 On, "what a relief it was to May to find herself once more on the floor of the 
 court, and out of the witness box, where, to her perception, every other word that 
 was uttered to her came in the shape of an insult. She scarcely heard that the 
 next person called was, Cicely Brereton. The name was vociferated through the 
 court, but there was no response, and the Attorney-General said — *'I only had a 
 hope that this witness would make her appearance, but it seems that hope was a 
 fallacious one, and I now abandon the call, and proceed to require the attendance 
 of the governor of Newgate in the box/' 
 
 Tom and the governor both felt a little uneasy, and to tell the truth, so did Mr. 
 Newcombe, the solicitor, but the governor stepped into the box with an air of 
 assurance that they thought promised well for his success, in evading disagreeable 
 disclosures in the forthcoming examination. 
 
 '*! believe, sir," said the Attorney-General, "that you hold the responsible 
 situation of governor of Newgate ?" 
 
 "I do." ^^ 
 
 " Are you acquainted with Mr. Thomas Brereton ?" 
 
 *'No." ^ 
 
 ** Do yeu^aiimir that? Has he not visited you ?" 
 
 "He'fcas, but yet 1 do not consider him in the light of an acquaintance." 
 . *« Very.well, you may draw as nice distinctions as you please. What we want 
 to know is, what passed at your last interview with the prisoner, an interview 
 which took place in your private aparrment in Newgate ?" 
 
 " lie called upon me to request indulgence for Markham Brereton, which I pro- 
 mised so far as my duly would allow me." 
 
 " Did you ever intercept a letter from Claude Duval to the prisoner at the 
 bar }" 
 
 ''No." 
 
 "Did you ever receive a visit from Claude Duval, in Newgate ?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "This is too absurd," said the counsel for the prosecution; '' CIaude'[Duval, 
 the famous highwaj'm.an, visiting the governor of Newgate!" *^ifr^a«^ 
 
 ** ' There are more things in heaven and earth, sir/ " said the Attorney 
 General, " ' than are apparently dreamt of in your philosophy.' The governor here, 
 feels the truth of ray words. Now, sir, will you swear that Claude Duval and 
 you did not walk arm and arm out of the prison together, after he had pretty well 
 frightened you out of your senses ?" 
 
 '* Certainly not. Nothing of the sort happened." 
 
 "Then you know nothing of Tom Brereton — never had a visit from Claude 
 Duval, and are in no way interested in the conviction of the prisoner at the 
 bar ?" 
 
 *' Of course not." 
 
 "Now listen to this paper." 
 
 The Attorney-General then read the statement, which Claude had forced from 
 Tom Brereton, and which ran as follows :■ — 
 
 ** I, Thomas Brereton, declare that I am perfectly wgU aware that Mr. Mark- 
 ham Brereton was not the person who robbed me upon Ealing Common, but that 
 it was Claude Duval who stopped the coach upon the night in question. Never- 
 theless, as I wish to terrify Cicely Brereton, my cousin, into accepting my hand, 
 1 made a false charge -against her brother ; aad fearing that Claude Duval may 
 come forward, and by owning the robbery defeat me, I have concocted with 
 Mr. Newcombe and the Governor of Newgate, a forged letter, as from Claude 
 to Markham Brereton, stating? that for love of his sister, Cicely, he will
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, Lli'E ON THE ROAD. 2a 
 
 come forward at the trial and own t) the robbery, so as to clear him, Mark- 
 
 ^*"* ^^ Signed) "Thomas Bbebbion." 
 
 This paper wa« listened to with curiosit f by all present. 
 
 « Now/ added the Attorney General, " ivi Thomas Brereton might have denied 
 this stateu ..:. ^c-^ own hand-writing. He might have denied all cogni- 
 zance of it, and it might in such a case hav. oaade no »™Fe««»<>^ » '^"^ "^ 
 has admitted it, and his only explanation of it is that it was extorted from him 
 by fear." 
 
 No. 31.
 
 242 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** Doubtless ii was,'' said the governor. 
 
 " Do you swear that you know nothing of it ?" 
 
 "Certainly I do." 
 
 ** Very well, Mr. Governor ; you have in this affair'pursued a held course. 
 Whether it be altogether a prudent one or not, time will show. I have done with 
 you." ^- ^.-- ^ 
 
 The governor lingered, but the counsel for the prosecutien said — 
 
 " 1 have no questions to a»k you, sir. I'he examination that you hare endured 
 has been by far too ludicrous for me to »>nii»ent upon." 
 
 ** My case for the defence is over,' said the Attorney General. *' I tiuat I have 
 proved my point, which was, that Clau^fiDoval, and not Markham Brereton, 
 comnoitted the highway robberj', of which-the latterstands changed. TheteBtimony 
 ofClaude's sister. May, 1 apprehend, nuist put that matter compietely at rest ; 
 laind the prosecutor himself would do well at this stage of the proceedings to own 
 birnself mistaken. As far as the jury is concerned, I think there can be no 
 difficulty in returning a verdict of acquittal. 1 am aware that by Galling wit- 
 nesses, I have given my learned opponent in this case aright of reply, which I 
 BOW give him leave to avail himself of, shoiihiiie in the due exercise of his judg- 
 BMnt, think proper to do so.'' 
 
 The Attorney General sat down, and the^otin»tl for the prosecution rose. 
 
 •' I have very few remarks to make," he said. *' My learned friend looks 
 far an acquittal triumphantly, and if thenKwe waa as the case seems, probably he 
 would not be disappointed ; but I have, iTnustsay, too great a reliance uponthe 
 common sense of Englishmen to believe for one moment that they will allow th em- 
 selves to he -iiiood winked by the pretty little xontancedf the defence in this case. 
 Here we ha%"e two sets of lovers. The prisoner at the bar loves the sister of the 
 highwayman, Claude Duval, and Claude Duval returns the rompliment by loving 
 the sitter rffthe prisoner at the bar, -and all of them together have no objection 
 to Tom Brereton's property. The prisoner commits a robbery, and Claude Duval 
 fathers it. If Claude Duval should chance to be apprehended next week, per- 
 Jbaps the prisoner at the bar will have the kindness to own to the case brought 
 against him. Gentlemen of the jury, I trust you will defeat this sung little 
 family ccrmpact, and notwithstanding the dust that has been industriously at- 
 tempted to be thrown in your eves, you will still put the srddle upon the right 
 'Ahorse. I leave the case now in )our hands, with confidence as to the result, for 
 however Mr. Tom Brereton may not have succeeded in winning upon your 
 sympathies, still he is not upon that account to be robbtd upon the highway with 
 impunity, norare a few inconsistences in evidence elicited by the tact of counsel in 
 a cross examination, to invalidate broad and startling facts. Of course theadvance- 
 xnent of justice is the first consideration of us &1', aad I sincerely hope that your 
 ^irerdict will vindicate the law." 
 
 The counsel sat down, having said all he could say to damag^e the defence, 
 (although by the initiated it was well enough perceived that he had no great fancy 
 :foT his own case, and no great reliance upon its ^strength. All that remained now 
 Of routine proceeding, was that the judge should^«um up the case to the jury, and 
 every one in the court was on >he rack of anxiety to listen to what be would say, 
 and the turn he would give to the evidence that had been adduced upon both 
 aides of the question. He commenced in a low voice — 
 
 '* The prisoner at the bar standi charged with the robbery of certain papers and 
 documents from t^e pc^son of Mr. Thomas Brereton on the king's highway, on 
 the evening of the 17th of the last month. It appears in evidence that a coach in 
 which the pr<*eCtttor with some ladies were travelling, was stopped upon Ealing 
 Common, and the robbery which forms the subject of the indictment was effected 
 by the prisoner at the bar, or some one so resembling him, as to induce theprose- 
 cntor to swear that he was the person. It cannot fail to be observed that the 
 whole case resolves itself into questions of personal varacity, and personal identity. 
 The defence has laboured to prove that the prosecutor is either periured or 
 raisfaken, both rather scrioos allegations, and they prefer much the former, which
 
 LIFE ON THE ROA . 2ia 
 
 is of course by far the most serious of the two. It appears that Thomas Brereton 
 possessed papers about him of importance to the prisoner at the bar, or rather I 
 should say of importance to Thomas Brereton, and counter to the interest of the 
 prisoner at the bar, and the presumption set up by the prosecution is, that it was 
 to annoy and distress Thomas Brereton by the loss of these papers that the robbery 
 was committed. Thomas Brereton swears distinctly, and without reservation, to 
 the identity of the prisoner with the person who robbed him upon Ealing Common, 
 and another witness swears as distinctly, that the robber was no other than Claude 
 iJuvBi, the notorious highwayman, and actua'ly produced the prosecutor's pocket- 
 book which she says was handed to l.er by Claude Duval. It is not necessary for 
 me to say much more of this witness than that she has placed herself in an extremely 
 delicate and painful position, for whether that which she has sworn to be the truth 
 or not, she is most awkwardly situated. It will ke the duty of the jury to endeavour 
 to come to some sort of conclusion between the conflicting testimony of the proseca- 
 tor, whose character no one has attacked, and this young woman, who if she be 
 herself immaculate, certainly is most unfortunate in her immediate connexions. 
 It is suggested that the poeket.book might just as easily have been handed to May 
 Duval by the prisoner at the bar, as by her. brother Claude, and it is- likewise sug- 
 gested that by eo doing she was saving a lover at a small expense to a brother, an 
 expense or risk which the brother was willing to run for ihe sake of ihe sister of 
 the prisoner at the bar. Whether or not there be such a family compact and un- 
 derstanding between all these persons, it is hard to say, but that among them all 
 they had the prosecutor's pocket-bock, which was taken from him by violence 
 upon the niglit in question on Ealing Common, is a fact patent to the whole pro- 
 ceeding. If that pocket-book was taken by Claude Duval and handed to his sis- 
 ter, as she says, and suppose the prisoner at the bar was aware and sanctioned the 
 proceeding, still he is not guilty of the present indictment. But if, on the con- 
 trary, he really did take it, and this introduction of the name of Clau»'e Duval, is 
 nothing more than a base fraud and impudent attempt to juggle justice, then is he 
 most guilty, and most guilty are those who have aided and assisted him. Between 
 the conflicting testimony it is for you, gentleoien of the jury, to decide, always 
 bearing in mind that the prisoner ai the bar is not to be found guilty upon any 
 other assumption than that he was de facto the robber of the pockei-book, upon 
 Ealing Common, and upon the special occasion, recited and specified in the bill 
 of indictment. If you believe Mr. Ttiomas Brereton on his oath, your duty lies 
 quite clearly and evenly before you, for then you can do nothing but fi^id the pri- 
 soner guilty, according to your oaths upon taking your pi tees in that box. The 
 case is before yeu, gentlemen, and the court waits your decision upon the ques- 
 tion submitted to you." 
 
 The charge to the jury was over, and althousth it was rather of a rambling and 
 discursive character, no one could take upon himself actu'illy to say that it was 
 unfair, notwithstanding there was an evident leaning to the belief that the prisoner 
 was guilty. The judge, however, in that stage of the proceedmus, had as much 
 right to his opinion as any one else. There was a buzz and a hum of conversa- 
 tion in the court. 
 
 ''Silence !" shouted the crier. 
 
 All was still again, and the jury with puzzled and anxious looks, began to lay 
 there heads together. 
 
 ** You can retire, gentlemen, if it is your wish to do so," said the c'erk of the 
 arraigns, looking hard at the jury as she spoke. 
 
 " No," said the foreman, *' we think we sliall soon agree." 
 
 This announcement kept every one in the court mo5onles:>, and the recorder, who 
 had partially risen to leave the court, under the impression, when the clerk of the 
 arraigns spoke, that the jury wa^ about to retire, resumed his. seat again, and 
 composed himself to a little patient waiting. Many eyes were turned upon Mark- 
 ham Brereton at this juncture, but their anxiety was not much gratified. 
 He preserved the same look of calm dignity, which had been, with very few excep- 
 tions of an occasional character, the characteristic of his bearing during the whole
 
 U4t GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 of tbe long and, to hira, most harassing trial. Occasionally he glanced at the 
 jury box, but it vas not with that kind of feverish impatience which a guilty man 
 might be supposed to feel, but with the feeling of wishfalness that the who a&ir 
 wat over, which was so likely to beset one in his position, who for so many hourt 
 had been made the gaze of hundreds. May was there, too, with her fair face 
 hidden in her hands, and weeping bitterly ; Markham BreretoQ would hare been 
 glad to have been able to have shared some of those tears, but he could only see 
 them and suffer, and his suffering from being pent up and silent far transcended 
 hers. At length, there was a slight stir in the jury-box, and the members faced 
 the court. Silence was loudly called for, and amid the breathless attention of all 
 present, the clerk of the arraigns said, ** Gentlemen of the jury, are you agreed 
 upon yout verdict in the case now before you ?'* 
 ** We are," replied the foreman, faintly. 
 "Do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty V* 
 The short paused that follow was dreadful. It seemed as though the foreman 
 of the jury could not find voice to speak— as though, like Macbeth's amen, the 
 word stuck in his throat. At length, by what was evidently an effort to him of 
 no common character, he said, *' Guilty I" 
 
 CHAPTER LXT. 
 
 THX INTKRRUPTED SBKTBNCE.— A BTRANOB SCBNB. 
 
 SuRBLY from what had already taken place, this verdict of guilty must have 
 been expected by every one in the court, and yet, what a wonderful sensation it 
 really produced ; preving what has often been asserted by those who know human 
 nature, and its habitudes, viz., that, however we may fancy we are prepared for 
 any event, we never in reality are so. A strange kind ol groan burst from the 
 body of spectators. Their sympathies had from the first evidently been in 
 favour of Markham Brereton. The evidence against him had not been respect- 
 able. The conduct of the judge had not been impartial. — No wonder, then, that 
 most of them who had remained during the whole of the proceedings bad become 
 strongly impressed in favour of the prisoner. The countenance of the recorder 
 when the groans came from the people, first grew red and then nearly of a purple 
 colour. 
 
 " I cannot believe it to be possible," he said, " that the officers of this court are 
 unable to lay hands upon some one who is the cause of this disturbance, or some 
 of it." 
 
 This was a direct challenge to the ofiicers to produce somebody, and no wonder 
 that they became energetic accordingly. But upon those who knew the prisoner 
 well, the effect of course of the verdict was far more perceptible than upon 
 strangers. A kind of half-stifled cry had burst from the lips of May, that 
 attracted some special observation to her, and then she clasped her face in her 
 hands, and was as still as the very grave ; she guessed what was going to happen. 
 The effect ef the verdict upon Markham, was that a look of indignation spread 
 itself over his face, and he stood more erect than before, in the bar confronting 
 those who had done him such injustice. By this time, however, the officers, who 
 found, from the words of the recorder, that their reputation was at stake if they 
 did not produce somebody, bustledabont, and laid hold, of course, of the quietest, 
 person they could meet with, and hauled him forward as the author of the tumult 
 that had made the recorder so indignant. 
 
 ** Who is this V* said the judge. 
 
 •' The man that made the row, my lord." 
 
 ** Oh, very well. He stands committed to prison till the end of the lesaions, 
 Tcke him away*'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 245 
 
 •' But what for ?" said the man. ^ ., 
 *• Disturbing the court.'* 
 "I never opened my lips; it's all a mistake." 
 " He's sure to deny it, my lord," said the oflBcer. 
 *' Oh, of course — ot course. Take him away — take bim away.'* 
 <• But I've done nothing/* said the man, " and I won't go away. Why should 
 Ibeent to prison when I have done nothing? i won't go.'* 
 ' Your present conduct," said the judge, " is quite a sufficient proof of your 
 former guilt ; you are evidently a violent man — a man of ill-regulated passions, 
 and it is my duty, sitting here as I am, to preserve the court from the possibility 
 of being again by you disturbed.'* 
 
 The officers, after a short struggle, for the man's blood was up at the idea of being 
 committed to prison for nothing, succeeded in forcing him out of the court, and 
 locking him securely up. Litttle they cared for the gross injustice they were 
 committing, se long as they pleased the judge, and saved themselves from further 
 reproof. There is nothing so dangerous as an officer wanting to show his pro- 
 ficiency. The tumult in the court was certainly quelled by this means, for those 
 who had made the disturbance, took the fate of him who had not, as a warning 
 to themselves, and were quiet accordingly. Some of the crowd that filled up every 
 available corner of the place, made their way out, to announce the verdict to those 
 who had been quite unable, either from too late an arrival or a want of phjrsical 
 orce to push their way into the place, so that the court was by no means so 
 densely crowded as before, and those who remained had a little breathing room. 
 As the prisoner was not removed from the bar, it was evident that the judge in* 
 tended to sentence him at once. At that time those merciful and enlightened 
 alterations of the criminal code, which are now introduced, had not taken place, 
 and it was death alike to commit murder, or to take a purse by violence or other- 
 wise. There was, in fact, at that time every temptation to the robber likewise to 
 become a murderer, for if he knocked his victim upon the head, he certainly got 
 rid of a material witness against him. His punishment too was the same precisely. 
 How any legislator could overlook for a length of time so glaring a defect in the 
 laws, it is difficult to conceive ; in fact, it can only be accounted for by that in- 
 difference to domestic policyjwhich hag ever characterised the parliaments of this 
 country, except in cases which interested them and their friends in a pecuniary 
 or pleasurable point of view. That the due amount of punishment should be 
 meted out to crime was essentially a poor man's question, and therefore not of 
 any importance to such noble and worthy persons as had the legislation of the 
 coantry in their hands. It was a Friday upon which Markham Brereton was 
 tried, and if the opinion of the court had been that some punishment short of 
 death might suit the justice of the case, he would have been removed from the bar 
 as soon as the verdict was recorded, and brought up probably on the next day for 
 judgment ; but as he remained, it was quite clear to which fate the learned recorder 
 assigned him. A death -like stillness now prevailed, so that when the crier rose 
 to call for silence, his doing so was a mere matter of form. Nevertheless, in the 
 loud, cold, official tone, he shouted — 
 "Silence! silence 1" 
 
 '* Prisoner at the bar," said the recorder, " have you anything to urge why 
 sente nee should not be pronounced against you in due course of law V* 
 " Much," said Markham Brereton. 
 
 " Very well, you are at liberty to speak ; but it is to be hoped that you will no 
 take up the time of the court needlesely." 
 
 *' The court is so very indulgent to nae," said Markham, " and so full of justice 
 tempered by every description of dignity and mercy, that I ought indeed to be 
 most chary of taking up its time, or putting it to the smallest inconvenience.' 
 
 There was a tone of such bitter irony in these remarks, that even the judge 
 winced a little, as he said — ' 
 
 *The court will hear you." 
 '• I am well aware," began Markham Brereton, " that it would be much more
 
 246 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 pleasant to some parties for me to submit quietly to my fate, without a murmur, 
 but I do not intend to do so. Before God, I declare that the statements tha,t 
 have been s»vorn to day against me are false. I soleutnnly declare my innoeence 
 of the crime imputed to me, and I brand m.y cousm, Thomas Brereton, with 
 perjury." 
 
 " Prisoner, you " commenced the judge. 
 
 " Silence !" cried Markhaan. " If it be my turn to speak, let me speak ; I. did 
 not interrupt yon.'* 
 
 " Bravo 1' cried a loud voice. 
 
 "This is intolerable," said the judge, as he rose from his seat. 
 
 ** We have him, my lord," said an officer. " Here he is." 
 
 "Murder! murder !" cried Tom Brereton, whom they had, in their haste to 
 catch somebody, right or wrong, laid hold of by the throat, and were half throt- 
 tling. " Murder ! It was not me-*' 
 
 It was quite evident, even to the recorder, that. Tom Brereton would be the 
 last person in the court who would have called out " Bravo]'* to what Markham 
 Brereton had said, and he was set at liberty. 
 
 "I know who it was,*' said Tom. 
 
 "Who ?** said the judge ; '* point him out." 
 
 " It was a big fellow, who was close by me, but 1 don't see him now. He 
 certainly was there this minute." 
 
 **lf you see him again, call the officer and givje him into custody. These in- 
 terruptions are evidently quite systematic. It is truly surprising how the friends 
 of the unhappy man at the bar, can fancy such a course will be of any possible 
 service to him." 
 
 " I am not unhappy,** said Markham. *' Ybu, rather, are the unhappy judge 
 upon the bench, than I the unhappy mnn at the bar, for you are, knowingly or 
 unknowingly, committing a great injustice, while I am only suflFering one." 
 
 '* Prisoner, this is irrelevant.*' 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "Proceed with what you have to say, then, why sentence of death according 
 to the law should not be passed against you.'"" 
 
 " All that I have to say is summed up in the fact, that 1 am innocent of the 
 crime alleged against me." 
 
 " You have finished V* 
 
 " Not quite, my lord.'' 
 
 "Goon, then.*' 
 
 "Nay, why is this great hurry and anxiety shown to pronounce sentence of 
 death against a fellow creature? The mere suspicion, ever so faint, that you may 
 be wrong, ought to make you pause. What I' have to say should at least be 
 listened to with common patience.'* 
 
 " The court has no desire to hurry you." 
 
 '* Well, I thank the gentlemen who have advocated my cause, for the exertions 
 they have made, that the truth should be apparent. To the extent of their know- 
 ledge, they have done all that in them lay for me ; and very properly, they have 
 not stated things which, although truths, they could not for want of the necessary 
 witnesses make into evidence. J, however, may state those things. What has 
 been laid before the court, is all sufficiently true up to the point when the 
 carriage containing ray mother, and my sister, and Miss Russel, started from 
 Guilford. I being on horsebaek, and Tom Brereton having my place in the 
 vehicle, after, with all the nervousness, of excessive fear, retusing the offer 
 of a horse, I did then, certainly, upon nearing Ealing Common, ride on in 
 advance of the coach, and 1 was urged by considerations to do so. The fitst 
 was to escape from the society of such a man as Torn Brereton into the better 
 companionship of my own thoughts ; and the second was to see if the road was 
 clear, as I had heard much of the depredations of highwaymen, and my mother 
 was in but a poor state of health. I had not ridden far before 1 was stopped by 
 a mounted man. It was not likely that I should allow myself to be insulted or
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 247 
 
 robbed with impunity, by one man, and the consequence was a contest, in which 
 I received a hurt that I am not quite the better of now. I was overcome, and 
 then told the highwayman that a carriage with ladies was approaching, and begged 
 him to be considerate. I had, of course, no reliance whatever upcn Tom Brereton 
 affording any protection to the ladies he was with. After this 1 was conducted to 
 a hut near at hand, where I remained some time, until I recovered sufficiently to 
 take the road again. That the same highwayman who stopped me, likewise stopped 
 the carriage, and robbed Tom Brereton, 1 can well believe, and that he was 
 Claude Duval, you have heard already from the lips of his sister. But to some here 
 whoarenot in the secrets of my family, it may indeed seem most strange that Tom 
 Brereton should rather try ro fix ^^uilt upon me than upon Claude Duval.— The 
 secret is this. He thinks that 1 know vhere my sister Cicely is, and if driven to 
 extremity, she will, to save my life, consent to marry him, in which case he would 
 came forward and represent to the Secretary of State that he had been mistaken as 
 to the identity of the robber on Ealing Common, and be it whom it might, it was 
 not me. In this he will be (iisa{)poiated, for if injustice and wrong take their course, 
 Tshall surely die." 
 
 Markham ceased speaking. 
 
 '* Have you saidl all that you wish to say ?" eaid the recorder. 
 
 *' AH that I care to say now,*' replied Markham. 
 
 *' Then it V 
 
 ** A witness! a witness !'* cried a loud voice from emong the dense crowd in 
 the centre of the court. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 AN INTERRUPTION. — CLAUDe's DANGER. 
 
 So completely was everybody taken by surprise at this sudden and most extra- 
 ordinary interruption, that the speaker, whoever he was, had for some mouients 
 everything his own way. The judge first revived from the surprise of the 
 sudden internpiion, when it was thought all interruption -was past. 
 
 ** Seize that man !" he cried. 
 
 As he spoke he pointed to a tall personage in the crowd, and the officers made a 
 rush forward, but the man by no means showed any disposition to a/oid them. 
 On the contrary, he pressed forward, and'finally confronted the judge, saying as he 
 did so — •* A witness ! a witness !" 
 
 It was Claude himself. 
 
 "No, no, no!" cried May Duva], for she knew her brother, despite the 
 disguise he was in, and at that moment her fears got the better of all other feelings 
 — she fancied that she almost sav/ his sacrifice. 
 
 ** Silence,*' cried the usher. 
 
 "Oh, no, no !'* 
 
 *' Remove that person," said the judge. 
 ^* I am^ still," said May, "Ob, let me remain—I am still now. I shall not 
 ■move or speak now. It is over." 
 
 Again she resumed trie attitude which the voice of Claude bad broken, and 
 hiding her face in her hands, she wept silently. Could there be a more painful 
 situation than poor May's? Loving as she did Markham Brereton, for alas ! she 
 did love him, she saw no other mode of saving him from death, than by the sacrifice 
 of her brother, who, we all know, was, despite all his faults, so very dear to her 
 heart. All eyes were now, naturally enough, fixed upon Claude Duval, although 
 only three persons in all that crowded court knew him. One of that three was 
 May. The other, Markham Brereton, and he rather guessed than at sight re 
 cognised Claude, and the third was Sixteen-string Jack. The officers all tried, a-
 
 248 GENTLEMAN JACK, 
 
 officers do upon occasions, to look cunning, but they were all at fault* and really 
 knew nothing of the bold man who stood close to the witness-box. 
 
 " What do you want f said the judge. 
 
 *' I have testimony to give, in favour of the prisoner at the bar,* -T^^J^^^^ 
 
 " Then you are too late." ^#^-11 
 
 " Too late ?" 
 
 " Yes." f5 
 
 " Can it be too late to be just ?»* 
 
 '' No ; but there are certain forms and modes of transacting the business 
 of courts of justice, which cannot be tampered with. If you have anything 
 to state, it must be put into the form of an affidavit, and handed to me to- 
 morrow." 
 
 *' That will not do." 
 
 *' It must. Stand aside— it is the only form in which evidence can now 
 be received in favour of the prisoner; of course there is no need of any of a 
 contrary tendency now. The probability of what you shall swear being true cr 
 not, will be a matter for consideration, always provided it be of sufficient impor- 
 tance to aflfect the sentence of the prisoner." 
 
 *' It is of the first importance." 
 
 *' Very well. Stand aside, or I shall commit you." 
 
 " This is making justice a form,* said Claude, ''and man's life a matter of 
 rules of court. My Lord Judge, I defy you to pass sentence of death, or of any 
 punishment whatever, upon Markham Brereton. I was present when this robbery 
 was committed upon Ealmg Common,'* 
 
 " I tkink, my lord," said the Attorney General, rising, " there is a precedent in 
 a criminal ease, for hearing a new witness after the verdict. It has been held by 
 Lord Stowe, that when life or liberty is concerned, a jury is always sitting, and 
 the ears of a judge always open, while a prisoner remains in his place, at the bar 
 of the court," 
 
 " What case constitutes such a precedent ?" said the recorder. 
 
 " Dean's trial for murder, my lord ; reported in the sheriff's reports for the 
 last year. An alibi was clearly proved after the verdict.* 
 
 *' I recollect the case, Mr. Attorney General," said the judge. •* The court is 
 not exactly sure that it would be safe to make Dean's case a precedent ; but still 
 the court must not say it is not.* 
 
 ** Then your lordship will hear the witness ?** 
 
 ** No, no," said Markham Brereton. *' Let the witness depart in peace." 
 
 He saw May's agony. 
 
 ** Hush !" said Claude Duval, ''right is right. Hush, Markham Brereton, I 
 pray you ; let me take my own course." 
 
 " The court will detain this new witness," said the counsel for the prosecution, 
 *' I apprehend, whether he be heard or not ?" 
 
 " I think," said the judge, ''that the court, in its discretion, will feel bound to 
 do so." 
 
 *' You hear," said Claude. " 1 1 is done now.* 
 
 As he spoke, he ascended the two steps that led to the witness-box, and then, 
 and not until then, the whole court could see him plainly ; no one. however, but 
 those whom we have already mentioned, recognised him or had the least saspi« 
 cion that they were looking upon so celebrated a character as Claude Duvaly the 
 notorious highwayman. 
 
 " Swear him,* said the recorder. 
 
 " There is no need," said Claude. " The character of the testimony I come to 
 give, will carry with it amply sufficieni its own verification ; not all the oaths in 
 the world could make its truth more apparent, or for one instant shall it, I tell 
 the court that I was present at the robbery." 
 
 " You saw it committed T" said the Attorney Genera] ; "what objection can 
 you have to be sworn V
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 249 
 
 " It is scarcely an ol5Jection» Aiur l^i^ swarn in, y^-u will not ask for ray evi- 
 dence. Let me say at once that I was present a the robbery as a principal," 
 
 " A principal ?"' 
 
 "Yes.' 
 
 ''Then you (Jid it— and are— " 
 
 "Claude Duval!" 
 
 Certainly if a bombshell had suldenly corce into the court it would n,ot have 
 created a greater sensation, a'though it might have made one of a different 
 
 [^ 
 
 No. 32.
 
 250 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 description, than did the sudden and unexpected declaration of a name that cer- 
 tainly nobody expected.. Even the judge gave a slight start. Tom Brereto^ 
 made an eflfort to leave the court. 
 
 " Close the doors/* cried the judge. " Let no one depart. Officers, is there no 
 one among you who can depose to the identity of this person with Claude Daval 
 the highwayman, or not ?'* 
 
 The officers crowded forward with looks of intense chagrin. Here was the 
 very man they had been so anxious to lay hold of, and upon whose capture 
 three hundred pounds had depended, fairly by his own act in the clutches of the 
 authorities, and nobody the gainer. 
 
 " They don't.'know me," said Claude ; " but there is one here who can swear 
 to me. May V* , 
 
 «* Claude !— aaude !" 
 
 " Are you satisfied, my lord, that! am the veritable Claude Duval ? If not, I 
 have another proof." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Claude glanced round him, and with alight curl of his lip, he replied in a. 
 loud defiant tone — 
 
 «' Who but Claude Duvjd would do this act ? What other knight of the ro*ad» 
 think ye, would place his own neck ina-noosefor the purpose of pushing out 
 another man's? Is it lik^* oris it not like what you have heard of Claude 
 Duval, who never robbed a poor man in his^^ life, but who has relieved the neces. 
 sities of many and many a one?" 
 
 "There is no objection to swear this man ?" said the attorney-general. 
 
 " No,'' said the recorder. " Of course he i* in caistody ; but a prisoner await- 
 h]g trial is a competent witness upon oath. Of course his testitnony must be 
 taken with all its qualifications," 
 
 ** My lord, a man may be believed when he layadown his life as the pledge of 
 his sincerity." 
 
 A general clapping of hands now ensued in court, and it was actually renewed 
 three times, despite the frowns of the recorder, and the bewildered manner in 
 which the officers tried to take everybody into custody ; while the usher* who 
 never had before been witness to such an exhibition^ vi^ia tmable to call for 
 silence in a higher tone than a whisper. 
 
 " If such a truly disgraceful practice as this be repeated;** said the judge, "I 
 shall retire from the court, and measures shall l>e taken for imprisoning every one 
 who has taken part in such unmanly disturbances." 
 
 *' You have one man already in castody," said Claude, *'for my act. It was 
 I who made the exclamation ; but the officer found that it was necessary to take 
 some one." 
 
 •' Is there anything else," said the counsel for the prosecution, " that this gen- 
 tleman will take upoa himself ? Perhaps he will direct the authorities to make 
 a general gaol delivery, fathering himself with the criminality of the country ?" 
 
 •* I would rather father any amount of bold ariminality," said Claude, ** than 
 the petty malice of a hired partisan, who for his^ fee would send an innocent 
 man to the gallows, or throw back upon society the most blood-stained 
 i^retch ever beheld." 
 
 «Pho!— pho!* 
 
 " You may afi'ect to sneer at me, but you cannot comprehend the deep con- 
 tempt I feel for you." 
 
 The advocate tried to smile, as though he had the greatest possible con- 
 tempt for what Claude had said ; but the smile was only a sickly one, as 
 it was evident to all that the truth of the reproof had made its sting deep 
 indeed. 
 
 **My learned friend," said the junior counsel, for the defence, "has caught a 
 very magnificent Tartar, I think." 
 
 Even the recorder could hardly keep his countenance at this remark, and every. 
 1)0dy else laughed outright, with the exception of the " learned friend," who could
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 251 
 
 not see the joke at all, in those whose feelings were too much interested in 
 Claude's fate, to jest even with Moraus himself. An oath was now duly admin- 
 istered to Claude Duval, and it certainly was what, in the chapter of strange acci- 
 dents, no one would have expected to find such a personage, with such a price 
 'Upon his head, in the court of the Old Bailey, giving his testimony, and that tes- 
 timony, too^ such as would have the effect of consigning himself on the instant 
 ;to a dungeon. 
 
 '• To what do you depose ?" said the Attorney General. 
 
 '* 1 robbed the prosecutor, Tom Brereton, of his pocket-book on Ealing 
 Common on the night in question." 
 
 " Was the prisoner at the bar present ?" 
 
 ««No." 
 
 " Was he in any shape, way, or manner, cognisant of the robbery ?** 
 
 ** Certainly not ; he and 1 were utter stnmgers." 
 
 ** Well, my lord," said the Attorney General, *' 1 may say thf\t it is an estab- 
 lished custom of all courts to protect witnesses in giving evidence. I claim, 
 therefore, safe conduct for this witness." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Attorney, you don't mean," said the recorder, '* to ask the court 
 to let this most notorious and much sought for criminal go ?" 
 
 " 1 think he is entitled to. a safe conduct." 
 
 *' Monstrous ! I will, if there be any such sort of custom, break in upon it; 
 officers, take that man into custody, and hold him safely. Now-a-days, courts 
 of justice must not be sanctuaries for great offenders. Remove the prisoner at 
 the bar," 
 
 •* 1 claim my Uberty," said Markham. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIII. 
 
 Claude's committal.— the lonely ckll. 
 
 While the Attorney General had made this certainly rather impudent appeal 
 for the liberation of Claude Duval, there was a peculiar expression upon his 
 countenance, which induced those who knew him well to think that after all he 
 only did it to bother the recorder. At all events, he could not have expected, 
 whatever were his motives for making the application, that it could for a mo- 
 ment be successful. It had done some mischief, however. It lit up a momentary 
 hope in the breast of May — which the words of the judge as suddenly crushed 
 again — leavini? her, if possible, more desolate than she had previously been, 
 and Heaven knows that was needless. Alas ! poor May ! The appeal, how- 
 ever, which Markham Brereton had just made to the court was far more 
 reasonable. 
 
 *• With respect to the application of the prisoner at the bar for a release," 
 said the judge, ** an application which, I presume, he founds upon the testimony 
 of this person calling himself Claude Duval, it is not in the power of the court 
 to grant it." 
 
 " Upon what pretence am I now detained?" 
 
 ** You have been found guilty." 
 
 *' Ob, my lord," cried one of the jury, *' we have altered our mmds now." 
 
 '*That cannot be helped now, gentlemen . You have given your verdict, and 
 it is recorded. All these subsequent proceedings it will be my duty to place 
 before the Secretary of State, and, at the discretion of that official personage, 
 a pardon or not will issue for the prisoner.'* 
 
 •' What am I to do, ray lord, with Claude Duval ?"said an officer. ' 
 
 *'• Have you no warran*^ '"
 
 f^ — ^ — ■_ _ _ 
 
 252 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ** No, my lord." 
 
 " Well, somebody, I believe, has j and if you can produce no warrant, you 
 must take him before a magistrate/* 
 
 " But, my lord, now that we have him as it were under the roof of Newgate, 
 would it not be better to keep him ?" . ° ' 
 
 " Certainly, I dare say you will find no difiBculty in getting a magistrate to 
 come to Newgate and legally commit him. Indeed, I fancy I have that authority 
 ex'officw myself, but the matter had better go through the regular course." 
 
 *• It will be my duty," said the Attorney Genera), *' to prefer an indictment 
 against Thomas, commonly called Tom Brereton, for wilful and deliberats per- 
 jury.'* 
 
 *' Oh, gcod God, no !" said Tom. *' What do you mean ? I'll swear anything 
 you like if you will only let me go. It was all a mistake, it was. Governor- 
 Governor, where are you ? you know you persuaded me to slick to it." 
 
 *• I i" said the Governor of Newgate. 
 
 *'Yes, you rogue, you know you did." 
 
 •* Why, ycu incomprehensible vagabond !'* 
 
 *' You wretch !" 
 I « You thief!" 
 
 ** This is really quite edifying," said the Attorney General, i* Mr. Governor, 
 your position in this affair will need some clearing up," 
 
 *' Not at ail," said the Governor. 
 
 " Oh, very well.' 
 
 ** I don't know anything about it. I'll indict anybody who says a word 
 against me fcr conspiracy. I know 1 have enemies, and it seems they are hard 
 at work, but let them beware. I say, let them bewared" 
 
 " Good bye— good bye," said Tom. ♦' It's a fine evening. Good bye, gent'e- 
 men. I forgive you, sir, about the joke of—indicting me. Ha 1 ha ! of course 
 it was only a joke, and it's no matter now. All's right. Upon my life a good 
 joke. Good-bye!' 
 
 ** The Lord Mayor will perhaps take a deposition which shall justify him ia 
 committing Thomas Brereton^" said the Attorney General. 
 
 *'If you think I can, Mr. Attorney General," said the Lord Mayor' "I shall 
 have great pleasure." 
 
 »* Pleasure !" said Tom. '* What do you mean by that? Come, come, Mr, 
 Lord Mayor, don't be a fool. I went to your house on the ninth of November, 
 and now you talk of having the pleasure of committing me ; is that gratitude? 
 The Mayor's gratitude! What do you mean ? Good-night !'* 
 
 The Lord Mayor pretended to blow his nose to smother a laugh. After a few 
 minutes, Tom Brereton was fully committed for perjury. He roared (or mercy,, 
 and was taken away blubbering like a schoolboy. 
 
 May started forward and clasped her hands round Claude as she said— 
 
 ** You will not fall— you will not be sacrificed?" 
 
 " Farewell," said Claude. " Bless you, May !" g 
 
 ** I did not wish this," said Brereton. 
 
 "No, Markham," cried May, " I know you did not. I know well vou did; 
 not." 
 
 ** Save Claude Duval," cried a voice in the court. " There's enough of us to 
 do that easily enough. Save him for his gallant conduct in coming forward to 
 sacrifice himself^ rather than that an innocent man should suffer.' 
 
 The voice was Sixteen- string Jack's. A partial rush was made by some few 
 persons acting upon the sudden and thrilling impulse given to them by these 
 words, but half a dozen officers immediately precipitated themselves upon Claude 
 Duval, who himself cried in a loud voice— 
 
 "Forbear! The atrempt is madness ! Forbear, my friends— forbear ! it is a 
 vain effort, my friends ! quite vain !" 
 
 Claude knew well that the mere crowd in the court was not to be depended 
 upon, and he likewise knew that his life must be lost in the affair, for it would be
 
 LIFE ON THE EOAD. 253 
 
 the duty of the officers to resist to death. Whether they would have done so or 
 not remained to be seen. At all events, Claude gave them credit for so much, and 
 spared them the probable disastious consequences of a collision; and after all Six- 
 teen-string Jack, although on the impulse of the moment he had made such an 
 attempt to rescue Claude, could not help feeling how very helpless it was. The 
 judge had now left the court, which was ordered to be closed, and as the best 
 way of doing that, the officials began to extinguish the lights rapidly. This 
 soon had the desired effect, and in the course of the next quarter of an hour the 
 court of the Old Bailey was left to silence and to darkness. Claude Duval was 
 heavily ironed and led through a number of intricate and winding passages to a 
 cell, which was presumed to be of such strength as to defy all the attempts that 
 even he, with all his courage and with all his ingenuity, could make to escape from 
 Its confines. Claude said not one word in answer to the many remarks that were 
 made to him, and very many they were, for there was not a petty turnkey ia 
 Newgate who did not hastea to have a look at the famous highwayman, and 
 have his say upon the occasion of so important a capture, as it would be called. 
 Claude had, as it were, walked into prison, so they had nothing to congratulate 
 themselves upon in this acquisition, for it is probable he would for a considerable 
 time longer have escaped the clutches of Newgate had he not, from the chivalrous 
 feelings that actuated him, chosen to give himself up. It was bo^h a foolish and 
 ungenerous thing, therefore, for the authorities to rub their hands as though. 
 they had really achieved something. The cell which was assigned him was in- 
 deed a gloomy one, and seldom used, except to place the very worst of malefactors 
 in when they were too refractory for any ordinary control. But from that very 
 circumstance Claude Duval gathered hope. 
 
 *' This cell," he said to himself, is out of the usual track of the turnkeys. It 
 is not now so well watched as any other, so that I am left, at all events, to myself 
 to carry oq what operations I may please." 
 
 • "Now," said the governor, as the door was closed and barred, and doubly 
 locked and bolted upon Claude Duval^ '* I think we have this bird in about as 
 secure a cage as old Newgate can very well accommodate any one with." 
 
 Truly there is nothing so dangerous as excessive vanity. The governor did 
 not yet know the man he had to deal with. 
 
 g^/' Wait a bit," said Claude, as he flung himself upon the miserable stump bed- 
 stead that was in the cell, ** wait a bit— 1 may still give you something more ta 
 talk about yet, Mr. Governor." 
 
 CHAPTER LXIV. 
 
 THE ARREST OP TOM BRERETON. — THE TABLES TURNED.' 
 
 How deserted poor May Duval felt ! Perhaps of all persons intimately con- 
 nected with thevajious personages and events of our story, she felt most acutely 
 the painful sense of loneliness, which is worse than any other species of grief. If 
 Markhara had been quite at liberty at once, instead of having to wait for a tedious 
 form of law to pardon him for the offence he had never committed, no doubt he 
 would have taken upon himself the task of consoling her in her sufferings. But 
 alas 'both the persons in whose happiness and existence all the best feelings of 
 affection wete built up, were now within those dreary walls of the much-dreaded 
 Newgate. Cicely, from the place ofsecurity in which Claude had placed her, knew 
 literally nothing of what was going on, she only thought that Claude was neces- 
 sarily abs'ent on business connected with her brother's position ; but although he 
 had told her over and over again that he would save Markham Brereton, \ie had 
 not tald her it was to be at the price of his own life. She had not queitioned 
 him closely as to the means he had of carrying out such a promise ; but with that
 
 254 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 blind confidence whicb all persons ought to have in the resources of those whom 
 they love, she had stifled her fears into a belief that what Claude really chose to 
 do he would find some safe and easy enough mode of speedily accomplishing. 
 His last words had been to her,— 
 
 ** Wait, Cicely, and inquire nothing, believe nothing until you hear from me.* 
 r ** And will that be soon, Claude ?^' she asked him. 
 
 ** As soon," he replied, ** as it is possible, consistent with the safety of both 
 Markham and myself to do so." 
 
 This had satisfied Cicely, and she waited anxiously, it is true, but without the 
 horror of knowing or even suspecting Claude's real situation. Tiiat it was his 
 hope to alter that situation before the truth of its reality came upon the mind of 
 Cicely, we can well enough imagine. It will ndtbe from the lack of energy, or 
 courage, or tliat species of perseverance whicU overcomes apparently insur- 
 mountable difficulties, if he succeed not. '■% 
 
 It must not be supposed that Claude had resigned himself to a dungeon, with- 
 out making some previous arrangements, the carrying out of which might be 
 beneficial to him in his imprisonment. For example, he had arranged with Six- 
 teen-string Jack a mode of conversation from without, which it was next to im- 
 possible the authorities of Newgate could discern, or even dream of. It was 
 this. Certain articles were always permitted, after the most careful examination, 
 to pass to prisoners, but no letters were permitted to be sent, which did not first 
 undefgo a careful inspection from the authorities, and Sixteen-string Jack had no 
 wish to send, and Claude Duval hud no wish to receive such love-courting epistles 
 as are thought admissible to \ewgate ; they adopted the plan we speak of. It 
 was agreed that when any inconsiderable or allowable article was sent into the 
 prison for Claude's use, it should be carelessly wrapped in an old torn piece of 
 newspaper. Upon such piece of newspaper there would sure to be letters enough 
 under which Jack could putd small dot to compose the number of words which he 
 wished to make up to Claude's understanding. Efy this means they hoped to keep 
 up something like a correspondence, for Claude could return the paper with soiled 
 linen or anything that he was allowed to send out of the prison in the same way. 
 He was allowed pens and ink, with the hope that some fit of remorse would 
 seize him in consequence of his lonely and mind-depressing situation, during 
 which he would write some confession, implicating himself and others. They 
 did not know much of Claude Duval, though, when they ventured to calculate 
 upon such a state of things, and upon such ordinary and commonplace results 
 in his case. Still it was necessary he should appear to make some use of (he 
 writing materials, and he did, by writing some of the most extraordinary twaddle 
 that could be imagined, and which quite confused the governor, the chaplain, and 
 the sherifi^s, to each of whom it was duly submitted. As for Markham Brereton, 
 although assured now of his own safety and enfranchisement from prison, yet he 
 was, it possible, in a more distressed state of mmd than before, and yet he could 
 not tell himself why he should be so. Claude Duval had done the robbery, and 
 Claude Duval certainly ought, if anybody suffered from it, to be the person. 
 Moreover, to have allowed him, Markham Brereton, to be executed innocently, 
 would surely have been the height of baseness. But yet, although Claude would 
 have been beneath contempt to have not come forward, his doing so was a chi- 
 valric act, and it was a romantic appreciation of its chivalry which made 3^ark- 
 ham unhappy. He became extremely anxious for Claude's safety. 
 
 ** How shall I save him ? '* he kept repeating to himself. ** What means can 
 I possibly adopt to save him ?* 
 
 The oftener he asked himself the question the more impossible did it seem for 
 him to find a satisfactory reply, and he could not help coming to the painful con- 
 clusion, that from the moment Claude Duval had answere4 his name in the court 
 of the Old Bailey, his fate was fixed. Of course he, Markham Brereton, was in 
 complete ignorance of Claude's external resources, nor could he be supposed to 
 have a very clear notion of the personal powers of the highwayman. It seemed so
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 255 
 
 hopeless a tiling to escape from Newgate, that he, Markham, had not made the 
 smallest attempt so to do ; but he little knew that it was one of Claude Duval's 
 most fanailiar thoughts, that he should some day be caught, and them imprisoned, 
 end that he would then endeavour to add his name to the short muster-roll of 
 those who, with the most extraordinary perseverance and courage, had managed 
 to make their way from tho?e gloomy and spirit-depressing walls. There was no^v 
 a third person well known to the reader in Newgate, with whom we certainly 
 cannot have any amount of sympathy. That person is the despicable Tom Bre* 
 reton — the trickster, the shuffler, the perjurer, the false witness, the everything that 
 can be contemptible and beyond all meiisure mean. If we did not feel so much 
 contempt for Tom Brereton, we must feel some amount of pity. Let us look at 
 him. Tom Brereton was put into a room where there were a number of untried 
 prisoners ; but it was not the policy of the governor to keep him where he could 
 find any company. Accordingly, calling one of the turnkeys, the governor said 
 to him quite confidentially — " Davis, I want Thomas Brereton in solitary con- 
 finement. You understand me. He must be alone." 
 
 " All right, sir. He*ll be refractory soon," said the turnkey, with a grin, for 
 if the authorities chose that any prisoner should be refractory, why refractory to 
 all intents and purposes he was very soon declared. 
 
 *• That will do," said the governor. 
 
 In a little time after this, the turnkey entered the ward where Tom was, and 
 going up to him, he said — " What you will, will you ?" 
 
 *' Will what ?" said Tom. -' Oh, dear me, I am doing nothing." 
 
 ** Gammon." 
 
 «* What, sir ?" 
 
 *' Oh, don't try to gammon me. I saw you making ready to give nr.e a hit in 
 the eye, so away you comes to a refractory cell." 
 
 With this Tom was violently seized, and dragged off, in spite of his loud remon- 
 strances of how peaceably inclined he really was. That some dreadful fate awaited 
 him, Tom Brereton fully believed, and he made the prison echo again with his 
 shouts, but in such a p'ace remonstrance, whether loud or low, produced but little 
 effect, and Tom soon found himself the inmateof oneof arangeof cells, tolerably 
 well out of ear- shot of the rest of the prisoners of Newgate. 
 
 "There," said the jailer, " you may roar as loud as yoa like. There's nobody 
 but the rats and the beetles to hear you." 
 
 " Murder ! — murder !" 
 
 '* Oh, it's all very fine. Who the deuce do you suppose would take the 
 trouble to murder youl" 
 
 <»HeIp!-help!" 
 
 " Oh, very good, You won't be quiet ? Bang goes the door, then.** 
 
 The door of the cell was closed and bolted upon him, and Tom was left to twa 
 things he never lilced, namely, darkness and solitude. What his reflections were 
 likely to be, we may in some measure judge from what we know of his general 
 character. He now cried in a perfect paroxysm of fear for almost an hour, and 
 then he fancied he heard a footstep approaching down the narrow passage from 
 which his cell, in connection with many others, opened. He listened attentively, and 
 when he at length heard the footstep pause at the door of the miserable place in 
 which he was, and the bolts being removed, a hope that, after all, he should be 
 delivered from confinement sprang up in his breast, and he cried out—** I'm here 
 ^I'm here !" 
 
 The door swung open, and the governor made his appearance. 
 
 **0h, It's you," said Tom. 
 
 ** Yes,'' said the governor, as he carefully closed the door behind him, and 
 set down the light he carried upon the floor — •* yes, it is I." 
 
 There was something about the governor's manner that gave Tom some 
 qualms of fear, and then there was something likewise about the look of his 
 face that was far from pleasant or encouraging to him, Tom Brereton. ' 
 
 The position of the light, too, so low down as it was, cast some very strange
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 shadows upon the governor's countenance, and made him look rather diabolical, 
 as with folded arms he stood now glaring at Tona Brereton zs thoagh he ex- 
 pected hirti first to begin a dialogue, which could not be expected to be very 
 delightful to either of them. This Tom was in no hurry to do, but yet he was 
 one of those weak-resolved personages who cannot endure silence for long, and 
 now that he saw, or thought he saw, that the governor was determined not to 
 say anything first, he spoke — 
 
 '* So, you have come to see me, have you ?'* he said. 
 
 "Yes, idiot," said the governor. 
 
 *' Well, that's polite, at any rate, old fellow." 
 
 A scowl stopped the familiar jocosity with which Tom would have been glad 
 to carry on the conversation. 
 
 ** I don't come here for folly and ribaldry," said the governor. 
 
 '■■ Oh !" 
 
 ** No ; it is business with me. I am in danger.'" 
 
 " Well, so am I," said Tom. 
 
 i' What is your danger to me, you worse than idiot j you rogue in heart, and 
 absolute fool in capacity." 
 
 *' Upon my life,*' said Tom, "you must have been reading some distionary, 
 and found out all the abuse in it. What compliments you are full of, to be 
 sure, to night !" 
 
 " Have peace, I sav." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 *' You have kindly implicated me in yourtransactions, and, of course, to save 
 yourself even from the smallest inconvenience, you will turn evidence against me 
 and blow the whole affair. You need not deny it, as, of course, you are about 
 to do, for I know you too well." 
 
 *' Oh, dear," said Tom. ** You very much deceive yourself. But what's to 
 hinder you letting me go, and then, you know, there's no danger." 
 
 Tom thought now that he had got hold of quite a bright i.Jee, and that if he 
 threatened the governor with disclosures that v/ould thoroughly implicate him if 
 he did not connive at his escape, he (the governor) would feel himself com- 
 pelled, from considerations of personal safety, to let him free. 
 
 •' You know," he said, *'we both rowed in the same boat, and it is not at a^l 
 natural that I should like to suffer alone when you were to have had part of the 
 profit if we had succeeded, you know j but if you let me go, of course then I 
 could only come to harm by saying anything about you." 
 
 "That is j'our calculatioD, is it?' 
 
 •*Eh?' 
 
 *' I say, that is your calculation. Well, perhaps, under some circumstances, 
 it might have succeeded ; but it is too late." 
 
 *'Too late? How?" 
 
 *'As no one will believe for one moment that you are the sort of man to 
 break out of Newgate, and I dare not'place any facilities in your way, simply be- 
 cause you have already committed me and yourself too, by mentioning me. If 
 I were to let you free now, it would be to bring a certainty upon my head in- 
 stead x>f a mere. suspicion." 
 
 Tom gave a groan. 
 
 *' And, as I say," continued the governor, "it is too late." 
 
 "Oh dear— oh dear!" 
 
 *' Ay, you have made a fool of yourself indeeil, and you may well say— ' Oh 
 clear.* You have damned me with regard to this whole transaction.^ You never 
 for cne moment let me know the sort of people with whom we had to deal. You 
 never let me know that they were of that obstinate character that all ordinary 
 motives and impulses would fail dead upon them.** 
 
 '• Dear me!" 
 
 ?* And you never let me know that, in the event of any little miscarriage of
 
 GKNTLEMA'V .T.\nK : OR. LT''E ON T!'!' EOAD. 257 
 
 the affair you were goitlg to plunge abqut, accusing anybody for the mere purpose 
 o' securing yourself."^ 
 
 " Really, you are very sevfre,'* said Tr m. 
 
 '^' Not more so than the occasion v/arranis, I am quite sure, Thomas Brereiori.* 
 ** You think not ?" 
 
 "Bah ! this is the very worst of f rifling. What do yru mean to do? tli^t is 
 
 he question. If you intend to turn f videnre against me, auU implicate m ^ I 
 
 ust look to my own safety by some means, and whei-her or not those m^^ans wil^
 
 258 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OB, 
 
 be pleasant to you, depends upon the turn my thoughts may chance to take in the 
 matter." 
 
 Tom had sense enough to feel that whaterer he meant to do, it would be at the 
 present juncture highly dangerous to induce any belief in the mind of the 
 governor that he meditated any danger towards him, bo he said — 
 . I "Well, as you put it in that fair light, I wiU tell you really what I mean to do, 
 now. I shall hold out like a brick.** 
 
 "You will?" 
 
 '* Certainly, I will. I am very sorry for the few words I said in the court, but 
 the fact is, I was so taken by surprise, I didu*t know very well what I was about; 
 but they won't get any more out of me, for I dare say if t were to tell everytalsg, 
 and admit everything, they would just serve me eul aU the same^" 
 
 "They would, indeed.*' 
 
 " Very well, then, you and the lawyer may make your minds easy, for I ain't 
 going to say a word about either of you.*' 
 
 *' Only keep to that resolution, and you will find me your friend, Tom Breretcm; 
 break it, and your danger will be great.** 
 
 " Stop, stop, I say. Are you going ?'* 
 
 " I must.** 
 
 *' But — but, am I to stay here in this dark place ?** 
 
 ** Only for a little time. You may depend, that as you keep faith with me, I 
 will keep faith with you, Tom Breretoa ; the result will soon be sufficiently 
 apparent to you.** 
 
 The governor then rather abruptly left the oellj leaving Tom in a stale of anxious 
 doubt as to whether he had been clever or not* 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 SIXTBEN'-SfEIN& JACK MAKES PREPARATIONS FOE CLATJDE*S BfiNEHT. 
 
 Jack was not unmindful of what had been agreed upon between him and. 
 Claude Duval previous to the latter being placed in the gloomy walls of Newgate/ 
 And in addition to the efforts without, which Sixteen^string 3^k was to make 
 t© supply Claude with the means of making some effort fox freedom, he. Jack, haid 
 some desperate schemes of his own which he kept secret from Claude. But 
 Sixteen-string Jack reasoned in a different way altogether. **I hold my life cheap,** 
 he. said, " it I employ it in Claude's service, md nothing shall be too £$« 
 pere^e for me to attempt for his release.*^ Acting upon this feeling, be commenced 
 some proceedings, in the course of which we will follow him. It has been truly 
 said, that one half of London have no idea of how the other half liv^es, and one 
 wpo^ need to make it a life-long study to arrive at the information in all its 
 aainute particulars. Nevertheless, if lher« be any class which more readily than 
 any oliter arrive at such a knowledge of the hidden modes of existence in London, 
 it evidently is that class which has thrown off the restraints of law, and of which 
 Sixteen-string Jack was one. Ite principal difficulty he had in his movements, 
 however, consisted in the fact ofhis presumed death. So impressed was what is 
 called the London family, that is, tlie London thieves, with the idea that he was no 
 more, that even his personal appearance am(#g them, undisguised, would only have 
 been looked upon by many as a very remarkable likeness. Indeed, we can very 
 easily imagine that we or our readers would be somewhat chary c^ our belief in 
 the appearance of a man whom we had seen recently executed at Tyburn Gate. 
 This, then, was Jack's difficulty. If he went about among those from whom, as 
 a " family man,'* he wanted assistance, and convinced them that he was the 
 veritable Sixteen-string Jack, he ran the risk of being informed against by. seme
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 259 
 
 scoundrel, and of falling into the clutches of the law again, before he could com- 
 plete what he was about for the service of Claude Duval. Then, again, if he in- 
 truded himself as a stranger, he cojuld hardly expect to be treated with confidence 
 by those who would naturally be suspicious of one concerning whom they had no 
 knowledge. These were difficulties ; but Claude's position was such that he. Jack, 
 was not to be deterred by difficulties from serving him, or at least making the attempt 
 to do so. One thing he wanted, which he knew was ^to be had in London for 
 money, and that was an accurate plan of Newgate. Careful as the authorities had 
 always been that the interior of that celebrated prison should remain a mystery ex- 
 cept in its most general details, there can be no doubt but that the London thieves 
 had as accurate a plan of every cell and every passage as the city architect him- 
 self could have taken with all his meaus and appliances for the task. The di- 
 mensions of the plan might be a little defective proportionally, but everything was 
 there, and that was the main point. That this plan w^s to be had somewhere, 
 Sixteen-string Jack knew well, but where he did not exactly know ; and he had 
 another difficulty, which lay in the fact of being rather short of funds, for although 
 he had enough money for any of the ordinary contingencies of living, he certainly 
 had not enough for such purposes as he now required it. Under these circum- 
 stances, Jack asked himself where was the most likely place to find any cash that 
 would be sufficient for his purpose. Now, from pcany long conversations which 
 Jack bad had with Claude Duval, he had imbibed many of the latter's notions, one 
 of which was, that the crime of robbing a robber was certainly by no mean so great 
 in a social point of of view, as robbing an honest and industrious man. Among 
 robbers, and the worst of robbers, too, Claude very properly classed most public 
 functionaries, secretaries of charitable societies, persons connected with the adminis- 
 tration of public monies, and canting, hypocritical scrapers together of sub- 
 scriptions of all sorts, kinds, and degrees. Ministers of state, parsons and lawyers, 
 he likewise comprehended in his list of persons who, from their frequent dis- 
 honesty and cupidity, were all fair game for the highwayman or the housebreaker, 
 *• It is among such. Jack," he used to say, " that you may commit what amount 
 of depredation you can, and although the law will be exercised more strongly against 
 you than if you robbed a poor man of his last shilling, yet you will find, in an ab- 
 solute case of conscience, much compensation for the additional risk that you run.** 
 These lessons had not been thrown away upon Sixteen-string Jack. He was sittin^j 
 in the little dark parlour of rather an obscure public- house, thinking over his posi- 
 tion, when his eye happened to rest upon a paragraph in a newspaper that «as 
 lying upon the table before him. It ran thus— 
 
 " Yesterday, His Grace the Lord Bishop of London, presented to the Rev. and 
 Hon. George Augustus Eitzflunkie, the living of Upton Lees, estimated as worth 
 1,400/. per annum. The Rev. George Augustus Eitzflunkie is already Rector of 
 Andoy, Incumbent of St. Margaret's, Rector of Hegliton, Vicar of Bolton-cum- 
 Lees, &C.&C. We understand that the rev. gentleman hasjust returned from Naples, 
 where he spends the greater part of his time, no doubt in prayer for the poor 
 curates who perform his duties at home for an average of 60^. per annum each, 
 whilst his revenue amounts in the wholf to the sum of S,4i4iSl. per annum." 
 
 " What a rogue !'* said Sixteen-stri«g Jack. 
 
 Yes, Sixteen-string Jack, the highwayman, the housebreaker, the liver upon 
 other men's substance, the thief who called " Stand !" upon the king's highway, 
 blessed his stars that he was not such a rogue as the bloated church pluralist ; and 
 he was right ! He was not such a rogue. . i 
 
 " 1 will rob tiiat man," said Jack, "if it can be done, as sure as I am alive ;J 
 he is one of the greatest scoundrels, even among parsons, that I have heard of fojR 
 many a long day." *' 
 
 There were some serious difficulties in the way. Fiist of all, Jack had to fin* 
 out were the reverend gentleman was, and he had to concoct a plot by w^ich, at 
 the least amount of personal risk, he should be made to surrender some of his ill- 
 gotten money, but difficulty only sharpens invention, and Jack first of all set out to 
 tind where the reverend sinner resided in Londo.". This was not a difficult task
 
 4 260 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 by any means, and indeed Jack saw t!»e reverend gentleman actually come out of hi& 
 ; hotel, and on foot, too, condescending to walk the streets like any common man^ 
 I which certainly ought to have been thought something, and considering that he 
 was aD humble tud meek io1!gw( r of the disciples, who were such luxurious person- 
 ages. Jfcck took such accurate notice of him that he felt certain now that, let him 
 see him when and where he might, he could not be mistaken in him. Jack fol- 
 lowed hina with some curiosity, and he was nut long in discovering why the re- 
 verend gentleman chose to walk instead of to make u se of one of his luxur'ou& 
 I carriages. He followed every young lady he chanced to see who had a pretty face 
 I and a neat ancle; of course, his object was to beg of them to say their prayers. 
 I regularly, and attend scrupulously to their religious duties. Such a very reverend 
 i personage, who was thought worthy of so many livings, could have no other ob' 
 L jectin view. This was enough for Sixteen- string Jack, and he left the reverend 
 [ gentleman to his onerous duties, while he matfe his arrangements accordingly. 
 It was in the dusk of the evening Uiat Sixteen-string Jack knocked at ihe door of 
 a private house in the vicinity of Bloomsbury Square. It was a very peculiar sort 
 of knock, and in a few minutes it vias opened by a black man, who said, " Oae—- 
 two— three." 
 { " No," said Sixteen-strin» Jack, '< twenty-four.* 
 ! ' "Prom the country ?" said the. black. 
 "Yes, Mungo." , 
 
 "MenoMungo. Me Lilly white." 
 " That will do. Is your master within ?'* ty. / ■ - 
 "Yes, him be." ^- 
 
 Jack followed the black in'o the house, which was rather elegantly furnished, 
 
 and was shown into an apartment on the ground fioor, which had the appear- 
 
 iance of an ofBce for (he regular transaction of business. After waiting for some 
 
 ^ime, a pale, small, thin man made his appearance, and with an easy address, said, 
 
 "Have you a name lo state ?'* 
 
 "Yes, Claude Daval told me to say I knew him as forty, and that if yon thought 
 tim at all worth anything, I ought to be worth something." 
 **^Very good." 
 *' You are satisfied ?" 
 
 ** Quite. Sit down. I suppose you come with a proposition ?" 
 "I do." 
 
 "Very well. Be so good as to state it as precisely as you can.* 
 Sixteen-string Jack made a speech of some ten minutes' duration to the little- 
 pale, thin man, but as the object of it wili be best seen during the course of what 
 occurred in the next few hours, we need not detail it. Suffice it to say that at its 
 conclusion the man of the house rose, and took several turns to and fro in the room, 
 as if considering, and then he said— 
 " It migbt be tried. It is novel." 
 .. "I thought so." -^• 
 
 "Oh, yes. A similar kind of thing has been done, but not in that way, Yes^ 
 half of 500/., you say, will be enough for your purpose ?" 
 " It will, and I make no secret to you of what that purpose ie,** 
 "What?" 
 
 " It is to attempt the rescue of Claude Duval." 
 " Indeed ?" 
 
 "We are old companions and dear friends." 
 
 •■" Well, you can easily suppose that I wish you all the success in the world- 
 Who you are I don't know. I see you are disguised, or, perhaps, I might know 
 3rou, but I am quite satisfied that I am in safe hands." 
 
 " You are, indeed, and perhaps soon, when we are a little better acquainted, I 
 shall let you into the secret of who I am. There is one question I want answered 
 and which, probably, you are the very man to answer." 
 •'What is it?" 
 f* Where can I get a plan of Newgate P"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 2OI 
 
 " Here ?" 
 
 " Indeed ! And the terms ?" 
 
 " If this affair that I have consented to enter upon should succeed, yoa shall 
 not want either a plan of Newgate, or as much efficient assistance for Claude JDuval 
 as will go far towards ensuring success in attempting his rescue." 
 
 " 1 am glad of that.'* 
 
 Shortly after this, Sixteen- string Jack, who, it will be noted, had evidently re- 
 covered much of the daring, courageous charac'er which, for a time, had been 
 under a cloud of depression, left the mysterious house. He managed upon that 
 evening to send in the following words to Claude Duval, marked upon a piece of 
 newspaper— *' Be tranquil. Ail is going on well. Do nothing rashly, Claude j 
 and, in fact, do nothing at all until you hear again from me.'* 
 
 Claude returned the paper with some soiled linen, and had marked as follows in 
 answer to Jack— "Do you do nothing rashly, Jack ; 1 mean to give myself twenty- 
 four hours' thought before attempting anything. I think May ought to be taken to 
 Cicely, who you know is my wife. They will no doubt be good friends, and con- 
 sole each other. Cicely has money." 
 
 Claude had put Jack fully in possession of where Cicely was, and of all the cir- 
 cumstances connected with his marriage to her, and as this companionship of May 
 Duval and Cicely was a thing that he. Jack, had before advised, he set about with 
 considerable alacrity the mea&ures necessary to bring it about as soon as possible. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVI. 
 
 CICELT AND MAY COME TO AN UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 It would have been quite impossible for Claude Duval to have thought of any- 
 thing which could have given more exquisite and general satisfaction to both his 
 sister and Cicely, than this proposition of companionship between them. Their old 
 intimacy, and a certain congeniality of tastes, feelings, and dispositions, had 
 always made them the best of friends. No wonder, therefore, that the circum- 
 stances which had for a time parted them had been renewed with the greatest 
 grat ification by both. The only thinp, that rather puzzled Jack in the affair was, that 
 Claude Duval, in his few words from the prison, had not been explicit as to 
 whether Cicely was to be made acquainted with his situation or not. Upon this 
 head, however, he thought he would take the advice of May, or leave it as a matter 
 altogether in her discretion. For his own part, he was decidedly of opinion that 
 Cicely had better know all that had happened, inasmuch as thus knowing it from 
 those who could and who would tell her the whole truth, andnothingbut the truth, 
 she would be spared the shock of hearing, by some accident, a distorted and partial 
 statement of thos>e circumstances in which she was so very deeply interested, 
 Sixteen-string Jack knew where to find May. He thought the best way was to 
 explain to her his mode of coumunicating with Claude Duval, and actually to 
 show her the few words which he had written. 
 
 " They will," he said to himself, "silence all scruples about her accompanying 
 me, in case she should happen to have any, which may or may not be the case." 
 
 He found May in a state of great grief, ana it was a great satisfaction to him 
 to be able to say to her what he did. 
 
 *• You have a remembranee of Cicely Brereton ?" he said. 
 
 "Oh! yes, yes." 
 
 " Then Claude wishes you to be witti her, to console her for his absence. 
 
 May was silent far a moment or two, and then she said — "You are Clkude's 
 friend, and 1 know that fr6m you he hides nothing. Tell me, now, in all truth 
 and honesty, is Cicely Claude's wife ?'* 
 " In all truth and honesty, she is.*'
 
 262 GENTLEMAN JACK , OR, 
 
 «_ — - - 
 
 L *' I am satisfied and delighted, and yet—" 
 
 I "Yet what, Miss May? You hesitate.'* 
 
 ? " 1 do, and I hardly know why I do so. Give me but a few brief moments to 
 
 collect my thoughts, and I shall be able to accompany you freely." 
 
 Alas ! poor May, her mind was going back to old scenes—to the brief period 
 of happiness that the family of the Breretons had enjoyed, while Jhey were un- 
 molested at the farin-house, with all its pleasant appertenances* of gardens and 
 orchards, at Guildford. It was there that Markham Brereton had first told her that 
 he loved her. 
 
 Ah ! no wonder that that became a green spot in her remembrance, never to be 
 by time or the confluence of other events obliterated. 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack saw that she was deeply moved, and he thought to be sure 
 it was Claude's fate she was speaking of. He hastened to put her in better spirits 
 by saying — 
 
 •* All are not lost, Miss May, who are in danger/* 
 
 "Ah!" said May, "how that phrase rings upon my ears. Do you not remem- 
 ber using those same words to Claude, on that night when he and I first encountered 
 you in the waggon, upon Hampstead Heath, that aad and fearful— fatal 
 night ?" 
 
 Jack was silent for some moments, and then he said, with some evident 
 emotion — 
 
 "Miss May, I cannot conceal from myself that you look upon me as the tempter 
 of Claude, and upon his accidental association with me that night, as the com- 
 mencement of the caieer that has brought him to his present condition." 
 
 '•' No," said May, quickly. " I can reason now more justly, and 1 do not, as I 
 have, I confets, frequently done, condemn you. You certainly came in Claude's way 
 upon that occasion ; but when I come to reflect upon what had alreadj happened 
 previously to meeting with you, and upon Claude's disposition at that time, i think 
 he might, and would probably, if he had not met with you, encountered a much 
 worse companion." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that," said Jack. 
 
 " 1 mean it," rejoined May. 
 
 " Well, then, I shall feel the more comfortable from the thought that you don'fc 
 look upon me as Claude's enemy ; and now, come along at once, and I will take you 
 to Cicely, from whom I think nothing now ought to be kept regarding Claude's 
 situation and prospects. As we go along 1 will manage to tell you all that I 
 think and know about it. People have broke out of Newgate before to-day, and 
 why may not Claude do so." 
 
 •* Alas ! is an escape from Newgate the only hope ?" said May. 
 
 *' Not the only hope ; but if it were, should you think it impossible ?'* 
 
 " I should, indeed. You must recollect. Jack, that Newgate is different now 
 to what it was then, when the daring characters of the last century laughed at its 
 bolts and bars." 
 
 Jack winced a littleat this remark. Its truth struckhim rather more forcibly than 
 pleasantly, and he was rather induced to be silent and reflective for the rest of 
 the time, as they proceeded to where Cicely was staying. We need not detail the 
 interview between Cicelj and May. Suffice it to say that it was on both sides all 
 that could be wished. Cicely had always had a great partiality for May Duval, 
 and from the first few words that she now spoke to her. May found that that par- 
 tiality had suffered no diminution. The worst part of the meeting, however, had 
 to come, and well might May shrink from reciting to Cicely all that she had to 
 tell her. But ^et it had to be done, so May set about it as courageously as 
 could be, and fairly and distinctly told Cicely all that happened from first to last of 
 the trial of Markham Brereton and its results. Cicely listened with the most 
 breathless attention j and when they had concluded, it was evident that Cicely 
 was making a very great effort to overcome her emotion, and to exhibit a calmness 
 and fortitude she was far from feeling in reality. The effort was, however, too 
 much for her, and clasping her hands over her face, she burst into tears.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 263 
 
 " Ah,'* said May, while Cicely was sobblog hysterically, ** I almost regret that 
 I have told you at all." 
 
 " No, no ; do not regret it. Do not regret it," sobbed Cicely, *' and do not 
 fancy that these tears are those of regret that Claude has placed himself in his 
 present position. No — no. He was right to do as he has done, and if he had 
 done otherwise he would not have been the Claude I took him to be." 
 
 " Can you speak thus ?" 
 
 " I do — I do. Dear to me as he is, and dearer still since I know so much of 
 his chivalric goodness, I myself would have counselled him to do as he has 
 done/* 
 
 " And Mark Brereton is saved P" said May. 
 
 ** Nay, do not mistake me." 
 
 *' Mistake you. Cicely ? How do you mean that I should mistake you ?" 
 
 " Do not fancy, May,' that it is only because Markham would have been the 
 victim that 1 would have applauded and encouraged Claude in what he has done. 
 It would have been base to have allowed any one to suffer innocently for an act 
 of his. Oh, May, May, how much dearer has this trulv heroic conduct made him 
 to me ! I thought that I loved him fully, but now I feel that there was an admira- 
 tion yet to mingle with my affections, which was to lend it a new charm.'* 
 
 These words were deeply affecting to May, and she could not control her tears. 
 Nevertheless, she flung herself into the arms of Cicely, exclaiming— 
 
 "Ah, how happy we all ought to be, CttJely, with such thoughts and feelings 1 
 And yet shall we ever know even serenity again !" 
 
 •* Heaven only knows. May. But what can be done ? Are we condemned to 
 be merely spectators of what is going on ? Can we do nothing for Claude ?" 
 
 ** Alas ! nothing— nothing. The attempt upon our part fails, and any inter- 
 ference would most probably be full of mischief. We must perforce remaia as we 
 are, and wait the issue of events which to us are of terrific importance. There is 
 a perfect urfderstanding between Claude and his friend, Sixteen-string Jack, and 
 that they mean to try something I have no doubt. Let us hope for the best." 
 
 " Hope ! alas, faint hope !" 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack had promised to return in an hour when he left May with 
 Cicely, and as that period of time had expired, he made his appearance, according 
 to his promise. The moment he showed himself, Cicely ran eagerly towards him, 
 and taking him by the hand, she said— 
 
 " Tell me — tell me, I implore you, by all your dearest hopes — tell me, what can 
 be done for Claude ?*' 
 
 ** I cannot," said Jack. 
 ^*' You cannot?" 
 
 " No. I really cannot tell you what will be done, but I can tell you that every 
 thing will be attempted. Be of good cheer. Claude is hopeful, and so am 1. 
 There is no violent hurry about it just now. Nothing is to be gained by precipi- 
 tation ; and, besides, the first flush of caution as regards Claude in Newgate, upon 
 the part of the authorities of the prison, will blow over when they see that he is 
 quiet, and apparently resigned to the circumstances that surround him." 
 
 *• Then something will be done ?" 
 
 *♦ If I live to do it, yes." 
 
 " And — and you have hope ?" 
 
 " Indeed, I have abundance of hope. Do not ask me to detail the plan to you, 
 for it will very likely assume mony different shapes yet, before it can be matured 
 and carried out, but all the information that from time to time I can bring here I 
 will bring, of that be assured." 
 
 This was rather meagre as regarded actual information, but both Cicely and 
 May I'eit that it would be unjust, as well as ungencous, to force further explanations 
 at that juncture from Jack, so they let him go, declaring themselves satisfied, with 
 bis promise to come from time to time, and let them know what was doing. 
 Having thus far carried out Claude's wishes, Jack set about procuring the money, 
 without which he felt how useless it would be to attempt anything for Claude
 
 264 GENTLE MAN JACK. 
 
 The plan of operations that he had concocted with the man who had promised him 
 a plan of Newgate, was fully successful, and if we do not at this juncture go into 
 the details of that remarkable robbery, which at the time made a great noise in 
 the metropolis, it is that we have more important matters, immediately connected 
 with the personages of our story, to dilate upon. The result was to place in the 
 hands of Six teen-string Jack a considerable sum of money, and an accurate plan 
 of Newgate and the surrounding houses. He had already ascertained from 
 Claude by the mode of communication that they had agreed upon between them, 
 what part of the prison he was confined in, so that now, with the plan. before him. 
 Jack had no difficulty in marking the very spot where Claude was languishing in 
 the fortress like buildinaj. This was something, bat it was not everythmg. Is was 
 only an approach towards a first step. The first step itself had yet to be taken, 
 and in the midst of all that lie was doing, or attempting to do for Claude Duval, 
 Jack had continuatly to labour under a difficulty which would not have beset any 
 one but himself. That was the dread of being himself recognised by any of the 
 officials of the prison, for he was perfectly well known to them all, hwing been 
 for a long time in the gaol befcre his trial and execution. To be sure, feeling con- 
 fident, as all the officers and turnk3ys in Ne^vgate of course did, that he, Sij^teen- 
 strini? Jack, had been duly executed at Tyburn, ihey, even if they had seen him, 
 could scarcely have been able to believe thair own eyes ■ but what he dreaied was 
 the consequent inquiry that would in all likelihood thus ensue. Thus, then, all 
 that he did had to be done under this serious disadvantage, that he was compelled 
 to keep himself continually disguised. He wrote to Claude, by means of an old 
 piece of newspaper, as follows— 
 
 "I have a plan of 'Newgate, and know your cell. If gold can purchase a turn- 
 key it shall be done, as^ that would be an assistance, but, whether or not, hope for 
 the best, and do ni5thihgyour»#^, until I send you word that I can do uothipg for 
 you. May is with Cicely." -^^ . ; ; 
 
 The note reached Claude, but he was quite lost in wonder to think what scheme 
 Jack had in his head which with any chance of success could be put in practice 
 .from the outside of the prison. He trembled for Jack's safety, while he did not 
 himself gather any hope from the commuaicatioB. We shalL now leave Claude, 
 while we turn our attention to Sixteen-string Jack's proceedings, which were most 
 singular and complicated. He felt that by no ordinary, or every-day means, could 
 there be any reasonable hope of snatching Claude from his prison, and certainly, 
 if by bold daring, and the most exquisitely put together plan of proceeding, suc- 
 cess could be achieved, Sixteen-striug Jack fully deservsi it, for such a plan was 
 never before attempted of invading, in the mauner Jack.iateuded to do, the inmost 
 recesses of Newgale. 
 
 <:::^z 
 
 CHAPTER LXVII. 
 
 THE APPAEITION IN NEWGATE. 
 
 It was on a drizzly, damp, and most uncomfortable evening that Sixteen -string 
 Jack, in the dress of a drover from Smith field Market, eni:ered a public -house 
 nearly opposite to the debtors' door of the Old Bailey, where he knew the turnkeys 
 and under-officers of the prison were in the habit of coming to solace themselves 
 with various creature comforts after their spells of duty. He called for some ale, 
 which he stood sipping at the bar, while he regarded with interest the countenances 
 of the persons who came in from Newgate. It Tas then the fashion tor ^11 officials 
 connected with the gaol to wear red waistcoats, so that there was no difficulty in 
 recognising them, for if they buttoned up ever so closely, they always managed to 
 allow some portion of the red waistcoat to show itself. One of those men Jack
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 265 
 
 knew at once. He was the one who bad always brought him bis rations whib be, 
 Jack, was waiting for execution in one of the condemned cells. Before this turn- 
 key could order anylhing, Jack said to him in rather a mysterious tone, at tne 
 same time pushing his ale towards him — ^ i on ' 
 
 "Have you been in Newgate long enough to recollect Sixteen- string Jaek t 
 ' ^' Ah, to be sure I have. What then r" 
 
 " Well, then, I don't mind tailing you what I have not mentioned to anybcdy 
 else, and that is, that last night, while I was dozing against .one of the pens mthe
 
 26G GENTLEMAN JACK . OR, 
 
 market, for I had made up my mind to keep watch, as me and my partner had 
 lost a four- year-old, and you knov^ that thieves always come twice, and so you 
 see I thought it would be only prudent, you understand, to—— '* 
 
 ** God bless me, what a rigmarole !'* said the officer. 
 
 'MVell, I'm coming to the point — ^youdoL*t drink. Well, as I was saying, 1 was 
 half asleep, leaning against the pens, when the hospital clock struck twelve, and 
 then St. Sepulchre's struck twelve, ^ad I said to myself, one or the other of them 
 must be slow, and—" 
 
 *• Confound yoo,"* said the officer/ as he finished Jack's ale, **if you are not the 
 most ronndaboutSitory-teller^I ever came incar in all my life. Come, be quick." 
 
 "1 will. Well, from Barbican way there came a man on horseback, but what 
 made no noise on the rough atones. -Qu ihe came right up iome, and stopping 
 close to the pen, he said, 'My friend, Ihad mot an opportaility of thanking you 
 for handrag me np my.handkerchifef before* but I do now.' 'JKonr handkerchief !' 
 said I. 'Yes,' he added, *on'Holborn Hill, September 16. Look at me well.' 
 1 did so, and ;then, las the i moon struggled out, 1-sawthat it> was Sixteen-string 
 Jack,, to 'whom, las be iwent to be hung, I had bandedhis handkerchief, which he 
 let drop outiof the catt on Uolborn Hill." 
 
 *^ Oh, botther T"^cri€d theidfficer, *^you wore dreaming** 
 
 "Tfo-^ioo." 
 
 '"I^utik, tiieriT* 
 
 " Np, I teliyoa,:no il^ism hinpas plaix^y-twl sat? you ever, or see you now, 
 and you m^pwikl^ suppose how^l shook. He bad on the identical dress he went 
 to b'e hung.%/.a&d his top-boots had the dbboas flying ta them that he then 
 wore." 
 
 « Oh,' st^-f stuff!" 
 
 '''Well, itonay be, btti'I^only tell you of it just as it happened io me. You may 
 suppose' I :;stareAa littie, and shook a little,, but after a few moments he said, 
 *You need not be afraid, Joseph Brown— you need not be afraid, Joseph Brown. 
 Perhaps I ean tell, you somethmg that maybe for your good. Listen,- Joseph 
 Brown, I have :not:got much time to spare.' 
 
 •'I had recovered myself a little by this time, and the idea took possession of 
 me that r was being hoaxed, and madegame of forsomebody's sport, so I up with 
 my thick Stick/ and ; gave him a pelt over the head with it, saying as 1 did so— 
 • take that as>a stopper lo your jokiqg to-night.* ^ ... 
 
 '*The stick: went clean through him^and. the horse, withoutimeetmg with any 
 opposition/.and then I dropped it, andlfelt ray hair begin to stand on end. 
 
 " 'Joseph,' said tbe spectre, in rather a mournful tone of voice, 'I'm sorry you 
 did that. It's the worst blow possible ta strike at nothing. But my mission is not 
 over. -^Eind out Mr. Swade, at Newgate, and give this to him. It was his hand- 
 kerchief, not mine, and it was accidentally buried with me. Tell him, Joseph 
 Brown, that I will call upon him some night-at Newgate.* '* 
 
 " What !" cried the turnkey, « what TcKdJie^iy^Mr, Swade P * 
 
 "Yes. he did." 
 
 <« Why—why, that's my name.*' 
 
 "Yours?" . , ^ ^. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, and you know it. Come, come, this is some joKe, but it won t 
 do. Everybodv, of course, saw me lend my handkerchief to Sixteen-string Jack, 
 in the lobby of Newgate. No, 4io, this won't do, and I happen to know it was 
 buried with him. At least, when his friends took away the body, it went with it." 
 
 *' That's just what he said. After saymg it, away he went; and when I recovered 
 myself a little, I found on one of the posts the handkerchief." 
 
 As he spoke, Jack produced from his pocket a handkerchief, which be handed to 
 Mr. Swade. Now, the turnkey was rather a jovial, hearty-looking sort of man, 
 under ordinary circumstances, but when he saw the handkerchief, he turned as pale 
 as death, and staggered back till he came to a seat, upon which he sat down with a 
 plump that was enough to knock all the breath out of his lungs at once. Sixteen.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 2G7 
 
 string Jack took the opportunity of clipping out of the house. A crowd gathered 
 round Mr. Swade, whom everybody thought was taken suddenly ill, and there he 
 sat, with the handkerchief in his hand, which he knew perfectly well, and gasping 
 in a curious manner, in a vain attempt to say something about it to those around 
 him. 
 
 *' Undo his neckcloth," said one. 
 
 ** Send for a doctor," said another. 
 I " What does he stare at that handkerchief for?'' remarked a third, 
 j '* I — I — am better," gasped Swade ; " some— brandy." 
 
 " Ob," said the landlord of the public-house, ** he is coming round now. 
 When a man is well enough to ask for a glass of brandy, you may depend he'll do, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 Iji). While this bustle was going on at the public-house, Sixteen-string Jack hurried 
 off to a lodging he had taken, and got rid of the drover*s clothes. He attired 
 himself quite different, and sallied out into the street, saying as he did so—*' There 
 can be no doubt now, that all the turnkeys in Newgate will fully expect a 
 visit from my apparition, so that if I do show myself I shall produce a tolerable 
 sensation.'* The accurate plan of Newgate that he had, sufficed to show him that 
 there was a house in Newgate-street, the back attic of which was not more thaa 
 twenty-five feet from the wall of the prison, which wall was covered with spikes 
 abutting inall directions. As fortune would have it, this attie was to let as a 
 sleeping room. The house was kept by an old woman who sold aberdashery in 
 a small way, and as Jack was decently dressed, and threw into his manner much 
 courtesy to the old woman, his application regarding taking th^ attic was favour- 
 ably received, and in consideration of his alleging he was a stranger in London, 
 a reference was dispensed with upon his paying a month's rent in advance. Six- 
 teen-string Jack fairly took possession of the attic, and that evening he managed, 
 by sending a shirt to Claude, to communicate with him to the following effect — 
 
 " I shall make an effort to reach you, as soon as a man named Swade is on the 
 lock of the outer gate. Let me know, if you can, the name of the turnkey who 
 visits you late at night, for I know it is the custom for one to visit prisoners who 
 are in separate confinement. Hope for the best, Claude." 
 
 To this Claude Duval managed on the following morning to send the following 
 reply to Jack— • 
 
 " Tiie turnkey's name is Wright. Be cautious. Jack, and do not peril yourself 
 for me. Do nothing rashly, for it would surely fail." 
 
 " Wright," muttered Jack, " I must see this Mr. Wright, and ascertain what sort 
 of metal he is composed of. He may be flexible enough, or he mi^ht not. At 
 all events, it can but be tried ; but the trial must be made with caution." 
 
 Of course, the great difficulty in making an attempt upon the integrity of this 
 man, Wright, consisted in doing it so that its failure, if it should fail, entailed no 
 bad effects upon him, Sixteen-string Jack. After much thought. Jack hit upon a 
 mode of accomplishing this. He found that Wright came over to the public- 
 house regularly to have his drop, and that there generally dropped in about the 
 same time a man dressed in a long drab coat, half-dressing gown, and half- dressing 
 coat, and who had a glass of beer, which he consumed with a small biscuit he 
 took from his pocket always. Upon inquiry. Jack found that this man was a clerk 
 to a well-known usurer's attorney in the neighbourhood, and, indeed, it was 
 considered that he was a sort of partner in'the grasping business. At all events. 
 Jack heard enough of his character to feel no compunctions whatever at getting 
 him into a little difficulty. After taking the most accurate notes of this man's 
 di'ess, Jack went to one of those places in London, where accurate costumes of any 
 required description can be had in a few hours, and supplied himself with a drab 
 coat, and so exactly like that of the usurer's clerk, that he might very well be 
 taken for him by any one not intimate with his physiognomy. The next thing 
 to do was to find Mr. Wright somawhere a vay from the public-house, and this, 
 after some waiting, Jaok accomplished at night, for he saw him come out of NdW- 
 gabe, and walk towards Suiiihfield. Jack pursued and called to iiim.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 h " Hilloa !'* said the officer, pausing ; " what do you waat ? Oh, yoar name is 
 
 Falk, is it not ? I tbiak 1 have seen you often at the Rose Ian." 
 
 to " Yes," said Jack, " yes. Mr. Wright, have you any obieclion to earn a 100/. 
 
 note ?" 
 
 , ** Humph ! How do you mean?" 
 
 " In plain language, are you reall? fond of your situation in Newgats, for its 
 own sake, or for what it brin2:s you in ? If the latter, yaa may as well earn 100/, 
 in addition to what you asually make." 
 ^ "But how?'* 
 I "First of all, Mr. Wright, let me tell yoa that lam a man of determination." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 ' "I can easily explain myself. Here is a loaded pistol. If you attempt to 
 arrest me, I will blow your brains out. Now, listen." 
 , «' Oh, I don't want to arrest you." 
 
 "Will you, then, connive at the escape of a prisoner from Newojate for 100/. 
 provided it can be so managed that you are in.no way implicated ?" 
 
 "An awkward and dangerous proposal from you to me, Mr. Faik. I must 
 really have a little time to consider." 
 
 "Very well. Will you let me know when you see me taking my glass at the 
 Rose to-morrow morning ?" 
 
 *' Certainly, J will." 
 
 " And in good faith, I hope, Mr. Wright. If jou accept terms, well and good ;• 
 and if you don't, i hope there's no harm done." 
 
 •' Oh, none at all. Good evening." 
 
 On the following morning. Jack took care to be at the bar of the Rose Inn, b&fe 
 in quite a different costume ; and presently came iu the real Mi. Falk, with his drab 
 coat, and asked for his half pint of beer, as usual. Jack stood quite close to him, 
 and scarcely had he been there*two minutes, when in came Wright, the officer. 
 He sidled up to Falk, and whi|l,fed, " All's right." 
 
 "£h?" said Falk. 
 r "1 consent." 
 
 "Oh, you do ?" said Falk, who thought it was a joke at his expense. *' I am very 
 happy to hear it, I'm sure."; 
 
 In an instant, Wright sprung upon him ; and then two officers, who were there 
 in disguise, likewise pounced upon him, and poor old Falk found himself hand* 
 cuffed in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 '•Murder! murder !" he cried. " What's this for ?" 
 1 " Oh, you know," said Wright. 
 
 "How can I know? Good God! what have I done? It*s some mistake. 
 What have 1 done ?" 
 
 I *' One scarcely expects you to admit it," said Wright, *' but you will find that 
 I trymg to bribe a sworn officer is an offence. Bring him along." 
 I ^ " Ah," said Sixleen-string Jack to himself, " it was as well for me to be cau- 
 ; tious. Wright will not be bribed ; but I have lost nothing by trying, so now I 
 know what I have to depend upon, and fear no ill-consequences from the esperi'* 
 ment." 
 
 I Two persons were talking at the corner of Newgate- street as he passed. One 
 was a perfect stranger to him, but the other was Swade, the officer, and Jack heard 
 him say, in answer to something from his acquaintance — 
 
 "I would, with pleasure, but I am on the outer wall to-night." 
 
 " To-night, then," said Jack, as he crept up the attic stairs to the room 
 he bad hired, "to-night, then, the attempt must be made to free you, Claude. 
 It is desperate ; but yet a desperate adventure will sometimes succeed where a 
 carefully goi up one would fail. I will try, and 1 will succeed or fall by it. , You 
 would do as much for me, Claude Duval." 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack had made all his arrangements, so that there was no neces- 
 sity for him to leave the altic again that day, except to send something into the 
 prison to Claude, by means of which he might 1st him know that he would that
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 269 
 
 night make an attempt to rescue him. He marked letters sufficient oq a piece of 
 newspaper to convey to Claude the following brief communication—" Expect to 
 see me to-night, Claude. Keep yourself awake and well alive. All may, and 
 shall be well, if I can make it so." So mucli depended upon circumstances as they 
 might occur, that Jack could not say anything more explicit to Claude, and so, after 
 sending that much to him, be waited until the shades of evening began to gather 
 around the city, and the lights were gleaming in the streets. Sixteen-string Jack 
 needed no light. What he had to do was a great deal better done in the dark ; 
 for although, as far as he knew, no window commanded a view of his attic, he 
 could not swear to such a state of things, and he was not at all inclined to run un- 
 necessary risks. From the lights in the shops, as well as from those in the street, 
 there came a strong reflection, so that Jack was able, from his eyes having be- 
 come gradually accustomed to the cietping on of that ruddy sort of twilight, to see 
 tolerably plain everything in the attic. The clock of St. Sepulchre's church 
 struck ten as he began his preparations for entering Newgate — that dreadful abode 
 which he last left in a cart to go to execution. He carefully unlocked a large 
 chest that he had in the room, and the key of which he had carefully hidden. In 
 this chest were some very long, stout ropes, with strong iron hooks, or grapnels, 
 and at the end of each of them, and here and there in the rope, was tied a great 
 knot, by means of smaller pieces, so that there was a good hold at places for either 
 feet or hands. Slowly, and with the utmost caution, Sixteen-string Jack opened 
 his attic window, and looked out into the night air. The legion of spikes and 
 chevavx defrise that ran on the top of the prison wall could be clearly seen against 
 the bright sky, and there it was that Jack now directed all his attention. 
 
 "Kind,'* he said, "very kind of the architects of Newgate to place so many 
 good holdfasts upon the top of the wall for my hooks. Here goes ! it will be 
 hard, indeed, if I do not get a grasp upon some of them." 
 
 He cast one of his ropes so that (he hook fell among the chemux defrise on the 
 top of the wall, and then, pulling it tight, he ascertained that he had a good firm 
 hold. He then secured unto the window-sill a verv strong brass hook, which seemed 
 such as chandeliers are suspended from ceilings by, and fastened the other end 
 of his rope to it firmly and tightly. - 
 
 **' So, so," he said ; " a very tidy bridge indeed, from my attic to old Newgale. 
 I hope sincerely, my poor friend, Claude Duval, that you will be able to say, this 
 was well done." 
 
 There was much more to do, though, besides fixing the rope, before Sixteen- 
 string Jack could venture into Newgate; but he set about his well-arranged prepara- 
 tions with great speed and exactitude. First of all he dressed himselffroni top to 
 toe, exactly as he had dressed when he left Newgate to go to execution. It 
 was not without some strange thoughts that Sixteen-string Jack put on that cloth- 
 ing, which brought back to his mind, more vividly than usual, such a host of painful 
 thoughts and feelings. He quite shuddered as he surveyed himself in the glass, 
 and saw that he was restored to that precise condition that he had been in, when 
 it was whispered to him that it was time for him to come to death. But this was 
 only a temporary feeling, and not one that he would for a moment allow to interfere 
 with the proceedings to which he had so heart and soul pledged himself. He gave 
 the finishing touch to his costume by putting on a large cravat, and then he said — 
 
 •* Now, Claude, I will rescue you, or we shall, I think, both have our homes in 
 old Newgate to-night." 
 
 CHAPTER LXYIII. 
 
 SIXTEE^jT-STKING JACK IN NEWGATE. 
 
 Notwithstanding Jack had succeeded tolerably well so far, and that 'he had 
 found a good hold upon the iron-work on the top of the prison wall for the rope, 
 which made a frail bridge from thence to his attic, ic was no easy task, at, that
 
 270 GENTLEMAN JACK; OIV 
 
 p;iddy height from the ground, and with the faint, uncertain light about him, to 
 achieve the first step in the adventure. Clambering along horizontal ropes, 
 although to a sailor as easy, probably, as walking up stairs, was rather foreign to 
 Sixteeu-string Jack's habits ; and when he knew that a single false grasp, or the 
 least accession of giddiness, might be his death, he might well be excused for feel- 
 ing some slight degree of nervousness upon first starting. He tried the rope 
 repeatedly, to thoroughly satisfy himself that it was quite secure ; and then, as he 
 stood upon the window-sill of the attic, he listened for a few moments to that ^ 
 dull, confused roar, which always comes from London—a combination of thou- 
 sands of voices, of thousands of footsteps, of the rolling of coaches, and the 
 clanking and clanging of thousands of handicrafts, all combined into a sullen, 
 half-muffled kind of roar, not unlike that of the sea when the sun has gone down 
 upon the face of the deep, and the sighing night-wind is whispering to the spirit 
 of the waters. * 
 
 " Who else,*' said Jack, " in all this vast city, is engaged upon a similar enter- '■; 
 prise to mine ? Who else is about to risk so much for one whom he loves as I ?'* ] 
 
 Alas I Jack little knew the berets of that vast congregation of humanity when 
 he thus spoke. It was probably true enough that no one was precisely in his 
 circumstances, but there is more heroism in every-day life, during one passage of 
 the sun over London, than is to be found in the wildest romance ever dictated by 
 the most discursive imagination. Jack looked down from the height at wliich 
 he was, but nothing was to be seen below, save a congregation of little black-look- 
 ing spots, which made up the yards of a number of houses jammed in between 
 Newgate Market and Newgate-street. Here and there he could see a glimmering 
 light, and then it would disappear, leaving the darkness more profound than before. 
 St. Sepulchre's church clock struck eleven. 
 
 " It is time," said Jack, " it is time." 
 
 He carefully, before starting, fastened his apparel about him in such a way that 
 there was no loose portion of it dangling about, and this he did with the greatest 
 ease, as he took with him a quantity of rope, which he coiled round and round him, 
 as being the most ready and easy way of conveying it. A pair of good double- 
 barrelled pistols, carefully loaded, he placed in a breast pocket, and a knife, and a 
 file, and a pair of strong nippers he likewise had with him. Thus he considered 
 himself provided against all ordinary contingencies ; and with a firm determination 
 not to be deterred from the prosecution of his object let what would occur, he swung 
 himself off the attic window-ledge on to the rope. It was a good stout piece of CDrd 
 that, and drawn tightly, too, yet it swayed down a little, aad gave to Sixteen- 
 string Jack's weight, as hand over hand he slowly dragged himself along it, keeping 
 a firm grasp with his ankles at the same time. The distance from b's window had 
 really looked nothing, but novf that he came in such a way to traverse it, how 
 wonderfully it was increased in imagination ! Once, too, he thought he heard a 
 creaking noise, as though the rope was either breaking at some portion of its con- 
 tinuity, or as though the iron at the end of it which was grappling the chevaux de 
 /rise at the top of the prison wall was coming gradually off. 
 
 This was a horrible idea, but there was now no help for it. He Mas more 
 than half across, and he would not go back- He paused, however, and grasped 
 the rope tightly; for if the end attached to the prison wall were to give way, he 
 was confident that fastened to the window-sill would not. In the course of about 
 half a minute, as nothing occurred, he began to think he must be mistr^ken, and 
 that it was merely the straining of the rope, and the working of the hook at the 
 end of it against the iron-work it grasped, which made the sound of such alarm- 
 ing import, and he went on again with renewed courage. To Jack, this part of 
 his adventure seemed as though it would be the worst of all; which probably 
 arose from the fact, that he saw all of this, while what was to come was shrouded 
 in mystery still, and was invested with the radiant colours of hope. At length, the 
 vibration and the depression of the rope ceased, and, by stretching out his hand. 
 Jack could grasp the iron work on the top of the wall. Another moment, and ba 
 was standing evidently rather precariously, among it j but still he had crossed the
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 271 
 
 cliasm. He thought it imprudent to stand up, for fear even his shadow might bo 
 seen against the night sky by some one from the prison, and he stooped as low as 
 he could, while, by the insufficient light in the place, he carefully examined the 
 hold that the hook had taken. He found it perfectly fast ; and as he had no sort 
 of intention of disturbing that rope, he began, with great caution, to uncoil the 
 one he had round his waist. Any idea of being able to consult his plan of 
 Newgate during his expedition had never crossed his mind, so that he had care- 
 fully previously studied it, and it was as strongly present in all its details to his 
 mind's eye as though it were actually before him. He gazed down into Newgate 
 from the top of the wall, for he knew that a small court-yard, of a triangular shape, 
 was immediately before him, and that the only mode of getting from it into th« 
 interior of the prison was by a vaulted passage, with a door at eac'i end of it, toler- 
 ably well secured by bolts and bars. There would be no danger in this first 
 little court -yard of meeting with any one, for no cells looked into it, although the 
 narrow gratings of some obscure places of confinement caught a faint light from 
 it in the day-time. The height was terrific. Now Jack was in a much bet- 
 ter position to make sure that his rope was well fastened to the iron work, and he 
 accordingly took good care that it should be so before he let the other end of it 
 slowly down the inner side of the wall, like some long, slender snake, making its 
 way into the abodes of wretchedness. He grasped the rope, and slid down 
 rapidly. He was quite sure that it was more than long enough to reach the 
 jrround, and he was not deceived, for when his feet touched the cold pavement 
 there were some yards of the rope remaining coiled upon it. *' Better -than an 
 inch to short," said Jack, as he stood in the little court-yard, feeling a little 
 giddy with his rapid descent. A very few moments' stillness, however, sufficed to 
 free him from that feeling, and then assuring himself that he was quite recovered, 
 he placed the superfluous end of the rope close up against the wall ; for although it 
 was against all probability that such should be the case, he yet felt that some one 
 might come into the court-yard. The next object was to get out of this place 
 which he had taken so much trouble to get into, and he carefalfy stepped along 
 to the passage which led from it. This was to test the correctness of his plan 
 of the prison : if the passage was just in the place the plan indicated, then he felt 
 that he could have abundance of confidence in all other respects — if not, he should 
 be sadly puzzled. One, two, three, four, five six, steps counted Jack, and then he 
 paused and felt the wall immediately before him. Yes, there was the door, true 
 enough, studded with thick, large, iron nails, just as it was represented in the plan 
 which he had so carefully consulted. " All right so far,'' said Jack ; " I am not 
 deceived." The precision with which persons, who have made such matters their 
 study, will ascertain the manner in which a door is fastened, is something sur- 
 prising, but it was certainly true in the case of those ancient disturbers of the 
 tranquillity of the wealthy, who are now no more. Sixteen-string Jack shook the 
 door quietly, and then muttered to himself, " Humph ! one bolt above only, and a 
 bar." At that time Newgate depended more upon its bolts and bars than upon its 
 locks. The art of lock-making had not reached the perfection that it has now at- 
 tained, so that the skill of the cracksman of Claude Duval's time was generally more 
 than sufficient to bid defiance to locks. Bars and bolts, however, were always 
 more troublesome obstacles in the way of a prison escape or an entrance into a house ; 
 but even they were not unfrequently removed with great skill. ^ i 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack at once set about this work, with scarcely a doubt of its 
 success, considering that he had with him tools and implements sufficient to 
 fully accomplish it. With a centre bit of the most delicate and exquisite construc- 
 tion, he bored holes above and below the bolt, so that he could in' reduce the 
 blade of a fine saw. This blade was not above two-eigths of an inch in 
 thickness, and yet it was so excellently.tempered a piece of steel that the rough 
 soft iron of wLich the bolt was composed stood no chauco acrainst it for a mo'fnent. 
 The saw cut into it as though it had been wood. The lower bolt was not fast, but 
 the bar still remained, and Sixteen- string Jack could easilv ciiough have cut through 
 that, but he knew that the passage beyond the door wm n ..ed, and he feared that
 
 272 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 the two ends of the bar might fall and make a clattering noise that might reach 
 the ears of some official of the prison amid the silence of the night. Some other 
 means, then, must be resorted to to get rid of the bar. He judged that it \v&s 
 merely placed across the door, beiu^ lodged in a socket prepared for its reception 
 at one end, while, no doubt, it was jointed on to the strong frame- work composing 
 the door-post at the other end. At least, he was well aware that, uuless this bar 
 was an exception to the general rule> such was the construction of it, aud he set 
 about his operations accordingly, without a moment's loss of time or cousideration. 
 By tapping the door gently with one of the implements he had bro ight with him, 
 he ascertained the exact place of the bar ; and then, about six inches below it, he 
 bored a hole right through the doer. The centre-bit encountered an iron plate in 
 its progress, but ihat was only a temporary obstruction after all, and it was soon 
 right through. Jack was provided against this very contingency that he iiad to 
 contend with, so, taking from his pocket a long soft nail of about six or eight 
 inches, he bent it in the form of a hook, and passed it through the hole in the 
 door, so that the hook part stuck upwards. ^ He placed it firmly there in its place 
 .bythe insertion of another straight uail, vv'liich he firmly wedged in, for he did not 
 care to remove either of them when thej had answered fully his purpose at the pre- 
 sent time. Thus far, then, all was right. The next thing he had lo do, was lo 
 lift the bar out of its rest, and that was a matter of more difficulty, for the only way 
 in which it could be accomplished was to get something under it, whicJi should 
 act as a kind of lever against it ; but where there is a will there is a way, snd 
 throughout the whole of his proceedings Sixteen-string Jack exemplified the truth 
 of that well-known and somewhat venerable proverb. Another bole was bored in 
 the door, precisely below the lower edge of the bar, and through this was intro- 
 duced another bent nail, tlie head of which was held firmly in a pair of pincers, 
 so as to have a good purchase of it. By moving this slowly round, then. Jack caught 
 the bar upon iti under edge and lifted it. The only cliance of failure was thai the 
 bent nail might not lift it high enough to release it from the kind of holdfast in 
 the door-post behind which it was slipped. Jack had his doubts, but they were 
 soon removed, for, upon suddenly releasing fhe bar, it fell clear of the holdfast aud 
 fairlv upon the hook that he had previously prepared for its reception. 
 "All's right,'* said Jack. 
 
 The door yielded to a touch, and, with a slight creak, swung back upon its mas- 
 sive hinges. 
 
 '*So much for bolts and bars," said Sixteen-string Jack, as he at once entered 
 the narrow passa^.e. 
 
 To bis surprise, the door at the otlier extremity was not fastened at ail. Pro- 
 bably it was thought so utterly chimerical for any one to entertain the idea of get- 
 ting into Newgate, that outer doors were only attended to strictly. At ail eventi, 
 it saved Jack some time and trouble. The plan of the prison was so firmly fix^.d 
 in his mind that he knew at once where the last door led to. h was to a passage 
 to the right and to the left, along which were cell-doors, bat they were not the cells 
 besought^ and taking the right hand branch of the passage, he passed noise- 
 lessly on. Jack had taken the precaution to draw on over his boots a pair 
 of thick worsted stockings, vihich had the effect of completely deadeaipg the 
 sound of his footsteps, while it gave him the confident step which a man.has in his 
 boots, and which he can never have in his stocking soles merely. The passage 
 was substantially built and vaulted. It was of about twelve feet in width, and about 
 fifty feet in length, when it terminated at a door where there was a wicket of wire, 
 through which the turnkey could take a good survey of the passage. Whether or 
 not a watch was kept during the night at this wicket, Jack had no means of know- 
 ing, except by ocular demonstration. He thought it probable enough that such 
 was the case, so he carefully hid his light, as he slowly and stealt-hily approached. 
 A faint gleam, as if a lantern were upon the other side of the door, almost con- 
 vinced him that he should there find some one; nor was he mistaken, although he 
 would verj gladly have found himself so. A turnkey v/as fast asleep in a recess 
 m the wall upon the other side of the door ; while a lamp, placed in a niche
 
 GENTLEMAx^J JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE KOAO 
 
 SUPPOSED APPARITI0N OF SIXTEENSTfilNG JACK. 
 
 above his head, had shed the faint light into the passage which had been by Jack 
 observed before reaching the spot. This was really a most se"o«s ^^ f l^*, ^^^ 
 afew moments it seemed as if Sixteen-string Jack's in;^enaitywere ^t ^oto ^^^^ 
 how to overcome this scarcely to be called unexpected, but stiU most prov^^i^o 
 stop to his progress. He advanced close to the little j ire wicket, and placing^^^^^ 
 ear to it, he listened attentively.1 The regdar breathing of ^e ^ . ,^°"^Xf 
 him, Jack, that he was in a sound sleep. A sliglit gUnce t^^jo^g^j^^^^j^^fc 
 showed him, too, that a key was in the lock of the door, and that it had no other
 
 274 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 fastening;. ^ What was he to do? Certainly, sleeping as the turnkey was, and 
 situated as Jack was, nothing could be easier than to kill him ; but there was 
 somethi)% about the cold-blooded murder of a.sleeping man so repugnant to Jack's 
 feelings, i.iiat he himself shud-^ered as the sugj2;estion presented itself to him. 
 
 "No — no,'' he said; "that would indeed be horrible. 1 cannot kill him as 
 he sleeps. If he were to attack nrie, and I took his life in self-defence, it would 
 be quiie another thing ; but I cannot commit a a cold-blooded, deliberate murder 
 even in such an exigency as this. It would be enough to blast with ill-success 
 my whole exertions. I should not deserve to succeed." 
 
 He clasped hi:, forehead with his hand, and remained for some few moments m 
 the most profound and painful thought upon the subject. 
 
 ' CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 CLAUDE IIT HIS CELL. 
 
 It was certainly possible, and only possi ble, that the turnkey might be so 
 soundly sleeping as to allow Jaok to open the door, by putting his arm through tje 
 little wicket, anl turning thci locic, and pass him without awakening. Just possible 
 it was, but very far indeed from being at all probable ; and yet, v/hat else could he 
 try? 
 
 "It must be so,'* said Sixteen-string Jack to himself — "it must ba so ; I 
 cannot, after all my pains to come thus far, go back because I find a sleeping turn- 
 liey, when I had fully prepared myself to find waking ones. No — no. it must 
 be chraioed. If he sleeps soundly, his life is saved.- If he awakens, he is an 
 enemy, and I must take his life, or lie will take mine. I cannot, I dare not delay. 
 The attempt ni;ist be made at once.'* 
 
 Jack felt, what a ticklish thing h was to do to turn the key in the lock so softly 
 as not to awaken ^he man ; but he advanced to do it, and, by coming so close, he 
 saw that the turnkey was aged. His hair, like Ha nlet's father's, was a "sable 
 silvered," and Jacklooked at him with a dim perception of having seen him 
 before. 
 
 " Alas !" thought Jack, as he looked upon the face of the slumbering turnkey, 
 and now fully recognised him — ''alas ! I cannot kill him. Now I remember him 
 well. Ht; brought me a glass of water upon the morning of my execution, and 
 spoke some kind words to me'. No — no. I cannot kill him. Oh, God I let him 
 sleep on, let him sleep on !" 
 
 80 fervent was this ejaculation of Jack's that he almost uttered the last words^ 
 aloud. More than ever, then, now intent upon not awakdni'ng 5;he turnkey, per-, 
 haps in cons;-quence of a certain amount of agitation that came over him, he was 
 less able to retrain from making a slight noise wit.h the key. Tiie turnkey moaned 
 slightly m his sleep, and shifted his position. Jack awai ed with the stillness of 
 death for full three minutes, and then, when he thought deep sleep had once again 
 crept over. the senses of the man who was so much in his way^ he ventured to 
 resume his operations. He thought the best plan was carefully to take out the 
 key from the other side of the door, and put it into the luck on the side where he 
 was. He would then have more command over it, and be much better able to 
 turn it quite noiselessly, than as it it remained in its present position. He released 
 the key from the lock with a dexterity and precision that made it quite impossible 
 that, by so doing, the smallest ala ni could be given to the sleeping*t,urnkey, and 
 then, transferring it to the key -hole up m the side where he himself vvas, he slowly- 
 I Jiurned the ponderous v.-ards. It. was qui e impossible to prevent an inconceiv bly 
 j sligiit grating noise from ensuing, bar, th<it was ail. It was next tning to an 
 impossibility tuat so slight a noise shoulu awa<.en ihe sleeper ; and yet Sixeeu- 
 ) 'String Jack waited its result with the inosi. paintm in.eresi. Ail was still.
 
 LIFE 0\ THE RO:\D. 275 ) 
 
 "'Tis well," thouo:ht J.ick j '•' i bUu,'i De a u- i. ) piiss him now, if the door is 
 easv upon its hinges, but if not, God only knows what will happen. I cannot sacri- 
 fice; Claude, and I cannot kill this ma-^. Heaven help me now, for my wish to 
 avoid sin, not to commit it ; and so I can call upon Heaven to aid me. This is no 
 sellish expedition. I have all to lose, including life itself, and nothing to gain by 
 it ; so again I say, help me, Heaven, and deliver me from the temptations to take 
 this man's life, by keeping him still slumbering." 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack did not expect any miracle to ensue, for the purpose of 
 helping hira to get Claude Duval out of Newgate ; out after thfs odd kind of prayer 
 lie certainly felt, or fancied he felt, which was just the same thing, and answered 
 the purpose fully as ^'lell, much calmer and collected. 
 ^ A malediction light upon all musical doors ! Who has not had his nerves set 
 all in a twitter by a shriek from some door that will not open quickly without one, 
 or slowly without a lengthened, long-drawn groan, as if it were in the greatest 
 agony in the world ? 
 
 But what w^ere the creaking of doors of ordinary domestic life in comparison to 
 this abominable creaking door in Newgate ? for it aid creak, as Jack ascertained, 
 by the slightest possible movement of it. What was he to do? There was 
 nothing for it but boldness. 
 
 " Courage !" said Jack to himself, " courage ; creakiag doors will sometimes 
 vield, like creaking human beings, to resolution ; and I have knowa them, to bs 
 swung moderately open without making the least sound. 1 must try, hDwever, 
 come what may." 
 
 If this plan Vere to be adopted. Jack knew well there must be no compromise 
 with it. It was hit or miss — a kind of leap from a precipice in the dark. He 
 might alif^ht with safety, or he might not. All was chance. He tried to ask himself 
 how many chances there were of the door givinga hideous scream., to one that it would 
 open quietly; but the stupendous piece of arithmetic was beyond his power — he 
 only felt that he was running a frightful risk, that was all. Open rushed the door. 
 It did not scream, it did not groan, but it did worse than all that — it struck 
 the foot of the slumbering turnkey, and aroused him iu a moment. He started to 
 his feet. 
 
 " Hilloa ! hilloa !" he cried, " What's that ?" 
 
 The real truth was, that Sixteen-string Jack was so bewildered at this mosfc 
 unexpected contretemps that for a few brief moments he did not know what he did ; 
 and yet impulsively, if not refiectivel}^ he dashed through the open door, and gained 
 a few yards beyond it, before he told himself how utterly useless it was now to 
 think of doing any good by flight — flight, which would only take him deeper into 
 the interior of Newgate, with a hue-and-cry at his heals. Sixteen-string Jack 
 turned, and stood with his right hand plunged in the breast of his apparel, grasping 
 the stock of one of his pistols — a weapon which he dreaded to use, and yet felt 
 now that he must use. The turnkey had snatched the lamp from the recess where 
 it was placed, and iji a moment he made a rush towards Jack. Another step, and 
 it would have been his last in this world ; but he did not take that step. On the 
 contrary, he paused for a moment, and then staggered back, gasping — 
 
 "Good God!" 
 
 Jack saw his advantage in a moment, and divined at once from whence it arose. 
 The turnkey knew him well, and took him for his own apparition. There was 
 no longer occasion for killing. All Jack had to do was, as the canting religionists 
 say, to improve the occasion. He saw that the man was almost convulsed with 
 terror, and Ire was determind not to spare him. A good fright breaks no bones, 
 thought Jack. Step by step, with a slow gliding movement. Jack approached 
 the turnkey, who, for a few moments, was rooted to the ground with fear,^ A cold 
 clammy perspiration stood upon his brow, and his limbs shook under hini. At 
 length, as Jack was coming into what he considered awful proximity to him, he 
 managed to shuffle back a little, crying as he did so— . 
 
 *' i know you — I know you. Gracious goodness ! I know you.*' 
 
 Jack paused, and in a deep sepulchral voice he said—
 
 ?j 276 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 i " stop ! I may speak now, since mortal lips have addressed me." 
 ** Ye — ^ye— yes/' stammered the turnkey, whose hair was standina; on end with 
 , fright—" yes — I— I am aware that ghostes^ses can't speak till things are spoken to 
 them— I~I know, oh, oh." 
 " Do you know me ?'* 
 *'0h dear, yes, I— I know yon. You are the ghost of Sixteen-string Jack, who 
 
 ' —who— was executed— on the 15th of May, in the year " 
 
 'i "Peace! No more! Sit!" 
 
 ' "Yes— yes, I—I will do anything you like, anything you please, only don't 
 
 touch me, for that would, I feel sure, drive me quite mad. 1 — 1 am sure it would. 
 
 \ Oh, for the Lord's sake, don't touch me. What harm have I ever done to you ?*" 
 
 i ** None ! But in the hour of my mortal tribulation, when poor human nature 
 
 i i shrunk aghast at what it had to go through, you gave me a cup of water." 
 
 i| "yes,I-.ldid." 
 
 ' " Wait here, I say [o you ; you shall have your reward. Wait until I come to you 
 again. Do you promise me, upon your soul's salvation, that you will not stir from 
 J that seat until I come back to you ?" 
 ; " Oh, yes— yes, I promise." 
 I ' " 'Tis well. Have no doubts. Look at me." 
 
 Jack was exceedingly anxious that, after he had left, the turnkey should not be 
 •; able to get up the slightest doubt as to his identity ; so he advanced just far enough 
 •< to allow the beams from the lamp to fall clearly upon his face j and then, for 
 almost half a minute, he remained gazing witha mournful expression at the turnkey, 
 i who was nearly driven mad by the horror of his situation; for how could he doubt 
 i the evidence of his own senses ? He had seen Sixteen-s.tring Jack nanged, and 
 ! he had now again seen him, and spoken to him. Oh, it was terrible I 
 
 *' Remember me," said Jack, imitating the ghost of Hamlet's fraternal rela- 
 tive as well as he could — " remember me !" 
 
 " Yes," gasped the turnkey. 
 
 . Slowly Jack moved alang the passage backwards, until he got to a turning, and 
 
 then he scampered in a most unghost-like fashion ; for much time hed been con- 
 
 ( . sumed in this rather awkward adventure with the turnkey, who, after all, when 
 
 1 alone, might have strength of mind enough to get over his fears, and so commit 
 
 i some other act thai might be highly detrimental to Jack's plans. Jack, all along, 
 
 from his exact recollection of the accurate plan of Newgate he had so well studied, 
 
 1 knew precisely where he was, so that he had the great advantage of never going 
 
 j an inch out of his way. At the end of the passage where he was, he knew there 
 
 I was another door which led into a court-yard, and he knew that the little gratings 
 
 ! near the roof which let a dim light to the row of cells, in one of which Claude was 
 
 I confined, looked into that yard. But he would have to unfasten a door leading 
 
 , from that yard, and to traverse a passage until he came to a turning at right angles 
 
 j with it exactly, and from that passage opened the doors of the cells, the backs of 
 
 I which looked into the yard. All this was clear enough, if Jack could but get so 
 
 i far without interrruption of any serious character. That, however, was the question ; 
 
 and now another consideration came over his mind for decision, which was 
 
 I simply this : provided he found his way safely to Claude's cell, and got him out of it, 
 
 by what route should he attempt to take him from the prison ? It will be seen that 
 
 {. from the first Jack had provided against the contingency of having his retreat by 
 
 , the way he had come cutoff, by the desperate determination, if such were the 
 
 ji case, to proceed to the regular gate at which the man who knew him by sight 
 
 *j would be, and pass himself there off, as he had already so successfully done, as 
 
 his own ghost, so frightening the man into letting him pass out. 
 
 This, however, was a most desperate expedient, and, of course, it was a thousand 
 times better to go by the same way he came, if he could da so with any chance of 
 safety. Jack was divided in thought, between these two modes of procedure, as 
 he made his way hastily to the court-yard at the end of the passage in which he 
 had beeu so unexpectedly delayed by the really perilous adventure that had 
 happened to him, and which might have turned out so much worse than it really
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 277 
 
 did, alt l)ou;:li lie (Jack) still trembled at what might be its possible results. If 
 anvHiiip;, liowever, could save him from any mal apropos proceedings of the 
 terViCk'd turnkey, it would certainly be rapidity of action ; so Jack, in his proceed- 
 ing's, now, was rt-solved to let no grass grow under his feet. 
 
 Tiie door leading from the passage into\ne court-yard was not fastened, except 
 by II lalch, so Jack found himself in the court into which the backs of the range 
 of c ells looked, in an incredibly short space of time after leaving the bewildered 
 turnkey in his seat. The experience he had now already had of the correctness 
 of his plan of the prison, wonderfully encouraged him, and he proceeded to the 
 door which led to the passage standing rectangularly to the one from which 
 opened the suite of cells, in one of which Claude was imprisoned, without a 
 moment's hesitation. The door was fast. St. Sepulchre's clock, dimly heard 
 amid the stillness of the nightj in the prison, struck one. Without a moment's pause 
 than was just necessary to listen to the clock, Jack now set about opening the door. 
 It was only locked, so the difficulty was not great, and in about five minutes it 
 yielded to him, and he at once dashed into the stoue passage. 
 •' Now for Claude," he said. < ^^ 
 
 A sudden flash of light from the farther end of the court-yard almost stunned 
 him by the suddenness with which it came across his eyes. He stood as fixed 
 and still as a statue for a few secondsr— and then, by a kind of instinct rather than 
 reflection, he closed the open door of ,t&e passage in which he was, feeling that, 
 if it were found in that state, it would at once give rise to a host of suspicions, 
 which would eventuate in a search of |he prison. Anything in the shape of a 
 thorough alarm or search would, of course, prove fatal to him. He placed his 
 ear flat against the door, and with all the power of hearing he could bring to bear 
 against the slightest sounds, he listened to what was passing in the court-yard. 
 Through a slight erevice, too, he could see the light which the men carried. A 
 faint genial-like ray of it, too, came through the key-hole of the door, and fell at 
 his feet, but he could not for the life of him think what the party of men could 
 be about, with lights at such an hour, amid the cold and dreary intricacies of that 
 mournful building, in which hope itself bids the world adieu ! 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 THE ESCAPE CONTINUED. 
 
 The only thing which gave to Sixteen-string Jack a ray of iope that the 
 appearance of the party in the court-yard of the prison in no way concerned him* 
 was the careless manner of the men composing it. If they had been roused up 
 by any alarm, or by any suspicions, there would have been silence, secrecy, and 
 caution in their every movement ; but such was very far from being the case, for 
 they talked and laughed together with perfect freedom, and after a few moments, 
 when the hot blood did not bubble so furiously from his heart to his brain. Jack 
 was better able to understand what they said ; he found that though there was 
 something to fear, there was not so much to fear as he had at first supposed. 
 
 *• I really," said one, with a dissatisfied growl, " don't see the utility of this 
 night patrolling. . One regular watchman, always on the look-out, is worth half-a- 
 dozen such inspections as this y , 
 
 *' Perhaps so," said another, "but it*s the govenor's orders, and so it must be 
 done." 
 
 '* Oh, of course." 
 
 Jack breathed a little freely, for now he knew that at all events, however danger- 
 ous the circumstance might be, there was at presenc nothing special about it as 
 concerned him and Claude'Daval, for whom he was attecipting to do so much.
 
 I 
 
 278 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 He beard them go to various doors, and try them roughly one after the other, and 
 the thought struck him that they kaew the door against which he leant was not 
 of great importance ; but they would pass through the passage, to try the other 
 one that led to the cells, or perhaps visit the cells themselves. 
 
 What was he to do ? 
 
 In the passage there was not the shadow of a hiding place. The door at the 
 other end might be fast, and what time had he to open it then ? It was a desperate 
 resource, but he felt that all he could do was to hold the door against which he 
 leant and listened fast, so as to induce a belief that it was locked, and the key 
 gone. He placed himself against it, and held it with all his force. He dreaded to 
 look for any mode of fastening it, lest, while he was so occupied, it should be sud- 
 denly pushed open by some of the party without. 
 
 **Have you tried all those doors ?" said a voice, apparently in.authority. 
 
 " "ies, sir," replied a turnkey. 
 ■ "Well, let us go to the cells, now. Have you got the key of this ?" 
 
 "No, sir. Mr. Stevens always leaves they key in the lock when anybody is in 
 one of the cells. You know, sir, Claude Duval is in No. 4, if you please, sir, so 
 Mr. Stevens is mote than usually careful, knowing what a customer Duval is, 
 and that he has friends ouside." 
 
 *'Ah, to be sure, Mr. Stevens cannot be to careful of Claude Daval. But I 
 suppose nobody will finger the reward now, as he, in a manner of speaking, gave 
 himself up to the oflBcers." 
 
 " I think," said one, " he ought to have the reward himself. Did he not, ac- 
 cording to the words in whichit was offered, deliver up Claude Duval to the officers 
 and see him safely lodged in custody ?" 
 
 " Yes, he did. But 'it would be rather too good a joke to give him the reward 
 for all that. Come, open the door." 
 
 " Hilloa ! Mr. Stevens has taken the key away." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes, the door is as fast as — a — rock. Ah ! I can't move it.' 
 
 " How could you if it's locked ? Oh, it's all right, no doubt. Mr. Stevens knows 
 what he is about, and, at all events, if he has taken away the key, and thinks that's 
 the safest plan, knowing the customer he has got in Ko. 4, that's his look-out 
 not ours. Come on." 
 
 To the immense relief of the listening Jack, the whole party left the court-yard, 
 which in a few moments became again the dark and solitary place it had been 
 before their visit. 
 
 "That danger is over," said Jacl, as he released the door to which one of the 
 officers had given a most vigorous push—" that danger is over, and a fearful one 
 it was. It is not probable now that there will be another inspection jor some 
 hours, if, indeed, at all again, until daylight, so I may proceed in peace." 
 
 Sixteen-string Jack now felt much more confidence in the success of his efforts 
 than he had done before, and he had quite a brightened look of hope as he pro- 
 ceeded along the passage towards the only one door which, save that of the cell, 
 shut him now out from the presence of bis old friend and dear associate, Claude 
 Duval. 
 
 " No. 4," he said ; " I must recoiled; that the cell is No. 4." 
 
 This door which shut him out from Claude Duval v«'as fast. 
 
 It seemed to Sixteen-string Jack as though this last door being fast was a more 
 troublesome and provoking thing than all the other troubles and difficulties he had 
 aiet with in his progress pwt together, and his impatience as he proceeded to use 
 the necessary means of opening it, was so extreme, as for a time, notwithstanding 
 all his skill, completely to defeat him. Of course, though, he could open the door, 
 and in the course of about three minutes it yielded to his efforts. 
 
 Now that he was really within a very few paces of Claude Duval, Jack felt as 
 if he could have fainted. For a moment all the strength and all the energy that 
 had so far supported him and urged him on, fled besfore him, and he leant heavily
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 279 
 
 af]^ainst the wall, while a multitude of objects seemed to swim before his be- 
 wildered eyes. 
 
 This feeling was one which might have been expected under the cir- 
 cumstances ; for if ever an enterprise had been undertaken from motives of pure 
 affection, that of Sixteen-string Jack's, to rescue Claude from Newgate, was 
 that one. In the whole affair, there was not the slightest alloy of selfishness ; aud 
 no wonder, then, that he, Jack, felt, now that he had got so far upon his self- 
 imposed (ask, a wonderful and overpowering gush of feeling, 
 
 *' 1 shall save him," he gasped, " I shall save him !" 
 
 Gradually this feeling of utter helplessness wore off, however, aud one by one 
 the faculties of Sixteen-string Jack came back to him, so that he was soon enabled 
 to shake himself freo of such fancies, and to pursue the enterprise upon which he 
 had staked so much, and in the whole course of which he had never faltered once, 
 for this gush of excitement which he had but just passed through was anything 
 but indicative of a faltering resolution. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " oh, yes, I feel that I shall save him." 
 
 Animated, then, by such a feeling, he at once walked on, counting the doors, 
 until he came to No. 4. Uc might have spared himself the trouble of counting 
 them, for the number was legibly enough painted upon it. The key, for greater 
 security against any attempts oi" Claude from the inside lo pick the lock, was left 
 in its place, and in addition, a very heavy, massive bar, was placed across the door. 
 The authorities did not exactly contemplate the idea of any friend of Claude's find- 
 ing his way, alone, and unknown to them, to that door, and smiled at the futile 
 precautions they had taken to secure their prisoner. But there was Sixteen-string: 
 Jack, the truest friend that man could have, with one hand upon the massive k'^.y, 
 and the other tipon the still more massive door. The hour of deliverance had come. 
 la his eagerness Jack called upon Claude, forgetting that it might be dangerous 
 to awaken an echo in such a place as that, and with such a name, too, as Claude 
 Duval's. 
 
 *' Claude, Claude," he crieJ, " are you there, Claude ? — are you there ?" 
 
 The door was too thick to allow the voice of Sixteen-string Jack to penetrate 
 through its massive structure, and Claude made no reply to the summons. This 
 silence, natural as it was under the circumstances, was sufiaolently alarming to 
 Jack, in his present slate of great mental excitement. -His hand trembled as he 
 lowered the bar, and it; was another moment ere he found strength to turn the 
 massive kev iu the lock of the cell door. Again he raised his voice— 
 
 "Claude, Claude!" 
 
 This time, Claude had become aware that some one was outside his cell door, 
 and he had roused himself from the partial sleep that had crept over him. He hesi- 
 tated whether to say anything or not, and yet he was surprised at a visiti at such a 
 time. The hour was most unusual. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, exclaiming— 
 
 " What voice is that? A dream ?" 
 
 " Claude, Claude 1" . . 
 
 *' Gracious Heaven 1 how real — how very real. It cannot be." 
 
 The d)or of the cell was flung wide open, and Sixteen-string Jack stood upon 
 the threshold, and held up the small lantern which he had from the first provided 
 himself aith. The dubious flame fell upon the pale features of Claude D ival, who 
 stood transfixed, completely astonishdi, and doubting his own sanity, as he fully 
 recognised the- well-known features of Jack. 
 
 " I am mad," he said, 
 
 "No, Claude, no, it is, in truth, your old friend." 
 
 Claude rushed to him, and clasped his arms round him, exclaiming — '_ 
 
 *'Ti is, indeed, no delusion.' Good Heaven ! who would have dreamt of this ? 
 It is too bewildering. In the name of all that is wonderful and miraculous, how 
 came you here. Jack ?" 
 
 " There is no miracle in the matter, Claude. It is I ; and the only means I really 
 had of getiins^ here consisted in a fixed determination that nothing should slop me 
 from c jmiiig to you."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 Claude still looked bewildered, as, indeed, well he might ; but Jack now care- 
 fully closed the cell door, lest the sound of their voices should, amid those tube- 
 like passages which abounded in the prison, be conveyed to the ear of some more 
 than usually attentive and observant officer ; and then he said, with much emotion 
 in his tones — 
 
 •* Let us not, Claude, speak of ray coming here — ^it is of our leaving that we 
 must speak. Your better judgment must come to my aid in this matter, when I 
 have explained to you all the circumstances. Listen to me, Claude." 
 
 " With ali my heart," said Claude. " But " 
 
 ''But what?" 
 
 " There is only one question I would first ask of you." 
 
 *' I can guess it, Claude — I can easily guess, and so will answer it by saying that 
 Cicely is well, knows all, and is hopeful." 
 *'It; is enough," said Claude ; '-'proceed." 
 
 Jack then rapidly detailed to Claude Duval all that he had done, step by step, to 
 get at him, and the precise aspect of affairs, with all the risks and all the chances 
 of failure or success, in leaving the prison. He concluded by sayin*— 
 
 ** Now, Claude, you know ail ; and the question you have to consider is, whether 
 we are to try to leave by the way I came, or by the regular entrance, where the 
 man — who, no doubt, will be frightened at my ghost, as he will fancy me to be— is 
 upon duty ?" 
 
 Claude buried his face in his hands for some few moments, and then, looking 
 up, he said — 
 " The way you came. Jack." 
 ''You think so?" 
 
 " Yes, there is less risk, I think. But, if done at all, it ought to be done very 
 quickly. For your sake. Jack, I would start at once ; but you must lend me a 
 helping hand, first. You perceive they had a good opinion of my powers, as well 
 as my inclination to escape, for they have placed upon my wrists these iron bracelets, 
 which, under any circumstances, I confess 1 should not be sorry to be at once rid 
 tf." 
 
 "That is easily accomplished," said Jack, as he produced one of his small, ex- 
 quisitely tempered files, and soon released Claude from the handcuffs which in that 
 cell he was burthened with, more from a piece of personal spite on the part of the 
 governor, than from any notion that they were wanted for security's sake. 
 
 " You are free from that encumbrance, Claude," said Jack, as the handcuffs fell 
 with a clash upon the stone floor. 
 
 "Yes, thanks to you," said Claude : " and now let's be off." 
 " Agreed." 
 
 They left the cell, but before doing so, Claude Duval charred the end of a small 
 piece of wood, which he cut fiom the door with the aid of Jack's knife, and wrote 
 upon the whitened wall of the cell— 
 
 " ClaudeDuval escaped from Newgate, September 13A, 1778." , 
 
 " Good," said Jack. 
 
 "They may think that a piece of assurance," said Claude ; "but it is astonish- 
 ing how people will take bold assertions for the truth. 1 will be bound to say, 
 now, that there is not a turnkey in Newgate who reads that, but who will have his 
 energies of pursuit quite crippled at the idea that it is so perfectly true, that any 
 search for me will be useless." I 
 
 " It will have some effect," said Jack. ** But now, Claude, takethis." 
 He handed to Claude Duval one of the pistols with double barrels which he had 
 brought with him, carefully loaded ; and Claude at once placed it in his breast, say 
 ing as he did so— 
 
 " I hope i may not have to use it ; but I am struggling for my life, and those 
 who stop me to-night must be made to feel the importance of the stake for which 
 I play. 1 am now ready, Jack." 
 "Come on, then. Shall we make the cell door fast ?" 
 "Yes— oh yes."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE OiN THE ROAD. 281 
 
 The cell No. 4 uas duly hclird, locked, and bared, so that if aay visit of ia- 
 spectioii were made l.o iijt; long, isarrow onrridor froDi vvi)niee it opened, no oue; 
 would suppose Ihafil; had bet u iq any way disturbed, J.ck being faaiiliar Mitri 
 tile route they v^e e to take, led the way, and ceriainly t.vo more determined or 
 poweriui men coul ! hardly have been fouLd ihaa those' whj now stealthily 'made 
 iheir way aiuiii>- tiic pjoomy passas^^f.s of ]SevVQ;at.e. 
 
 I think We shall see ttie aa_> light soon, Jacii," said Claude. 
 
 I'm sure of ir," said Jack. 
 
 i usii ou. 
 
 Ne. 33.
 
 282 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER LXXr. 
 
 ] T'lPE OLD PRISON WELL. 
 
 ;Th"Ey both paused as, "wifli'.ai"iliaint soasid, the c'lbckiof St. Sepulchre's -JMrtrte^ to 
 their ears, prociaiminfr the hour of four. 
 "We have plenty of t.ime,'*^gaid Claude. 
 
 '* Y€S," replied Jack. "'The night has seemed aa amazingly lotig one io me. 
 I thought it was at least ku hour later, but we don't know yet what delays we may 
 meet with on our route. This way, Clatide, this way. In truth, I teei now as 
 familiar with the various intricaoks of Newgate, 'as though I liiad been its 
 architect." 
 
 The small, short passage, M'itli the two doors, 'leading, isit was now'^traverseJ, 
 from the corridor of the cbHh' to the little coratt^tard ' where 't*he inspe-^ug party 
 liad so lately appeared, was- 'sootrtraversed, 'arid-Vche cool fresh- air -of the yard, 
 fresh and delightful to Claude, in comparisontotbeidlose iitmosphere of hisoeU, 
 came in a most welcomegushxipoii- his brow, 
 " I breathe again," he said. 
 
 "Ah, Claude, y'oa shall brcat%e freer-still than this, if we are but ■sue^&sful.'' 
 ^ "' Wihere else, then, upon our route does this yard lead to?" 
 *• There ar^ two other doors leading from it besides that which- we shall leave it 
 by 'and that- by which we have entered. One of these doors leads to" i'be interior 
 of the;gaoi, and tfee other ia-a|)laceiwhich is .marked 'in my pi aai -as a 'deserted 
 weli-yiard,' where-tfeere are someceli^'which tiaY'ff gone'^kr rain and^'-sre -not !a»9d." 
 ~ *' Is yonder door the one ?" 
 
 " Yes; in the explanation appended to my plan there are the wocds '"n&f?er 
 oj)^ned ,' tLS' regards^: that door." 
 
 ""^eTwill have to buiW anew ^N^wgate, Jack, if they want to ke«rp itstcttjt 
 from you, I see," said Claude. 
 
 "They* Mill, in '^©ed. I hav-e Trot' had much time to study it, but my fcno^'lQdge 
 of it shaWs'cyniy iicfW' quickly one -rnay acquire any thiag when one really sets 
 about itf with 'a- wit.'* 
 
 "Tree, iaek, ti?se; sdd tid^y T-pfesume tins ttlrnkey. whom you so much 
 astoBished,- is o*UTipriuci|saldan"^r;'dn ideality, if wepass him we fhall be compara* 
 tively safe?" 
 
 " I think so, and I hope so.'* 
 
 "Well, then, let us push on, with the sincere hope that his^supefstitiO'Us fears 
 have kept, him ehasaed to the spot upon %vliich you left him." 
 
 '•'-Which may Gnnay not be," said Jack. " If lie has recovered he has given an 
 alarm, and th-en-we are lost. Many men in my circumstances, and with such an 
 object4n view as I- bad, would not have scrupled to take his life ; but I could iiot 
 do it:. No, I did think of it, but I could not bring my -mind to do it" 
 
 "Atwhich, let the consequences be what they may, I rejoice. Jack. Let rae 
 tell you, that if you had been the sort of man who, nnder the circumstances, 
 would have deliberately murdered that turnkey, you would not have been the sort 
 of man to have at all thought of undertaking 'your present noble expedition to 
 save a friend. No, Jack, this is, if 1 may be allo«'ed the term, a kind of congre- 
 gation of thoughts and opinions, by which, if you know one important feeling or 
 action of a man, you may almost with a certainty pronounce upon his line of 
 conduct under other conditions." 
 
 " I have often thought the same myself," said Jack. "But we are close by the 
 passage in which 1 left the man, and the m5st absolute caution must be the word 
 with us." 
 
 It was true , indeed. They had both arrived at the end of that most critical 
 passage in which Jack had encountered the turnkey, whose superstition had got so 
 completely the better of his reason at seeing what he certainly very naturally, if
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 283 
 
 he admitted that there were such things as j^hosts at all, took for the apparition 
 of Sixteeu-striug Jack. Jack went first as they traversed this passage, for if the 
 turnkey was still in his place, and at all dubious upon the matter, it might fairly 
 enough be supposed that the second apparition of Sixteen-strin^ Jack would have 
 a great effect upon him, and probably induce a relapse of his fears. By far the 
 greater probability, however, wus, that he had been visited by the little party who 
 were doing the duty of inspecting the prison, and in that case it was not at all to 
 be supposed for a moment that he should have kept what had appeared to him a 
 secret. If he had disclosed it then to the authorities of the gaol, one of two things 
 must have been the consequence, either that the whole matter was believed to be 
 a mere dream of the turnkey's, and no notice to be taken of it beyond laughing at 
 him, or that it was thougbt'there was m.atter in it worth attention, in which case 
 Jack and Claude were likely enough to meet with rather a warm reception in the 
 passage. As they crept on slowly, they soon began to feel assured that things 
 were not, at all events, exactly as they would have ordered them if they had had 
 the power of so doing. Jack turned, and laid his hand upon the arm of Claude 
 Daval, as he said to him in the lowest possible whisper— 
 " Hush ! there are voices." 
 *' Where ?" asked Claude, in the same tone. 
 " In advance." 
 
 '• Well, Jack, I think I am calmer than you are, for great anxiety for my es- 
 cape has rather shattered your nerves, so allow me, for both our sakes,- to go on 
 a little and listen." ■ . : ■ 
 
 "Do so." 
 
 Claude crept on so silently that it was quite impossible that any one- could have 
 heard him, and in this way he succeeded in approaching quite near enough to 
 hear the dialogue that was proceeding, and which was evidently taking place 
 around the turnkey who had been so much terrified by Jack. 
 
 " J3ut 1 tell you I did see him/' persisted the turnkey ; *' I saw him as plainly 
 as I now see any of you." 
 " And you spoke to it P'* 
 
 " 1 did ; and another thing that makes me quite clear about it, too, is its men- 
 tioning, as 1 told you, about the glass of water that I handed to Sixteeu-stringJack 
 before he stepped into the cab to go to Tyburn. You may laugh at it, or make 
 what joke of it you please, but 1 shall believe it to my dying day, for 1 cannot 
 find the slightest room for any doubt about it.*' 
 
 *' And you say this ghost promised to come again ? That's the point, you 
 know, for us to know." 
 *' Yes, it; did." 
 
 "Very well, then i promise myself the pleasure, if it does come, of making its 
 ghostly head acquainted with a pair of slugs from my pistols. I have been in New- 
 gate some time, and never heard of any ghosts till to-night, I'm' sure." 
 
 "Perhaps, Master Watts," said the old turnkey, "you will come- to hear more 
 of this than you exactly like." 
 
 "Very well, it's time to cry out then. In the meantime here I wait.*" 
 "And so do I," said another, " there are three of us altogether, and I think v/e 
 may consider ourselves a match for a ghost, at any rate." ' ~ . 
 
 Claude Duval had heard quite as much as it was necessary for him to iiear j...he 
 felt that the danger of proceeding any further in that direction was immense, and 
 he slowly and cautiously, as he advanced, made his way back to Stxt'essi-striiJg 
 Jack, and related to him word for word the conversation that had taken place. , 
 " What's to be done ?" said Jack. 
 
 '* 1 really don't know," responded Claude. " What do you think of trving the 
 regular gate in the Old Bailey ; the risk of doing so is^ I dare say, quite terriiic, but 
 it seems we have no choice." 
 
 " It does, indeed; it would be only over the dead bodies of three man (hat we 
 could proceed by the wail I came, and that we are not the sort of persons to thinli 
 
 I
 
 284 GENTLEMAN JACK ;. OR, 
 
 of. Well, Claude, come to the gate; if we meet no one as we go, there- is a. 
 chance for us then." 
 
 "A forlorn one, Jack, but a forlorn and faint hope is infinitely better than 
 none at all, so go we will." 
 
 V Jack knew the way perfectly well, and he turned off to the right, and was pro- 
 ceeding without much thought of danger, when a broad flash of Tight came across 
 their eyes, and caused them both to pause. At the same moment, in a strange^ 
 monotonous kind of way, a bell began to toll. 
 
 *' What is the meaning of that ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Lost ! lost !" cried Jack. 
 k ** How do you mean ? Come, come. Jack, do not give way in this manner." 
 
 " You are lost, Claude ; that bell announces to the whole of the officials of the 
 prison that a prisoner has escaped, or is attempting to do so, and has left his cell. 
 There is no longer a hope ; in the course of a few moments the whole place will be, 
 as it were, under arms. Alas, my poor friend 1" 
 
 Claude passed his hand across his brow, and, for a moment or two, felt confused 
 and irresolute, but that feeling, along with the first start that Jack's doleful words 
 had given him, soon passed away, and, starting like a man who had newly 
 awakened from a fearful dream, he said — 
 
 " No — no — no !" 
 j «' What do you mean ?" said Jack, 
 
 " That I won't give up so easily. Do you not hear, Jack, that footsteps are 
 advancing ?" 
 , '• I do, I do." 
 
 *' A party of men is evidently then coming down the passage ; if we do not; 
 choose to fall into their hands let us hasten ourselves. This way, Jack, this way." 
 
 *' The way we came?" 
 
 " Yes. What ether is open to us ?" 
 i_ " Oh, Claude, Claude, you will not again visit that cell ?" 
 
 "Not in this life, Jack, you may depend. When I bade it adiea, I did so witht 
 that motive; I know that I shall bs kept a close prisoner in chains until my exe- 
 cution, if 1 be captured now, after the attempt at escape ; and that is a fate that,, 
 I think, death in any shape is infinitely preferable to. Jack, I do not intend to be 
 taken alive." " . . 
 
 « Nor I, Claude." 
 
 *• Then we will die together, and I think it is highly probable we shall make the 
 oflScials of Newgate remember this night's work as one of the most important in. 
 the chronicles of the Charter House. Bat we will not throw away a chance. 
 Come on, Jack, come on. Good God ! you seem paralysed. Oh, Jack, rouse your- 
 self from that mental stupor, which 1 thought had left you for ever. Rouse your- 
 self, Jack, I pray you," 
 
 *' Ub, Claude— Claude !'* 
 
 " Jack, my old friend, I implore you to rouse yourself. If you do not, you will 
 sacrifice me, for i will perish by you. Let me implore you to shake off this blight 
 vhich at times obscures your mind. Come, Jack, tell me that you are all right 
 again." 
 
 "I— lam!" 
 
 "That will do ; now what we have to do must be done boldly, or it must faiU 
 Do you hear. Jack ? We cannot, must not attempt to leave Newgate just now^ 
 It would be to court destruction if we were to attempt to do so." 
 
 " What shall we do, Claude ? my mind leans upon yours. Only tell me what 
 I am to do?" 
 
 The light that had so disagreeably surprised them now flashed more brightly, 
 and the sound of advancing footsteps' was much more plain than it had been before. 
 Sixteen-string Jack still stood irresolute, and no doubt would have fallen a victim 
 to the officers of the prison, had not Claude been with him at that most critical and 
 I important moment. Without saying another word, Claude held Jack tightly -) 
 by the arm, and led him along swiftly and unresistingly bj that way which they had
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 285 
 
 come. To have proceeded in any other direction would have been madness. 
 Claude Duval, as he had foUo^ved Jack through the various passages leading from 
 his cell to that spot upon which they had paused with a consciousness of so^much 
 danger, had been far from unmindful of the route which he had taken, and now 
 he pursued it with unerring exactitude. There was no close pursuit, for the. officers 
 knew not where any intruder or partially escaped prisoner was to be found. They 
 only knew that there was an alarm of something of the kind, or else the bell would 
 not have been sounded, and that it was now their duly to leave no spot of the jail 
 unvisited, so that Claude (when with Jack he reached the court-yard, from whence, 
 in their progress, Jack had told him of several outlets) had fully time to thmk and 
 to speak to his now somewhat renerved companion. ^i^([fl|| 
 
 " Jack," he said, *' I am certain that any attempt to leave Newgate now would 
 be madness, but from the inscription upon the wall of my cell they wilt think me 
 gone ; and as for your coming, they know nothing of it at all, if we except the 
 turnkey's story of a ghost. Our plan, then, is to find some hiding place, if we can 
 until the present ar^itation and pursuit is over. Can you hit upon such a place ? 
 If we can hide until nightfall again, we shall have every chance of escaping by 
 some means. Do you understand rae, Jack ?'\ ^ 
 
 i# 
 
 ^: ^. CHAPTER LXXII. 
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 SiXTEEN-STRiNG Jack was slowly recovering from the shock that his mind h^d 
 received, consequent upon the apparent failure of the means he had adoped to 
 iqsure the escape of Claude from that gloomy home which held him in its stern 
 embrace, and he could now, with something of a feeling of energy, listen and 
 reply to Claude in that hour of their mutual danger. .« 
 
 " You are right, Claude," he said, " we have no resource but to hide, and there 
 is no likelier place than that court-yard with the well in it, that in my plan is 
 njimed as being never visited." -»*• 
 
 "Come on, then— come on; now. Jack, you are yourself again," said Claude, 
 as he nimbly clasped Jack's arm. They now rapidly proceeded to that part of the 
 prison which presented such a chance of concealment for them; 
 
 The great utility of the plan of Newgate, which Sixteen-string Jack had with 
 so much difficulty obtained, was never more apparent than now, when probably, 
 upon the promptness with which they could reach the place they had been speak- 
 ing of, depended their safety from immediate arrest. Anything in the shape of 
 incertitude, which would have led to wandering about the gloomy passages of the 
 prison, would have been attended by more than danger, for capture would have 
 amounted to a certainty. A very few minutes, however, with Jack's excellent 
 local knowledge of the place, brought them to where they wished to be, and the 
 door which led to the deserted place, and which, by its appearance, had evidently 
 not been opened for a long time, was before them. The sounds of alarm from the 
 other parts of the prison still came plainly upon their ears, although they felt that 
 they had very considerably distanced the party of officers who, but a few moments 
 before, had been so immediately in their vicinity, 
 
 ** The great object in opening the door," said Jack, as he produced his skeleton 
 keys, " will be to leave no marks of its having been meddled with." -**■*« 
 
 " Certainly," said Claude ; ** but that, 1 fear, Jack, you will not be able to do ; 
 at all events, delay to us is death, so open it, I pray you, come what may, and that 
 *quickly, too. Are you calm and cool enough to do so, Jack ?' 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 Jack soon proved nothing but the truth, for with great care he forced back the 
 lock of the door, and then it yielded upon its rusty hinges with a dull creaking
 
 286 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 sound, displacing no end of spiders' webs, for the long legged spinners kad taken 
 possession of that door, as tliougli it had become their andoubted property, and no 
 doubt were proportionally' indignant at the manner in which they were"^ now so 
 rudely ejected. They both now paused for a few moments before passing that 
 doorway, in order that they might come to some correct conclusion as to the 
 whereabouts of their enecLies. The sound of pursuit seemed to be dying away, 
 rather than approaching, and it would appear as though, without the least suspi- 
 cion of where the party was of whom they were in quest, the officers were rang- 
 ing about the prison, seekiug for some evidences of the mode of flight that had 
 been adopted by Claude Duval. Indeed, it was then the fixed opinion of the 
 officiaJs that, by some means, he was out of Newgate. It was the hand-writing 
 upon the wall which had produced almost as much sensation, upon them as upon 
 the monarch of old in his banquet halls. 
 
 'Close the door. Jack/' said Claude. "Close the door. What a strange 
 earthy smell there is in this place. Do you not remark it ?'* 
 
 *•' Yes. When the old Newgate that was burned down was built, this spot was 
 a burying-ground within the walls.. The architect of the new structnre rejected it, 
 and left it as it was. No doubt that strange smell partly proceeds from the 
 former use to^ which the place was put, as well as from its coafiued and long 
 disused situation." 
 
 Jack found rather more difficulty in locking the door again than he had found 
 in opening it ; but he did, however, succeed in doing so, after a few moments' 
 striving, and then they both tried to pierce the dairkness that was around them, in 
 order to discover the precise localities of that spot, which might or might not be a 
 place of safety for them. 
 
 " How very dark," said Claude. 
 
 «' it is, indeed." 
 
 " I suppose, Jack, it would be imprudent to show alight here ?" 
 
 " It would, Claude, for although there is no one here to see it, yet some reflected 
 ray from our lantern, were we to light it, might find its way into some portion of 
 the prison, and betray us. No, Claude, we must trust to our other senses here, 
 if we cannot, amid the darkness, make that of seeing sufficiently available." 
 
 " Agreed, Jack j I think I can discern objects a little now.** 
 
 "Audi." 
 
 "A cloud or two, no doubt, has passed 'over the night sky, leanng^ it clearer 
 thau before, or else we are like the cats, getting so accustomed to the darkness 
 that we can see in it almost as well as with a light." 
 
 *• What do you see ?" 
 
 " Some dark object about a dozen paces to the left, Jack." 
 
 *' Ob, it is the old deserted well. It is described in my plan as an old fashioned 
 cord and bucket well with a windlass, such as are fast disappearing even in the 
 country places of England. It must be that which you see, Claude." 
 
 " I have no doubt about it. What is thatP" 
 
 Suddenly one of the walls of the place in which they were had upon it a long 
 streak of glittering light, which, after flickering for some few moments to and fro, 
 disappeared, making, by the contrast that it had established, the darkness look 
 much more profound than it had before been, as well as filling the minds of Jack 
 and Claude with amazement to know whence it could have come. For the space 
 of about a minute they both remained silent, and then Claude drawing close to 
 Jnck, said, in a cautious whisper— 
 
 " Danger I" . 
 
 *' Do you think so ? Where did the light come from, Claude ? Can you lorm 
 any guess concerning it ?" 
 
 *• No, Jack, but I have a certainty. It came in from a wide crack at the top of 
 yon door, through which we have just passed, and I have no sort of doubt but. 
 that our enemies are upon the other side of it." 
 
 "Ho! ho!"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 287 
 
 " Hush ! Creep forward with me, for vre ought both to be convinced. Creep [, 
 forward with me, and let us listen.'* 
 
 Jack did this, and in another moment he and Claude had laid their ears close 
 to the door, when they plainly heard upon the other side the murmur of whispered 
 conversation. What was said, however, was uttered wiih so much caution, that 
 not one word of it could be distinctly heard ; so that our adventurers could gather 
 nothing that would suffice to let them know what amount of information their 
 enemies had, or if it were, after all, only suspicion upon which they were pro- 
 ceeding. But in either case the danger was of the most imminent description, 
 * and required from them the most prompt action to meet it, and counteract it, 
 if indeed that, under ihe circumstances, were at all possible. At all events, they 
 were not induced to succumb to adversity. 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 « Yes, Claude." 
 
 " What are tbey doing there ? No good. Let us go down the well." 
 
 "Down the what?" 
 
 *' Down the well, Jack. Now, listen to me : those fellows upon the other side 
 are fumbling with the lock of the door in a manner 1 hat quite convinces nie they 
 have not got the right key. That circumstance will delay them for some time, but 
 not for very long. During that time, you and I must do something, Jack, and I 
 think you do not intend to be taken ?" 
 
 " Ko, Claude, not while there is one breath, or above one, left in my body." 
 
 ** Very well ; then the well is our only resource, Jack, It may be that there is 
 water enough to drown us or not. At all events, we can but try ; possibly it 
 may never strike the officers thnt we should seek such a place of shelter, and then 
 ' we may save ourselves ; but if they do think af it, I am of opinion it will require 
 more cool courage than any of them possess to come down to look for us. What 
 say you. Jack — do you agree with me or not ?" 
 
 " I do agree with you, Claude. I will descend with you at once. Come on ; 
 we are in desperate circumstances, and desperate chances in the shape of remedies 
 must be the order of the day. Come on. But yet one moment. I think I can, 
 without the observation of those on the other side of the door, increase the difficulty 
 of undoing it. You have a ring upon your finger, Claude ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I did not think of that. Fall to, Jack." 
 
 Sixteen-striag Jack took the ring which Claude handed to him, and violently 
 inserted it into' the keyhole cf the door, where it would be an insurmountable 
 obstacle to any key or picklock acting upon the wards of the lock. Nothing now 
 but downright force could suffice to open that door. It was almost questionable 
 whether the object of merely looking into that court-yard, with the very forlorn 
 hope of discovering there Claude Duval, would be sufficient to induce the officers 
 to take so much trouble, 
 i Suddenly, however, the state of doubt was put an end to ; for a voice cried out 
 without any caution at all, " Break the lock off. We cannot stay here all night." 
 
 It was the voice of the governor himself, who, vthile he felt that he should be 
 obliged to tell the fheriffs that he had searched everywhere in the prison, yet did 
 not by any means relish the job of doing so, at such an hour especially. 
 
 New that the governor had set the example of abandoning all caution, the 
 officers followed it, and one said, ** There is something in the lock, sir ; nobody 
 can open it.'* 
 
 " But it must be opened. Fetch a mallet and chisel, one of you. We must 
 look everywhere, or I shall not be able to make my report, although I think he is 
 fairly gone." 
 
 " Courage !'* whispererd Claude to Jack ; "our danger is not, after all, so great 
 as I apprehended. Truly that announcement on the wall of my cell has been 
 more insplicitly believed than I should have supposed possible in such an atmosphere 
 as this.'* 
 
 The court-yard in which they were was three-cornered. There was not 
 throughout it the veriest shadow of a place of concealment besides the w-eli, so
 
 288 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 that if the door should really be forced open, of which there now seemed to be 
 no doubt at all, the discovery of the fugitives became a positive certainty unless 
 they were in the well, or the officers shut their eyes. Now the first of these con- 
 ditions was probable enough, but the second by no means bore sucli an air, and, 
 accordingly, Jack and Clauie with stealthy steps made their>ay towards the well. 
 They found, both by the feel and by observation in the faiiit night light, that the 
 bucket was down in the well, and the cord all unwound from the windlass, con- 
 ditions which they considered to be favourable, inasmuch as they could easily 
 slide down by the cord to the depths below. It was certainly rather a nervous, 
 uncomfortable thing to do, in the dark, too, and with such utter ignorance regard- 
 ing the depth and constrcution of the place to which, upon a dependent cord, they 
 were to make their way ; but, as Claude said, truly the preponderance of evils was 
 the other way, so he clucthed the rope firmly, saying to Jack— 
 
 " I will descend first, and if there should be no possibility of reaching the 
 bottom in consequence of the depth of water or otherwise, we must both keep to 
 the rope until the officers have made the inspection of the court-yard." 
 
 ** Very well, Claude ; but let me go first." 
 
 *' No, Jack, no. 'Tis for my sake you have come into such danger, when you 
 might have remaiued in safety, and 1 shall take the first of such chances as these, 
 at all events, upon myself. Say no more. Jack ; I am resolved upon it, and here 
 goes. Perhaps, after all, it is right enough, for the old well may be dry." 
 
 " Be careful, Claude, be careful— I implore you be careful." 
 
 " All's right," said Claude, as he flung himself from the edgs of the wall by the 
 cord, " all's right. Jack— good bye !" 
 
 The cord snapped in a moment, and down went Claude from before the eyes of 
 the agonised Jack to the bottom of the well. It would be quite imposbible for 
 any language to do justice to the state of Jack's feelings at this moment. He saw 
 Claude cast his feet off the edge of the wall with something of a shudder, as though 
 a presentiment of what was about to occur had come at that moment over him. 
 He had heard the old rotten rope make a crack, and then part its threads with a 
 sudden snap ; and he had seen Claude, the desr companion of his life, disappear to 
 what surely could be nothing but certain death. Oh, who could paint the desola- 
 tion of Jack's soul at that dreadful rnorftent? Gicat griefs come wiih a stunning 
 effect upon the mind, and so, for a. few moments. Jack stood upon the spot he 
 occupied as still as though he had be^.n turned to stone. .Then, with a deep grodn, 
 and giving up all hope or desire for safety for himself, he fell in a strange hudJIed- 
 up position, with his head resting upon his hands, sit the side of the well. 
 
 " Lost, lost, lost !" was ail he could say. 
 
 Alas, poor Jack ! and is this, indeed, the reward of all your romantic devotion 
 to your friend— is this to be the melancholy end of all your cogitations— all vour 
 plans and projects, and vast exertions ! Is Claude, whomyou love, to vanish trora 
 you to death in such a way ; and are you never again to look upon that (see, or 
 hear that voice call you friend? Alas, again we say, poor Jack! If all this be 
 so, then, indeed, will the bitterness of death be past. Better for you had you re- 
 mained unrestored to that troublous existence, which had passed away from you, 
 before that man of much skill, and no honesty, had resusciated you to make you 
 the victim you were for a lime made. 
 ^. « I will perish, too," cried Jack, rising, " I will spring down the well." 
 
 " Stop, Jack," said the well-known voice of Claude, in an anxious whisper ; 
 " mind what you are about ; it is only about five feet deep, and quite dry, and a 
 lot of straw at the bottom of it." 
 
 Jack's brain absolutely reeled at this most unexpected turn of fortune, and he 
 had to hold by the framework of the old windlass to save himself from falling, while 
 for the space of about half a minute he made sure that he should faint. All the 
 blood seemed to have crowded round his heart.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE JIOAD. 289 
 
 CLAUDE AND JACK. 
 
 LXXIIL 
 
 THE SHERIFF. 
 
 Claude, vvhen lie felt the rope of the old windlass crackiusj under his weight, 
 certainly had made one desperate etTorr to reach again with his feet the br-ink ot 
 the well, but he failed in so doin-, an^ at the moment that the last thread ol 
 the rope parted, he gave himself up for lost, and experienced all the mental agony 
 inseparable from such a condition. The re.'^soii that, upon finding how muci ne 
 was deceived as to the depth of the wcil. he had not upon the instant told Jack ot
 
 290 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 tis safety, was simply that he was uuable lo do so. His nervous system had 
 
 received a shock of no common severity, and the imagination for a few minutes 
 
 j BO far ^ot the bettor of reason and facts, that he lay upon the stra v and hay, and 
 
 I rubbish, which was at the bottom of the shallow well, quite as incapable of move- 
 
 I ment as though he had fallen fifty feet instead of only five. It takes some time 
 
 i before a man can positively assure himself of safety affer he has previously assured' 
 
 himself of something very much indeed the reverse. During the period, then, that 
 
 it took Claude Duval to recover, poor Jack suffered all the mental agony to which 
 
 we have alluded, without having the power to depict it in absolute words, and now 
 
 that he, Claude, had spoken to him. Jack, it was his turn to be astonished at get- 
 
 ; ting no answer, for Claude did not, kt the moment, exactly think or contemplate 
 
 that joy ties the tongue sometimes as effectually as any other sudden shock. At 
 
 kngth he got alarmed. 
 
 " Jack," he said, " what is the matter with you ? Why don't you speak ?'* 
 " Yes, Claude, yes," was all Jack could say. 
 
 *'0h, I understand," said Clauds. " You bad given me up, Jack ?" 
 "I had, indeed." 
 
 ** Oh, you should not hove done that, Jack, I begin myself to think I have as 
 
 many lives as a cat. 1 could not have fallen upon any feather-bed that would have- 
 
 been more soft, and really more comfortable to the bones, than the Tr'as> of straw 
 
 and hay and other matters in this place. It is a puzzle to me, completely." 
 
 ; - *' So it is to me," said Jack. " But I care for nolhinff, now that I know you 
 
 ' are alive, Claude. Oh, I shall never be able to tell jou v^hat I felt when I saw 
 
 you go." 
 
 "And I, Jack, shall never be able to tell you what I felt when I felt myself 
 going.". 
 
 I '* No doubt, Claude, it must have been most horrible." 
 
 L '* Such a sensation once in a life is quite enough, or rather tliis, it is once too 
 ' «tany." 
 
 I f ** It is, Claude. But hark !'' 
 
 [ r As he spoke, they both heard distinctly the sound of hammering at the door 
 I leading to where they were, which was sufficiently suggestive of the fact of the 
 I -arrival of the mallet and chisel, which the governor hal sent for a short time 
 j Ib^fore. It was pretty evident that the door would soon yield to the persuasive 
 ! jrofluence of the blows that were given to it by a vigorous hand. 
 I "Now we are lost," said Jack. 
 ! « Not at all," said Claude,—" not at all." 
 "But what shall we do?" 
 
 " I will tell you. Come down here, by-me. Jack. There is soft rubbish enougb 
 :at the bottom of this place to cover us up most completely ; and that is the only 
 chance we have. The officers may be content with a very cursory observation of 
 this place, in which event we are perfectly safe by covering ourselves up in the 
 straw. Always recollect, Jack, that there is one thing in our favour, and that is, 
 that they don't expect to find anything here at all, you know." 
 
 *' I admit that, Claude," whispered Jack ; "and I likewise see that what you. 
 advise is the only thing that can be done, so the sooner we do it the better. Mind 
 yourself, Claude— here I am." 
 "All's right,—] ump." 
 
 Down jumped Jack, and found indeed, as Claude had said, that the bottom of 
 the well was same feet thick of hay and straw, although how it got there was 
 quite a mystery to him, as well as to Claude. However, they were not disposed 
 to waste precious time in conjectures respecting a matter which, let it have 
 occurred how it might, was quite a subject for congratulation to them both. 
 
 " We must not be very particular," said Claude, " whether we are smothered 
 or not, so long as we elude the officers ; so come, Jack, let us burrow down in this ( 
 straw and hay, as far as it will by aay means allow us so to do. Hark ! hark !",^ 
 
 " I hear," said Jack ; " they have broken down the door at last, aud willbe in
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 291 
 
 the court -yard now before we can count four. Now, Claude, I think we shall do. 
 How do you feel ? — comfortable, I hope?" 
 
 '* All the better for finding you in good spirits, Jack. I think we are as com- 
 pletely hidden as the babes in the wood, when the birds — so says the myth — 
 covered them with alder leaves to get rid of them." 
 
 " Hush ! — hush ! They come, now— they come now ! Do not speak or 
 move again, for our lives' sakes.*' 
 
 They were now perfectly still. The hay and straT was about two feet above 
 them, and, save that the surface had lather a tossed and tumbled appearance, no 
 ■one would for a moment have suspected that any one was there. It was quite a pity 
 that they had no means of righting the disordered surface of the rubbish that "was 
 above them. But it was not to be thought of, and in a few moments they were 
 completely engaged by listening to the conversation of the officers and the gover- 
 nor, who all entered the yard in rather a tumultuous manner, several of them 
 speaking together. 
 
 h. ," Silence! — silence !" said the governor, "we shall do no good with all this 
 noise. Hold up the lanterns." 
 
 Several lanterns were held up at arm's length, and they sufficed to shed 
 sufficient light over the place to make every portion of it clearlj visible, but yet 
 sufficiently visible to prove that no one was there crouching in any corner for 
 concealment. A pause ensued while the lanterns were thus held up. 
 
 " Oh, of course, there's no one here," sai(i the governor ; " how should there 
 be?" 
 
 " Yes," said an officer, "it was all very well to come here, because we were 
 goicg over the prison ; but if I might presume to have an opinion, I should say 
 that it's likely enough Claude Duval is on the western road by this time, and has 
 cried '"'Stand and deliver!" to some one with a sufficiently heavy purse to make 
 it worth his while." 
 
 " I don't know that," said a third, ** how did he leave the prison, if he have 
 left it ? Show me his mode of leaving, and I'll be among the first to say good-bye 
 to him, but I am not going exactly to take Duval's own word that he has left old 
 Newgate so cleverly. Out of his cell he may and has got, but there's a fire as 
 well as a frying -pan." 
 
 " Oh, very well, Mr. Long," said th6 goverHor ; ** we all know your tact ia 
 these things, that is your opinion is it ? Very well, Mr. Long, as you think that 
 Claude Duval is not out of Newgate——" 
 
 " Wuich is justwhat I do thick," said Long, rather unceremoniously inter- 
 rupting the Governor. 
 
 . " Well, then, we will look in impossible places for him." 
 " The well, for instance, there," said Long, 
 
 Both Jack and Claude at these words gave themselves mentally up for lost. It 
 seem.ed to them quite impossjble now that anything could prevent a thorough 
 investigation of the well, they dared not speak to each other, even ia the , 
 faintest whisper, for fear of being overheard, but, with each a double barrelled ' 
 pistol in their hands, they prepared themselves for the worst, with a fixed and 
 thorough determination that they would neither of them be taken alive by the ■ 
 officers, who would so glory in their defeats The light flashed from wall to wall ' 
 of the old deserted court-yard, and when the officers surrounded the old well, they 
 looked lik^' a parcel of wild religionsts coming to celebrate some abstruse cere- 
 mony at that still hour, when no eye save their own and thosa of the Eternal 
 could look upon their actions. 
 
 "1 never was here before," said the governor, "although I have lesided in 
 Newgate now for five years. Is it really a well ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Long, the officer. " I have heard speak of it. There was some 
 underground communication between it and some vaults, ic is said, that ultimately 
 led out into a cellar in Newgate-market, and that was the reason bricks And dry 
 rubbish were shot into it., until it was nearly filled up, they say. You see theru'? 
 a lot of straw there now."
 
 292 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " And how' came straw and hay there, I wonder?'* said the governor, "It 
 don't seem a likely place for such matters." 
 
 •* Why, 1 have heard," said Long — who, to Claude Duval's apprehension, seemed 
 to know a great deal too much — '* I have been told, that many years ago. 
 when the sheriffs visited Newgate, their horses were always turned into this 
 yard, and that in one corner of it there was constantly kept a quantity of 
 fodder, which may account for the hay and straw that from time to time have col- 
 lected in the old well." 
 
 ** Oh, very likely. Very likely," said the governor. 
 
 There was a pause of some few minutes* duration how, after which one of the 
 officers said— 
 
 « Well, I don't see anything." 
 
 ** Are you speaking to the well ?" said Ijong, 
 
 A general laugh resulted, which somehow did not please the gover nor, who said 
 rather tartly—* 
 
 " Mr. Long, you seem to know or to suspect more than any one else does in 
 this affair. Pray take your own course, and you will oblige me. If you make 
 any discovery, of course it will render it very much to your advantage with the 
 sheriffs, but you know all that, I dare say. You may get into the well if you 
 like." 
 
 , " No, thank you, sir." 
 t;\[ "Then whatldoyouwanttodo?" 
 
 " Ahem ! only to try an experiment. I have got here my pistols, loaded with 
 a pair of bullets each, and I only intend to fire them into the old well, that is alL 
 It is a fancy of mine, in which I hope I may be indulged." 
 
 *' Oh, certainly." 
 
 It was evident that Mr. Long had his suspicions, but nothing more, that Claude 
 Duval might be hidden in the well, and he thought that if he had been there, and 
 any one had proposed firing a pair of pistols into it, loaded with a couple of balls 
 each, he would certainly have jumped out and given himself up. He was rather 
 disappointed there, as all remained perfectly quiet as before he had made his- 
 speech. 
 
 " Yery well," he said, in a loud voice, "I shall now proceed to fire into the 
 well, just for the fun of the thing.'* 
 
 All remained pe rfectly still, and the governor gave a stout laugh, as much as to 
 gay—** Well, this, in my opinion, is rather absurd. I doL't know what you 
 expect,** 
 
 Long was getting very much nettled at the grin that his brother officers had 
 upon their faces at the great defeat of his cleverness. It was rather in anger than. 
 •with any other feeling that he drew one his pistols from his pocket, and pre- 
 sented it down the old well. 
 
 "You are more fond of throwing away powder aad ball than I should be,*^ said 
 the governor. 
 
 " I don't believe now," said Long, "that it was of any use, but it was worth 
 the trial. However, as I said I would have a shot into the old well, I will do- 
 80, and here goes, come of it what may," 
 
 Bang ! went the pistol. The officers hardly felt interested in the result of the 
 shot, so convinced were they that Long's cunning for once had conapletely failed 
 him ; and when the smoke cleared away, and everything was as quiet as before, 
 they were not at all surprised, nor in truth was he, for he considered that the 
 threat ought to have been amply sufficient to disclose to light any one who had 
 sought refuge down the old well. Mr. Long reasoned like many of his betters 
 namely, upon what he himself would do under certain circumstances, and then 
 concluded that that was just what everybody else would do. A very popular 
 mistake that of yours, Mr. Long. 
 
 «* Perhaps you are satisfied now, Mr. Long," said the governor, " that there is 
 no one in the old well. Are you?" 
 
 " \es, I am, sir," said Long; " but rftill I thought it was quite necessary to try
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 293 
 
 the experiment. I once got a prisoner out of a coffin by the same means ; at the 
 last moment, just as I was about to fire, up he jumped and gave up." 
 
 "But if the prisoner had not been in the coffin he could not have jumped up," 
 said one of the officers, gravely, ; " and in the present case nothing will convince 
 me that Claude Duval is not at liberty. I feel as sure of thar, as that we shall 
 have him again some day. Everybody has his time, thougb, and his, I think, has 
 not yet come, that's ail. 
 
 "Well, come along, then," said the govenor ; "I am tired of the night air if 
 you are not.** 
 
 It was evident to all that the governor was not only not sorry at the supposed 
 escape of Claude Duval, but that he viewed with anything but eyes of favour any 
 exertions that were made to capture him again. Why he did so was, after the 
 scene that had taken place in court, at Markham Brereton's trial, sufficiently 
 apparent. A few moments more and the court-yard, with its old well, was in 
 total darkness and silence. It seemed, for a few minutes, as though it would be 
 years again before a human voice would awaken the echoes of that old, deserted, 
 and most melancholy place. But for all that, there were living, beating hearts 
 close at hand, who would soon banish desolation and silence from that spot j— it 
 was not quite sacred to the worms and beetles of Newgate. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIII. 
 
 BARNES COMMON. 
 
 All was still as death itself for the space of about a quarter of an hour, and 
 then a faint voice spoke. It was the voice of Sixteen string Jack, but weak and 
 trembling. Under any other circumstances Claude could scarcely have said that 
 it was his old friend's tones that smote his ears. 
 
 % ** Claude, Claude, speak to me, if it be but one word, to tell me you are not 
 hurt." 
 
 ** No, Jack, no. Are you ?'* , 
 
 "Thank— God— .1 " 
 
 " Speak again — speak again. What would you say, Jack ? You do not know 
 how much you alarm me by breaking off in such a way. For Heaven's sake, 
 Jack, let me hear your voice again I" 
 
 All was still. No voice responded to this earnest appeal of Claude's, and, 
 quite unable longer to control his impatience to know what was the matter wit;h 
 Jack, he threw off the heap of rubbish that had so well concealed him in the 
 well, and again cried, as he struggled to his feet— 
 
 ** If you can speak to me. Jack, and it is only one word, it will be the most 
 acceptable favour you could ever do me in all your life." 
 
 There was no answer. In perfect desperation Claude felt about him until his 
 hand rested upon a face. It must be Jack's ; but it was cold, and the damp of 
 death appeared, to Claude's imagination, to be upoQ it. 
 
 "My poor friend," he cried, " my best, bravest, and most devoted Jack, they 
 have killed thee, have they ? Oh, how much rather would I that the bullel; had 
 found its way to my heart than to yours I I am more desolate without thee, Jack, 
 than as if all the world had slipped from me. I scarcely know if my own Cicely 
 would have been a greater loss to me than you are, my old and true-hearted 
 comrade." 
 
 Claude had become regardless of his own safety now, and he sat upon the edge 
 of the old well, and covering up his face with both his hands, he wept like a child. 
 There came no sound upon his ears but the mournful echo of his own deep sobs. 
 He felt how truly alone he was. But this gush of warm natural feeling was not
 
 294 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 likely to last long with such a man as Claude Duval. After the first effort o^ 
 grief for his old friend, indignalion against those who had taken his life became 
 the uppermost feeling in bis rpind. 
 
 "Wait awhile, Mr. Long," he said ; "wait awhile. You and I will meet 
 again in this world yet, when I shall be able to pay you for your wonderful 
 cleverness in firing into the well, and the payment shall be of a character that I 
 doubt not you will consider to be much more than ample." 
 
 Tiiese thoughts of avenging Jack's death recovered Claude from the deep 
 dejection into which he had fallen, and he soon set about taking active steps for 
 placing himself in a very different position to what he then was. First of all, 
 though, he determined upon taking a last look at the face of Jack, and for this 
 purpose he took from his pocket some phosphorus matches and prepared alight, 
 by the aid of which he stooped down into the well and removed the straw and 
 other rubbish from off Jack. His first sight of his old friend horrified him, for 
 blood was upon his face. 
 
 " Oh I Jack, Jack !" he said, " hear me, thou gQod spirit, and I will swear * 
 
 " Claude," said Jack, «' is it really you ?" 
 
 Had a thunderbolt suddenly fallen at Claude's feet, he could not have been 
 more thoroughly astounded than at this most unexpected incident. So firm had 
 been his persuasion, he knew not why, that Jack was dead, that he had never 
 thought of the possibility of his only being in a state of syncope or swoon ; but 
 now that truth, for a truth it was, flashed-acfoss his mind in a moment. * 
 " He lives ! he lives !"said Claude. "Oh, yes ! he lives ! Speak again, Jack !" 
 " Where are we ?" 
 
 "In the deserted well in this old court- yard of Newgate. But tell me, where 
 are you hurt. Jack, and how do you feel ?" 
 "Paint! faint!' 
 
 " And I cannot aid you— not even a drop of water." 
 
 " I here's a small flask of brandy in my left-hand pocket, Claude. Tha rascal 
 hit me somewhere in the shoulder, and pain, or loss of blood, made me faint, away, 
 I think. Oh, I remember it all now," 
 "Do you?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Oh ! Claude, we have much to do — I shall now only encumber 
 you, and so, Claude—so you must now make up your mind to leave me." 
 *' If I do, may I be d-d." - . 
 
 "Hush! hush! — not so loud. The brandy has revived me, Claude. If you 
 could manage to tie a handkerchief or two round my wound, I really think I might 
 move. But be careful of the matches, Claude. Here is the lantern; it will be 
 better, 1 think." 
 
 Claude lit another phosphorus match, and by its light he saw the small 
 lantern, which he soon ignited ; so that he was able to throw a good ray of 
 illumination upon Jack, as he now sat half up in the well, with his hand upon his 
 wounded shoulder. 
 
 " Courage, courage !" said Claude. " You will do well yet, Jack, Don't yon 
 think, now, thht the worst danger is really over ?" 
 " I hope so, Claude." 
 
 " Then — then, 1 think, by making this one handkerchief up into a kind of ball 
 and binding it tightly down over your wound with the other, that I shall stop the 
 bleeding for you. How do you feel. Jack ?" 
 " Much better — much better. But, Claude, you must make me one promise." 
 " A hundred, if you like. What is it ?" 
 
 " If 1 faint again at any moment which is criticstl as regards your escape, you 
 must promise that you will not let me be an iropedimentj CUude." 
 "Oh, Jack— Jack!" 
 " What is the matter, Claude ?" 
 
 " Nothiug,^ only I find that we are not quife so well acquainted with each other as 
 we ought, to be — that's all, Jack ; but say no more. There, yoa can stand very 
 well, and you have, I see, the use of both your arms, notwithstanding the woua?
 
 LIFE OxNT THE ROAD. 29-5 
 
 in your shoulder ; all's right. Do you think you can really climb a rope yet ? 
 Oh, yes — you smile. Come, that's a good si.^n, at all events, Jack. Now lean 
 upon me, old friend, and out we go from Newgate. Why, this affair will be 
 spoken of yet, and the way Claude Duval and his friend Jack escaped fro;n 
 Newgate will form many a comment. Come, come, all's right. Whj, you are 
 as well as ever, now !" 
 
 " Nearly, Claude ; but we have much to do yet, you know." 
 
 *• Of course, we are not dead, and in this world, Jack, there is always something 
 to. do." 
 
 After Jack had walked a little, and taken another dip at the brandy, he^ felt so 
 much better, that he got quite in good spirits, and said — 
 
 '• Now, Claude, we must pass the turnkey, who was frightened at my appear- 
 ance before. Most likely he is alone again now, as the alarm has subsided, and 
 I am quite convinced that that will be a safer course than making any attempt by 
 the front entrance, although a man is on the look-out whose senses are a little 
 shattered," 
 
 " I think so too. Jack. Let us proceed at once ; this state of suspense is worse 
 than anything. I will follow you, but not so closely as to be seen." 
 
 They easily made their way now through the various doors which before 
 they had passed, and when they were tolerably near the narrow stone vaulted 
 passage, in which the turnkey sat, Jack thought of a plan of increasing the super- 
 natural character of his appearance, which Claude, when he saw the effect, admitted 
 did so considerably, and yet it was very simple. It merely consisted in placing 
 the small lantern they had at the back of Jack's neck, so that while it, as the 
 source of the light, was comepletely hidden, the effect produced was as though he 
 were walking in a mysterious kind of halo of light emanating from himself in faint 
 rays all round him. Jjrck adopted, too, a solemn gliding movement, and thus 
 slowly advanced. Now, the terrified turnkey had not left his post, but he had got 
 another man to stay with him, and they were both sitting close together, whisper- 
 ing and talking quite mysteriously about all the well-authenticated ghost-stories 
 they had ever heard in all their lives from time to time — a theme certainly not 
 over well adapted to calm their fears. They had just got into the thick of such 
 an ill-timed conversation, when the turnkey glanced in the direction of the passage 
 over his comrade's head, and his eyes dilated to an enormous extento 
 
 " What's the matter ?" said the man. 
 
 "Oh! oh! oh!" 
 
 The man jumped up and looked behind him, for his back had been turned 
 towards the passage, and there, sure enough, to his horror, he saw a figure gliding 
 towards him, lighted by no seemingly eartlily light. Indeed, to his terrified 
 apprehension, the figure seemed to move in a strange and awful kind of luminous 
 cloud. Terror for a few brief moments seemed to choke his utterance, as well as 
 to freeze up all capacity to fly. He stood like one transfixed by some magic 
 spell, and slowly on came Jack. It was by a frightful effort that the man at 
 length uttered a shriek, and broke the fascination of the spell that bound him. He 
 then made a rush, in which he upset his comrade, nor stopped until he had 
 darted down a cross passage, and disappeared. As for the turnkey himself, he 
 lay upon the floor without sense or motion. All was accomplished that fear 
 could accomplish, and Jack tnrned, and beckoned to Claude, who was considerably 
 in the rear, to come on. This Claude was not stow in doing, and in one minute 
 more, the barrier which they had considered to be the most formidable obstacle to 
 them was safely passed. 
 
 " We are saved !" said Jack. 
 g."Nay, nay," said Claude, "be not over sanguine. The walls of Newgate yet 
 encompass us. Do not say we are saved yet.'' ' 
 
 " On, on !» 
 J Jack hurried forward, and to his great joy, he found as he reached them, that his 
 \ ropes had not been discovered by the autliorities of Newgate. If they could get 
 into the attic from where he had came, all would now be well.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "Claude," ha said, "yoa will be upon the road again in a few hours." 
 
 ** Think you so ? Where is my gallant horse ? Alas, I shall miss ifc, 
 indeed !" 
 
 " You know the cottage on Barnes Common, where we have had shelter more 
 than once ?" 
 
 "Weil, well?" ^ 
 
 " Ther e, then, is yonr horse, and it is there that I wish you to got at once, as 
 soon as u-e are free of Newgate. Come on— climb, Claude, climb the rope, .and I 
 will follow you quickly." 
 
 " No, Jack, you are weak from your wounds, and I have made up my mind 
 ^fiat you shall go first when safety is before and danger behind. It is of no use 
 your expostulating with me. Jack. Eollow you now I will, or go not at all." 
 
 Jack knew too well the determined character of Claude, when he spoke as he 
 now did, to attempt to argue the point with him, so, as time was precious, he 
 ascended the rope first. Claude followed him closely. They met with no obstruc- 
 tion, and reached the walls of the prison, exactly opposite to Jack's window, 
 in safety. 
 
 " Save yourself," said Jack, *' I faint Qfrain. The handkerchief has fallen 
 from the wound, and I— I bleed — I fear to death." 
 
 " No-no." 
 
 He fell ar, Claude's feet insensible. 
 
 It took Claude but one moment's thought, and then a moment's action, to 
 remedy this disaster. Lifting Jack in his arms, he placed him upon his back, and 
 tied his hands together round his (Claude's) neck, and then he launched himself 
 upon the rope. It vibrated and creaked beneath the double weight fearfully. But 
 the passage was short, audin the spape of half a minute, Claude, with his burthen, 
 rolif d through the attic windovY on to the floor. 
 
 '' There are the cats again," said a voice ; " I thought they'd come. Hist ! hist ! 
 Oh, drat you, I saj ! Hist ! hist !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIV. 
 
 HUE AND CRY. 
 
 Claude heard these odd sounds with some degree of alarm, for Jack had told 
 him that the attic window was closed, and quite untenanted, except by himself. 
 The most profound darkness was in the attic, so that he could see nothing, and 
 the 'only course h could bring to bear upon the whole affair now was that of 
 remaining silenti . ^' 
 
 " Drat the cats !" said the voice again, which was that of a female ; '* drat the 
 cats, I say ! Who is to g;et a wink of sleep, I wonder ? I wish some people, 
 when they go out, would be so good as to shut their windows." 
 
 Claude now began to have an apprehension of what was the matter, and he 
 went to the attic door in order to try if it were really quite fast, fit was so. 
 
 " So far, so good," he said. " And now. Jack, we must not remain long ia 
 this place ; but all will depend upon the capacity you have to move about." 
 
 He soon lit a match, and, by its flickering glare, he saw a candle ready for 
 lighting upon a table, and in a moment the attic was sufficiently illumined for 
 Claude to see well about him. He carefully closed the curtain over the window, 
 and again satisfied himself that the door was fast. Then he raised Jach from the 
 floor, and placed him upon the bed that was in one corner. A very superficial 
 examination of Jack's condition sufficed to let Claude see that the barwiages had 
 come off his wound, and that it had again bled freely, which, no doubt, had been 
 the immediate cause of his fainting ; but now Claude was in a better condition to 
 apply such surgical knowledge as he possessed to Jack's case. In the course of
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 297 
 
 THE CAPTUUE OF SIXTEEN STRING JACK, 
 
 tea minutes, he had successfully af^ain stopped the bleediiio:, and bound up the 
 wour.d iu such a way that nothing but the very roughest usage indeed could dis- 
 lodge it. He then dashed cold water in Jack's face, and soon had the pleasure 
 of seeing Jiim open his eyes, and look about him. , 
 
 " Newgate ?" said Jack. ^ ; 
 
 '* No, the attic,'* said Claude. " All's right." '. • 
 
 *'OhGod! can it be?" 
 
 "It is, Jack. Make yourself comfortable now, old friend. We have done 
 
 No.
 
 298 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 what so many have tried to do and failed — escaped from Newgate, and ia a 
 manner, too, that will be remcQibered." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, those words ihafc you wrote upon the wall of your cell were 
 prophetic.'* 
 
 ** They were. But now comes the most important question of all. Jack. Do 
 you feel yet strong enough to move?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes. I am convinced the ball from Long's pistol went quite through 
 my shoulder, breaking no bones, for av.oiider; so I shall soon be be-tter. But, 
 Claude, the safest and the best course in the world would be to leave me here." 
 
 "No, it would not. Jack, for then I should have, to stay with you. Bf some 
 means or other, I will get you to the cottage at Barnes.' There I shall have no 
 .objectioa to leave you, because there. I know you will be kindly treated^ for your 
 lowa sake as well as for miae. Now don't say a word about it, Jack, It shall be 
 150. Can you walk .?" 
 ; " Oh, yes, yes," 
 
 fie rose from the little bed, but, toliis great concern, Claude saw that he reeled 
 '.ftUttk in his gait ; and there wasno mistaking the fact, from the expression of his 
 [face, ithat he was in very great pain, although he would not vex Claude by owning , 
 jthiit such were the case. But still, what could be done ? There was really no help ' 
 isforin. Leave that place they must, and that too immediately, for by the morning,' 
 I no doubt, all the particulars and mode of the escape from Newgate would be 
 known, and then they would be caught in the attic, like rats in a hole. Claude 
 sat upon the side of the bed in deep thought. A hackney coach could easily be 
 got to take them to Barnes, but then, by its means, nothing would be easier, when- 
 tlie hue-and-cry was raised upon the morrow, to learn the route they had taken ; so 
 \j- thf?;t would not do. ^ To be sure, Claude might take a coach, and taen, when ihey 
 got out of town a little way, dispose of the coachman, and drive the vehicle him- 
 self the rest of the distance. But that was what he did not like to do. It was 
 ,making war against the poor, and that he had not stooped to yet But still, some- 
 thing must be done, and that quickly too, for the mofning was coming on apace* 
 He fctarted from his tiioughtiul position by the side of the bed, and said — 
 
 "Jack, we must trust to good fortune in this matter entirely. VVe must go 
 -into the stieets at once, and see «fhat fortune will do for us in the way of pro- 
 viding some vehicle for conveying us to Barnes. Come, lean upon me. This 
 -atmoFphere is full of danger." 
 
 Jack suppressed carefuHy whatever feelings of pain and weakness he might 
 Liave ; and, assisted by Claude, he managed to descend the stairs pretty well. 
 They met with no sort of obstruction, for, v*ith the exception of the old woman 
 who had given utterance to such anathemas against ttie cats, there was no one 
 but tliemselves stirring in the house at that hour. C aude carefully removed the 
 fastenings from the street -door, and in another moment they both' stood in the 
 street, and felt the coal morning air blowing upon their faces. It was a grateful 
 feeling to both of ihem, for, to tiieir perceptions, altiiough not many feet, distant^ 
 the air within the prison had a very different flavour to the air without ; aud this 
 was not altogether fmcy. 
 
 h " What's that ?" said Jack, as a carriage of the most gaudy description suddenly 
 flashed by them, and v. as soon lost in the dim distance at the farther end of the 
 street. 
 
 Before Claude could make any reply, another vehicle passed, and then another. 
 
 *' I can understand what this mean-?," said Claude : ""a civic entertainment has 
 taken place, and the mirth and the feeding have been practised until this, hour. 
 The guests are returning, you see. Jack." 
 
 " That's it, no doubt," said Jack. "Ah, Claude, one of those equipages would 
 ); soon take us to Barnes." 
 
 ^1" Indeed, yes. Jack ; but they would rather condescend to carry us to Newgate. 
 But come this way, Jack. I think we are safer in a crowd aud bu5.tle, than ia the 
 lonely solitude of this place; and if we can get to the river-side by Soulhwark, who
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 299 
 
 knows but I may get hold of a boat ? I shall not be very scrupulous, Jack, ia 
 borrowing one for this occasion." 
 
 "It is a good thought, Claude." 
 
 Jack leant upon Claude's arm, and toey proceeded together along Newgate- 
 street to Cheapside. As they went they met more and more endence of the fact 
 that the night had been devoted to a civic feast, for carriages were dashing about, 
 and now and then some gorgeously appareled footman with links in his hand 
 crossed the roadway, jesting and laughing. By the time our hero got to King- 
 street, he found that at Guildhall the entertainment had taken place. We say 
 had, for there were unmistakable evidences that it was breaking up. 
 
 " Sir Thomas Grampus's carriage !" roared one. '* Way for the sheriff. Links, 
 here — links. Constables! Clear the way for my Lord Mayor !" 
 
 The trampling of horses feet and the flaring of links, made up a scene of great 
 confusion, and in the midst of it a footman laid hold of Claude by the arm, and 
 said — 
 
 " Fallow — a— a— hold them osses eds, a— a — while oi look for me leday — o/— 
 a — b.— fallow J* 
 
 *• Certainly, sir," said Claude. "Anything else?" 
 
 A splendid carriage was close to the footway, and a pair of greys were, stamp- 
 log in their impatienee to be gone. The coachman was refreshing the inward man 
 at a public-house close at hand, not expecting to be wanted quite so soon, and 
 the footman suddenly found it his duty to go and escort his lady, whoever she 
 was. to the carriage, since, from the crowd and rush of the vehicles, tbe carrriage 
 could not be brought to her. Our private information informs us that this was 
 tbe carriage of the Lord Mayor's chaplain, as greasy a hypocrite as chaplains 
 usuall}' are, and that his lady was one of those &weet specimens of female 
 humaaiity, who modestly imagine that the world was specially made for them 
 and their convenience. After this, the sympathies of our readers will not be 
 violently excited if some little inconvenience falls to the lot of the chaplain and his 
 amiitble lady. Jack looked up at the box of the carriage, and so did Claude. It 
 was empty. Tlie footman had darted away with a link in his hand, never doubting 
 for a moment but that the person he had ordered so to do would Qiind the 
 carriage unlil the fat coachman could bustle out of the public-house. 
 
 " Jack," said Claude. 
 
 « Yes. Yes." 
 
 *'Getin." 
 
 " What ? ir» — the — the— carriage, do you mean, Claude ? Good God ! don't you 
 thin^ that such a step as that would be rather — too — too — bold ?" 
 
 *'Getin." 
 
 Claude clambered up to th^ box and seized the reins — Jack opened the door of 
 the carriage, and at once dashed in among its soft luxurious cushions. One toach 
 to the impatient greys, and away they dashed at a sinarv trot down Cheapside. 
 Claude drove as coolly as possible, and J^ck lay at the bottom of the carriage, 
 scarcely sensible in his fright of where he really was. The rapidity and daring 
 boldness with which this action was done constituted its safety._ The least 
 appearance of timidity or irresolution would have ruined all, but Claude was so 
 self-possessed, that nobody thought of looking to see if he had livery on 
 or not. If they had looked for that insignia of his genuineness, in a little while 
 they would have been deceived, for there was a large great coat, v»ith about a 
 quire of capes, upon the box, which he slopped at the corner of. Newgate-street 
 to put on. Then off he dashed again at a rattling pace. Truly, Claude did not 
 s-pare the parson's greys. He dashed down Snow Hill, and then Jie began to ask 
 himself which would be the best way to go to Barnes, for thither he determined 
 to give the horses a trot. Haiiimcrsauth Bridge had not then been thought of, but 
 old Battersea Bridge was there, and Claude thought that his best plan would 
 be to drive either on to that, or cross old Westminster, and so take his way to 
 Barnes. He trotted down the Strand while he was considering, and as he passed 
 Northumberland-house, he was for the moment much startled by feeling a touch
 
 JOO GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 upon his arm. Upon starting half round, he found it was Jack, at the front win- 
 dow of the carriage. 
 
 K " Oh, Claude, is it possible P'' said Jack. " Can it really be that you have 
 got clear off with the carriage ?"* 
 
 « It looks like it," said Claude. 
 
 ** And it was done for my sake ?'* 
 
 ** Not much merit in that. Jack. How much have you done for my sake ? But 
 tell me, shall we go by Westminster to Barnes, or by Battersea ?'* 
 
 *' Westminster, Claude. You will excite less attention. 
 
 " Be it so then. Now, Jack, you sit down gently and comfortably, and don'i 
 make yourself at all uneasy. All will be well. No one will think of interfering 
 with us now, and if they did, I think they would repent of it in a short time." 
 
 Having determined now his route, Claude put the horses to better speed, and 
 they went on with the carriage as though it nad been a child's cart behind them. 
 The old bridge of Westminster — old then— was passed over, and the vehicle made 
 its way into that den of houses that flank the liver upon the Surrey side, where 
 squalid poverty and brazen vice seem to be ever alike at home. Claude would 
 have liked much to know how Jack was, but while they were in the vicinage of 
 houseaiie did not like to pause and descend from the box, so he drove on until 
 gradually the open country began to show itself. The fresh morning air brought 
 out the fragrance of flowers, and although a chilly dew was upon all things, there 
 was an invigorating feel in the atmosphere, which to Claude, after his incarcera* 
 tion in Newgate, was specially delightful. There was not the least appearance 
 of pursuit, and indeed there can be no doubt but that, as good fortune would have 
 it, Claude was out of sight with the chaplain's carriage before it was missed, and 
 its disappearance was involved in perfect mystery. We need not trace the whole 
 of Claude's route to Barnes : suffice it to say, that when he got within a mile of the 
 place of his destination, he stopped the horses and alighted. 
 
 " Jack," he said, ** how are you now ?" 
 
 ** Much better," was the cheering response. " I have scarcely felt the fatigue of 
 the journey at all, Claude, since we got off the stones." 
 
 *• That is all right. Now, can vou walk a mile, think you ?** 
 i *' Two, Claude, if needs be." 
 
 P ** That's right. I do not wish to bring this vehicle so near to Barnes, that it 
 shall becomes sign-post to direct people where we are ; so I propose leaving it 
 close at hand here, and giving the horses their liberty. Here are plenty of fine 
 meadows for them to graze in, and they will enjoy themselves exceedingly. Hold 
 fast a moment, Jack, where you are." 
 
 Claude drove the carriage into a road-side field, and then some distance along 
 behind a tall hedge and broad ditch. He then once more alighted, and having 
 taken the horses out, he freed them of all harness, and sent them capering away 
 by giving each a touch with the whip. He then, by the assistance of Jack, finally 
 upset the carriage into the ditch, where it lay, with so little of it visible, that it 
 could not be seen from the road, and so was likely, for some time at least, to escape 
 any observation. 
 
 " Now for our friend at Barnes !" cried Claude. " Lean upon me. Jack, and 
 put the best foot foremost, for the daylight, you see, has already made some 
 progress, and the sooner ^ now get housed the better it will be for both of us." 
 
 Scarcely had these words passed Claude's lips, when he heard the distant 
 sound of horses' feet upon the road behind him. Some one was evidently coming 
 on at a quick rate. 
 |g^ " An enemy ?" said Jack, inquiringly. 
 
 " We shall soon see. Walk slow, Jack, I have the pistol you gave me all 
 ready, but I may as well look to the priming, at all events.'* 
 
 Jack looked back as Claude examined the priming of his pistol ; but an excla- 
 mation from Jack interrupted him. 
 
 " Good God, Claude, who do you think that is ?" 
 
 "Eh?— Who?"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 301 
 
 "Lon^j the officer; 1 know him well by sight — I should know him among a 
 thousand. 'Tis he — 'tis he, Claude ; but what, in the name of all that's horrible, 
 brought him down this road ?" 
 
 '• Information of some sort, you may depend, Jack. But we are one too many 
 for him. Ah ! there are three other horsemen behind him. To the hedge. Jack, 
 to the hedge. Don't expose yourself to the officers. This way ! this way !" 
 
 Claude seized Jack by the arm, and they both darted through the hedge. It 
 would appear, however, that Long, the officer, who rode a little in advance of three 
 men wiom he had with him, had seen the fugitives, for he suddenly cried 
 out— 
 
 " Come on, and seize that man who has just crept through the hedge. Take 
 him dead or alive. He may be our man. Quick ! quick !" 
 
 These words, of dire import as they were, came plainly enough to the ears of 
 Claude and Jack, and they now saw nothing before them but to sell their lives as 
 dearly as possible. But Mr. Long, after coming up to within about twenty paces 
 of the hedge, somehow or other hung back. How strange and true it is that all 
 great talkers are cowards ! 
 
 "Come on ! come on ! * he said to the men he had with him, "come on, my 
 brave fellows. You shall be well rewarded, I will take care of that. Come on 
 now, at once ; don't be afraid !" 
 
 " We ain't afraid," said one of the men in a loud voice, laying an emphasis 
 on the •' we." " We ain't afraid, Mr. Long, I assure you." 
 
 Stung by this reproach. Long did approach nearer to the hedge, and taking a 
 pistol from the holster of his saddle, he said — 
 
 " By all that's sacred I will fire into the hedge if yon don't come out directly, 
 whoever you are !" 
 
 Claude Duval had in his hand the pistol that Jack had given him, and he took 
 a careful aim at Long. He whispered to Jack — 
 
 " This fellow has had one shot at us, and it is fairly my turn now." 
 
 On the instant, then, he pulled the trigger, and when the smoke cleared away, 
 the saddle of Long's horse was empty, and that voracious and notable officer lay 
 upon the ground, with a small hole in his forehead that was quite sufficient to let 
 out his modicum of life. The other men rode up instantly. 
 
 **Claude," said Jack, " if you don't be still and let me have my own way now,. 
 I swear to you, by the memory of all our friendship, if you are taken, I will blow 
 my own brains out." 
 
 •* Good God ! what do you mean ?" 
 
 ** You shall see in a moment, Claude, what I mean," said Jack. " See, there 
 are no less than seven men on horseback !" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXV. 
 
 THE EESCUE. 
 
 SiXTEEN-STRiNG Jack was quite right. There were now upon the spot, imme- 
 diately in front of the hedge, no less than seven mounted men, for more followed 
 hard upon the track of the three who had been with Long. Resistance was mad- 
 ness, but yet Claude was not prepared for what Jack was really about to do. 
 
 "Promise me, Claude," said Jack. 
 
 " But " 
 
 " Then here goes — goodbye!" . ' 
 
 Jack placed the muzzle of the pistol in bis mouth, and Claude had juit time to 
 clasp his hand and say — "I promise anytl^g. Jack." 
 
 " Good. Remain quiet here, then, C.aude, and remember that you have now 
 
 "J
 
 302 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 passed yoar word, which to me you uever yet broke. We may meet again some 
 day. God bless you." 
 
 Before, then, Claude could say another word, or move a fibber to prevent him. 
 Jack burst out of the hedge in front of the horsemen, and cried in a load 
 voice — 
 
 "Further resistance is useless against so many — I give myself up." 
 
 The men had pislols ia their hands, and at sight of Jack, one in his hurry fired, 
 but the bullet went wide of its mark, and then two of the others flunfr themselves | 
 off their steeds, and took hold of their prisoner roughly. 
 
 "I am wounded," saifl Jack. 
 
 <'Who are you?" ciied one, "who are you? Are you Claude Duval, you 
 vagabond ?" 
 
 "1 am no vagabond; I wonder that you should not see at once that I don't 
 belong to your family ; you must be a fool." 
 
 " I'll fool you," said the fellow, and he raised his hand to strike Jack, but one 
 of his comrades interposed, saying, in an indignant voice — 
 
 *'For shame, Atkins— for shame ! What do you mean by behaving to a man 
 in that way ? He is our prisoner. Surely seven of us are enough to take care of 
 him without any ill-usage as well. Just do strike him, and Til liaveyou off your 
 horse before you know where you are." 
 
 Atkins growled out something that waa unintelligible, but he lowered hiS hand 
 without striking Jack, and some of the others soon tied a cord round Jack's arms, 
 and they looked at Long, who, if he had been looked at for an age, could not have 
 returned the compliment. 
 
 *' You have done for him,'' said one of the men to Jack. 
 
 *' This wound in my shoulder came from his hand," replied JaK}k. 
 /'Why, he did not fire." 
 
 "Not here, but he did in Newgate." 
 
 " Then you are Claude Duval ! Comrades, we have recaptured Claude Diival, 
 that the sheriff offered £200 reward for. Not a bad morning's work. Let's sling 
 the. dead body of Long across one horse, and put our prisoner on another. Tiic 
 sooner we now get to London the better." 
 
 *' Yes,'* said another, *' but I vote that we leave the body at the first pilbiic- 
 house we come to. There will be an inquest on it, of course." 
 
 "Very well — come on." 
 
 Jack was placed upon a horse behind one of the officers, and to their grea!; 
 surprise he said, with an air of fervour that could not but be siacere, as thev tirotted 
 off— 
 
 "Thank God!" 
 
 " What for ?'' said the officer. 
 
 " No matter," rej)lied Jack. " I am very well pleased, that's all, and so I may 
 thank God, I suppose, and give no offence to any one ?" ^ , 
 
 " Oh, none in the least, only it's very odd. Make speed, friends — all's right ; 
 who so welcome as we to-day at the gate of old Newgate, I should like to know ? 
 Ha! ha!" 
 
 Off they went, and in two minutes the clatter of their horses' hoofs had died 
 away into but an indistinct murmur in the distance. Cla'ide Duval ros3 up, 
 and bursting through the hedge, stood in the centre of the road, shading his eves 
 with his hands, and trying to catch a last glance of that dear friend who for hi:u 
 had made so noble a sacrifice, but a turn of the road coqipletely hid him fro;Ti 
 sight. 
 
 "Gone!" said Claude. . 
 
 Then a choking sensation in his throat seemed to prevent him from uticrl.ig 
 another word for some minutes, during which, he did not move from the spot. 
 Suddenly, then, he dashed his hand across his eyes, and, without saying a word, 
 started ofi" in the direction of Barnes.^^He had not walked far, before he saw, some 
 short distance to his left, a hillock, which was of sufficient height to command a 
 view of the surrounding country for a considerable distance. Claude maJe a leap
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 303 
 
 over ahecfge, aud then ran towards it. He reached its summit, and fancied he saw 
 the horsemen who were conveying Jack to prison some miles off. 
 
 " And do you know as yet so little of me, Jack," he said, *'as to suppose that I 
 would allow you 'to make this sacrifice for me, and then desert you? No — no — no! 
 May heaven at my utmost leed desert me if I do, I will save you. Jack, yet.*' 
 
 He slowly dtscended the hill, and at a rapid pace pursued his route. He had 
 not proceeded far when he heard the neigh of a horse behind him ; he thought it 
 as well not to hurry himself, for that would excite suspicion, nor would he look 
 round except very cautiously to see Tho the horseman was ; but it was little he 
 could see of him, except that he was enveloped in alarge cloak, and rode a powerful 
 looking bay horse. Wiiat was his surprise, however, to hear a voice say— • 
 "Is it indeed you, Claude Duval?" 
 
 Claude turned on the instant to make what defence he could ; for the idea 
 that, like Ishrnael, the hands of all men were against him, and his hand against 
 all men, was strong within him ; and yet had he been iu a calmer frame of mind, 
 he would then have detected more melancholy in. the stranger's voice than 
 enmity. 
 
 " Ah ! it is indeed you,'* said the stranger, and dropping the cloak from before 
 his face, he disclosed to Claude the well-known features of Markham Brereton. 
 " Is this possible," said Clanc^, **or do I dream ?" 
 
 "This is do dream," said Brereton; "and I can easily account for my pre- 
 sence here. I was released from Newgate, as you are probably aware, by an 
 order from the Secretary of State, and since then I have been unwearied in my 
 exertions to try to procure a remission of your sentence. It was all in vain ; and 
 you may judge of my joy when the rumour of your escape reached my ears two 
 hours ago." 
 
 " But how came you upon this road ?" 
 
 ** I have seen Cicely, and she confided to me the fact that you had an interest 
 somewhere in this direction ; my errand is to do you what service I can. If you 
 want money, here is my purse ; if you want a horse, take this one ; if you want 
 a friend, look upon me, and only say what I can, by any possible exertions, do 
 for you ?" 
 
 *' 1 his from you ?" said Claude. 
 " Yes ; and why not ?'* 
 
 " I thought I had removed your anxiety by yoking your sister's fortunes to 
 mine. I thought that you would never be able to tolerate the highwayman." 
 
 *• Do not speak of that. Did you not come forward and save me from^ the baae 
 machinations of Tom Brereton, my own near relation, and that, too, at the imminent 
 hazard of your own life ? Can I do otherwise now than bold out my hand to you 
 in true friendship and call you brother ?" 
 
 Claude clasped the extended hand of Markb am.-*-*' I— I— only'wlsh," he said, 
 much affected, " I only wish I were not what I am. Bat it is now a vain regret." 
 " Not wholly." 
 
 " What mean you ? I have gone too far in my present career ever to embrace 
 another." 
 
 " Nay, in some other land you may be blessed by peace. I have means — hov7 
 I came by them will be the subject of another conversation with you. But why 
 will you not leave England with Cicely and me, and in some other country go by 
 a different name from that which you have here P" 
 " If i could." 
 
 "You surely can. The coast may be easily gained; I have a friend at 
 Southampton who will give you a shelter, if you can get there, until Cicely and I 
 join you, and from that port nothing will bs \\\ovd easy than to get to the 
 continent. Only say that you will attempt it, and I shall be happier than I have 
 been for many a long day." 
 
 "Listen to me," said Claude. *' I have a story to tell you, and thenr you will 
 be better able to jude of the value of the advice you give me. Just listen to the 
 story of my escape, and then tell me what you would do."**'
 
 Z04t GENTLEMAN JACK. fe 
 
 - i 
 
 Markham Brereton was profoundly silent while Claude, haviow one arm upoa \ 
 tbe saddle^of his steed, related to him all the various particulars of his escape from 
 New/^ate, 'by the aid of Jack, and the subsequent conduct of Jack when he was 
 upon the verge of a second captivity. 
 
 " Now," he said " ought I to desert Sixteen-string Jack ?'* 
 ' *' No," said Markhara Brereton, " it would be base." ^ ^ 
 
 " I knew you would say that. It would be base indeed. So, you see, I am yet 
 doomed to remain and fulfil my destiny here in England. If Jack can be rescued 
 from his present position and taken with us, I will gladly embrace jour 
 proposition, but I cannot go without him. The ties that bind me to him are by 
 far too strong for any feelings of self- advantage to break asunder" 
 
 " Then what do you propose to do ?" 
 
 •* At the cottage at Barnes, to which I am now bound, I shall And ample means 
 of disguising myself, and when I have done so, I shall proceed to London to see 
 what can be done for Jack. I hope for the best, and fear the worst." 
 
 " Shall I accompany you ?" 
 
 "No. Do not ; that would be an ill-judged step. Your being with me might 
 provoke suspicion, but by myself I shall get on very well. Go home again, and 
 if you remain with Cicely, and she is where I left her, expect me in the course of 
 a few hours." , j, . , . 
 
 « I will. I have that abundant faith in your tact and your resources, that what 
 you dictate as best to be done, under such circumstances as the present, I am 
 incliDed to believe is the best. Come to us as soon as you can, and we will see 
 what can be done." 
 
 *' Depend upon me," said .Claude. ** I don't think I shall have any real diffi. 
 eulty now. The only party, as you find, who had taken this road after me, is 
 disposed of. I may be in London sooner than you expect. Remember me to 
 Cicelv, and think of me as kindly as you can yourself." -.1, 
 
 Claude waved his hand, and giving one of his fascinating smiles to Markham, . 
 he walked rapidly on. ,,.,,, i ., t 
 
 "Alas I" said Markham Brereton, as he turned his horse's head towards Lon- 
 don, "what might not that man have been under different circumstances? 
 How truly are we the slaves of past actions. Claude Duval will go down to 
 posterity as a robber, while men who are far worse robbers 'than he would ever 
 dream of being, are venerated as bishops, or respected as ministers of state. 
 
 Markham Brereton was quite tight. Truly, some great day is wanted, upon 
 which folks will find their level, and if such a day should ever really dawn, how 
 niany a piece of gilt iniquity will shrink into the nothingness of its natural indi- 
 viduality ! We shall see—perhaps I ...,-. i 
 
 It was about two o'clock upon that day. that Markham Brereton and Cicely 
 were silting together in a small, but comfortable room, when the servant of the 
 house came, and said— 
 
 « If vou please, sir, a Mr. Lee wants to see- you. . 
 
 "Mr. Lee?" 
 
 *< Yes, sir.* Oh, he *s coming up stairs. This is the gentleman." ' 
 
 A tallisb, slim, gentlemanly. looking man, with light hair and a sandy moustaehe, 
 scrupulously dressed, entered the room, and in a slightly foreign accent, but very 
 indifferent English, said — 
 
 *' May I have the honour of seeing Mr. Brereton r 
 
 "Yes, sir, my name is Brereton. " » " xr^ 
 
 Both Cicely and Markham were rather surprised at the stranger s manners. He 
 walked to the door, which had been closed by the servant, and opening it a short 
 distance, he listened attentively ; tben closing it again, he advanced and said— 
 
 "Is it possible that my disguise is so perfect, that even you do not know me, 
 Cicelv ?'* 
 
 " Claude, Claude !" she cried, *' it is our own Claude 1" ,. , , i. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Walls have ears. Hush, dear one, be calm— the slightest - ,
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE RO 
 
 
 hint.of who I am might be fatal. Ah, Cicely, at tinies I doubted if I should ever 
 have the joy again of seeing yon, but now to hold .you in ray arras is a rich re- 
 compense for all 1 have sufl'ered." Cicely hung on his bosom weeping; but she 
 felt the necessity there was for composure, and managed to put on a calmness 
 
 j " Spy !" said Claude. " Eool SS well as knave ! What made ycu set your life upon sucli* cast ? ' j 
 
 PAGE:3i6. 
 
 «he was far from feeling. Markham congratulated Claude upon the admirable j 
 manner in which he had disguised himself, and then Claude asked for May. 
 I *• She is from home," replied Cicely, "but will soon be here. Oh, Clau'de, you| 
 will stay with us now. Say you will, and you will likewise do what Markham 
 has advised you about leaving Eng'and. Sa'v you will." 
 
 No. 39.
 
 ^ 306 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 '•When Jack is safe and free to go with us, Cicely, then speak to me of such 
 a plan with a certainty of receiving my hearty concurrence with it." 
 
 **Js there any news of Jack, Mr. Brereton?" 
 
 <* None whatever." 
 
 " What, have they not yet brought him to town ?*' \ 
 
 " Not that I know of. I have made the most careful inquiries, and heard 
 nothing of him. It is to me quite inexplicable ; I cannot make it out, and, indeed, 
 I can come but to one conclusion, which is, that something serious has happened 
 upon the road.** 
 
 **Then I must go,** said Claude, as he rose ; " I must go and ascertain what 
 it is. I do not think that Jack, in his disabled condition, could make, with any 
 degree of success, an attempt to escape ; and if he really has got away, it is by 
 some accident, such as might noc happen once in a hundred years; nevertheless 
 I must inquire." 
 
 ** Oh, Claude, do not go into danger/* said Cicely. 
 
 " Danger ! Is not the very atmosphere I breathe full of danger to me? Am 
 I not surrounded by dangers in every shape and way ? Who shall say that "k 
 going east, west, north, or sooth, I run into the most dangers ? No, Cicely, dy 
 not fancy that I am running a greater risk by going to see after the fate of Jacob 
 than by staying here. I will return as soon as possible, you may depend. My 
 horse is at a friend's house.** 
 
 ** Be careful ; return you must, Claude,*' said Markham. 
 
 ** Oh, I can trust the * family,* as we call them ; all is right upon that score ; 
 and mind, if anything happen to me, always make inquiries of Joe at the ' Saddle 
 Bags,* in Picket Street until the first of next month. Once a month I change 
 my confidences.** 
 
 ** Your life is a strange one,** said Markham. 
 
 " It is, indeed, one made up of all strange chances ; but all must end somewhere. 
 Farewell, Cicely ; you need not weep, for you will see me agaio; I think, before 
 the hour of midnight. Adieu T* 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVr. 
 
 THE ROSE INN, 
 
 Wr return to Sixteea-string Jack. The Wound in his shoulder was really 
 much more serious tb4n Jack >vould even admit to Claude. The pistol bullet had 
 not, as Jack had supposed, made itself a passage and escaped. On the contrary, 
 it still rankled in the wound. Moreover, if any set of circumstances more than 
 another could have tended to the aggravations of a wound, they would be the 
 mental and physical exertions which Jack bad gone through since the time of re- 
 ceiving the hurt. A certain feeling that if he gave way he should become a se- 
 rious encumbrance to Claude, had hitherto kept him up. It is truly astonishing 
 how mind will triunsph over matter; but now that he was in the hands of the 
 officers — and, oh ! joy of joys to him 1 — now that he had fairly succeeded in giving 
 Claude another, and a fairer chance than ever of escape— Jack no longer felt the 
 same necessity that he had before felt for battling against his own sensations, A. 
 faintness came over him, and a perceptible shudder passed across his limbs* 
 
 ** What's the matter?'* said the otiicer, on whose horse he was. 
 
 Jack could not answer. The world seemed to be slipping from hrm> and then 
 all consciousness was gone. 
 
 ** Holloa ! stop, stop !" said the officer to his comrades. 
 
 " What is it now ?'* 
 
 "I do believe he is dead.'* 
 
 ** Dead ?'* they all cried ; " oh. no, not that. Who knows but there might be 
 acme cavil about the reward if he were dead V*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 307 
 
 •* I can't help it. All I can say is, that he don't seem to have any lifu in him." 
 Certainly Jack's appearance warranted the alarm of the officer ; and when the 
 others gathered round and looked at their prisoner, they fullj'- shared in their 
 comrade's alarm. 
 
 ** Confound him," said one, "that's just like his obstinacy, now ; I thought we 
 should not get him to London quite so easy as we might have wished. What is 
 to be done now ?" 
 
 "There's the Rose Inn, about half a mile further on, close to the common,** 
 said one ; "and what is to hinder us leaving Long's dead body there, and like- 
 wise waiting a little for the recovery of our prisoner ? I must say it will fee but 
 half a triumph to carry a dead Claude Duval to Newgate instead of a living one." 
 This seemed to them all to be good and judicious advice, so they made up their 
 minds to follow it forthwith, and putting their horses to a canter, they soon tra- 
 versed the half mile, although it was somewhat of a long one, that lay between 
 them and the old Rose Inn. The arrival of seven men on horseback, a dead body, 
 and a fainting prisoner, with his dress and person sprinkled with blood, produced 
 rather a sort of sensation at the inn. The landlord looked, indeed, as though, of 
 the two, he would rather not have had the honour of the visit ; but with a laudable 
 fear of the licensing magistrate before his eyes, he did not exactly like to say 
 anything that could be construed into an anti-welcome. 
 
 *' Dear me — dear me I" he said. *' What's amiss ? Who have you got, gentle- 
 men ? for I see you are officers." 
 " Claude Duval," said one. 
 
 At the mere pronunciation of this well-known name, the greatest interest was 
 at once excited in the inn. There was not a person there that did not press for- 
 ward to obtain a sight of one who had made so much noise on the road; and 
 among them all there was only one rough-looking farmer, who shook his head as 
 he looked at Jack, and said — 
 *' Be sure this be your raon ?" 
 
 ** Yes, wiseacre," said one of the officers. " We are sure, though none of us 
 have seen Claude Duaal before, except Long, and he is shot." 
 
 *' Well," said the farmer, " I have seen Claude Duval before; and much good 
 may your prisoner do you, that's all. Ho ! ho ! ho !" 
 
 '•Pho! we are satisfied. You mind your own business. Now, landlord, you 
 must have this dead body laid somewhere, for there will be an inquest at this 
 house. It's Mr. Long, the officer ; Claude Duval has done for him, and we 
 want a bed and doctor for Claude himself; for, to tell the truth, we want to get 
 him to Newgate alive and kicking, and you see what a state he is in now," « 
 *' Why, he's a dead 'un, too," said the landlord. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. He's ocly done up, that's all, and has got a wound, you see, 
 in his shoulder. That's it — all right— up stairs, is it ? Very well — gently — gently. 
 Is there a doctor near at hand ? That will do— let your boy run for him at once." 
 Jack was laid upon a bed, and the nearest medical man was sent for, pending 
 whose coming the officers enjoyed themselves with a draught of old ale, and told 
 their story at the bar of how, with extraordinary valour, they had captured Claude 
 Duval, and fully expected the sheriff's reward for so doing. They did not forget 
 to make the most of their adventure ; and when the nearest surgeon arrived, two 
 of them accompanied him up stairs to the room in which Jack, insensible as he 
 Tvas, had been securely locked. They found him still in the same state, and the 
 surgeon, who was a skilful man enough in his profession, extracted the pistol 
 bullet from the wound in Jack's shoulder, and bandaged it properly up before 
 he would take any means to recover him from the state of syncope into which, 
 from pain and exhaustion, he had fallen. 
 
 "There is no occasion to arouse him," he said, "until I have done all that is 
 necessary for bim ; but now that is over, we will hear what he has got 
 to say." 
 By the application of some pungent esseace«. Jack was soon recovered, and
 
 308 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 looked about him with rather a puzzled expression ; but he recovered his con- 
 sciousness »f what had happened much sooner than any one would have imagioed^ 
 and when one of the officers said — 
 
 " Well, Claude Duval, how are you now ?»* ;&^j ». ,, v 
 
 He smiled faintly, and just murmured-— ^ -. T-i"- 
 
 " All's right— all's right." 
 
 Truly it was great joy to Jack to find that they still continued in this mistake, 
 for he knew that each minute that was gained was of the most vital importance 
 to Claude. 
 
 "He seems pleased erougb," said the doctor; ** but if he be moved for some, 
 hours, there is every chance of his wound inflaming to a sufficient extent to en- 
 danger his life. 1 suppose, though, that really don't much matter, for he will be. 
 hanged if he be taken to Newgate, I presume V* 
 
 " Yes," said one of the officers, '* but it does matter. We want to get him to 
 Newgate alive ; so we will wait — at least a couple of us will, until he is a little 
 better, while our comrades can ride on, and take the news of the capture, putting. 
 in our joint claim for the reward.'* 
 
 "As you please," said the medical man. **If you don't remove him, I shall see 
 him again in a few hours, when 1 shall be better able to judge of his condition." 
 
 Jack overheard this discourse, and he closed his eyes, trying to think what, 
 would be the best policy for him to adopt under all the circumstances of the case. 
 He was resolved to keep up, as long as he could, the delusion that he was Claude 
 Duval ; and at the same time, he was better pleased to be at the Rose Inn than 
 in Newgate. Had he a hope that Claude's fertile brain would devise something 
 in his favour ? We rather think that at the bottom of his heart he really had. 
 Who can wonder at the wondrous faith Jack had in the resources as well as in 
 the courage of Claude I The officers carried out their expected determination, 
 and only two of them remained at the inn, to keep charge of their prisoner. They 
 considered that the condition he was in afforded a fair enough warrantry that he. 
 would make no sort of attempt to escape. Quietness surely must be to him the 
 greatest of earthly blessings now. Under these circumstances, it was no wonder 
 that the officers made themselves quite comfortable, and by no means disturbed 
 themselves about their prisoner, whom they thought so very safe in more way& 
 than one. 
 
 " There will be a pretty good purse for us all." 
 
 '*To be sure," replied the other; "and it's a lucky job that Long got that 
 pistol-shot." , . ,« _ 
 
 "So it is.'* «-->^r^*f^ 
 
 **You may say that, for if he hadn't, 1 know as well as possible he would 
 have tried on taking the whole of the reward himself, and only handing us a few 
 guineas for ourselves." 
 
 " Not a doubt of it ; bat there he lies up stairs stiff enough. Come, it's about 
 dinner time now. Let's have something nice, now." 
 
 It was about half-past two o'clock now that a man in a respectable groom's. 
 livery rode up to the Rose Inn, and said — 
 
 ' •♦^illoa ! Have you room for my master for a few hours, landlord ?" 
 ; "Ay," said the landlord, "and for a dozen masters, if you had them, old 
 i^Uow. Who is he, I should like to know, that he's so afraid of not getting^ 
 room at thciRose Inn, he's forced to send you on afoie?" 
 
 " He's a Frencbman, and his name is Monsieur Hesolut ; but, he is a good 
 master for all that, and he pays his way like a trump. You know he can't help 
 being a Frenchman." 
 
 " Oh, no— no, certainly not. We oughtn't to think ill of a man 'cos o* 
 things he can't help, no how. Frenchman or not, if he's a gentleman, and 
 behaves himself as sich, he's welcome as the flowers in May to the Old Rose 
 Inn." 
 
 It was Claude himself, in the same costume that had so successfully deceived 
 even May and Markham, who now rode up to the inn door, where one of the
 
 m 
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 309 
 
 very officers who would almost have given his ears to capture him, was lounging 
 with a pipe in his mouth. But Claude felt that he was perfectly safe. 
 
 •f If they take Jack for me," he said to himself, ** they don't know me, that*s 
 quite clear.'* 
 
 The officer looked at Claude as carelessly as a man who can have no possible 
 interest in another might be supposed to look ; and as Claude dismounted, the 
 only remark that was made was by the landlord, who said — 
 
 " He ain't a bad-looking fellow, though he is a Frenchman." 
 
 ** Quite the reverse," said the barmaid. 
 , " Anything, but — *' said the landlady. 
 
 "Quite a love," said the landlady's niece, a young lady of about fifteen, who 
 was very romantic ; but she did not give utterance to her opinion aloud. 
 
 Claude was shown up stairs ; and as they were opening a room door for him, he 
 laid his hand upon the lock of another, 
 
 " Not there, sir,'* said the landlord ; "there's a prisoner there-^the notorious 
 Claude Duval.'* 
 
 ** Indeed," said Claude, with a well-imitated foreign accent, "I shall not for 
 to go there." 
 
 " No, you shall for to go here,'* said the landlord, who had the common notion 
 that a Frenchman understands bad English better than good ; " Claude Duval is. 
 a highwayman, and he has shot an officer, the dead body of whom is in yon 
 further room." 
 
 " I not understand too much,'* said Claude. 
 
 ** Oh, bother him," muttered the landlord, " I dare say, a stupid like, he don't 
 know one half what one says to him. Who would be a Frenchman if he possibly 
 could help it?'* 
 
 I" '*•'??■. ■ -^ ■ - 
 
 CHAPTER LXXVII. 
 
 A StJRPRlSB AT THE ROSE INN. 
 
 The door was closed upon Claude, and then he stood profoundly still, in an 
 attitude of listening : all was still as the grave upon that floor ; and after a few 
 minutes of the most intense listening, Claude opened the door and stepped out 
 into the corridor, from which several doors opened, both to the right and to the 
 left. To have a thorough idea of the plan of the premises was now Claude's 
 great object, and he stepped lightly across the corridor and tapped at a door oppo- 
 site. There was no reply, so he concluded the room was empty. Upon opening 
 the door he found he was right. It was a' bedroom leading into the stable-yard, 
 beyond which yard was the open country. ' He saw. his horse in the yard under- 
 going a slight grooming from a lad, while the servant he (Clande) had brought 
 with him, was leaning upon a gate opening into the meadows at the back of the 
 stables. All these things Claude noted accurately, and likewise saw that the 
 descent from the window of the room in which be was, to the yard, would be a 
 matter of no difficulty whatever. Quick in motion and fertile in resources, Claude 
 at once made up his mind as to what was to be attempted, and he retired to his 
 room again, resolved upon at once commencing operations, for he was timidly 
 afraid Jack might be hastily removed from the inn. Claude rang the bell, and was 
 calmly reading a newspaper'that had lain upon the table, when the landlady's niece, 
 who was upon the romantic side of twenty, made her appearance in answer to the 
 summons. Claude felt, from the first moment that he looked at this girl, a strange 
 desire to trust her, but still it was rather too hazardou? a thing to do so all at once, 
 and he looked at her in silence for a few moments. What was his surprise when 
 she cautiously closed the door, and with much agitation of manner said— 
 
 *' Sir, I know you.'*
 
 310 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Claude started for the moment, and a flash of colour visited his cheeks at. the 
 thought of the possibility of all he was iry ng to do or Jack being defeated w lea 
 it was most promising of success ; he did not, however, lose his presence of 
 mind. 
 
 " Do you, indeed, know me ?' he said. " If so, you will have no objection to 
 name me.*' 
 
 ** You are Claude Duval. Pray do not be alarmed : I owe you a favour, and 
 will repay it if I can. When the wounded man, who lies in the next chanber, 
 'Was brought here, they told me it was Claude Duval. I knew they had made a 
 mistake, and I said so, but he looked reproachfully at me and said, * I ideed I 
 am ;' from which I guessed the truth, assured that he was making a sacrifice for 
 you." 
 ^. *' Then you will not betray me ?'* 
 
 " Betray you V* 
 
 *♦ Pardon me for usingf the word ; I am Claude Duval, and my errand here is 
 at the risk of my life, if needs be, to rescue my wounded friend. But how came 
 you to know me ?'* 
 
 "By your voice. You once stopped the Exeter mail. I and ray mot^^er were 
 passengers, and we had about us our little all (£20). I told you it would make 
 us destitute to take it, and you said but two words — *God forbid!* Can 1 be 
 otherwise than grateful to you? Oh, no, you have but to command me, and I 
 will do you any service. My poor mother is dead, and that £20 snaooihed her 
 passage to the grave." 
 
 Claude was much affected at the simple and earnest gratitude of this girl—a 
 gratitude, too, that he felt his claim to was very doubtful indeed. Nevertheless, 
 at that time he was glad to take the advantage of anycircuraatance that promised 
 him aid in the deliverance of Sixteen-string Jack from the officers. 
 
 ** I see but one man in the yard," said Claude, " and all I want you to do is, if 
 you can, to keep him out of it for ten minutes, and to let me know when those ten 
 ^ninutes begin, and when they will be likely to happen." 
 
 " Can I do nothing else ?" 
 
 " Nothing but hold me as well in your esteem as your better feelings for such 
 as I am will let you ; believe me, 1 shall cot forget to my dying day the kindness 
 you show." 
 
 ** You must wait until five o'clock,*' she said, " and then our man Sam will 
 <:ome into his tea, which I can make take him half an hour. During that time 
 the yard will be quite free. Besides, if you wish it, I will manage to hold both 
 of the officers at talk at tea for as long, i don't think they will refuse an invi- 
 tation from me." 
 
 *' A thousand thanks." 
 
 ** Not at all ; you don't know how happy it makes me to show that while I 
 always try to forget an injury, I never forget a word of kindness, and how much 
 more, than a word of yours was." 
 
 Claude, we must confess it, kissed the fair cheek of the biooming Kate — vea 
 he did, and Kate, too, was her name, and we cannot at all blame Claude for doing 
 80— do you, gentle reader, or otherwise, as the case may be ? Ah, no 1 Kate 
 blushed her exit. 
 
 ** This is a godsend," said Claude, to himself. " I shall save you now, Jack ; 
 and I shall begin to think that even a negative good action in this world does not 
 go without its due reward in the fullness of time. But now for a visit to you. Jack, 
 if it be safely practicable, for I must risk as little as possible." 
 
 Claude listened for a few moments, and found that the coast was clear, after 
 which, stepping lightly along, he reached Jack s chamber, and opening the door, he 
 glided in instantly. Claude's first glance around the aijartment showed h m a 
 cupboard, and before approaching the bed, he glanced inro it and saw that it was 
 large enough to hold him. He then walked up to tise bed, and saw tha^ Jick's 
 eyes were closed. Is old friend was either really slumtjcnng, or though, proper
 
 LIFE ON THE ROaD. 311 
 
 to sham that state for the purpose of avoiding any conversation with the officera 
 or the surgeon. He little expected who was now bendinij over him. 
 
 " Jack." said Claude, *' be quiet." 
 
 Jack started, and sprung up in the bed, 
 
 " Hush— hush—'tis I '* 
 
 *' Claude — Claude — oh, why are you here? Will you render all that I have 
 done in vain ? Oh, Claude, for the first time I am sorry to look upon your face." 
 
 " Nonsense, Jack. Attend to me. Aie you well enough to ride I" 
 
 « Quite— but '* 
 
 *' Hush, listen to rae. Be too bad to move from here — rave a little — anything 
 to induce them to keep you here yet awhile, and expect aid from rae. All will 
 be right. God bless you. Jack, Did you think I would desert you? Ah, Jack 
 —Jack.*' 
 
 Claude moved towards the door, and as he did so he heard a step in the cor- 
 ridor, and a loud voice from below cried— 
 
 " You will find the door unlocked, doctor. We ain't afeird of him now. If he 
 moves off, it will be out of the world." 
 
 *• D n it," said Claude, and in an instant he was in the cupboard. 
 
 The surgeon stood by Jack's bedside. Jack shut his eyes fast and tried ta 
 compose himself. The sudden appearance of Claude had much agitated him, 
 but he recollected the advice that had been given to him by his old friend, to 
 seem much worse than he really was, and even to sham being delirious to some 
 extent, ihe better to impose upon the surgeon and his captors. 
 
 •* Well, my man, how are you?" 
 
 Medical men are exceedingly fond of using the words*" my man," to what they 
 consider to be their ww-equals. 
 
 *' There he goes," said Jack, feigning delirium ; '* spread his brains on a brick- 
 bat and give them to a mad cat in the family way !** 
 
 *' What, what do you say, man V 
 
 ** Here we are in the gutter — now — now— wash out the stains— where's the 
 pitchfork ?— Shake hands with a toad, and measure the distance between Tyburn 
 Gate and the devil with your entrails. There they go — whoop ! whoop 1 off and 
 away.* 
 
 "'Quite delirious," said the surgeon, lifting up his hands ; **I must confess I 
 did not expect this exactly ; what odd things he says, too." 
 
 Jack gave such an awful groan, that the surgeon quite started back ; and then 
 affecting suddenly to fall into a deep sleep. Jack was profoundly quiet again. 
 The surgeon was a little puzzled. He rubbed his chin with one hand, and con- 
 ceiving himself to be quite alone, he said — 
 
 *' 1 hardly know what to do with this case. I certainly expected some amount 
 of fever, but not this delirium. And of what a novel character, too. What awful 
 reminiscences must this wretched man have upon his mind! I wish I could re- 
 collect what he said exactly. Something about a mad cat in a delicate situation, 
 I think. How sound he seems to sleep now. It's rather a curious case ; and 
 the best thing I can do is to keep it as long as possible. I'll tell the officers that 
 he ought not to be removed, unless they wish him to breathe his last before they 
 get him to the door of Newgate. That will stop them, I dare say." 
 
 The surgeon, to Jack's and Claude's great relief, stepped lightly trom the 
 room, and closing the door again, he made his way down stairs. When he was 
 thoroughly out of heariug, Ojaude emerged from the cupboard, and spoke again 
 to Jack, saying— 
 
 *• Expect me at dusk. Jack, and until then keep up your spirits, my old friend. 
 All will be well; for believe me, I have one of those presentiments that don't 
 ever fail rae that neither your time nor mine has come yet. All will be right ; 
 but don't over-act your part, if they should visit you again." 
 
 "No, Claude, no, 1 will not ; but I implore you to consider your own safety 
 as paramount. From what you say, I suppose I have over-acted my part a 
 little?" J / rf 
 
 ^■'f
 
 312 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "Why, I confess, Jack, the mad cat took roe a little by surprise ; but it is of 
 no consequence. I ana glad to see that smile upon your face. Farewell, Jack, 
 for a short time. I hope to see you in safety before another day dawns; and £ 
 will, or my name is not Claude Duval." ' 
 
 Claude did not wait for a reply ; the danger to them both of staying where he 
 was he felt to be imminent, and he at once sought his own room, there to wait 
 until the young girl who had promised him assistance should come to him to say 
 that the time for action had arrived. Not the shadow of a doubt of her good faith 
 (.rossed his mind, and indeed if it had it would have been to her the most cruel 
 jnjustice. As he paced the room, Claude's thoughts were busily occupied with 
 the past and the present ; and for the first time since he had embraced his present 
 hazardous and adventurous course of life, he took a keen retrospective glance at 
 his life. He saw himself a' young lad upon Hampstead Heath, with his sister 
 May by his side ; and there came before him vividly in his mind's eye the gibbet 
 upon which hung all that remained of what he had once called father. Then 
 came the act of retribution at the hands of the boy against the proud, strong 
 man ; and he remembered the cry with which Sir Lionel Feversham had fallen 
 down the precipice upon that awful night. Then came his meeting with Sixteen- 
 string Jack, and the various scenes that followed ; and as he recollected what 
 Jack was when he first saw him, and contrasted his bold slashing bearing then 
 with what he was now, he could not but sigh to think how such a spirit had been 
 broken. And thus the time passed on, until the dim shades of early twilight 
 began to creep over ths scene, and then Claude stepped into the corridor, and 
 listened. All was still. The inn clock struck five, and he began to get right, 
 when he heard a light, j^urried footstep upon the stairs, and at once he retired to 
 his room again. He ej^pected it was Kate ; but then it might not be her, and 
 caution was necessary. It was Kate. She entered the room with her face 
 flushed, and her bosom heaving with agitation. It was some few moments before 
 she could speak ; and then her voice was broken and tearful. 
 
 " I have done what you wished," she said. " No one is now in the stable^ 
 yard. God speed you, Claude Duval ; we may never meet again ; but when you 
 think of me, tell yourself that I tried to be grateful. The officers will be engaged 
 for the next half hour. Farewell." 
 *' I shall never forget you, Kate." 
 
 She held out her hand to him, and he shook it cordially. He waa about to 
 speak to her again, but she vanished from the room, and as she vent she seemed 
 to take with her the small portion of daylight that had yet lingered in the western 
 sky. Claude started from a sort of reverie that had stole over him^ and walked 
 to the door of his room. From thence he proceeded to the head of the stairs, 
 and listened. He heard ]i>"»ud laughter below, and doubted not but that the officers 
 were making themselves as comfortable as possible, and flattering themselves 
 Ihey stood high in the graces of the pretty Kate. The time for action had arrived. 
 Now, Claude was thoroughly determined to carry out this affair to the rescue of 
 Sixteen-string Jack at any risk; and, with a full perception of all the possible 
 dangers and difficulties that might beset him, he commenced operations. He 
 looked carefully to the priming of his pistols, and feeling confident that the two 
 pair he had with him were efl'ective, he sallied out of the room, exclaiming — 
 " Now, Jack, for liberty or death !" 
 
 One of the great secrets of Claude Duval's success in many of bis daring 
 exploits consisted in the cool rapidity of his proceedings. When once he com- 
 menced an enterprise, he went on with it without flinching, and often had it 
 completed within the time that many other persons would have been looking and 
 peeping about to see if the coast were clear for action. Then, again, he made 
 his arrangements so perfectly beforehand, that, unless some very cross accident 
 happened, nothing went amiss, and nothing was left to be decided upon at a 
 time when it ought to be done. Claude's first care was to let Jack know that 
 the time for action had come ; and with a light, noiseless step he again sought 
 the room where his comrade lay.
 
 ^ GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 313 
 
 " Up— up— Jack, and be ready," he said, '* there is no time for delays ; I 
 will be with you again in a few moments." a.^ 
 
 Jack would have said something in the shape of renewed caution or exhortation 
 to Claude to be careful of himself, but the latter was gone as noiselessly as he 
 
 CLAUDE DUVAL AND JACK PAY A VISIT AT THE OLD^MOON TAVERN, DRURY-LANE."' 
 
 had come. Three strides brought Claude to the spare bedroom f PP^^f 'l^^^^/^'^Jl 
 apartment.-He opened the window-hung an instant from the balcony-and 
 then dropped safely into the yard, upon a quantity of hay that was there. There 
 yet lingered sufficient of the day to guide him, without any difficulty, to the 
 
 ^ ' 40,^
 
 314 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR. '] 
 
 stables where his mare was puc up. He then blew a whistle, but so faintly that 
 it more resembled the call of some bird to its mate than anything else. ^In a 
 moment the man who played the part of hi?; servant made his appearance, from 
 where Claude himseii could hardly, in the twilight, discero ; but there he was. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVIU. 
 
 «FF TO LONDON. 
 
 Both master and man looked at each other intently, for fear of a mistake, and 
 then Claude said — 
 
 « It's you. Bill ? all's right." 
 
 « What's the fakement V said Bill. " Is the iron all hot, Captain? Blaze 
 away.'* 
 
 '* Hush ! all's right. Get the horse all ready for a start, and open yon gate 
 leading to the meadows. Jack is in no state to ride a steeple chase, although he 
 will be on the back of one who could do it." 
 
 '* Yes, Captain, she can go it : kick out the man in the moon's eye. imd then 
 away like a handful of squibs. Blaze away V* 
 
 Claude immediately went back to the window from vthlth he had dropped into 
 the yard, but he found it was too much of a spring up to reach the little balcony, 
 and looking to the stable where ^l was putting the saddle on his horse, he 
 said— 
 
 " 1 must have her to reach the window with. Come along, lass." 
 
 The creature knew Claude's voice in a moaaent, and gave a short neigh of con« 
 gratulation at finding herself with him again. He led her beneath the window, 
 and then, with great agility, mounting and standing Hpon her back, he easily got 
 into the spare bedroom again. Leaving Bill there to finish accoutring the horse, 
 he made his way again noiselessly and swifily to Jack's chamber. He had no 
 sooner reached it than he heard some one, mounted, gallop up to the door of 
 the inn. ^ -«n 
 
 "I'm ready," said Jack. 
 
 "Hush ! let me hear who this is that has jost arrived. We ought to know as 
 much as we can in our present circumstances. Jack, of everybody who comes here 
 just now. Hush — hush— just for a moment. Jack, — only a moment." 
 
 Claude went close to the window and heard the following brief but significant 
 colloquy — 
 
 •* Hilloa !" cried a loud voice. " Is this the Rose Inn ?" 
 
 " You are right for once," said some one, in a bantering tone from the inn 
 door. " It is the Rose." 
 
 ** Come, come," said the stranger, " don't trifle with me ; I have ridden hard 
 fi-om Mr. Gregson's, the sheriff, in Ludgate, and know all about Claude Duval. 
 Is this the house where he is in custody of the officers ?" # | 
 
 '* Yes," replied he who had before conversed. *' This is the house. But don't | 
 yoa know that Claude Duval is sorely wounded, and can't be moved ?" 
 
 '* Oh, yes, Mr. Qregson has heard all about that — tell somebody to take care of 
 my horse, will you — as I was saying, Mr. Gregson has heard all about that, for j 
 they sent for him to Newgate as soon as the exp»es« of Claude's capture came : 
 in, and he says that he'll have him in Newgate to-ni^t, wounded or not wounde^ ! 
 for he knows he has as many twists and doubles as an old fox, and he shan't be , 
 content until he's under lock and key." 
 
 Claude did not wait te hear more. He knew now that nothing but prompti- 
 tude could save Jack ; but as he turned from the window, he could not help bearing 
 the new arrival add—-
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 315 
 
 *'The sheriff sent me, you see, because I know Duval well by sight." 
 
 *' The deuce you do," thought Claude, and then turning to Jack, he said— 
 " Are you ready ?'* 
 
 " Quite, quite. But Claude " 
 
 " Come, come, this is no time for exceptions. This way. Jack ; I can tell you 
 what we are to do as we go along. When you are once mounted, and in the 
 open air, mind you are to keep the remains of what sun-set you will see for this half 
 hour yet, on your right hand. You understand me, Jack ?'* 
 
 " Yes, Claude, I do. But " 
 
 ** There you are again. Jack, with your buts. Now attend to me. Come along, 
 this way ; you see I know the old Rose Inn pretty well. Push on to Battersea 
 Fields as hard as you can, and get to Westminster. Then make your way direct 
 to the Old Moon in Drury Lane. Anthony has ways and means of taking care of 
 you, which he will do for your own as well as for mine ; and upon no account 
 stir out, for so sure as you do, you will get into mischief. Leave me entirely to 
 my own resources. Promise me that Jack." 
 
 '* Well, well, Claude, I suppose I must." 
 That will do. You know Bill Deerhurst, old Anthony of the Moon's 
 
 ,» 
 
 nephe 
 
 «. Yes— yes. Well ?" 
 
 '* He is in the stable yard. He will assist you to mount, and shew you the 
 way into the fields; and good luck attend you. Don't stop another moment — I 
 won't hear one word." 
 
 " But Claude- " 
 
 " There, that will do. Bill ?" 
 
 " Here yer is!" said Bill, from below the balcony, on to which Claude had 
 hurried Jack. "Hereyer is, my masters. Blaze away! righ-too-looral-loo ! 
 Kim up." 
 
 Claude now gave an illustration of that amazing strength which upon emergen- 
 cies he could put forth, for he lifted Six teen-string Jack fairly off his feet, and 
 over the balcony into the yard, where Bill received him^ and got him safely to 
 the ground. 
 
 " Mount, and away," said Claude, ,** mount, Jack, and away, if you love 
 me I" 
 
 Claude closed the window. But he lingered in the room a moment, until he 
 heard the clatter and dash of a horse's feet, and through the glass he saw the dusky 
 figure of the gallant steed and its rider dash away into the night air, among the 
 meadows at the back of the old Rose Inn. 
 
 ♦* It's done !" said Claude. ** It's done, thank God. If Jack manages affairs 
 with common prudence only, now he is free. Oh, what a load this is off my mind, 
 to be sure ; I can now really breathe a little freely." 
 
 Claude knew now that Ids own situation was one of immediate peril. He was 
 there among foes without a hope, and the man who had so recently come from 
 London, had declared that he was sent purposely on account of being so well ac- 
 quainted with Claude's person ; so that from his scrutiny he had everything to 
 dread, notwithstanding the perfections of his disguise. As he was traversing the 
 corridor a thought struck him, the carrying out of which was more of a boyish 
 whim than anything else. He proceeded to the room opening from the same 
 corridor in which the dead body of Long the officer was ; and striding up to the 
 bed upon which it lay muffled in a sheet, he took it in his arms, and carrying it to 
 the bed so recntly vacated by Jack, he placed therein the dead officer, and covered • 
 him up with the clothes. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, below," said Claude, *• I think I have given you the means 
 of enjoying a little surprise when you do come up stairs." , 
 
 When he reached his own room he rung the bell. Kate answered the Bummons 
 —she was pale and anxious. 
 
 *' Is he gone V* she said. 
 
 *« Yes " replied Claude, •* all is right, thanks to you. Say that I orde red coffee
 
 316 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 as soon as possible^ and that I want to go to town in half an hour ; and orde^ my 
 horse, mind, Kate. Sooner or later its nbsence must be discovered, and it may as 
 well be so as soon as possible/' 
 
 " Yes — yes. Oh, how I tremble." 
 *• For what ?" said Claude, with a smile. 
 
 •' For your safety ; a man has arrived with an order from one of the sheriffs of 
 London to bring you up to town directly and lodge you in Newgate." 
 
 *' Not me. You forget, Kate, that 1 am Monsieur Resolut, and that the order 
 relates to the occupant of the adjoining room. I am quite safe so long as my 
 disguise lasts me, and perhaps even after that. But do not create suspicion by 
 remaining here, Kate." 
 
 Kate was rather surprisd and alarmed at the curious movement of Claude's. 
 
 He was evidently slowly walking round her so as to get between her and the door 
 
 of the room, but before she could say a word upon the subject he suddenly flung 
 
 the door open, and a waiter of the inn fell into the room upon his face and hands. 
 
 *' Lost— lost ! " said Kate. 
 
 '* Not at all," said Claude. " I heard this fellow oat side. Then we are safe 
 enough. 
 
 " Help — mur — oh ; ""' said the waiter, who felt the cold muzzle of a pistol 
 against his temple, and heard the click of the lock as it was put upon full cock. His 
 hair visibly moved upon his head, and his features assumed a pallid hue, 
 
 '* Spy !" said Claude, fool as well as knave. What made you set your life 
 upon such a cast as this ? Answer me. Who am I V* 
 
 The fellow's teeth chattered so much with fear that he could not speak a 
 word. 
 
 " Hark you, " said Claude, "for the next hour you must take up your abode in 
 yon cupboard ; and as I am living man, if you speak or move, or so much as 
 breathe heavily, I will send a brace of bullets through the pannelling ; and when I 
 am gone from here if you say one word to anybody of what you • have heard, or 
 even so much as hint anything to the disparagement of Kate, I will seek you out 
 if you should be hidden in the pulpit of a church, and blow your brains out." 
 ** Oh — oh — oh, gracious goodness." 
 "To the cupboard.'' 
 
 *' Oh, do'nt ; it won't hold me. The shelf will cut me in two, and I can't cram 
 myself in underneath, Have mercy upon me, and let me go ; I wont say any- 
 thing, indeed I wont." 
 
 Claude seized him by the collar, and thrust him underneath the shelf of the 
 j cupboard ; then resolutely closing the door, he forced the unfortunate wretch into 
 ™ such a narrow compass that he must have been awfully cramped— but it was 
 better than killing him. 
 
 «The key," said Claude. " The key." 
 " Here," said Kate. The room door-key locks it. 
 
 *' Thanks. I warrant myself, now, against this rascal's interference, and I 
 think his abject cowardice will save you, my dear Kate, from any annoyance from 
 him when you release him, which you can do when you like, after I am gone." 
 *' Oh, would that you were gone ! *' 
 
 " Do not fear, Kate. We are not all lost who are in danger. Go and order the 
 coffee and the horse for me, I must now be guided entirely by circum^ances." 
 IgKate was nearly in tears as she descended the staircase; but before she had got 
 hallway down, a grand bustle of people ascending occupied all her attention. 
 This awakened the liveliest fears of Kate for the safety of Claude, and she flew 
 back to his room to warn him, but she met him upon the threshold. 
 
 " Hush ! •• he said, " go rapidly down stairs. Say nothing, and know nothing. 
 Leave all to me." 
 
 Kate disappeared again down the stairs, and Claude, tearing a leaf from his 
 pocket-book, wrete upon it the words **,Bill, saddle any two horses you can find, 
 and be at the gate leading to the meadows." Claude hoped to find the opportunity 
 of delivering this to the man whom he had brought with him, and whom he knew
 
 LIFE ON THE flOAD. 317 
 
 was courageous enough for anything. He would have made his way into the 
 spare bed-room again, from whence Jack had escaped, and trusted to finding Bill 
 within the stable-yard ; but he heard those who were upon the stairs too close at 
 hand. By the sound of feet, he was sure there were four or five persons ; and as 
 they reaehed the head of the stairs, he heard one say— 
 
 *• It's the sheriffs express orders, so, come what may of it, nobody's to blame. 
 He must be taken to town, and he must be bad, indeed, if a post-chaise will hurt 
 him. You have seen che sheriflf*s order, so come on." 
 
 ** Very well," said one of the officers. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXIX. 
 
 '"'" " Claude's danger at the inn. 
 
 Ci-AUDE was now perfectly aware that an eclaircissement would take place very 
 shortly ; and|he was not a little curious lo knew how the surprise that was in store 
 for the sheriff's man and the two officers at the inn, would be taken by thera. As 
 the party passed his door, he heard some one say— 
 
 " Who is in that room ?" 
 
 And then the voice of Bill replied — 
 
 *' Why, my master. Monsieur Resolute, is there. He's a Frenchman ; but, of 
 all things, I should like to see Claude Duval. He robbed my master once, near 
 Winchester." 
 
 Bill accompanied this speech by a sly kick against Claude's door, and the whole 
 party passed on to the room, where they fully — with the exception of Bill, who 
 knew so much better— expected to find their prisoner. It was quite dark enough 
 for lights, and the landlord, who was likewise upon the spot, carried a lighted 
 candle m his hand. Claude would have given anything for an opportunity of 
 slipping the little memorandum he had -written, resp*ecting the horses, into the 
 hands of Bill ; but just then it could not be done. He did not despair, however, 
 of very shortly finding a means of doing that much, and he kept close to the door 
 of his room, holding the handle of the lock, so as to be ready to turn it at a 
 moment's notice. 
 
 " This is the room," said one of the officers, opening the door of the chamber 
 that had been Sixteen-string Jack's temporary prison. '* Here he is." 
 
 They all went in, and Claude at once opened his door and looked out. A 
 glance showed him that Bill lingered behind the others. Rapidly traversing the 
 few steps between the two doors, Claude placed in Bill's hand the little mission 
 he had written, and was back again like a flash of light. Bill's head was in the 
 room, so that no one there could say he was for a moment absent ; but his hand 
 was without, and it closed upon the little despatch in an instant. He expected 
 fully something of the sort from Claude, 
 
 "Yes,'' said one of the officers approaching the bed, "here he is safe ! but 
 not sound. Ha! ha! Oh! He's dead !" 
 
 "Dead ?" cried the sheriff's messenger. " You don't say so ! Dead ?*' 
 
 "As mutton!" 
 
 They all crowded round the bed, and the officers pulled from over the face of 
 the corpse, the sheet which Claude had laid over it, adding — " Well, you may 
 take him to London now and welcome. There he i,3. He won't ran away any 
 more, I'll be bound.'* 
 
 ** You idiots !" said the sheriff's messenger. *' You incorrigible geese I Why, 
 you have killed the wrong man— that's no more Claude DuvaJ than I am," 
 
 « Not Claude Duval ?" 
 
 " No— not at all like him."
 
 31S GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 The officer looked earnestly a^ the corpse, and then he cried—** May I die this 
 I instant, if that is the man we brought here wounded.*' 
 
 ** Look at him," cried the other. " Why, Jarvis, don't you know that face ? 
 lt*8 poor Long, that Claude Duval shot. There's the Scar on his nose. Don't 
 you know him ?" 
 
 They all looked thunderstricken, except the sheriff's man, and he calmly 
 enough pur. his hands in his pockets, and whistled a tune. 
 
 ** Ha ! ha !" he then said. " It's all right — oh. of course ; I knew it was no go. 
 I took the liberty of saying as much to the sheriff. I could have sworn it would 
 have turned out something extraordinary. Oh, dear me ; you don't Unow Claude 
 Duval so well as I do. He ain't to be nabbed, or kept when he is nabbed, 
 quite so easy. Oh dear, no ! So it's all ended in a bottle of smoke." 
 
 *• But we had him !" cried one of the officers, with an oath. 
 
 ** Don't make too sure of that, my good fellow. You fancied you had him, I 
 have no doubt, and you fancied you had nothing to do but to walk up here and 
 find him ^ and instead, here is Long, who is the only one who finds the whole affair 
 something worse chan a hoax !'* 
 
 ** Damn it I I could eat my own head." 
 
 ** No doubt of it. But I am not at all disappointed. Oh dear, no, * Caught 
 Claude Duval!' says I, * have they? Very good. When I see him, I'll believe 
 it, that's all,* Why, what do you think he did now ? I'll tell you, though it's 
 been kept snug. He actually, when he got out of Newgate, walked to Guildhall, 
 and took the Lord Mayor's chaplain's own carriage, and drove off with it. What 
 do you think of that? Lord bless you, Claude Duval is not so easily nabbed as 
 you all seem to think. Oh dear, no !" 
 
 The jeering upon the part of the sheriff's man was more aggravating to the 
 officers even than the loss of the prisoner, and it went a long way to keep their 
 faculties in a confused state. 
 
 *' Confound you," said one of them, ** for a gabbling fool, '[ You go on, talk — 
 talk — talk, and don't give one leave to think about the affair. How came Long's 
 body here, I -wonder ?" 
 
 " I suppose," said the other, ** Claude Duval, when he walked off, put it here 
 for the fun of ihe thing." 
 
 ** It must be so, and he pretending to be so bad too." 
 
 ** Master — master— master I' cried a voice from below. •• Master !" 
 
 "What now 2" cried the landlord. "What is it, Sam ? Who's chimney's 
 on fire?" 
 
 "Nobody's sir, but I have just been to the stable, and I can't find the 
 JFrenchman's horse, sir." 
 
 « The devil you can't." 
 
 " No, sir. It's gone, and the saddle and everything else with it, sir, as clean 
 as a whistle, sir. I had put it in a loose box, sir, as he seemed an out-and-outer, 
 and now it's gone, as safe as last Christmas was a twelvemonth, sir." 
 
 " Oh dear, yes !" said the sheriff's man. " Oh, yes, of course, we shall find it 
 all out by degrees. Ha ! ha ! Claude Duval, or the devil, or whoever you had or 
 fancied you had here, wounded or not wounded, has helped himself to this French- 
 man's horse, you hear." 
 
 " It must be so," said one of the officers, in a tone of the bitterest vexation. 
 ** And it has all happened while we were swilling tea and quizzing at the baby- 
 face of a barmaid." 
 
 *' And while I was a taking my pipe quite promiscuous," said Bill, "on the 
 bench at the front door, as innocent as a baby or a vaxy doUikins. Oh ! oh ! 
 shan't I catch it ? Why, that ere 'oss costed I don't know how much." 
 
 " More fool you, then, you great blubbering goose,* said the sheriff's man, *'for 
 not taking better care of it. You had better let your master know at once. 
 Well, gentlemen all, I think this is about as outrageous a do as anything I ever 
 heard of." 
 
 " Can't we go after him ?"
 
 LIFE ON THE jROAD. 319 
 
 *'East, west, north, or south, stupid ? After Claude Duval ! Why, he has as 
 many hiding places as a fox. No— if you really had him, he's off. I say, you 
 great gaby, what's your master's name, eh? I'll go and speak to him myself about 
 his horse.'* 
 
 " Risolut is his name," said Bill ; « but I'll tell him himself. He's rather^a 
 passionate man, and as he's sure to blame me, I'll have it out with him at once." 
 •* Then I'll go with you. What sort of horse was it ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, you see," said Sam, the ostler, who had come to the top of the 
 stairs to tell his tale, " it wasn't exactly a horse, seeing as it was a mare — a kind 
 of mouse colour, with the finest legs you ever^saw in your life, and the cunningest 
 looking face and ears as ever a hanimal had in this here world. She was always 
 a looking at you as much as to say, " Well, Sam, old fellow, and what do you 
 think 0' things in general ?'* 
 " Humph !" 
 
 Bill did not at all like this graphic description of Claude's celebrated mare, and 
 he thought that he saw a thoughtful expression upon the face of the sheriff's 
 messenger. He felt that Claude's situation was getting awfully critical ; as yet 
 too, he had had no time to read the little scrap of writing that Claude had put 
 into his hand, so that, take things altogether, poor Bill for a few minutes felt as 
 miserable as any human being could feel. 
 
 « Well, well," said the sheriff's man in the tone of one who was playing a part, 
 " I ought to apologise to this French gentleman for what has happened, and to 
 tell him that he has a claim on the county for the value of his horse. Which is 
 his door? I'll be down directly." 
 
 The two ofl&cers and the landlord descended the stairs, and the sheriffs mes- 
 senger tapped at the door of Claude's room It may be supposed that Duval had 
 lost not one word of the preceding conversation, and he fe.t his danger , but the 
 confidence he had in his disguise supported him, and he said, in a firm voice but 
 a foreign accent — 
 " Come in." 
 
 The sheriff's man opened the door and walked in ; Sam, too, stood upon the 
 threshold, and Claude rose, cautiously saying — 
 " Sir, I shall ask you to sit you always." 
 
 •* Thank you, sir, I have only come to say that I am sorry your horse has been 
 stolen." 
 
 «* Vat you say— my horse— stoled ? Sacre !" 
 
 <* Yes, sir, Claude Duval, a celebrated highwayman, has stolen it. Nobody 
 can help it. Gone it is, and there is an end of it. I think you may make good a 
 claim against|the county, but 1 don't say so for certain. However, sir, it's worth 
 the trial." 
 
 *' JDiable I Quel hetisse V excla-med Claude. *' I must go for to think.^ Carry 
 to me one chaise post at the door immediateraent. I shall go at London." 
 
 " Very well, sir, the chaise shall be got ready. You will soon have it, for one 
 was ordered and nearly ready for another purpose only just now. Good-morning, 
 sir." 
 
 *' Bon soir ! Sacre^^ou est mon cheval? Le voUur de grands ckemin, I shall 
 go at London with much complaints." 
 
 **It's your best plan, sir. And any assistance the police can render you, ot 
 course you may command." 
 
 The sheriff's man made his bow and trotted down stairs. Claude mad a sign 
 to Bill, who had off his boots in a moment, and went noiselessly after him. There 
 was a door at the foot of the stairs to the left, which opened to the parlour. To 
 the right it led through another door, the upper hair of which was glass, to the front 
 passage, and so on out into the open air past the bar. It was the left-ha^nd door 
 that the sheriff's man opened and passed through. It shut behind him with a 
 weight and pulley, but Bdl pushed it open about an inch, ahd peered into the 
 room. The two officers and the landlord were there. Bill was witness now to 
 rather a curious scene. It will be remembered that this same sheriff's messenger
 
 320 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 had talked a great deal about his own cleverness, and vapoured, in fact, so much 
 that, to take him at his own account, one would have considered him something 
 more than a match for half a dozen Claude Duvais both in courage and artifice ; 
 but certainly his appearance now by no means corroborated such opinion 
 concerning him, even if they had been (or a moment entertained. He was ghastly 
 pale, and his knees were shaking. His tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of 
 his mouth, and it was quite clear that for some few moments he had not power to 
 utter one articulate word. When the landlord and the two officers saw him in 
 this condition, they stared at him as though he was bewitched, and the silence, 
 accompanied by the look of consternation that prevaded the whole party, had 
 about it something essentially ludicrous. It was the landlord who first found 
 breath to say — 
 
 " Bless my heart and life, what is the matter ?" 
 
 ** Hush! hush ! hush !" gasped the sherifTs man, as he sunk into the seat that 
 was nearest to him. " Hush ! hush !— I— I— hush !" 
 
 ♦* What is it ?'* said both the officers in a breath. *' What is it?" 
 
 The terrified man waved his hand, and agaia said, " Hash !" Then, having to 
 some extent recovered from the shock he had received, he said in a whisper — 
 
 " Claude Duval is up stairs. Hush !'* 
 
 " The deuce he is !" 
 
 " Hush ! Don't you know him ? How many men's lives do you think he 
 always takes care to have in his power ? I tell you we shall have him, but we 
 must be cautious. If we now — four men that we are, counting the worthy 
 landlord — were to go up stairs to take him, he would, as sure as fate, shoot two of 
 us, and the question is, who is to be shot ?" 
 
 '* 1 beg your pardon," said ihe landlord, ** it's no question at all as far as I am 
 concerned, for I won't go on any consideration whatever. What have I to do 
 with it !" 
 
 " Hush !" said the sheriff's messenger. ** Hush !" 
 
 '* Hush !'* said the two officers, who now had become to the full as fearful as 
 he. « Hush ! ' 
 
 Then they all inclined their heads together, and said in whispers, " What's to 
 be done ?" 
 
 Bill had heard enough to convince himself of the imminent danger to which 
 Claude was exposed, and he darted up stairs again, and into Claude's room. 
 When there, he uttered but one word, and that was, " Blowed !" 
 
 '*What!" said Claude, "you don't mean to tell me. Bill, that that stupid 
 looking fellow has penetrated my disguise, do vou ?* 
 
 "Blowed!"* 
 
 " The duce it is. How could it be ? Ah, I see.*' 
 
 Claude took a look at himself in the glass, and he saw that one of his false 
 moustachois had given him the slip. This at onee accounted for the discovery 
 which the sheriff's messenger had made, and which gave that individual much 
 more terror than it did Claude himself He hastily heard Bill narrate what had 
 passed in the room below, and then seizing his hat, he said — 
 
 ** Come along, Bill.'* 
 
 *' Blaze away," saii Bill ; that's the ticket. Oceans of pluck.** 
 
 Claude darted across the corridor and into the spare room opposite. To lock 
 the door upon the inside was his first movement. Then he said— 
 
 " Bill, are you sure there are horses in the stables ?" 
 
 "Yes : two rum 'uns. The officers', you know,* 
 
 ** Good ; come along, I'll give you a twist over." 
 
 *' Murder! Thank you," said Bill, as the next moment he found hims«lf 
 sprawling in the yard, having been twisted over the little balcony by Claude with 
 a vengeance. The quantity of stable refuse, however, that was jusr there, saved 
 him from any hurt, although he rose in not the most savoury condition., Claude 
 was at his side in a moment. The yard was pitch dark now. 
 
 " The horses ! the horses!*' said Claude.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 321 
 
 ti All's right down as a hammer," said Bill. •* I knows the way to the 
 
 hanimals' cribs. Hold hard, and I'll bring 'em to the gate at end there, afore you 
 can say John Robinson." 
 
 Bill flung open the stable door ; but at the moment he did so, Sam, the 
 ostler, appeared from the inside with a small lantern in his hand. 
 
 "I arrest you, Claude Duval," said the sherrlff's man, «' and! claim the reward."—* 'Take it," sai 
 Claude, " and make the most of it." Page 323. 
 
 '' Holloa 1** he said, *' what's ihe row P" ^ ' 
 
 " Nothing," said Bill, and with a slashing blow ia the ostler's face he sent 
 
 him insensible to the further end of the stable,. " Blaze away 1 all's right. Now 
 
 my peonies, kim up." 
 
 Bill got hold of the horses^ harness, for he had noticed w here it was hung, an ^
 
 322 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, ! 
 
 he flung the two saddles and accoutrements towards the gate leading to theinea> i 
 dows, where Claude was standing. Then, liberating the horses from the halter j 
 that confined them, he took hold of an ear of each and led them quietly enough 
 across the yard. | 
 
 " Now, Captain," he said, '* all we have got to do is to saddle the hanimals, , 
 and shove a bit in their mouth, and be off. Blaze away !" | 
 
 It would have been no easy matter for persons unaccustomed to the care of 
 horses, to make those two fit for service in the dark ; but Claude and Bill were 
 experienced, and they had got about half through this work when the ostler, who 
 had been stunned, recovered sufficiently to know what hai happened, and rushing 
 out of the stable, he made his way towards the house, crying as he went, in a voice 
 loud enough to wake the dead — 
 
 ** Murder ! thieves !— Murder ! thieves !" 
 
 " Blowed again," said Bill. 
 
 Claude did not speak, but rapidly proceeded with placing the bridle properly 
 upon the horse. The creature was, no doubt, alarmed at the sudden cries of the 
 ostler, for it began to get rather restive. Every moment was of vital importance ; 
 to attempt an escape on foot, and leave the foe's horses with which to pursue 
 them, would be madness. 
 
 *' Are you reaoy, Bill ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Not quite. Blaze away ! blowed again ! Here they is," 
 
 The cries of the ostler had been effective. At the end of the yard, nearest the 
 house, appeared the two officers, the sheriff's messenger, and the landlord. The 
 latler carried a couple of lights, and as the night was a still one, they burnt well, 
 and cast a faint gleam upon Claud, Bill, and the two horses. I 
 
 *' There they are ! Tlierethey are !" cried the sheriff's messenger. '^Remember, j 
 the reward for Claude Duval is three hundred pounds, and therehe is." I 
 
 These words were intended to stimulate lihe two officers and the landlord to lend i 
 their aid in securing Claude, while he, the sheriff's man, had a Uvely hope of being 1 1 
 able himself to pocket the reward. ! ' 
 
 « Shall 1 shoot that fellow ?•' whispered Bill. 1 1 
 
 " No, no," said Claude. *' Do not fire unless they do, and then don't throw , j 
 away a bullet," 
 
 •' We are too many for you,* Claude Duval," said the sheriff's man. *' You had : j 
 better give yourself up without bloodshed. Alive or dead, I must and will have 
 
 you." 1 1 
 
 Claude never spoke, and then one of the officers, drawing a pistol, said, as he i 
 fired it at Claude-* > 6 F , » ,i 
 
 "He'll be off, as stire as fate, if you don't touch him with a bullet. Come on, 
 under cover of the smoke.*' 
 
 The assailants made a rush forward, and Claude was upon the point of firing at 
 the officer who ha(J already attempted to shoot him, when he heard a scream from 
 one of the windows of the house. It was Kate, anxious for hisfsafety, who uttered 
 the cry ; and it had the eftect of distracting his aim, for although he did fiie, the 
 bullet flew wide of its mark. Bang went one of Bill's pistols at the same mo- ! 
 ment ; and Sam the ostler bawled out that he was wounded in an ignoble part of | 
 his animal economy. 
 
 '* If it must be, it must be,'* said the sheriff's man, and taking a deliberate aim 
 at Claude Duval, hcfired.^ The bullet whizzed past his face in rather disagreeable , 
 proximity. i 
 
 " I owe you one for that," said Claude, and he pulled the trigger of another \ 
 pistol. - It missed fire. { 
 
 "Hurrah!" said one of the officers ; '*he has thrown away his pistol-shots. \ 
 Come on ! We have him 1 Hurrah ! Three hundred pounds are lying in this 
 stable-yard, and I'll pick them up." 
 
 He made a rush forward, but bang went Bill's other pistol, and he fell to the 
 ground with a deep groan. 
 
 "Number 2 ! Blaze away, my tulips," \i.l|t«
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 323 
 
 " Now for it," said the sheriiPs man ; " they have fired two shots each, and 
 that uses up a pair of pistols each man. Come on. We are all safe now. Hurrah! 
 Here's more force. This way, gentlemen. Follow me." 
 
 A couple of rough-looking men had now come from the part of the house where 
 they had been drinking porter, to the assistance of Claude's assailants; but the 
 sheriff's man reckoned without his host when he thought it was safe to run in upon 
 Claude, for the latter had a pair of well-charged pistols left, although Bill had no 
 more than he had used. 
 
 »' 1 arrest you, Claude Duval," cried the sheriff's man, "and I claim thereward." 
 '* Jake it," said Claude, ** and make the most of it." 
 
 As he spoke, he fired over the horse's back into the fellow's face. He sprung 
 lip into the air with a yell, and then fell huddled up and shivering upon the 
 cold stones. The landlord had followed with the two lights so close upon the 
 sheriff's man, that he fell over him, but rolling a pace or two, he half rose, still 
 holding the lights towards Claude Duval, in an attitude as though he were im- 
 ploring him not to take his life, as he had just taken that of the wretched man 
 who lay in a death struggle within a few paces of him. Claude had but one 
 pistol now left, and he cried — 
 
 '* I have a life still at my disposal ; whoever his tired of his existence may come 
 on and loss it." 
 
 " Rush on him. He will miss. It's a j^lOO a-piece," cried the officer who now 
 succeeded, " and that's worth a chance shot !" 
 
 They made a dash forward, but there came suddenly a blaze of light from the 
 other side of the gate leading to the meadows.f There was the tramp of a horse's 
 feet, and Claude, upon looking round, beheld a sight that filled him with astonish- 
 ment. A couple of swarthy looking men, with crape over half their faces, held 
 lighted flambeaus, and close to the gate was Sixteen-string Jack upon Claude's 
 horse, holding a pistol in each hand, pointed at the paralysed throng in the inn 
 yard. 
 
 '* Mount, Claude, and away," cried Jack. " Did you think I could go further 
 from here, than sufficient to pick up some assistance for you ? Oh, no — off and 
 away ! Now, you rascals, come on, and you'll every one of you be food for 
 worms." 
 
 *' Mount," said Bill. *' Blaze away. The osses is right as trivets. Here 
 goes." 
 
 He and Claude were mounted in a moment. Then one of the rough-looking 
 men with the torches sprung up behind Sixteen -String Jack^ and Bill made good 
 room for the other. AH this was done so rapidly, that the people in the yard, 
 who had made so sure of capturing Claude Duval, stood like statues. Claude 
 took off his hat gracefully, as he said — 
 
 " Grentlemen, I have the honour of bidding you all good night. I suppose you 
 have had enough of us for this time, but if not, you can hunt me up again, and 1 
 shall be happy to see you upon the same terms." 
 
 " Blaze away 1" said Bill, *' and douce the glimmeries !" 
 
 The flambeau was extinguished in a moment, and off flew Claude and his 
 friends into the profound darkness of the open country, leaving those in the inn 
 yard in a state better to be imagined than described. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXX. 
 
 A RESOLUTION. 
 
 It was a quarter to twelve, upon that night, while Cicely, Markham and May 
 Russei were sitting together, in most anxious consultation concerning Claude, 
 that the servant of the house, where they had taken up their lodging, came^and
 
 i 324 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ~ ■ ' - 
 
 said, that a Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones had called, and wished to see Mr. Brere- 
 ton. Markham could hardly command his voice, as he said — 
 
 " Show the gentlemen in." 
 
 Two well-flressed persons were ushered into the room, and the servant closed 
 the door. There was a few moments' silence, to allow her to get out of hearings 
 and then one of the new comers walked up to Cicely, and said — 
 
 " My darling!'* 
 
 With a cry of joy she flung her arms around him — 
 
 *'Ii is our Claude I* 
 
 "Hush! hush !" said Claude. "Be discreet both in joy and in sorrow. You 
 see, Markham, I am safe, and I have perfofmed my mission, This is my friend 
 Jack. By-the-bye, how does your wound fell now. Jack ?" 
 
 *' Much better. It is so well bandaged, that I have but little inconvenience 
 from it. Ladies, I feel that I ought to apologise for this intrusion, considering 
 who and what I am.'* 
 
 ^ You are my husband's friend,* said Cicely, "and that is a sacred title. I 
 recollect and know nothing else of you. Be seated. Oh, Claude, Claude, what 
 have 1 not suffered in anxiety smce I last saw you, and what may I not still 
 have to suffer." 
 
 She wept convulsively upon his bosom, and May could not conquer her tears 
 either. It was then that Markham Brereton spoke, saying — 
 
 " Now, Claude, will you listen to me ? You see me ; you see Cicely, whom 
 you' love ; and you see your sister May, whom you love likewise. I am inclined to 
 think that for me you have a friendship. You hear, I say, nothing of yourself; 
 but now at this time that you are free, I ask you to think of the happiness of those 
 who are about you." 
 
 " Yes—yes !" said Cicely. 
 
 " Say on !" cried May. *' Say on !" 
 
 " Do you listen to me, Claude, with anything like seriousness ?'* 
 
 " I do." 
 
 ** Then you remember, Claude, what I said to you once before. I implore you 
 to leave England, and seek for reputation and happiness in another land." 
 
 *' How can I ? What means have I ?" * 
 
 " Leave all to me, Claude. If you will say that you will leave England for ever, 
 you shall have the means. I am now in a condition to provide means for us all. 
 Indeed, with the hope that I should be able to do so much as to prevail upon you 
 to follow my advice, I have already made some arrangements. Your consent is 
 all that is wanted. I wait your answer, Claude." 
 
 "And I too, Claude," sobbed Cicely. " £— your wife !" 
 
 *' And I too, Claude," said May. *< I— your sister!" 
 
 " God of Heaven I" said Claude, " what would you have me do ? Am I not a 
 proscribed man ? Is not a price set upon my head ? Am I not described to the 
 very passengers of the streets in hand-bills, so that all men's hands should be 
 raised against me ? And yet you ask me to do this or to do the other, as though, 
 like yourself, I were free to go hither or thither, and no man could say to me, nay!'* 
 
 " Hear me out, Claude," said Markham. 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " Then let me assure you that the reasons against your going from England are 
 the very reasons why we wish you to go. We cannot say that you will succeed in 
 going ; but what we wish is, that you should make the attempt to get to some place 
 where you will not be proscribed, and where you will be free to go hither oi thither 
 as you please, and no one to say to you, nay." 
 
 " And your plan?" 
 
 " It is this. If you can make your way to Southampton, you will find at the 
 mouth of the Itchen asraall bark, called the ' Rendezvous,' bound to Cherbourg. Go 
 on board and say you are No. 1, when it will push off at once with you. Oflco 
 landed, you can write to me, and we will all three eet you by the speediest means 
 of conveyance."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 325 
 
 Claude was silent. • 
 
 " My Claude/' said Cicely, " the life of alarm I lead will kill me.*' 
 
 •* Jack," said Claude, holding out his hand, *' will you go with me ?" 
 
 ** To the end of the world, Claude. You know you have but to say the word 
 to me, and I am game for any plan, here or elsewhere." 
 
 " And what think you of this plan ?" 
 
 " I like it. Besides, Claude, I think you are bound to attempt it in deference 
 to those whose happiness depends upon you. We will go together, if you like.*' 
 
 " I am determined," said Claude. '* Let it be so. If those who of late have 
 hunted me will let me go in peace, I will go." 
 
 *' Oh ! joy—joy !" cried Cicely. '* We shall be happy yet,*' 
 
 " It is joy, Cicely,** said Claude, ** to hear you speak in such accents. The 
 bloom, too, of old times, comes once more to your cheeks. Do with me what you 
 will. Direct me at your pleasure. Heaven knows I have sufficiently been the bane 
 of your young [existence, not to hesitate to take any step which promises you 
 something of your former happiness. I will leave England if I can. Cicely." 
 
 She could not reply to him for the tears that crowded to her sight, and she looked 
 a thousand things that no tongue could utter. Claude*8 resolution was fixed. 
 
 *' Hear me, Mr. Brereton,'* he said. ** When I say to you that 1 will do this 
 thing, I really mean it. If those who now persecute me will allow me in peace, 
 with Jack, to leave England, I will leave it ; but if in the attempt to do so I am 
 hunted to desperation, woe be to those who so hunt me, for I will tum again and 
 discard from my heart all feelings of pity that have hitherto influenced me, and 
 against the powerful and the rich I will, in this country of weak piety and religious 
 cant, wage an exterminating war !'* 
 
 " Bat you will succeed," said Cicely. " Yes, Claude, you will escape." 
 
 " I hope 60. But now at this moment I seem to feel ' 
 
 " What ?— Oh ! whati" 
 
 " No matter. Y'^ou will all of you call me superstitious, so we will say no more 
 upon that head. Jack, you and I must carefully think over the best plan of carry- 
 ing out this resolution.'* 
 
 The feeling which had come over Claude was a dismal presentiment of failure 
 and misery, that were to be consequent upon the enterprise to which he had now 
 pledged himself. A sort of shudder came over him, but he repressed the exhibi- 
 tion of the feeling, and having ence passed his word to make the attempt, he would 
 not draw, back. The presentiment of evil was true, though ; for although this was 
 the most extraordinary of Claude's adventures that he was about to undertake, so 
 was it in its results the most calamitous to him. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXI. 
 
 A MAN HUNT. 
 
 As Claude Duval is now at the commencement of that string of extraordinary 
 adTentures and audacious proceedings which have been hitherto kept secret from 
 All chroniclers of the career of that wonderful man, it becomes necessary that we 
 sneuld briefly state the position in which the authorities found themselves with 
 regard to him. His repeated and daring escapes had got up a feeling of aggrava- 
 tion in the minds of the London and suburban police, which had completely 
 turned into a personal feeling against Claude ; and although no one could say that 
 he had taken a life except in self-defence and to avoid arrest, and then only when 
 hard pressed, the higher authorities of the country chose to brand him as one of 
 the worst of murderers. Now Claude Duval was a highwayman, and- as a high- 
 wayman hs 
 
 " Did his spiriting gentlj ."
 
 326 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 He robbed the rich, and he robbed without violence if he could. He always 
 treated females with courtesy, and an appeal to his feelings or his generosity 
 was never made in vain ; but he w^as, to all intents and purposes, a highwayman, 
 and what is worse, he had escaped from Newgate. He had enlisted upon his side 
 all sorts of popular sympathies in consequence of his conduct in the affair of 
 Markham Brereton ; he had defied the authorities, and finally, he had shot Long, 
 who was one of the pet officers of the Home Office. The result of all this was, 
 that Lord William Bathurst, who was then Home-Secretar)', sent for the.&heriffs, 
 and said — *' Gentlemen, a £1000 is at your disposal from the Treasury so soon 
 as I am assured of the apprehension of the notorious Claude Duval. Let him be 
 taken dead or alive: but, mark me, gentlemen, he must be exterminated I" 
 
 "Your lordship may depend upon us," said the sheriff's. 
 
 Within one hour after this interview it wa* advertised and placarded over the 
 city and the suburbs, that one thousand pounds would be paid for the arrest o 
 Claude Duval, dead or alive, to any one or more per ons who would bring him or 
 his dead body to Newgate. This set every officer in the metropolis on the alert, 
 and there commenced what may be literally called— a wa» Amw^. We shall see 
 how Claude Duval, accompanied by his old friend Sixteen-string Jack, got through 
 it ; and now for " danger the first" which they had to encounter. The servant at the 
 house where Markham Brereton, Cicely, and May lodged, had found out that 
 there was some mystery going on ; and when Claude and Jack arrived she went 
 into the next room, and by placing her ear against a small hole in the wainstcot, 
 where a knot in the wood-work had been removed, she heard something, but not 
 all that passed. In about a quarter ot an hour that servant crept down stairs 
 into the kitchen, and so frightened was she at the mere name of the renowned 
 Claude Duval, that she there and then, after trying to say soi2Jething to her 
 mistreas, fainted away. This extraordinary conduct upon the part of the servant 
 naturally alarmed her mistress. Some hasty but efficient restoratives were used 
 upon the spur of the moment, and the girl recovered sufficiently to pronounce the 
 name of Claude Duval. 
 
 " Who ?" said the landlady. *« Why, what is the girl dreaming about ?" 
 
 '* Missus, missus, Claude Duval is up stairs, and he's going to Southampton on 
 board a ship ; but before he goes all our throats are to be cut across and across !" 
 
 Upon this, being seriously affected by [the vision of the throat-cutting, which 
 she owed entirely to her own imagination, she fainted again. Now, the name of 
 Claude Duval had scarcely less effect upon the mistress than upon the maid, and 
 leaving tJie servant in her state of syncope, she ran out of the house and round 
 the corner to a public house, the landlord of which was a constable in his own 
 right, and rushing into the bar, she screamed— 
 
 '* Claude Duval I Claude Duval !" 
 
 Now, the landlord of the Cat and Cucumber was not a hero, and he forthwith 
 thought that this was no other than Claude Duval himself in some artful disguise ; 
 so he popped into a cupboard and shut himself in, clutching the door fast by the 
 panneling, at the expense of all his finger nails. The woman who had so terrified 
 him flung herself into a chair and while she screamed out at the top of her voice, 
 *' Claude Duval is in my house !'* she executed a fit or two of hysterics after the 
 most approved fashion, and alarmed the whole house in the course of a few 
 minutes. Landlady, chambermaid, cook, boots, pot-boy, and bar-maid, all 
 congregated around her, and then the landlord emerged from the cupboard. 
 He fully intended by so doing to exercise a pacifying influence upon all persons 
 there assembled ; but somehow or other he failed, as very many people do, of 
 producing the effect he intended, but was strikingly successful in producing 
 the very reverse, the more especially as he prefaced his appeal with the exclama- 
 tory observation of " Here I am I here I am !" 
 
 Who could the assembled commons suppose it to be but thfe veritable Claude 
 Duval himself ! and therefore it was no wonder that the chambermaid fell over the 
 landlady, and the pot-boy fell over the chambermaid, and everybody else fell over 
 these.
 
 LlfE ON THE ROAD. 327 
 
 '* It's me, I tell you !" cried the landlord, and he danced round the throng 
 like a wild Indian ; and then the idea struck him that the information he 
 had received iiiight be worth something, so snatching his staff from a peg, 
 upon which it proudly hung by the side of a silver tankard and two punch 
 bowls, he rushed from the house and made the best of his way to Newgate. 
 The valorous landlord of the Cat and Cucumber was not disappointed. His 
 information was valuable, and highly appreciated in the classic regions of the 
 Old Bailey ; and while he is there making a sensation, we will return to Claude and 
 hi^ friends. They had not the remotest suspicion of what an untoward accident 
 h td occurred to already proclaim Claude's whereabouts, and the consultation 
 i continued, and ended by Claude and Sixteen- string Jack agreeing that their best 
 plan would be to start at once, and make a first stage on horseback as far as they 
 could conveniently go, so as to leave London and their more immediate enemies 
 behind them. Both Jack and Claude were quite familiar with the road they 
 were going to travel up on as far as Bagshot, and they did not expect to reach so 
 far before finding it necessary to halt to refresh their horses, which were now at 
 the public-house yard in Drury Lane, where Claude had directed Jack to go from 
 the inn near Barnes. We will, therefore, now rapidly shift the scene, and get 
 our readers to stand with us at the door of the Old Moon Tavern in Drury Lane. 
 Two horses are there ready caparisoned, and upon one of them is Sixteen-string 
 Jack already mounted. The other stands close to the foot- way, and Claude 
 Duval has his left hand over the saddle, while with his right hand he is shaking 
 the landlord by the digits, 
 
 " God bless you, my body," said old Anthony, *' take care of yourself." 
 
 " I mean to do so,'* said Claude, *' and if we should ever meet again, Anthony, 
 you will hear of me." 
 
 " Meet again ? Pho ! We shall meet again, lad, take my word for it. You 
 
 are a Knight of the Road, and a Knight of the Road you will be till but no 
 
 matter. They won't let you go, boy, I tell you ; but you can try it. I say we, 
 shall meet again," 
 
 A lad came up at the moment, and said — 
 
 " Anthony, can you hold that lantern up a bit, and give a fellow a light ?'* 
 
 " Ay— ay, that can I. You are one of the right sort." 
 
 The lad had a piece of printed paper in his hand, which he was about to twist 
 up f,or the purpose of making a pipe-light of it, but touching his hat to Claude, he 
 said in a voice of respect mingled with affection — 
 
 ''Captain, you would perhaps like to see thia first V 
 
 '* Do you know me?' said Claude, as he took the paper. 
 
 *' Yes, caftain. You saved me once from the grabs, at the risk of your own 
 capture. Read it." 
 
 Claude took the paper, and saw it was the notice offering the thousand pounds 
 reward for him. He handed it back with a smile, as he said — 
 
 " Do people light their pipes here with thousand pound notes ? Why, here I 
 am, and any stout fellow might take me, or shoot me at all events." 
 
 The lad shook his head, and lit his pipe with the placard. 
 
 "Ah, Claude," said Matthew, " you leave good friends behind you ; but if you 
 will be off — good-bye, and the sooner you go now the better.'* 
 
 Claude shook hands with the lad, and then vaulted into his saddle. He gave 
 the rein to the noble steed he bestrode, and he and Sixteen-^string Jack trotted 
 over the uneven pavement of Drury Lane, and making the best of their way 
 westward they soon cleared the houses, and got upon the high-road to Brentford, 
 iioping at all events to reach Staines before it would be necessary to make any very 
 considerable halt. They were both plainly dressed, but each had strapped to his 
 saddle-back a small vallaise, in which there v:ere materials for some very 
 opposite disguises, and each had a good pair of pistols upon wh ch he could rely. 
 And now we must for a very short time indeed leave them to trot down the 
 Brentford Road, while we state that they had not left the lodging of Markbam 
 Brereton, Cicely, and May, a quarter of an hour, before a quiet ring came at the
 
 328 GENTLEMAN JACK; 
 
 area bell, and the servant, who had recovered by this time, crept into the area -yi. 
 se;vai.is will do at times, to ask who was there ? She was yet all of a tremble 
 as she afterwards declared, with the idea that Claude Duval was still in the house, 
 although she had heard the street.door opened and shut once very recently, as if 
 to let some one out of the house. 
 
 " Open the door as quietly as you can," said a voice, that sounded like some 
 one trying to file the teeth of a saw as harmoniously as it was possible to conduct 
 such an operation. 
 
 ** The Lord be good to us, who are you V* 
 
 •' Don't ask questions, but open the door at once, or you may have your 
 throat cut.'* 
 
 This speech so chimed in with the girPs fears, that she was near fainting again, 
 but she did manage to crawl up staiis and open the street-door, when she fell 
 upon her knees to beg for mercy and protection — a proceeding of so unexpected a 
 character to tne man upon the step, that he at once fell over her, and lay sprawling 
 in the passage, making more noise than was sufficient to alarm the street. He 
 swore and the girl screamed, so that if Claude had still been up stairs, it would 
 not have been their fault if he had not suspected something was amiss. Five 
 more men, who had been dodging about the neighbouring doors, came up, and 
 they assembled in the passage, drawing each a pistol from his pocket. The one 
 who had fallen, and who had been sent forward, on account of his skill in finesse, 
 to get the door open, gently gathered himself up, crying—" Guard the door, you 
 two. Guard the donr as agreed, you two. The rest follow me. It*s as good, 
 one way and another, as two hundred pounds a-piece. Come on." 
 
 The four, leaving two to guard, commenced an active search, holding their 
 pistols ready to fire; and there can be no doubt that these six officers, who had 
 come direct from Newgate, had made up their minds to shoot Claude the moment 
 they should clap eyes upon him, since the reward of one thousand pounds was to 
 be paid for him alive or dead. 
 
 " What's the matter?" said Markham Brereton from the top of the stairs 
 although he guessed pretty well what was the matter. 
 
 '•There he is ! There he is!" cried one. Bang! went a pistol, and then 
 they all saw by the light that Markham carried, that he was not their man. 
 Luckily the shot missed him, and Breveton, as he entered his room, cried— 
 " Thieves ! Thieves ! I'll soon give them a warm reception. Wheie are my 
 pistols ?" 
 
 ** No, no !' shouted one of the officers, " Good God, no ! It's a mistake. We 
 are police officers. Don't, sir. We are looking for Claude Duval." 
 
 " Yes," cried the servant, who had j recovered sufficiently to sit upon the door- 
 mat, " and he's np stairs, and he said he was going to Southampton to bid Eng- 
 land a doo, I heard him say a doo. If there's any reward a going, perhaps, 
 gentlemen, you'll think of me, Susan Grates, with only eight pounds a-year, and 
 find herself in everythink." 
 
 ** Claude who ?" cried Markham. 
 
 " Duval, the famous highwayman," said one of the officers, " Remember j^'s 
 felony to harbour him, sir." 
 
 " Stuff, 1 know nothing of Duval. Now that I know who and what you are; 
 you may come and ssarch and welcome ; but I'm not at all obliged to you for 
 the pistol-shot you sent at me." 
 
 " Never mind it, sir. It wasn't meant for you. If so be as it had hit you, it 
 -would have been all a mistake, so never mind about that, sir." 
 
 1'he officers had concluded their search of the lower part of the house, and 
 now they mounted the stairs ; but their tact in such matters soon convinced them 
 that if the bird had been there at all it had flown, and they looked amaaingly 
 disappointed, as one of them said, «• Why, the girl here declares she heard 
 Claude Duval himself speak of going to Southampton, and so on to leave the 
 country." 
 
 *' The girl may declare just whatever it may please her whim or fancy, but
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 329 
 
 there is no Claude Duval here to my knowledge ; I and these ladies »«ay hay a beeii 
 talkiBg of him. as many folks do, and that may have misled the servant, who has , j 
 
 '^!^^;tfl^^^t^l^;;^Sl ^cer. ^ come along, comrades ; I see it is If 
 
 MARKHAM BRERETON IS FIRED AT BY MISTAKE. 
 
 all a mistake. We must wait for better luck ; and I can only say, sir, tlat we 
 
 apologise to you for the trouble we have given you. 
 
 «• Oh, 1 suppose you must do your duty." „ ' /? fU- 
 
 The officers all lett the house, but when they got round the corner oi tn* 
 
 street, he who had last spoken, said— 
 
 . . ^- ' - ' ** . .._ " —-^ — ' • " .." 
 
 No. 42. -
 
 33a GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** Comrades, tbe iDformation was correct — I know that fellow. It's Mr» 
 Brereton ; and you may take your oaths Claude has been there, and has gone* 
 We will be off to the sheriff's at once, and something must be decided on. That 
 was the nest, although the bird was not in it,* 
 
 At the very moment that the officer was making such a sagacious remark, Mark*^ 
 liam Brereton said in a whisper to May and Cicely— 
 
 ' "Claude's route is discovered, and some means must be taken to warn him; 
 I will think and act as quickly as possible.'* 
 
 What measures they were that Markham Brereton took, we must leave to be 
 developed by circumstances, while it behoves us to detail the extraordinary steps 
 which the police authorities, backed by the Home Office, took for the apprehension 
 of CKude. A body of men, noje^s than thirty in number, was collected together ; 
 and, as the authorities did not for a moment doubt that it was really the intentioa 
 of Claude to get to Southampton, whether for the purpose of embarkation or not, 
 they, by hard riding across the country^ stationed these men in parties of three 
 along the high-road, with directions for them to trot for some miles to and fro 
 upon the road, and interceptany one suspected. Now, the clear distance from 
 London to Southampton being seventy-five miles, these thirty men commanded 
 the road extremely well, and more particularly so, as they did not commence their 
 surveillance until they got to Hounslow and its vicinity. Their oiders distinctly^ 
 were to capture or kill Claude Duval. 
 
 / 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXir. 
 Claude's progress. 
 
 Again we ride'with Claude and Jack upon the high-road to Brentford. ,Tiie 
 night was anything but pleasant. A drizzling rain was falling, and the boisterous 
 south-west wind was blowing, which, when it came across the trees, made such a 
 howling and wailing noise, that one would have thought a thousand devils were 
 trying to tear them up by their roots. They did not ride fast, for Claude was 
 desirous of spaiing the horses, not knowing what untoward circnrastances might 
 yet disturb the serenity of their route. It was a wi«€ precaution, althojugh neither 
 he nor Jack had the least idea that their intentions were known, or that such for- 
 midable preparations were making against 4rhem. They had passed through tbe 
 long straggling town of Brentford, and were half way to Staines, when some clock 
 in the vicinity of where they were struck three. Claude counted the strokes, but 
 just as he said ** three,'* Jack held up his hand and cried— 
 
 " Listen I" 
 
 Claude inclined his eai;, and heard quite plainly the tramp of a horse's feet 
 coming after them upon the road they had taken. It was quite clear, from the 
 sound, that it was only one horseman, and Claude said — 
 
 "Let us go on at a walk. Jack, till this horse comes up to us. I suppose weare 
 a match for one mounted man, if he should prove an enemy ?'* 
 
 " Hush V said Jack again. " What's that ?" 
 
 "What's what, Jack ? You are full of alarms to-night, or rather this morning." 
 
 ** Jso, Claude, no. Hold my horse while I dismount a moment, and listen 
 closer to the ground, for my ears much decei 'e me if I do not catch the sound of 
 horses' feet in the meadow to the left. I shall soon kno^ , Claude." 
 
 Jack dismounted, and crouched down with his ear ;ilraost touching the long 
 grass on the way-side, and then springing uo, he cred — 
 
 " I tvas right, Claude. Some horsemen are corning at a tiard canter across those 
 meadows." 
 
 ** Never mind those just now. Jack/' said Claude ; " but remount, for o«r
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 331 
 
 friend ia the rear, if he be one, will be upon us directly, and here he is. 
 Hold !" 
 
 Claude wheeled his horse into the middle of the road, and faced the advancing 
 rider, who reined in his steed with a force and suddenness that threw it upon its 
 haunches, as Le cried, in the well-known voice of Markham Brereton — 
 ^ *• Tliank God, I am in time ! Claude, I have Hews for you," 
 ( •» For me ? Of Cicely ? Oh ! tell rae—she is well V 
 
 *' Quite. But your route and intention of escaping are both discovered, and 
 the bloodhounds of the law are now upon your track. £1000 are offered for you, 
 dead or alive ; and exertions, such as never were before made, are now making 
 for your apprenension. Thank Heaven, I have overtaken you to warn you !" 
 
 " You hear, Jack," said Claude, in a saddened tone. " My prophetic feeling 
 was correct. I thought that We should not be permitted to go in peace. Mr. 
 Brereton, from my heart I thank you. Go to London again, and protect Cicely. 
 Do not risk being seen here in bad company. If 1 succeed in what I am attempt- 
 ing, you will hear from me ; if I fail, you will hear of me. Farewell, sir j I owe 
 you much, and you have had much to forgive in me." 
 
 *' No— no, Claude. No." 
 
 " Hark !" said Jack ; *' they come." 
 
 *' They ?" crid Brereton. *' Whom mean you ?— enemips ?" 
 
 ** To us, perhaps, Mr. Brereton, but not to you," said Claude. *' We hear 
 some horsemen hurrying across the meadows. I pray >ou ieave us, and do not 
 stain a spotless reputation by even seeming to exchange courtesies with such as 
 we are. Farewell ! —farewell !" 
 
 •* No, Claude — hear me. You are now engaged upon, perhaps, the only enter- 
 prise of your life with which I can truly sym|pathise. You are seeking the road 
 and the means of procuring an honourable career, and it behoves me to help you 
 on. I will not desert you. If thess be foes who are approaching, they must be 
 met. Better for three to meet them than two. I am armed." 
 
 "And will you, indeed, aid in my defence, knowing who and what I am ?" 
 
 "Yes; for you are endeavouring to be that which you are not now. I am 
 not helping the highwayman, but I am helping Claude Duval, who is trying to 
 be honourable and honest." 
 
 " Here they are !" cried Jack. ** Here they are !" 
 
 Six horsemen dashed through a little* edge, and gained the highway. 
 
 " Stand !" cried one. " In the king's name, stand, whoever you are ! We 
 .are officers ! Declare your names and condition, or we will fire upon you ! 
 Our present duty doesn't stand on ceremony !" 
 
 "Forward!" cried Claude; and he spurred his horse towards the officers — 
 ** Forward against the bloodhounds who are in for a man-hunt!" 
 
 He fired one of his pistols as he advanced, and Jack did the same. The officers 
 
 hastily discharged a volley at Claude and his friends, and then they were all 
 
 mingled up together. Claude struck one officer senseless from his horse with the 
 
 I heavy silver-mounted but-end of his discharged pistol. One had been shot. Jack 
 
 I grappled with another, and Markham Brereton was assailed by two, one of whom 
 
 I had to hold his horse until the other should get a fair aim at him to shoot him. 
 
 j Claude flew to his rescue and dashed down another of the foe, at the same 
 
 moment that Jack and the one with whom he was struggling both fell from their 
 
 I horses together. Jack, contrived, however to keep his hoise's bridle over his arm j 
 
 I but the oflBcer disengaging himself, and finding that his party was getting the 
 
 j worst of it, ran off on the London-road, shouting *' Murder! murder!" at the 
 
 i top of his lungs. Markham Brereton had knocked down the one with whom he 
 
 grappled, and who so obligingly tried to hold him to be shot ; and the sixth, who 
 
 had fired, but ineffectually, two pistols, and kept rather aloof of the fray, set 
 
 spurs to his horse, and galloped off" at a bieak-neek pace, expecting every moment 
 
 to hear a bullet whizzing afier him. ' 
 
 *' Jack — Jack, are you hurt?" cried Claude. 
 
 *' No, Claude! And you ?"
 
 332 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Not a scratch \** 
 
 •' Nor I," said Markham Brercton, «* to sigoify, CUude— Claude, what will 
 you do no <v?* 
 
 '" Pursue ray journey, and by the high-road, too. I know my danger. I witi 
 do what I have undertaken if I can, and woe be to those who stop me. Your 
 hand, Mr. Brereton. The successful issue of this first struggle 1 owe to you. 
 And now I implore you to leave me. Remember that Cicely aud May, if I fall, 
 have no friend in the world but you." 
 
 ** That is true. I thought, at the moment, of going with you ; but you have 
 decided me. Farewell, Claude, until me meet again. Farewell I" 
 
 Claude and Jack had now mounted again, and Markham Brereton turned his 
 horse's head to London. Claude waved his arm, and then off they went separate 
 ways ; but Markham Brereton, with the honest heart hia bosom had ever known 
 found his feeling in favour of Claude Duval had reached its highest pitch, at the 
 ▼cry time he believed him to be, in a manner of speaking; doomed to destruction ; 
 tor he did not think it at all possible that Claude could escape the powerful means 
 now resorted to for his apprehension. 
 
 •* He is doomed !— He is doomed !" was the exclamation of Markham Brereton, 
 after he had left Claude and Sixteea-string Jack. " He is doomed ! and, as he 
 truly says, I shall be the only friend of poor May Duval, and of my sister Cicely.** 
 I • JacJc and Claude trotted on about a mile before either of them spoke ; and 
 then Claude, rising somewhat in his stirrups said^— 
 
 ■I" Jack, where are we now ? Can you guess ? That Httle racket with our old 
 friends the police, has, I confess, put me somewhat out of my reckoning.** 
 
 ** We must be close to Staine«,*' said Jack. But, Claude, tell me trully what 
 you think of our chances ?*• 
 
 " Just what I always thought, Jack, neither more nor less/ 
 i «' And that?" 
 
 •' That is, that we shall fail. Now look you. Jack. My crimes, as they choose 
 to call them, are nothing in the eyes of the officers, but only consider how valu- 
 able I have become. I am a £lOOO note, you know, dead or alive, to whoever 
 can take me, and do yon not think that amply sufficient to arm half the nation 
 against me? No, Jack, we will try to do this, because 1 have promised it to 
 those whom I love ; but we shall be battled with, and taken back once agaia 
 into the angry turmoil of life. Be assured we shall not escape." 
 . "Then why not strike across the fields to Hounslow at once ?** 
 
 **1 have promised Cicely." 
 k " Well, Claude, you shall take your own way ; and, fail or succeed, I am with 
 you. And there is one thing I have made up my mind to, which is, if they do 
 kill you they shall kill me too, for I will oiily live long enough after you to baulk 
 Bome of them of the enjoyment of the expected reward.'* 
 
 " You must think differently, Jack. But come on. Our houses don't fail, and 
 we may get through Staines yet." 
 
 The rain had by this time blown off, but the wind was high and squally ; and 
 when they came near to any open space, k blew in such buflfeting gusts against 
 them, that the horses frequently swerved from the high-road several paces to 
 avoid its violence, and in this way they got on for a couple of miles further, whea 
 the lights of Staines became distinctly visible to them. Thus provided, they 
 found no foes to oblige them to forego their intentions, and they resolved upoa 
 waiting for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour to give the horses some refresh- 
 ment. They wanted nothing in particular themselves, but they both felt of what 
 importance it was to keep the cattle in condition, 
 
 •* Stop, Jack," said Claude, "at the first inn you sec. It can't matter which ; 
 and by no means go inside, or stray above a few paces from your horse. One 
 don't know who in Staines might be'glad of a £1000 this damp and gusty night. 
 Push on, we shall be there in ten minutes.'* 
 
 ITiey put their horses to increased speed, and soon reached the picturcsqucsuburbs 
 of Staines, and drew up at the door of a comfortable -lookino^ little inn, in front
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 333 
 
 of which was a good horse-trough and a pump« A man was quite busy pasting 
 a bill upon the face of the pump, and whistting carelessly as he did so. How 
 heedless was he of the pang that bill might give to some fellow- being ! Claude^ 
 as he disraouoted, glanced at it, and saw that it had at the top, in large letters, 
 *' £1000 Reward." He knew those letters at once. He had seen one of those 
 bills in Drury.lane. Claude reached close up to the pump, and read the bill 
 through, which the man observing, he said— 
 *' Do you think they'll catch him, sir i'*^$^^^ ''^ 
 " No," said Claude. ^'^'1 
 
 H" Well, they means to try arter it. Three of* em galloped through the town 
 arter giving me twenty-five of these here bills to stick ; so, in course, I'm a 
 sticking of 'em ; howsomdever, I do hopes as ihey won't nab him, arter a'L 
 l*ve heard some good of the chap.*' 
 
 Claude walked slowly away and rejoined Jack. The ostler of the house 
 
 had issiied forth to take charge of the horses, and touchinghis cap to Claude, he said, 
 
 •* Wm you leave 'em here in the yard, sir ? Capital 'coramodation, here, sir." 
 
 "No," said Claude ; " rub them down a little, wash their feet, and give them 
 
 a few mouthfuls of wet hay. That will do.** 
 
 ' ** Wery good, sir— wery good. Humph ! a precious knowiog-looking blade 
 that." 
 
 The landlord now came out, and waving his hand in quite an oratorical 
 manner, he said to Claude and Jack— > 
 
 ** Walk in, gentlemen— walk in ; everything of the best, gentlemen. Private 
 room, or capital parlour. We pride ourselves on our ale, gentlemen ; this way,, 
 if you please.'* 
 
 ** No, thank you," said Claude. " We make no stay ; but bring a couple of 
 glasses of ale, if you please, and we will drink them. Your accoramodation 
 inside is so good that if we were to cross the threshold, who knows but we might 
 not be able to tear ourselves away V* 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed the landlord; <* very good. Well, gentlemen, it's as 
 you please, of course. I'll bring the ale in a moment." 
 
 The ostler, with the hissing noise peculiar to his class, rubbed down the horses 
 with a whisp of straw, and the landlord appeared with the ale, while Jack was 
 reading the bill on the pump. 
 
 " Ah, gentlemen l" said the landlord, "it's a shocking thing to see £1000 notes 
 flying about in such a way, ain't it ? It would be the making of me now if 1 could 
 nab him. Ah, dear me ! a £1000 I What a set-up to a struggling man." 
 
 ♦' Well," said Claude, " I only wish you may get it. Are the horses ready, 
 ostler ?'* 
 
 *' Yes, sir, here they is. as fresh as daisies, and as rosy as apples in August, 
 Thank you, sir. Hilloa !— more customers ; why, what is the matter ? They 
 seem half dead ones." 
 
 A strange cavalcade was whhin sight of the inn. It was now about five 
 o'clock in the morning, and there was sufficient light just to make it a puzzle to 
 know if "it were be^t to have a lantern or not ; nevertheless, those who ap- 
 proached carried a light, and it was evident that some of them were woun<kd. 
 The idea fhat they might be the officers with whom he, Claude, accompanied by 
 Jack and Markham, had had the recent encounter, crossed his mind in a 
 moment, and touching Jack upon the arm, he whispered— 
 ** Mount, and away !" 
 
 *' All ready," said Jack, as he vaulted into the saddle. 
 
 Claude followed his example ; and then that strange spirit of fun or mischief, 
 call it what you will, which was a part of his nature, came over him ; and at that 
 inopportune moment, and regardless of the possible inference that might bedrawn 
 from his conduct, he beckoned to the landlord, and when that worthy came close 
 to his stirrup, Claude touched him, and said to him in a confidential sort of voice — 
 "My friend I don't think you will ever be set up by the £1000 you will get i
 
 334s GENTLEMAN JACK; OR. 
 
 for the appreheneioD of Claude Duval. Good night !— you are too wise here by 
 a good deal." 
 
 Claude touched his forehead with hi& finger, and then accompanied by Jack, 
 galloped from the door of the inn, just as the approaching cavalcade of men on 
 horseback and on foot were within fifty paces of the door. ^ 
 
 I " Now, Jack/' said Claude, " this will be a case of the devil take the hinder- 
 most. Hold on, and scamper away as though the dead Jew doctor were behind 
 you, who brought you to life again, after your little adventure at Tyburn." * 
 
 I *• Don't mention it," said Jack ; " that's a subject i never willingly refer to.*^ 
 
 " Excuse me, then ; but ride on." ' 
 
 *« Most willingly.*' 
 
 They both now put their horses to their utmost speed ; for from what Claude 
 had said to the cunning landlord of the public-house, as well as from the descrip- 
 tions that would be given of them, there could be no doubt that they would be 
 hotly as well as immediately pursued, and they wished both to get such a start 
 of the parly who would follow them as, at all events, not to be at the vjgioy of 
 €very little petty accident that might happen to them on their route. Wus far 
 this desirable state of things would certainly not fail to be soon accomplished, if J 
 they continued at anything like their present rate for long without pursuit ; but'^ 
 that was not to be. As Claude had foreseen, the advancing party soon found 
 they were upon the track ; and although now those who came on foot were 
 completely thrown ofiF the chase, the horsemen, stimulated both by cupidity and 
 by revenge, took to the road in good style, and it would evidently be no fault of ^ 
 theirs if they did not hunt to death the man upon whose head society had set 
 its bane and its price. Alas ! poor Claude. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXni. 
 
 CLAUDE AND JACK IN NEW CHARACTERS. 
 
 ** Hare !'* cried Jack; "do you hear anything, Claude ?" 
 
 *' No-— no. Don't draw bridle up yet, Jack ; push on one mile further, if yOtt ■ 
 think your horse will stand it." 
 
 " Not at this rate, Claude." 
 
 <' Then slacken a little." 
 
 lliey now decreased their speet nearly a third ; but yet they went at rather a . 
 ■slashing pace, and got over in the next five or ten minutes a considerable | 
 stretch of ground ; so that even Claude began to think it would be just as well 
 to listen a little to ascertain it their pursuers were or were not upon their track. 
 
 **Now, Jack," he cried, " hold in a bit." 
 
 Jack did so, and the panting steeds, with right good will, paused in the middle 
 of rather a miry piece of roadway. As soon as the clatter of their own horses* 
 hoofs ceased, there could be no mistake about the fact of their being pursued, 
 although it was quite clear that they were considerably in advance of the 
 mounted party who were so anxious to come up with them. 
 
 "Jack, where are we?" said Claude. 
 
 *'l am looking about me to find out. Ah, I know now. Why, we have got 
 into a cross-road by some means, and have passed Bagshot," 
 I "Indeed?" 
 
 " Yes, Claude, indeed we have, and what is worse, 1 know we are near a public- 
 house called ' The Weavers* Arms.' " 
 , " Friendly ?" 
 
 " Quite the reverse, Claude ; let us avoid it by all means. It is kept by a man 
 named CHok, who is oneof the greatest rascals u«huQg. He has committed crimes 
 all his life, bat continued, somehow, to keep upon the right side of thelaw.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 335 
 
 He would give us up for ten pounds, and go twenty naiiles to see us both • hung, 
 if he were proaaised our boots for his trouble." 
 
 " The deuce he would ! Trot on, Jack." 
 
 They were now trotting along the road, and Jack added— 
 
 "Yes, Claude, I know the rascal well. He keeps the house with his wife and 
 niece, and does little business ; but some say they would not sleep there for a 
 night for five hundred pounds, or the hopes of it, if they were alive in the mora- 
 ing to claim it." 
 
 ** Humph ! You know, Jack, that our great object just now will be to put our 
 pursuers upon a wrong ?cent." 
 
 *' Of course. Shall we strike into the meadows ?" 
 
 '* Why, no, Jack ; I have made myself a positive promise that I would go to 
 Southampton if I could, and by the high-road, too ; and, please the pigs, I will 
 do so if I can. I don't mean to say that 1 would hesitate, if obvious reasons de- 
 manded it, to turn aside fiom ray path into the open country, but I will only 
 do so H/bjBL last extremity." 
 j< " That is like you, Claude ; but, for God's sake, listen.** 
 
 *' I hear them coming, Jaclf . Ah ! what light is that I see glimmering yonderj, 
 like a faint star amid the trees ? Do you know it ?" 
 
 " Yes ; it is at the door of the Weavers* Arms." 
 
 ** Come on, then, I have thought of somethmg which may answer our purpose, 
 and which I will communicate to you as we ride on. Desperate circumstances^ 
 you know, Jack, require desperate remedies." 
 
 « They do, indeed." 
 
 As Claude and Jack now rode rapidly on, the former, in a very few words, 
 I communicated to the latter the scheme he had hit upon, but which will best, to 
 the reader, show itself in the performance. Jack, to be sure, held up his hands,, 
 and gave a sort of groan, to which Claude carefully responded— 
 
 *' You think I am mad. Jack ?" 
 
 *' No— no, Claude, not mad ; but of all the daring and desperate things that 
 ever you did, or I have, from popular rumour, heard of your doing, this transcends 
 them." 
 
 " Will you aid me, Jack ? — that is the question." 
 
 #No, Claude, that is not the question, for you know well it is beyond all ques- 
 tion. Only tell me what you would have me to do, and I will do it, even if it 
 ■were to ride back and meet those who are upon our track, and ask them the time 
 of night. 1 am with you upon this enterprise, and 1 will live or die with you 
 in it." 
 
 t " Then, Jack, v^e will do things that all we have done shall, in comparison, 
 sound tame and commonplace. Come on. Ah! here we are. Is that a man 
 at the door ?" 
 
 "Yes- yes." 
 
 '* Do you think they will recognise you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. They think we with the dead. Basides, I have altered ray- 
 self very much, as you yourself admit ; so, in the name of all that's desperate, 
 come on." 
 
 " Good," said Claude ; and trotting up to the door of -the inn, he said— 
 
 "HiUoa! Ostler! ostler!" 
 
 " Here you are," said a surly voice; ''what now ? Can't you see a fellow 
 when he's standing at the door, in consekense o' hearing the osses' feet V* 
 
 " Very good, amiable creature," said Claude. *' Have you anybody in th^ 
 house ?" 
 • "Yes." 
 
 *' Well, who is it ? and here's a crown for you." 
 
 "O ! that alters the matter ; when I see a gemman is a geraman, it's quite 
 ^ another affair altogether. There's nobody in the parlour but Jakes the 
 lawyer." 
 *' Well, take them two horses into the stable."
 
 336 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ** The yard, to cool, you mean ?" 
 
 *• No — the stable at once ; so do as you are told, and recollect, you have not got 
 the crown yet, although you will have it. Come now, Joe, look sharp." 
 
 '* Well, that's odd," muttered the ostler ; "hew corned he to know as my 
 name was Joe, I wonder ; for Joe it is, and no sort o' mistake. Howsomedever, 
 a crown is a crown." 
 
 With this wise apothegm, theostler took the two foaming horses by the bridles 
 and led them through agate into the inn-yard, and thence to the stable. Claude 
 and Jack followed him closely, and entered the stable with him. They waited 
 until he had lit a little piece of candle end, and stuck it to the wall, and then 
 Claude, stepping close up to him, laid hold of him by the collar with one hand» 
 and clapped the muzzle of a pistol against his head with the other^ saying as he 
 did so — 
 
 *• If you speak one word, except in answer to me, or make the least alarm. Til 
 blow your brains out as soon as I would take a mad dog by the tail and 
 smash him." 
 
 The ostler's mouth opened to an extraordinary width, and he glared JpClaude 
 like a man possessed. ^ 
 
 *' Now. Jack," added Claude, «* quick!'' 
 
 Jack, with great dexterity, dragged the ostler to one of the racks, and 8o tied 
 him up by the halter round his neck, that any very violent exertion would infallibly 
 hatig him ; then with a piece of strong twine that he had about him. Jack had the 
 fellow's bands securely tied behind him. 
 
 " Now, my friend," said Claude, as he laid the five-shilling piece upon the ground, 
 " I promised you a crown, and a crown you shall have ; but one of us intend 
 to keep guard in the \ard, and if you make any noise, you will be a dead 
 man." 
 
 *' Oh, sir I" 
 
 « Silence I" 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes, sir ; oh, no. no, don't ; I am silent— oh dear, yes !** 
 
 Claude and Jack closed the stable- door, and then at once went into the 
 liouse. To the right hand of the passage was the bar, with all its bright array 
 of classes, and pots, and jugs, and into which there was an entrance by a little 
 half door, and, immediately opposite, was the door of the parlour, in which Claude 
 had been informed that Mr. Jakes the lawyer (whoever that individual might..be) 
 was solacing himself. There was a good light burning in the bar, and in it sat the 
 pious landlord of the Weavers' Arms, and his wife, while a young lass, his niece, 
 was receiving a severe lecture upon the impropriety of wearing her hair in curls. 
 
 " It only encourages the filthy men," said Mrs. Clink, "and that's what you 
 do it for." 
 
 "Indeed, aunt!'* 
 
 "How dare . you,'* said Click — "how dare you contradict your aunt? 
 'Honour your parents, that thy days may be long in the land,* and as you are 
 an orphan, that text may be very well altered to 'honour your uncle and auat.* 
 llemeraber that we keep you from the workhouse." 
 
 *' No, uncle." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I say no, uncle, because that is not the fact. I act liere as your servant, 
 and the on'.y great difference between me and the other servants is, that I 
 get no wages, and am expected to be more thankful seemingly upon that 
 account than my conscience will let me." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Click held up their hands, with a kind of holy horror, as though 
 they could have said — "There's gratitude for you. Thai's what you get for 
 feeding t^e hungry, and clothing the naked!" and at that moment Claude and 
 Jack entered the house The last few words of this controversy were not lost 
 upon C aude. He gathered h-pe frono them, that the niece might not feel so 
 verv much hurt, if he were to the uttermost to carry out his plan of operations. 
 Walk g right on, until he came to the little half door that led into the bar.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 337 
 
 Claude opened it with all the coolness in the world, and to the utter astonishment 
 of the landlord, stood in the sanctitm sanctorum of the Weavers' Arms. 
 
 " Have you a cupboard ?" said Claude. 
 
 " A cupboard 1" gasped the landlord. 
 
 " A cupboard ?' said Mrs. Clink. ' ' -•' '' ■' 
 
 U\f\K.Zi JM 
 
 ANAWKV/ARD " FIx" B3TWHBN fCL ' UDE AND M.\RY ANN. 
 
 ^ The eyes of both of them ^'sndered to a door in the wall, and Claude at once 
 stepping to it, flung it open, and saw a tolerably-sized pantry. ^ 
 
 " Good !" he said ; and as he spoke he crew from his breast-pocket a pistol. 
 "Now, Mr. Clink, I will trouble you for those linen sleeves you have on and for 
 that apron, after which you will do me the honour of getting into tl;at cupboard; 
 
 No. ¥
 
 338 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 and you, madam," turning to Mrs. Clink, *' along with him, or I swear by all 
 that's sacred 1 will blow your brains out. and make you famous as the Clinks 
 who were murdered by Claude Duval, in all time to come.** 
 •* Claude— Duval I" gasped the landlord. 
 *' The Lord look down upon us !" sail the landlady. * 
 
 Jack, however, gave neither of them much ti.ne for reflection. He stripped the 
 linen sleeves from the landlord, and took his apron likewise, and then thrust him 
 into the cupboard, with a shock that nearly sent all the breath out of his 
 body. 
 
 " Now, madam, follow your spouse," said Claude, " and if I hear so much as a 
 cough or a sneeze, or even a breath too hardly d*awn, and calculated to excite 
 attention, I will send the contents of a pair of double-barrelled pistols through 
 the panel of this door. There's a thousand poinds reward for me alive or dead, 
 and you may both earn it if you like, by sacrificing your lives for it, and it will 
 make a nice little fortune for your pretty niece here." 
 
 Bang went the door of the cupboard, and Jack locked it, while Claude, hastily 
 divesting himself of his coat, hat, and cravat, put on the landlord's sleeves and 
 apron. Jack made the same preparations, only turniag up his shirtsleeves; so 
 that, as they both stood there, no one would have supposed that they were any- 
 thing else than belonging to the place. All this while the* niece had sat in 
 silent amazement, and Claude now turning to her, said, — '* My dear, you know 
 who I am, anJ what a sum of blood-money you would get by betraymg me. 
 Every guinea would look red with gore. 1 use no threats to you, but I make 
 one promise. 
 
 " Nay,*' continued Claude, with that soft and handsome smile, which at times 
 would light up his features'as though a ray of sunshine had come across them. 
 ** Nay, be not alarmed. Nothing can be further from my purpose, than to cause 
 you a moment's pain. The promise I make you is, that if you can have the heart 
 to betray me, you may do so with perfect personal ,sa^ety, as neither my friend 
 ,, nor I would raise an arm against you. Now, Jack, be busy. Remember, you are 
 i Sam the waiter, and a bit of a fool as most Sara*are, and I am the landlord of 
 the Weavers' Arms, and we haveiieard a coupteof fellows ride by here at a 
 breakneck pace, some quarter of an houraso.'* 
 
 « Agreed. All's right," said Jack. " Listen f 
 
 Claude did so, and distinctly heard several horsetaea arrive at the door of the 
 ion. One of them crid out— 
 
 ** Come on. What are you lagging behind for ? If he is here, we ought, as 
 many of us as possible, to be in at the death* Come on." 
 
 •* My nag has gone lame," said another. '* Don t dismount any more of you, 
 Jefferson and I will go in and sfe if he is here, or has been past. Confound the 
 li fellow, what a dance he leads us ; but we must have him. Whot)n eartb can it 
 be he has with him?" 
 
 " Ah, that*s a puzzler,** said another. 
 
 Jack had now, with a towel in one hand and a glass in the Other, gone out to 
 the passage ; and as he met the two officers, he said — 
 
 "Want your horses seen to, gentlemen?" 
 ; ** No— no. What house is this ? We are from London.'* 
 
 "Weavers' Arms, gentlemen, at your service. Master's in the bar. Want 
 1)ed, gentlemen?** 
 
 *' No— no. Oh, are you the landlord ?" 
 
 *' I ou'.'ht to go for to be," sail Claude, who had It a pipe, and was smoking 
 it with all the de'iberatioo in the world. " Is anything amiss, sir?" 
 
 "Nothing particular. Have two horsemen passed your door lately, landlord?'* 
 
 *' Two fellers going like mad— one a long 'un with a slouched hat, on a dark 
 bay?" 
 
 *' Yes— yes.'* 
 
 " Lord bless you, yes. Why, they are five miles off by now, if they keep up 
 their pace.*'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 339 
 
 *• Confound them!'* 
 
 " What, do you want 'em ? Lord love you, if I'd only now have known that, 
 I could have hailed them from my door, and told 'em to wait a bit till you cam« 
 up. What a pity, wasn't it now, really ?" 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIV, 
 
 THE ROAD AGAIN, 
 
 The officer turned to his companions, as he said— 
 
 " Why, this fellow is a born fool. I tell you what, master landlord, one of 
 them men on horseback was Claude Duval, and there's a dear £1000 offered 
 for him alive or dead ; so you see a nice chance has gone by you.'* 
 
 " A thousand pounds?'* 
 
 *' Ah, ves. Neither more nor less" 
 
 <' Why 1 shall be a made man— when I catches him. Well, if ever [ sees him 
 hshind tiiis here bar, I'll know now what to go for to say to him. A thousand 
 pounds? Oh, my eye!" 
 
 •* Stupid, is there any one in your house ?'* 
 
 •• Only mad Mr Jakes," said the landlord's niece. " He's a gentleman whose 
 wits are not all right, poor man, but quite harmless, and we let him sit in the 
 pirlour of an evening. He knows nobody, poor silly creature, and sometimes he 
 miscalls both me and my uncle, and thinks himself all sorts of things, sometimes 
 the captain of a ship, and sometimes a king, and at times a lawyer." 
 
 " VVhat, Kate," said Claude, taking at once the judicious hint thus thrown out 
 to him by the landlord's niece, "is poor silly Mr. Jakes in the parlour?" 
 
 " Yes, uncle. Didn't you see him come in ?' 
 
 '• Not I, faith, my gal; but howsomdever — " 
 
 At this moment the parlour door was opensd, and the face of a middle-aged 
 red-whiskered man appeared at it with a large tumbler with a spoon in it, and a 
 sl:ce of lemon at the bottom of it, in his hand. 
 
 " Mr. Clink," he said, *' just fill this again if you please, and make it a little 
 sweeter than the last. Eh ?— Lord bless me— why— why— eh ? What's all 
 this ?■' 
 
 " Is that the mad fellow ?" said one of the officers. *« He seems to be getting 
 worse rather. What an odd look he has got, to be sure. Why he looks like a 
 Hian who was never so much astonished in all his life. Come — come, Jakes, 
 Lie down, sir!" 
 
 '* What I" said the attorney, " am T mad ?" 
 
 *' Not a doubt of it. Lie down, sir. Come— come ! Upon my word, land- 
 lord, you ought not to permit a man in such a state of mind to have mixed liquors. 
 U'hat, now, if he were to go off quite furious all of a sudden ?" 
 
 "Not allow nne to have mixed liquors? " cried the attorney, as he advanced to 
 the bar-, and looked at Claude with an air of astonishment. " Who are you, I 
 should like to know, and where is Clink ?" 
 
 " 1 never seed you so bad as you is to-night, Mr, Jakes,'* said Claude ; " I 
 shan't let you have any more brandy and water. Go home, do. Go home, now, 
 and you shall be a captain of a ship. That pleases him generally," added Claude 
 in a whisper to the officers. ^ 
 
 *' Oh, does it? It's always best to humour these mad fellows, I think. Go 
 home. Captain Jakes, go home, do, there's a brave fellow. You are a , captain, 
 you know — poor fellow — go home." . 
 
 Jakes stood with the tumbler in his hand, and his mouth wide open with 
 asfOMisiiment, He s took his head, a >d passed his hand over his eyes. It was
 
 340 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 quite clear that Jakes was getting extremely doubtful whether he was awake or 
 \ asleep. At length, with a stamp of the foot, he cried^— 
 
 *' What the deuce is the meaning of all this ? Are you all drunk, or do you 
 want to drive a man out of his senses ? I am an attorney.'* 
 
 *' There, gentlemen, I thought as how he'd come to that." 
 
 " Where's Mr. Clink ? and who the devil are you ?* 
 
 '* There he goes — there he goes ! Do you hear him, Kate ?'* 
 
 " Kate ? Why, she's no Kate. She's the landlord's niece, and her name is 
 Mary Ann. Good God ! what, ia the name of all that's abominable, is this 
 horrid mystification about? Am I mad? or have you all taken leave of your 
 senses? or is this some detestable stupid joke to bewilder a man by swearing him 
 out of his own identity, and his judgment of others? Speak, some of you, for, 
 upon my life, it's enough to make the most peaceable man in the world violent 
 to be treated in this way like a fool.'* 
 
 " Well," said the principal officer, " we must be off again. We can't stop 
 here any longer. Claude Duval may hy this time have fallen into the hands of 
 the next party on the watch for him ; but it don't matter, as we have all agreed 
 j to share the reward among us. We shall trot on gently the next five minutes." 
 
 *' But won't you try to catch him ?' said Jack, 
 
 " Oh, we must have him. We are tracking him regularly down the road. 
 Oh, thank you." 
 
 The niece feeling that if Claude was asked to draw any liquor he might, by 
 
 his not knowing exactly which tap to appeal to, and a certain awkwardness in 
 
 fi such an office, betray himself, had filled two nice little glasses with brandy, and 
 
 I placed them before the officers, who tossed them off in a moment, and one 
 
 I tendered a shillin? in payment. 
 
 "Oh, no— no," said Claude. " I stand that." 
 
 ** You are very liberal." he added, ''and you may depend we shall give your 
 , house a profitable visit on the first opportunity ; so good-night to you. We must 
 be off now, for business is business, you know.'* 
 
 ** Oh, of coarse. Good night, gentlemen." 
 
 " But stop a bit," cried Mr. Jakes, " stop, I say, I'm sure there's something 
 going on. I'm an attorney, and can see a thing or two. Stop, I say, if you are 
 ofl5cers. Don't be made fools of, for I begin to suspect " 
 
 *' Ah, poor devil 1" said the principal officer, as he mounted his horse. *' What 
 a thing it is for a man to lose his wits in such a way. He begins to suspect,, 
 does he ? Ha 1 ha I Good-night landlord. You will see ds again some day.'* 
 
 The officer was not illiberal, for he threw a sixpence to Jack, who held his. 
 horse by the bridle for him to mount, and in another moment they were off at a 
 good round trot, that took them soon a mile from the Weavers' Arms. 
 
 ** Triumph !" cried Jack. 
 
 " Hush 1" said Claude. " Hush, Jack ! Don't hilloa until we are fairly oat 
 of the wood." 
 
 " But we are." 
 
 *' I hope so— I hope so. My dear Kate, or Mary Ann, or whatever your name 
 may be, 1 beg to return you the grateful thanks of one who never forgets a 
 kindness. You have saved two lives to-night." 
 
 " Two lives ?" said the young girl. 
 
 *' Yes, lor my friend and I had made up cur minds to perish, both of us, in 
 fighting for our libert\', rather than yield to those who are huiiting us for our 
 blood's value. You have saved us. And now, sir, a word with you." 
 
 Claude dashed out of the bar, and caught Mr. Jakes by the arm, and then 
 added— 
 
 " You will ple<ise to come into the bar and sit down, sir, -yhile I give you a few 
 words of advice." 
 
 '• But who — who — where ? " 
 
 ♦' Ask r;o questions, but mark me well. land my friend are going to leave this 
 place. Be assured we shall hear if anything of a malicious character occurs after
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 341 
 
 our departure. I feel a conviction that I shall not fall into the hands of my 
 enemies, and I will, when this man-hunt is over, begin to think fif who I have to 
 thank, and of what I have to revenge. Do not presume to stir from where you 
 are, as you value your life for the next half hour.'* 
 
 " I — 1— won't/ But who are you ?" , 
 
 "Claude Duval!" 
 
 " Good God 1 you don't say so ; and the one thousand is " 
 
 "Not for you, Mr. Jakes.— 'Jack, can you get the horses from tne stable, for 
 we must be off again as quickly as we can. There is no rest for us yet. Perhaps 
 there never will be upon this side of the grave ; but still if such be the case, I 
 will take good care to keep others equally restless." 
 
 Mr. Jakes sat upon the chair Claude had pointed out to him, glaring about him 
 like a tiger at bay. He was probably thinking how the whole affair would tell 
 in the London papers, and what a subject of ridicule he would be, at the bare 
 recital of how he had been taken in. He was a man in vigorous enough health 
 and by no means weak. What he wanted in true and genuine courage, he made 
 up in a kind of passionate ferocity, and now as he looked at Claude alone in 
 the bar, he thought what a capital thing it would be to earn the one thousand 
 pounds all to himself. These thoughts each moment gathered strength, If he 
 had been in possession of fire-arme he would mgst undoubtedly have shot 
 Claude, and then run his chance of flying from the house, to escape the vengeance 
 of Jack. But he was unarmed, and yet by a vigorous, effort, he thought surely 
 something could be done. Claude's back was towards him, and it struck Mr. 
 Jakes that if he were to spring upon him, and bring him to the ground, he might 
 succeed in killing him. Regardless, then, of the consequences of possible 
 failure, and seeing nothing in his imagination but the dazzling heap of gold that 
 made up a thousand pounds, Mr. Jakes suddenly sprang upon Claude with a 
 savage sort of yell, and clutched him by the elbows, twining his legs around 
 him, and hoping to overcome him before Jack could arrive from the stable with 
 the horses. Now, Claude was, to tell the honest truth, rather astonished and taken 
 at unawares by this proceeding, which argued an amount of courage oi folly, it 
 was hard to say which, that he, Claude, would not have given any lawyer in the 
 world credit for. Under those circumstances, then, for the moment, we must say 
 Claude was astonished, but he very soon surprised Mr. Jakes, although at the 
 time he could not make out the meaning oi a sudden howl of bodily anguish 
 which the lawyer uttered. The fact was, that Mary Ann, in her indignation at 
 Jakes, caught up a toasting-fork, and inflicted with its three prongs so severe a 
 wound oa the hinder portion of Jakes's legal economy, that he very nearly relaxed 
 his hold of Claude. But what toasting-fork, or any fork, except the trident of 
 the gentleman below, will induce a lawyer to let go a, chance of such a sum as one 
 thousand pounds? No! He held on like a martyr. Claude, however, soon 
 put an end to the joke. 
 
 " Will you get down, Mr. Jakes?" he said. 
 
 " No — no — i apprehend you. You are my prisoner, and the reward is mine 
 You had better yield." 
 
 *' Very well, we shall see.** 
 
 Claude walked forward two steps, and then suddenly retreated with so frightful 
 a rush, that Mr. Jakes came agamst the cupboard-door — Claude did not mean 
 that, though — with a force that not only half killed him, but burst open the panel, 
 smashing it io splinters. Again did Claude charge backwards, and then bang 
 \^ent Mr. Jai^es into the cupboard, to the serious damage of Mr. Clink and the 
 pious Mrs. Clink. 
 
 "Murder! Oh, gracious Providence, murder! — my back's broke !" gasped 
 Jal<&s. , 
 
 " Serve you right," said Mary Ann. 
 
 " So it does, ' said Claude, as he found himself free from the encumbrance of 
 the lawyer's weig.ht ; and upon leaving, saw that he was fairly wedged into the 
 smashed woodwork of the door of the cupboard in which were the sanctified Clinks.
 
 342 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 The whole affair now, although really serious for the parties concerned, partook 
 much more of the ludicrous than the grave. Mr, Jakes looked something like a 
 'clown in a pantomime, who sticks fast in some small aperture through which the 
 harlequin has darted with ease and agility. However, the cupboard being origi- 
 nally certainly not larger than would accommodate Mr. Clink and his wife, those 
 two highly proper personages were now by the intrusions of the broken panel, 
 and a large portion of Jakes's anatomy, almost crushed to death, and roared 
 aloud for mercy, not having the least idea either of what was j^oing on, or by what 
 horrible contrivance Claude Duval was half murdering them. We cannot help 
 recording that all this furnished much more amusement than pain to Mary Ann. 
 Jack soon made his way back with the horses, and was quite astonished to hear 
 ^ terrible outcry in the inn. 
 
 « Claude, Claude," he said, *' what is the matter ?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Claude ; " are the horses ready V* 
 
 " Quite. I caa*t come in, for I am holding them, as they are rather restive 
 from being alarmed at a tussle between me and the ostler. I just got to the 
 stable in time, for he had managed to get loose." 
 
 " Farewell," said Claude, as he kissed Mary Ann, " perhaps you will hear of 
 me again some day. I shall not forget you." 
 
 " Ah," said the girl, "if you would reform and take up some other and better 
 kind of life, what a happy reflection it would be to me that I had saved you from 
 those who would gladly have taken your life— not that they loved virtue, but be- 
 cause there was a price upon your head." 
 
 *' True, my dear," said Claude, " that was it ; and as to my reformation, I say 
 *amen' to the wish, if they will let me do it— but they won't. Farewell 1" 
 
 *' Farewell! — Heaven help you, as you wish to be a better man than you have 
 been !" 
 
 Claude waved his hand, and reaching the door, he sprang upon the back of 
 his horse, which Jack held, and then, performing the same oflice for Jack, the 
 latter mounted. 
 
 « Farewell," said Claude, " to the Weavers' Arms." 
 
 We should have remarked that they had both restored their costume to its 
 original state, Claude carrying out Jack's coat to him — so that once agam, when 
 they took to the road, no one could have thought them the same pex'soos who, a 
 short time before, had stood behind the bar of the Weavers' Arms, looking so like 
 the ordinary inhabitants of the place. 
 
 " This is an escape, indeed," said Jack. 
 
 '* And a rare adventure." 
 
 *' Most rare. Of all your exploits, Claude, I must confess, with the exceptioa 
 of your visit to the Governor of Newgate, I consider this the most dari.ig." 
 
 " Do you, Jack ?" 
 
 "In faith, Claude, I do ; and henceforth I shall have such faith in the power 
 of your " 
 
 ** Impudence ?'* 
 
 "No, no — not exactly that." 
 
 "What then, Jack?" 
 
 " Cool determination." 
 
 "Well, perliaps it may be called such. I will reach Southampton, and embark 
 in the ship that awaits to convey me to another land, if I can — but I don't think 
 they will let me. Push ©n. Jack— something strikes me that we shall have more 
 wonderful adventures fan any we have yet seen before we get fifty miles upon 
 this most strange journey of ours."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 343 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXV. 
 
 A SON OP THE CHURCH. 
 
 Jack was silent after these few words of Claude's, and they continued on the 
 road at an easy pace ; for, in truth, the work the horses had already done was 
 something very considerable, while the rest they had had at the Weavers' Arms 
 was scarcely w rth the mentioning. Now, in relating those events at the inn, we 
 have been under the necessity of taking upt considerable space, while in point of 
 fact, with suc>' rapidity did everything happen, thatcertaiulj twenty minutes aid 
 not elapse from the period that Claude Duval had his foot in the stirrup to 
 y dismount, to the time when he again placed it there to mount and ride away.— 
 ' There was a hazy mistiness now in the air, which showed that it was loaded with 
 aqueous particles, by the manner in which il fell upon their clothes, their faces, 
 J' and the trappir gs of their horses. In fact, for the next half hour or more, our 
 " travellers passed through as heavy adew as Clau' e or Jack had ever in their lives 
 experienced, and their knowledge of night in the country was by no means of a 
 limited character. 
 
 *• Wheie are we ?" said Claude; *' I am getting now, I thmk, beyond my lati- 
 tude altogether. Jack. But you, perhaps, know the road." 
 
 ** 1 do," said Jack, " for, to tell the truth, I have taken some pains to study it. 
 It strikes me. Claude, that we are somewhere near a junction of roads, of which 
 we may take our choice, as both lead to the same point, while each makes 
 what may be considered to be a detour." 
 |[ *' And where do they lead, Jack?" 
 
 "Why, the road to our left will reach Farnborough, through a little place 
 called Frimley, while that to the right goes to Blackwater, and so on to Basing- 
 stoke. 
 
 " Which shall we take ?'* 
 
 "The latter, I think, Claude. I dare say our enemies are upon both- But do 
 you really think of keeping the high-road ?" 
 J *' Why, look you, Jack, I'm fairly of opinion that the high-road, although 
 beset with foes, is the safest. If we were to go among the meadows, and so try 
 to blunder on towards our place of destination, the odds are that we should be 
 seen and hunted like foxes, for we should always, you know, be upon some man's 
 land, while the high-road is free to all ; and, besides, there are, along with a 
 thousand dangers, a thousand resources and means of escapini: from those dan- 
 gers. I know, Jack, it looks like an act of temerity to keep the high-road ; but 
 it is only in looks, for, upon my word, 1 think it the safest." 
 " You have convinced me, Claude, and I feel easier than I did ; but when I 
 ^l* remember that you have got those praying for you who love you, I tremble for 
 your safety." 
 
 ** Don't mention them, Jack, You may chance to unman me, perhaps, when 
 I want all my powers about me. But wha» strange light is that yon ier "r*" 
 
 " Why, Claude, I thought you were sufficiently a night-bird to know that. 
 It is the east." 
 J *' By heavens ! and the first streak of day-dawn, too. How the hours fly, 
 '* Jack." 
 
 I 
 
 " They dc, indeed." 
 
 " It is cold and beautiful," said Claude. 
 
 They both paused to look at the strange sickly tinting of the eastern s^y as the 
 first faint streaks of sun-light appeared, and after a few moment-, .lac. s.'d — 
 
 **I know that people differ about sunrise— some call it beautiful, -ui i aveuo 
 such opinion. 1 differ with them in toto. To my rr.ind, no hinsjj c;... ii/oiore 
 tiuly cold— moretrulychilling and comfortless, th -n sunrise — or pernap^ i <i.ii;ht 
 not to say sunrise, for the words ' early dawn' desciibe what 1 medO bt; ter The
 
 344 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 colours in the .«ky are leaden and wretched — the air is keen and biting, and the 
 whole affair about which poets and painters war — who, probably, have never 
 once in tleir lives got out of their warm beds to view it — is about as gloomy as 
 I can well imagine." 
 "Really, Jack." 
 
 *' Yes, really, Claude. I grant you, that when a real ray of light, instead of 
 the frosty-looking reflected beam, falls upon the world, there is the beauty." 
 "Then what do you say to sunset?'* 
 
 *' Ah ! that is quite another affair. Always beautiful it is, and sometimes 
 sublime." 
 
 " 1 am of your opinion, Jack, to a hair. Push en." 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 The liorses had taken a few mouthfuls of fine sweet grass while this short di- 
 gression concerning sunrise took place, and they now went on at a brisk canter 
 at though they were quite fresh, and so another mile was traversed, which brought 
 them to the place where the road divided to the right and to the left, 
 " And we are to take the right?" said Claude. 
 
 ■ ' Stand !" cried a voice, and a horseman dashed from the cover of a tree into 
 the very middle of the road. " Stand ! you can't pass here until we know more 
 of you." "^ 
 
 "And, pray," said Claude, " who may * we* be ?" 
 i^- '* You will soon see that. There's my authority." 
 
 ^As he spoke, the man produced a small constable's staff, with the well-known 
 little brass crown at the top of it ; and gave a knowing- sort of nod, as though 
 he would add, *' I hope and suppose you are quite satisfied now ?" 
 ^ " Dear me !" said Claude, in a jeering tone, which the constable took very ill; 
 for, rising in his stirrups, he called aloud — 
 
 "Wiotham! Wrothara! Bring them on. Here's a very suspicious character 
 on horseback here — two suspicious characters, I may say, on horseback. Come 
 on!" 
 
 "It's a lie !" said Claude, as he spurred up to the man. " There's only one 
 suspicious character here, and he is not on horseback at all." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude struck the astounded officer such a blow in the face with 
 the butt-end of a heavily mounted pistol, that he fell from his horse, althoujjh he 
 was not rendered msensible. 
 
 " New, Jack," added Claude, *-be off and away again. The raan-hunt goes 
 on bravely, and we may all yet be in at the death. On— -on, Jack 1 That's 
 brave. Why, our horses seem flying instead of galloping." 
 
 Down the right-hand road they almost flew like lightning, and had got a gooe 
 half mile before the party of six men which was stationed at that junction o 
 roads had got up to their fallea comrade, from the manner in which they wer 
 hidden, and from him had learnt which road the audacious fugitives had taken 
 The pursuit was indeed commenced with determination and vigour; but, as they 
 say at sea, " A stern chase is a long chase.'"' Now, Claude and Jack, all down 
 the road, had gathered confirmation of what they had heard previously — namely, 
 that at intervals there were parties cf officers stationed to capture him, Claude ; 
 and from this knowledge it followed that if he and Jack continued merely to fly 
 from one part\', they must inevitably fall into the hands of another. The only 
 chance thej had of pieservation was j'n baffliisg party alter party, so as to puzzle 
 them whether they were on the road or not. 
 
 " Stop !" cried Jack, suddenly. 
 ' " Good God 1" cried Claude, '" are yon mad. Jack ?'* 
 
 " Not at all; this is a turn of the road, and we are out of sight. Do as I do, 
 Claude, and trust to ray knowledge of the localities. Quick — quick ! there 's not 
 a moment now to spare. Follow — follow on, Claude, if you love me as yourself." 
 Jack sprang from his horse, and forcing his way with the animal through a ^ 
 j h^dge on the left-hand side of the road, gained a field. Claude followed him i / 
 
 ^" ' I ' ' .' . ' ■ -» ^ 1
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, Lli^E ON THE KOAD. 345^ 
 
 with difficulty, for 1^ made his horse jump the hedge, but Jack urged him to dis/ 
 mnant and lead the animal, merely saying — 
 
 "^^l^On-on and follow me, Claude. It is our only chance just now. This way 
 ^this way.' Make for von little cluster of trees. On— on-on. 
 
 The S they were in was very miry; but Claude got on after Jack and his 
 
 JACK AND CLAUDE ARE SLIGHTLY OBSTRUCTED BY A CONSTABLE. 
 
 Iiorse as fast as he could ; and in about three minutes they reached the shelter of 
 the trees, when Jack stopped and said— ^ 
 
 Th^e^heUd':^^^^^^^ otLlL' fetl^d^heomce. ^^ad Passe^^^^^^^^^ 
 ^hich our adventurers had found their way into the fields. Claude drew a long 
 breath, as he said— 
 
 "" No. 44.
 
 346 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Jack, I admit that, for once, the high-road was not the safest place. Shill 
 we go back ? J suppose that will be the best way — will it not?*' 
 
 "No, Claude ; we shall come upon a pretty httle lane presently, that will fead 
 into the Frimley-road ; and now that this one leading direct to Blackwater is too 
 hot to hold us, we had much better pursue the one to Farnborough/* 
 
 " Good ! Lead on. In an adventure of this kind, of what immense service a 
 knowledge of the localities is, to be sure** 
 " It is half ihe battle, Claude." 
 
 They both mounted again now, for as the party in pursuit of them had passed 
 on, they had no longer any fear of their heads being seen above the top of the 
 hedge; and, mor«over, although the day was breaking, it was not yet sufficiently 
 light for any one tosfse many yards with any degree of certainty. The cluster of 
 trees, too, was of good service, for, as Jack mentioned to Claude, they would be 
 between them and the men who had galloped down the Blackwater-road for the 
 next mile or two. 
 
 " Then we breathe again," said Claude. 
 
 ** Yes— yes, for a brief space. Oh ! Claude, does it not seem to you as if some- 
 thing was protecting us upon this journey, notwithstanding all the serious dangers 
 we encounter ?** 
 
 ** Don't be superstitious, Jack.'* 
 
 '* Well — w^ll, iiknow you don't feel with me upon such subjects exactly ; but 
 here's the lane, jiwt by yon thatched farm-house. I hope we^hall meet no one 
 to interrupt us, for our nearest way ie across yon ploughed field. Humph ! they 
 are milking early. Do you see?" 
 
 A buxom lass was engaged in a little close, milking the «ows ; and for a few 
 moments she did not see the two horsemen looking at her through a blackthorn 
 hedge. '^h«n«be did so, however, she gave a ^tart of alarm, and dropping a 
 curtsey, she then said — 
 
 " A fair morning, gentteroen. Shall I shout to measter V* 
 
 "^No—no." 
 
 «*iH6's afore. I*ll^out*o him, shall I f* 
 
 "•'No — no, I say,*' cried Claude. •* All w« want of you is a draugh of milk. Can 
 you allow us so mu6h,imy dear?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes, sir, you; are welcome enough. Only wait a moment while I strain 
 you some. You'll find raea&ter round the beru." 
 
 *' But we don't want y(»ir master, I tell you. All we want is the milk." 
 
 The girl laughed, and socm brought them a quart in a wooden pannikin, having 
 straiiied it through a piece of linen as pure as snow ; and both Claude and 
 Jack thought they had never tasted anything so deliciously refreshing in all their 
 hves. 
 
 •' After all," said Jack, " there is nothing like a pure country lite for me." 
 
 "Pho ! pho !*' said Claude. ** You would get sick to death of it in a week. 
 My dear, whose house is that upon the hill ?" 
 
 ** Oh, that's Parson Lamb's, that is.'* 
 
 *• Very well : now, will you have half- a-crown or a kiss for the milk ?" 
 
 «ior,sir!** 
 
 "'Come— come, Claude,** said Jack. " Remember ! This is no time for 
 triflng." 
 
 "True — true," replied Duval, with a sudden seriousness, as he threw the milk- 
 maid the piece of money. ** Some o^hf r day, my girl, I will come for the kiss. 
 Is this the lane to— where is the place. Jack V* 
 
 "Farnborough— it's all right— round by those stacks, I think, will take us to it." 
 
 " Yes," said the girl ; ** you must keep Giles's close on your right hand, and 
 don't fall into the pond." 
 
 "N'o— no; we won't. Good-morning." 
 
 Off they both went; and having cleared the hay stacks, they saw a low stile 
 which led into the lane; but before they reached it, a short, stucdy-looking man, in 
 
 '^^=x:
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 347 
 
 mud boots, met them, and said in a voice of authority that proclaimed kim the 
 girl's " aieaster— ""* 
 
 " Who be you upon my land ?" 
 
 '•The man in the moon," said Claude, " taking a morning ride with the devil. 
 How do you get on, old gaffer?'* 
 
 Be/ore the rather slow thinking wits o( the farmer could thoroughly make out 
 what was said to him, or at all devise anything in the shape of a suitable reply, 
 both Claude and Jack had jumped the little low stile, and were going at a good 
 trot down the lane, which was indeed in rather an awful state of mud. If the 
 farmer had any suspicion — which, to be sure, it was not at all likely he could 
 have— regarding the two mounted men who treated him so cavalierly, he might 
 have seriously compromised the safety of Jack and Claude by following them 
 down the lane, seeing that before they emerged from it into the road they were 
 compelled to resort to an experiment for their better security, which with a 
 witness would have lost all its chance of success. What that experiment was 
 particularly, and what was the danger that provoked it, will be seen very shortly ; 
 suffice to say, that for about half a mile nothing in the shape of danger showed 
 itself, while the thick mud completely deadened the sound of their horses' hoofs. 
 Jack, however, was wisely enough determined not to emerge from the lane with- 
 out a better warrant against the presence of enemies near at hand than this 
 silence bespoke, and he said to Claude — 
 
 " Now, hold my horse by the bridle, and I will climb the bank, which is here 
 very high, and take a good look all round me." 
 
 " Good," said Claude ; " but don't show your head^ Jack, one inch higher 
 than is absolutely necessary." 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVI. 
 
 DESPERATION, 
 
 Jack successfully scrambled up the high bank, upon the top of which grew 
 a thick-set hedge, and took a long and anxious look around him. By degrees, 
 however, he fixed his eyes more particularly in the direction of the high-road 
 which lay at the end of the lane than anywhere else, and after an attentive ob- 
 servation of about five minutes, he came down. 
 "Well?'* said Claude. 
 ''Danger!'* 
 
 " Ay, 1 thought as much. Nothing but danger, Jack." 
 •* Never mind, Claude. All may be well at last. We will hope so." 
 " I don't mind, Jack; danger is no companion to me, and I can say with the 
 hair-brained soldier in the play— 
 
 • From this nettle danger 
 
 1 pluck the floffer safety.* 
 
 So now tell me, Jack, in what the danger consists — where it is — and what you 
 think it is in our power to do to avoid k, so as to turn its sharp edge upon those 
 who prepared it for us ?'* 
 
 " 1 saw to the end of the lane, and there stands a cottage, presenting nothing 
 at all remarkable, except that in the garden there are five horses ready saddled, h 
 and at the garden gate, partly hidden by some large laurels, a mounted man, who 
 looks as like an officer as any person ever I saw in my life, and my conclusion 
 is that we are close on the post of one of the little parties waiting for us, and that 
 the mounted man acts as a kind of sentinel, while the crthers take their breakfast 
 inside the cottage, from whence, as you may easily fancy, they would all issue in 
 U a moment, armed to the teeth, upon the slightest alarm from him.'*
 
 348 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 « No doubt." 
 
 ** Well, Claude, that is the gloomy side of the picture ; the reverse is, that by 
 scrambling over the bank, and then through an orchard and a small meadow, we 
 shall gain the high road, about a quarter of a mile on the London side of the 
 end of the lane ; but we must disguise ourselves well, for which you know we 
 have convenience in our saddle valUses. "What say you r" 
 
 " Humph ! We have not yet tried our resources in that way.'* 
 
 " No, and I feel inclined to do so, for on we must get. It is not as if back 
 again or forward was all the same to us, you know, Claude." 
 
 *' It is not, indeed. Come, Jack, what can we most readily do in the way of 
 disguise, think you r" 
 
 " Turn your coat, which, luckily, is made for the purpose; change j^our cravat,, 
 and assume as serious and old an air as you can, while I make up as a gioom,^ 
 I "which you know I can do with great rapidity and ease.'* 
 
 ""Very well — here goes." 
 
 They both dismounted, and Claude turned his coat inside out, when from a 
 bright beaver it was changed to a silver kind of gray. He put on a white 
 cambric cravat, -with lace ends, and by adjusting his hat more at the back of 
 his head than he usually wore it, so completely altered the contour of his 
 face, that few would have known him at a hasty and superficial glance. He, 
 moreover, took a book from his vallise and held it half open in his hand, as 
 though he had been jogging on and reading. Neither was Jack at all behind 
 hand in making an alteration in his appearance. He put on a livery coat that he 
 took from his vallise, and placed around his hat a gold band, by which means he 
 eflfectually altered his appearance, and looked like some very respectable, quiet 
 groom, in a good famil3% ^ 
 
 *' Excellent," said Claude. 
 
 "1 repeat the words as regards you," said Jack ; "you disguise yourself al- 
 ways wiih great taste ; but now, for Heaven's sake, let us get through the orchard 
 meadow as quickly as it is possible so to do. Come on, Claude, it is best to help 
 and walk our horses by the bridles over this precipitous bank." 
 
 This vsras the most difficult part of the affair, for the earth of the bank was 
 soft, and saturated with moisture, so that the horses, with all the willingness in 
 the world to mount it, could get no fast hold. However, perseverance conquers 
 obstacles, and after some trial the whole party — horses and men — got into the 
 orchard. Luckily no one was there, so, mounting and trotting on. Jack ard 
 Claude were through it in two minutes, and out in the small meadow on the 
 other side, that shielded it from the high road. 
 
 " Safe and sound," said Duval, "so far. Now, Jack, behave yourself like a 
 decent and devout serving man, il you please, or else 1 shaU have to discharge 
 you, you know." 
 
 " All right, master," said Jack, with a smile, ** I don't want to lose my place, 
 for if you don't know when you have a good man, I know when I have a good 
 master ; so make yourself comfortable and trot. Oh, no — hold, Claude." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Look up the rosd. Who the devil is that ?** 
 
 Claude did look, and there, within a hundred yards of them, coming leisurely 
 along, as though from Frimley, which the reader will recollect was nearer Londoa 
 than our two adventurers now were, he saw a portly p^sonage upon a tall, well- 
 fed horse, which came on at a walk, and with quite a stately air. The rider was 
 dressed in black, and there was no such thing as mistaking the clerical cut of his 
 habiliments and bat ; a parson he was, to all intents and purposes, and a well- 
 fed and most pompous-looking one he was too. There was no bare and hungry 
 curate kind of look about him— oh, dear, no. 
 
 "Who, in the name of all that's troublesome, is that, I wonder?" said Claude. 
 
 " Parson Lamb, you may depend, that the milk-maid spoke of. She said that 
 house upon the hill, you recollect, was his." 
 
 " She did, indeed, and it surely is more likely to be him than any one else, Jack.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 349 
 
 This may be an absolute piece of good fortune. That fellow is well fed, and I'll 
 warrant, clings to life like many a belter man. Suppose I force him to vouch for 
 our respectability, if it should be questioned as we pass the officers at this next 
 post V 
 
 '* Nobody but you could do it, Claude, or think of doing it.' 
 
 " Oh, pho ! You do rae too much honour. It was just what you would your- 
 self have done. Jack, in vourpast days, when I first knew you, and you held Harap- 
 stead Heath against aU enemies. Ah, Jack, do you recollect the waggon into 
 which you sprang, horse and man ?'* 
 
 " Claude— Claude, do not speak to rae of the past, I pray you.'* 
 
 " Forgive me, Jack, I would not pain you, as well you know, for the world, but 
 these old recollections are endearing to rae. Now for the parson. Just trot gently- 
 after me, and as close as your notions of a groom's propriety will let you." 
 
 "I will." ^ , ^ 
 
 On they both went directly in the path of the approaching clergyman, who bent 
 upon Claude an insolent look of inquiry as he came up to him, as though the whole 
 parish was his, and it was a crime for any one he did not know to be upon the 
 high road even. So Claude returned the look of the arrogant priest, and he was 
 not far wrong in his estimate of the character of the Reverend John Larnb, who 
 was rector of Frimley, and lived in the great white house, no doubt, to show his 
 humility like a light and beacon to all men whatever. A few moments, and the 
 highwayman and the parson met face to face. 
 
 '* Sir," said Claude, " is your name Lamb ?" 
 
 The reverend gentleman knit his brows, and looked as though to ask nim ms 
 name upon the highway was an insult. 
 
 *' Well, sir," he said, " and what then ?" 
 
 *' Oh, I perceive," said Claude, as with admirable dexterity he broughthis horse 
 close to the side of the reverend personage, " I perceive at once, by the manner of 
 your answer, that you are a follower in the footsteps of Him who loved the meeic 
 and the bumble. Now, sir, Tlintend to make a vacancy in the rectorship of Frimley- 
 if you in the smallest matterdispute my orders. You see this pistol? It is loaded, 
 with a couple of slugs, and I swear by all that to you ought to hold sacred, that 1 
 will lodge them in your brains if you attempt to escape." 
 
 The countenance of the priest turned of ashy paleness, and his nose, usually 
 so rubicund, looked blue, as he stammered — 
 
 *' I — I — what — what, do you wish to rob me ? Are you a high — way — man . 
 
 " Exactly. But I don't want io rob you ; I have other fish to fry just now 
 my reverend friend. You see my groom there ? Well, he is as good a shot as I 
 am, so,beware that the evil spirit don't tempt you to do anything foolish in the 
 way of attempted flight ; for so sure as you do, before your horse can make two 
 bounds, down you will come." 
 
 The reverend sinner shook in his stirrups, and Claude continued in the same 
 provoking cool tone of voice — 
 
 « Now, sir, I think you understand rae, and I think I am not wrong- in assum- 
 ing that you prefer your personal safety to any other earthly consideration. It 
 is upon that supposition that I act, and'now proceed at once to tell you what you. 
 have to do. Please, in the first instance, to walk your horse a little slower." 
 
 The clergyman complied. 
 
 " Don't be shaking so, as if your last hour were come," added Claude ; *• 5'ou 
 are safe enough if you will be prudent enough to ensure your own safety. There 
 are some gentlemen at the corner of the lane a little farther on, who naight, 
 possibly, not knowing rae, ask me who I am. Now, I dare say you are well- 
 known, so I will trouble you to ride with me,'and state, if any questions arc 
 asked, that I am an old friend of yours, by name, the Rev. John Brown. ' 
 
 The parson gave a groan, &s he gasped out — 
 
 "I am a magistrate for the county, and — and — you — are — if I mistake not— 
 the notorious ^Claude Duval. Why, I— I was going to speak to the very aiea 
 you mention. What can I do ?"
 
 350 GENTLEMAN JA€K ; OR, 
 
 ** I tell you what I would do," added Claude — " if I were in your place, I 
 would prefer death to dishonour, and rather be shot at once, than ^connive at an 
 affair which will cover you with disgrace." 
 
 ** No— no. Oh, dear, no. I — \ can't think of dying upon any consideration. 
 T have a pretty property — a very pretty property, indeed. It's a most uncomfort- 
 able situation. Dear me — the Rev. John Brown are you to be?" 
 
 •* Yes, and that other highwayman behind you, who is a most deperate fellow, 
 is my groom — you understand ? You can vouch for us both ; and now mark me, in 
 your folly, you may fancy that as you come up to the six police-officers you may 
 accomplish somelhmg towards your own extrication from this dilemma and my 
 capture, but I warn you, that before I make the ghost of an eflfort tc save myself, 
 I will make a ghost of you." 
 
 Another groan from the reverend gentleman followed this speech, which cut off 
 all hope for him, and on they went, Claude having the little book in one hand, 
 while the other was what, in Ireland, they call *' convanient" to a pistol-stock. 
 This little conversation, so deeply interesting to both parties, had been suflBciently 
 long to bring them both nearly to the end of the lane, and there, sure enough, 
 was the mounted police-officer, keeping a capital look-out. He espied the two 
 gentlemen in a moment, and gave some sort of signal, for two more of the officers 
 immediately made their appearance at the door of the cottage. 
 ** Who is it ?" cried one. 
 *♦ Oh, it's Mr. Lamb," said another. 
 
 "Ask them if they have caught me," said Claude, in alow tone. 
 " Have you captured Claude Duval ?" stammered the parson. " A — hem.'* 
 " No, sir,'* said an officer, stepping close up to them, and* looking rather curi- 
 ously at Claude. 
 
 ** No, sir, but we hope and expect he will come this way ; and we keep such 
 a good watch that no one passes whom we don't know." 
 
 *' My friend," said Claude, " do you know me ? for I really do not know you» 
 Perhaps my old friend. Lamb, will tell you who I am." 
 
 " Yes, yes. This is the Rev. John Brown, an old acquaintance of mine, and 
 this is his groom, as you perceive. A — hem!" 
 
 As he said this, the parson-magistrate gave a groan, and the officers looked 
 from one to the other of them, rather puzzled ; upon which Claude, glancing at 
 the book, and giving a slight nod at the officer, said — 
 
 " Well, Lamb, as you were saying, you think this rather latitudinarian in its 
 theology than otherwise. I will read you the next passage." 
 "Yes — yes; do, friend Brown." 
 Tliey passed on, and Claude added, in a whisper-— 
 
 " You must ride a mile or so with me, for that fellow has his suspicions, 
 although he is so puzzled that he don't know what shape to put them in. Don't 
 look back, sir ; remember, 1 am desperate as well as a cool and determined 
 man." 
 
 ** So I find — so I find. Gracious ! how will tMs adventure of mine tell in the 
 papers. I shall have to give up the commission of the peace." 
 
 " A good job, too ; you will have more time to look after the commission of 
 the gospel, with which you pretend to be charged." 
 
 By this time Jack had got up to the spot where the officer -was still standing, 
 and that individual took a long look at him, with a very peculiar expression upon 
 his face, as though he suspected something, but, as yet, had not very well defined 
 to his own mind what it was. 
 
 •• So that's \ our master," he said, " is it ?" 
 
 " Very fine,'indeed," said Jack ; *'but we shall have rain shortly, I think." 
 *• Confound you, are you deaf?" 
 
 ** Thank you all the same, but I can't stop to take anything ; my master, you 
 see, is like a good many people — he's all very well when he has hie own way ; 
 but when he don't, why, I'd rather not be in his way, I can tell you. However, 
 It's very civil of you, and when we meet again I won't forget it."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROA'l. 351 
 
 " The idiot is as deaf as a post," said the office- urnine away. 
 "None so deaf as th'ise who won't hear," rautit red Jack to himself, as he 
 slowly trotted after Claude and the parson. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXVir. 
 
 THE SHERIFF. 
 
 Jack was well aware that something was amiss, and although he carried t^i"gs 
 off with a high hand, he shook for Claude's safety the while. Not one selfish 
 thought of his own hfe crossed his mind — it was Claude, and Claude only, that 
 he thought of and trembled for. Each moment, however, added to the chances 
 of safety, and Jack felt much lelieved not to hear the clatter of horses' feet 
 behind him. When he was quite near to Claude and the reverend gentleman, be 
 spoke, saying— ^ . ^^ 
 
 "All's right ; but a quick pace is a good thing when danger is behind.* 
 
 ** Thanks, Jack," said Claude, " I am mindful of all things. Now, sir, what 
 were you going to say just now in such a hurry ? Pray speak out." 
 
 " I was only going to remark," said the clergyman, " that, with perfect safety 
 to yourself, you migj^t now let me go home ; I have falsified my conscience by 
 saying that you are a friend of mine, and you ought not to expect any more 
 from me, 1 promise, for my own sake, to keep the transaction a profound 
 secret." 
 
 " I think you would," said Claude; "but you must excuse me for preferring 
 your company for another mile. I do not think that even your voucher for me 
 quite answered all the purposes. Yon officer has sharper eyes and a clearer 
 head, 1 fancy, than most of his craft." 
 
 The paison bit his lips, but ?aid no more, and the slight pause that ensued was 
 about to be broken by a remark from Sixteen-string Jack, when tramp, tramp- 
 clatter, clatter— upon the road behind them came horses' feet. Claude Duval 
 glanced behind him and saw the officer who had seemed to be rather suspicious, 
 rapidly approaching, with one of his mounted companions. 
 
 *' Keep as close as will not look too close, Jack," said Claude ; **but do not 
 betray any alarm for your life's sake. Caution will do everything now." 
 
 **Not quite everything, youtig man," said the parson. 
 
 " Courage, then," said Claude, "and a remorseless determination upon the 
 first show of real danger to shoot you through the head will do what remains." 
 
 " But," replied the parson, turning of a whitish purple colour. " But— it— it 
 is hardly fair to take my life, if I don't betray you." 
 
 " I shall take it," said Claude, "for the negative crime of not saving me. I 
 think you can do so if you like, and if you don't you are a dead man as sure as 
 you are now a living one.'* 
 
 Duval had no real intention of murdering the reverend pluralist, for such he was, 
 but ne thought that a world of safety might be in the fact of persuading him that 
 he was in hands so absolutely careless of human life as to sacrifice him from 
 mere spite at being captured, even should it not be at all by hie instrumentality. 
 By the time that their little argumentative dialogue was over, the two officers 
 had ridden up, and he who had spoken before, cried — 
 
 " We beg pardon, gentlemen, but as the road is far from safe, we thought 
 you would have no objection to our escort for a mile or two." » 
 
 " U there anything to fear?" said Claude, in an indifferent tone to the 
 parsoD. 
 
 " Kot— not that I— I know of," stammered that personage in reply. 
 
 " Then," said Claude to the officers, "we would rather ride alone."
 
 352 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Reall3% gentlemen," said the officer, *' you don't know, permit me to say, 
 what the danger is exactly. We are well aware that the notorious Claude Duval 
 is ui)on this road ; one of his freaks is to reach the port of Southampton, which 
 he has sworn to do in spite of all the officers of police, and ail the power of the 
 town and country constabulary. He is not far from here, we know, and therefore 
 is it that we consider the road particularly unsafe at present." 
 
 *' If you wish them to attend us," said Claude to the reverend gentlemen, 
 **Iet them do so." 
 
 " Very v/ell." 
 
 " At the next inn we come to," added Claude, as if continuing the conversa- 
 tion lie had been holding, " I will get out of my vallise the manuscript notes on 
 . Exodus I have mentioned to you. My hoise, toe, will not be at all sorry to have 
 half an hour's rest. Is there a halting place near at hand ?" 
 
 " if you please, sir," said Jack, respectfully touching his .hat, "there is an 
 inn a little further on, called the 'Old George.'" 
 
 ** Oh, very well, Robert, that will do. Vfe will dismount there ; and as for 
 you, gentlemen', who are so kind to escort us, I hope you will not refuse a little 
 refreshment, at the expense of myself and my old friend here." 
 
 '* Yes, yes. • Oh, we ought to do something liberal," said the parson, vrhile 
 his colour went and came like that of some youjjg girl who feels that somebody 
 is about to say something uncommonly decisive in the matrimonial line. Had a 
 hundred lives depended upon it, the rector could not pla5^ with an easy air, now, 
 the part that Claude had cast him in. 
 % Duval rode very close to him and said — t 
 
 **Bark you, reverend sir. I left my purse at home; oblige me with yours. 
 1 really mean to treat these fellows who are so kind as to thrust their company 
 upon us, whether we like it or not. Come, sir, quick, and do it with the best 
 grace you can." 
 
 "Surely you will not now rob me, after I have done you such an essential 
 service r" 
 
 "Indeed I will, though. I should lay it all to my conscience if I were to be 
 in ccrapany with one of your cloth on the highway, and not make him contribute 
 to my ways and means. Oh, yes, sister Anne is married, and 1 think as happy 
 .as folks can expect to be in this world. Say 'Is she really ?' " 
 
 " is &he really?" said the parson mechanically. 
 
 These latter words of Claude's were sufficiently loud for the officers to hear 
 them, and they heard the reply likewise ; So thatheeven who was most suspicious 
 that something was amiss, began to think that he was mistaken, and giving himself 
 a world of trouble about nothing at all ; and yet a something had taken place that 
 had put him upon tlie scent. He had noticed that Claude wore a wig, and that 
 the but end of a small pistol was at times quite visible somewhere about the breast 
 of his apparel. Now both these circumstances were compatible enough with the 
 fact of his being the old friend of the rector ; but when they came to be combined 
 rsritli a something in the rector's manner that was anything but easy and comfortable, 
 they had their due weight, and perhaps a little more than their due weight, in the 
 ji'iind of that sharp-looking, ferret-eyed officer of the London police. Both Claude 
 and Jack were perfectly sati>fisd in their own minds that something had gone 
 amiss, but what it was they could not for the lives of them make out, although the 
 thoughts of both were busy upon the subject. However, there was nothing to be 
 x3oue but to be guided by circumstances, and to adopt the best course that might 
 present itself at the moment to them. The parson took a tolerably well-filled 
 ^urse, and handed it to Claude, who put it in his pocket in a moment, saying — 
 
 " Is this all you have with you ?" 
 
 *' Yes, except a bank-note in my pocket-book, which does not belong to me.** 
 
 " Very well ; I will not interfere with it, then, to even ask you its amount. You 
 shall not say that even 1 treated you ungenerously. Oh» yes, of course. We have 
 always expected you at the hall, although we knew your time to be pretty weU 
 
 •"S-CIB--
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON TItE ROAD. 351^ ' 
 
 PLAPPIJ PUYAL INTROpyCES HJMSPLF TQ THE SHKKIfF OF HANTS. 
 
 occupied. But where there is a will you know, old friend, there is a way.— ?ay 
 I shall certainly be there soon." 
 
 " I shall, certainly be there soon," half groaned the parson. 
 
 " What do you think of that V whispered one of the officers to the oHier, as 
 they rode a little out of Jack's heuriui?. " It is surely all right, ain't it r'" 
 
 " I'm bothered. It sounds right, but it don't look rignt. This stoppage, liQW- 
 ever, Bill, that is to be at the Old George, will settle it. We will all dismount, 
 and then tliey don't get on those thorough-bred horses again, I can tell yoa, until 
 T am quite satisBed. If it should be Claude Duval and thw unknown fellow he 
 has with him as a companion, we are made men," 
 
 " Yes-^but how about the rector ?"
 
 354 ". GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Mum ! I have an idea about that. I was not born yesterday ; and, as I told 
 you only an hour ago, Claude Duval has as many shifts, and doubles, and tricks, 
 as all the foxes in the world. But don't let you and I bo whispering together. 
 Keep up to them. There's the si^n of the Old George only half a mile ahead." 
 
 " Y6u are generous in your way, ' said the parson ; " and yet you talk of killing 1 
 
 me?" I 
 
 " Assuredly I do : and will do it, too. What are you fidgetting about in yout J 
 
 pocket so far ? Any tricks, eh ? Yoti stand upon a mine I Beware l" ii 
 
 "No — no — nothing— it is nothing.— I— I— only felt for my pencil-case, that'i ^ 
 
 I all : and I find i(; is here. I commonly keep it in my waistcoat, and, missing il tj 
 
 i there, I wondered where it was ; but I find it here, so all*s right. I hope you will !, 
 
 ; leave it with me." j| 
 
 As the parson drew his hand from his pocket with a gold pencil-case in his h 
 
 j grasp, a small, crumpled-up piece of paper fell to the ground. Claude saw it, and ' | 
 
 1 he cried— ■ ' 
 
 " Robert, pick up that little memorandum that my friend has dropped, if you I 
 
 : please." . , 
 
 Jack saw that the piece of paper was of importance bv Claude's manner, and : 
 
 lie had flung himself from his horse to grasp it before either of the officers could 
 
 make the attempt. He only narrowly succeeeded, and handed it to Claude with a 
 
 touch of his hat, and then mounted quickly again, and fell back in his old place, ( 
 
 which was about fifteen paces behind Duval. Claude glanced at the paper, and 
 
 the parson, quivering in every limb, murmured— , j 
 
 " For God's sake have mercy upon me 1 You would have done the same undet ' 
 
 my circumstances. Spare me for the sake of my children !" ! 
 
 Claude gave but one glance at the paper, and saw written upon it in strange, 
 scrawling characters, such as a man might form in bis pocket, terribly cramped up, 
 the one word — 
 *«HeIpr I 
 
 Claude looked him sternly in the face. 
 " Mercy I—Mercy !" gasped the rector. « I have children.*' 
 " Hush !" 
 
 *' Yes— yes. I— 1 am quite still ; I will say or do what you like. Only spare 
 
 me. 
 
 " You have named your children," said Duval, "and you have by so doing i 
 saved yourself for this tame. When jrou look upon your little ones again, re- 
 member that to them aad their gentle influence you owe your life. I will not kill ! 
 I you, if you do not force me so to do, by tampering with me loo far ; but once J 
 more I say to you, Sir Friest, beware, for I am a man of sudden passions and ! 
 sudden impulses. Society is in arms against me, and I alone fight a community j 
 -~1 am hunted. Beware, then, that I turn not upon one of the aogs, and use my ! 
 fangs." ;.! 
 " I am sorry I did whaJt I did.*' I 
 " 'Tis past; now keep better faith with me, and with yourself, or there will \ 
 belong to this fair piece oi'^ road a tale of blood* that will be told when you and I i 
 are both crumbled into dust.* ! 
 During this little dialoga e, so fearfully intended to the rector^ the Officers had ( 
 not left Jack quite alone. ! , 
 \ I " Why, ilobert," said on e, " you were as deaf as a post just now ; but you heard i 
 i I your master, fast enough, ^ ;hen he told you to pick up the little piece of paper. 
 Wiiat was on ii, now ?" j e e w r ir 
 
 "A text from scripture," said Jack, 
 
 i i II ?kl ^^^ .^^" '^^^» c^» jou ?— And pray what was the text P" i 
 
 (. Ihe Wiseman heedetfi that which concernetli him and his; but the fool , 
 
 I meadieth with all things, a' ad perchance scorcheth iiis fingers.' " { 
 
 fl You call tnat a text :trom the scriptures, do- you? Come, come. Master j 
 
 ; j Kooert, vou are not what y on seem exactly j would: a hundred pounds appear an 
 
 f] acceptable sum to you ?'* Il
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 355 
 
 "Yes." il 
 
 " Well, then, tell us who your master really is.'* j 
 
 *' Who my master reallv is ?" | 
 
 "Yes. Come, come, don't be shamming stupid, man. It wou't do. You had | 
 better make hay while the sun shines ; and a £100 is not to be picked up every i 
 daj upon the king's highway." i ! 
 
 " It don't requite a Solomon," replied Jack, <* to know that. But if you are ! i 
 particularly anxious to know who my master is, all that I can say is, that ho is a 1 1 
 friend of the rector's." i I 
 
 « Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, I really can't tell you anything else, I'm sure. He's a very | 
 good master to me, and gives two suits of livery in the year, and never asks any i 
 questions." i i 
 
 " Really ! But you have not told us why you pretended to be deaf ?" I i 
 
 " I didn't pretend. I am deaf at times. There comes a siu^^ing in my ears j 
 
 all of a sudden, and then for a little time I'm deaf till it goes off. The doctors j 
 
 call it by some hard name that I can't recollect, and could not pronounce if I i 
 
 did." 1 
 
 i " You don't say so, Robert 1" i i 
 
 ! « Yes, I do.— Are you deaf ?" ? 
 
 ! ** No, not exactly. But here's the Old George, and your master has promised i i 
 
 to stand treat, so we will all dismount and go in. You must not think anything ! j 
 
 of what we have said, Robert. We were only joking, you know." 1 1 
 
 '* I'm very sorry to hear that." ! ; 
 
 " Sorry, are you ? What makes you sorry to hear it? I thought you Mould Ji 
 be quite the contrary, as things are." j ' 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," said Jack, " by * as tilings are ;' all I know is \ 
 that you talked amazingly big of £lOO, and that it don't seem now to be at all j 
 forthcoming." 
 
 " Perhaps it will be, though, and a few hundreds more at the back of it, for j | 
 somebody, before long," replied the officer, with an exceedingly knowing look. i ' 
 
 Claude, upon whom Jack kept his eye, gave a slight movement of iiis ]iep.d, to \ i 
 signify that he would say a word to him, and Jack was by Claude's side before lIk^ | I 
 officers were aware of what he intended to do. I ! 
 
 " Don't dismount," said Claude. j | 
 
 Jack nodded. By this time the whole party was at the door of the Old 1 1 
 George, which was one of those old-fashioned country inns with a large porcii 
 i entwining evergreens with clematis and woodbine. 
 
 " Stir an inch at your peril," whispered Claude to the parson. He nodded to 
 the officers — "now, gentlemen, name for yourselves what you would like to 
 have." j 
 
 He dismounted as he spoke, and so did the two officers. Jack had n(3ver con- j 
 sidered Claude in so much peril before, 
 
 "Nice nags," said Claude, as, with the bridle of his own horse over his arm, 
 he made a step or two towards the officers' horses. 
 
 They might have seized him then, but they had agreed together that it would be | \ 
 far safer and better to do so in the house. j i 
 
 '* Very nfce nags," added Claude ; " I wonder if they can run well when they | j 
 are put to it ?" . . i i 
 
 He had a thick whalebone horsewhip in his hand, and, with the rapidity of 1 1 
 lightning, he gave to each of the officers' horses such a cut with it, that, plunging 1 : 
 forward with smarts of agony, the two creatures tore along the road asthou^-h tlicy 
 were mad. Before any one could speak or move, Claude was mounted again. _ 1 1 
 
 " Good day, gentlemen," said Claude ; "you can take what you like to dlink \ \ 
 at the Old George, and score it down to Claude Duval. Come on. Jack." I 
 
 " Look at>the parson," said Jack. 
 
 Snap! went a little pocket-pistol that the reverend gentleman held in no very 
 agreeable juxtaposition with Claude's head. 

 
 35(5 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 "Why, it has missed fire, old friend," said Duval. '**Ahl you shoald alviray 
 hQ sure ot" your priming before you chancs your life upon such a cast. -Take it, as 
 you will have it." 
 
 Bang ! went Claude's largest pistol, with a horrible report, right ia tlxe rector's 
 face, who, with a fliriek, fell from his horse. 
 
 " They'll have fleet steeds that follow," shouted Claude. " Hurrah for the road 
 again !'* 
 
 The two dismounted oflScers looked bewildered, and it was not until Jack and 
 Duval were sweeping off like the wind that they were recovered sufficiently to send 
 three or four unavailing pistol shots afLer them^ which spread their death-dealing 
 contents harmlessly in the muddy road. 
 
 "Look ahead,'* said Jack. "There's a good-lookiug carriage about half a 
 mile on.*' 
 
 ♦'1 see it, Jack,'* said Duval. 
 
 CHAPTEja jLxiXviti. 
 
 ■WINCHFIELD HAIL. 
 
 The carriae^c was going at a good pace, hut by no means so fast as Claude and 
 Jack on horseoack ; yet, as the sailors say, " a stern chase is a long chase,** and it 
 would evidently take a considerable period of time to obliterate the distance be- 
 tween them. As they neared it, they saw that it was a very handsome vehicle 
 indeed, and was driven by a coachman, with a powdered wig and three-cornered 
 hat, while a footman of portly dimensions was behind. 
 
 ''Somebody of consequence in his own eyes/* said -Clatide, "if in no one 
 else's." ■,_ ■' \: ^^ ■■:-,■ 
 
 "Not a doubt of it," replied Jack. " I wonder how those officers feel now, 
 Claude? I suppose their horses have taken to the fields ?" - 
 
 *• Most probably, Jack. It was a narrow escape, but you see what impudence 
 may do." = " ^ ■ ■ ' 
 
 " Yes, there is only one thing I regret.'* 
 
 "And pray. Jack, what mav that be. You look uncommonly serious about it, 
 old fellow." - " : ^ : 
 
 " 1 am serious, too, Claude : I am vexed at the death of that clergyman, who 
 said he had a family of children, you know. I know he provoked you ; but still 
 I regret it." 
 
 "Ah! ah! ah!" 
 
 "Don't laugh at it, Claude, don't laugh.'* 
 
 •• Why, my dear fellow, I can't help it. If he be dead, it is no fault of mine. 
 You know my large holster pistol has two barrels — well, one had a ball in it, and 
 the other only abeavy charge of powder, with a piece of brown papar well rammed 
 down. It was the Jatt^ that 1 fiied in the parson's face, although he amply 
 deserved the other. No, Jack, I never take a life if 1 can possibly help it ; and as 
 for folks having a shot at me, it is no more than what lean fairly expect in my 
 line of life. No doubt the rector will find himself confused for an hour, and 
 reminded, by the marks of gunpowder upon his face, of this day*s adventure as 
 long as he lives ; but unless he dies of tbe fright, he is as much alive now as 
 we are." 
 
 "-You don't know what a relief that is to me, Claude." 
 
 "Poh ! You ought to have known me bettt-r ; I like a joke, but I don't like a 
 murder. No, Jack, they may say what they like of me, and hunt me as they 
 will, but they cannot call me blood-thirsty." 
 
 " Indeed, they cannot, Claude. But we are nearing the carriage." 
 
 " Yes, Jack, and a thought strikes me that \vc are now in more danger than we 
 have been in yet. We shall soon have these ofiicers and their companions upon
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 357 I 
 
 our heels, and no doubt we are not any great distance from another lot of them. I 
 Now, if we can get past the next police post, we shall have baffled our pursuers, 
 1 think, and shall be able to go on again, at all events, with nothing but the dan- j 
 ger that lies before us." ! 
 
 " How is it to be done, Claude P What a series of desperate shifts and adven- ; 
 tures this journey is." ' 
 
 *' Yes, Jack. Well, I have been thinking that a respectable carriage would 
 carry us on nicely — don't you think so ? Such a one as that now travelling so 
 ( { comfortably up yon hill before us." 
 
 "Yes; but, Claude " 
 
 ^ ** We have not the pleasure of possessing it, you would say. Jack." 
 IV '* We certainly have not." 
 
 " That is not an obstacle, you know. Jack, for we, in our practice, have restored 
 the primitive age, when people followed the good old plan— 
 ♦ They may keep, who have the power, 
 And they may taKe who can.' 
 
 So, upon such a principle, you see, the carmge before us becomes a sort of float * 
 ing property— and we may say with Shakelpeare— 
 
 * 'Twas miue — 'tis his, 
 
 And may be slave to thousands.* 
 
 You see, I have lots at hand, Jack, to suit me upon occasions ; so let us come on a 
 little briskly, for it will be well to come up with the vehicle upon the brow of the 
 hill, from which I fancy we shall get a good prospect of the surrounding country, 
 and see if there be any danger approaching. You don't flinch, Jack, I hope, from 
 this adventure ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Claude. Your doings upon this occasion far transcend any of your 
 former exploits ; but if you were to propose the most outrageous plan of opera- 
 tions in the world, I would stick to you. I have said chat I would live and die 
 with you, and I will keep my word, Claude." - "-^i,*^ 
 
 " 1 know you will. Jack. Spur on, and we will soon see what sort of force we 
 hare to contend with in the carriage ahead of us. Yon footman who keeps look- 
 I ing round seems to be uneasy already." 
 ! " He does, indeed ; and now he has turned round completely to stare at us, and 
 j ^!wncying, no doubt, his attitude very fine, as he holds on with those straps under 
 |^<^1iis arms, and the cords dangling down on each side of him." 
 
 " Perhaps, Jack, we shall pull down his conceit a bit. I will ride on first, but 
 take care to be sufficiently close to me, in case there should be anybody in that 
 carriage of a belligerent character, for we must conquer." j 
 
 "Assuredly, Claude." 
 
 Duval was now sufficiently near to the carriage to be able, by putting his horse 
 to speed, to ride up to it ; and he did so just as the horses gained the brink of the 
 hill ; and, according to the rules of good driving, they ought to have had a 
 moment's pause to recover the strain of the ascent. Claude rode direct to the 
 carriage door, and looked in. There were two persons inside— an elderly woman, 
 dressed out In all the tawdry colours of the rainbow, in a vain attempt to look 
 youthful and engaging, was one ; and the other was a man of middle age, with a 
 sour, morose-lookins aspect. His face was full and bloated, and his brows were 
 knit ; while his little protruding gray eyes betokened both sensuality and ferocity. 
 As Claude stopped the view and the light from the carriage-window, this amiable - 
 , looking personage gave a savage sort of ^rowl, and cried— 
 
 " What's that ? Drive on, Peter — drive on. Drive on, I say !" 
 
 "Stop, Peter," said Claude, " stop I" /. 
 
 Tlie coachman looked astonished ; but he raised his whip, and in another mo- 
 ment would have brought it down upon the horses' backs, when Claude, coolly 
 pointing a pistol at his head, said-— 
 
 " Move on another inch and I'll blow your brains out 1"
 
 358 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 Peter-dropped bis whip, and Claude, turning to the carriage window again, 
 said — • 
 
 "Who are you, sir?" 
 
 " The sheriff of Hants, sir," cried the male occupant of the carriage. ** Who 
 are you ?" 
 
 •* Claude Duval, the highwayman." 
 
 "The devil 1" ! 
 
 ** Not exactly. You seem alarmed, sir. Why you have not half the courage 
 of this young lady by your side, whose beauty and bright eyes, I suppose, render \ 
 carriage lamps quite unnecessary to this vehicle." | 
 
 '* He's a remarkably polite young man, at any rate," said the lady. ! | 
 
 " Polite ! Bah !" cried the sheriff. " I suppose you want to rob me, eh ? Bo , | 
 yoii know what you are about ? You will find that ifc'is no joke to rob the sheriff." I 
 
 " I never thought it was," saidfClande. '* You are an ausociable brute, Prayi? I 
 where are you going ?" I 
 
 "ToWinchfield Hall, close to Basingstoke," said the lady. "I hope, Mr. 
 Highwayman, as you are a gentleman, thai; you will behave as sucbi Here's my 
 purse, and I hope you will spare mjr i|ngs;" 
 
 *' Madam, I hope I shall take nothing from you but your good opinion. It is 
 a pity that the sheriff, who, I suppose, is your father, is such a surly old brute. 
 Are you going through Basingstoke, or are you about to stop on this side of the 
 town?" 
 
 **ThjDUgh it," said the ladv, who had not had so many compliments paid to 
 her for a long time. " The sheriff is my husband, sir. Come, Sir Harry, give 
 the gentleman your purse, and have done with it. If we are to be robbed, we bad 
 better be robbed by one who knows how to behave himself, and Mkewise kuowa 
 female-^— ^" 
 
 "Loveliness," added Claude, "when he sees it. Do you know, madam, wbftt 
 this carriage reminds me of— or rather, I should say, its occupants ?" ; ' 
 
 ''No, sir— really— what ?" 
 
 " Beauty and the beast !'* 
 
 *' Bah !" cried the sheriff. <' Two much of this. There's my purse. I don't I 
 feel inclined to risk myself or my life for a few paltry guineas. Take them, and ! | 
 I only hope you and I may meet again, my friend, at the quarter sessions. That's , i 
 all." 1 1 
 
 ** Bah !" said Claude. " Ha ! ha ! ha ! You are an amiable brute ; you are I ! 
 indeed. Here, Jack ! Jack I" | ■ 
 
 " I'm busy," said Jack. j | 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " Why Job, he can't keep his eye off my pistol-barrel ; and they are open 80 , , 
 wide, and his mouth too, that I don't think he will shut either again." 
 
 " Dispose of him, Jack." 
 
 "Ob !— murder— no ! Dem my whiskers, no !" cried a voice. " Dear, good, * \ 
 kind, handsome-looking gents, only say what you wish me to do, and I will do it ' , 
 at once, dera me, and no sort of mistake !" 
 
 *' Remain where you are, then," said Jack, "and wait further orders." 
 
 " Job— Job," cried the sheriff. 
 
 ** Dera it, yes. Sir Harry, Pm here." 
 
 " Knock these fellows down." 
 
 ** Yes, Sir Harry, 1 would in a minute, but somehow, I don't think they'll let 
 me. Perhaps, Sir Harry, they would not mind your doing'jt, as you are a man 
 of consequence, you know, but, dem it, I positively decline. Oh, dear me, I could • ; 
 not do it on any account." 
 
 " Job is prudent," said Claude ; " Jack, take care of my horse, and ride on as | 
 close behind the carriage as you can. Perhaps it will be as well if you make a [ j 
 little change in costume, and see to the horses* legs and heads, Jack." '| 
 
 " Yes, I will be ready in a moment." ) 
 
 This order to see to tbo horses' legs and heads requires some small ex- i 
 
 , ^i
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 5Sd 
 
 planation, which will be best given by watching Jack's proceedings. Rapidly un- 
 i strapping the vallise, he took from it another coat, with which he disguised himself. 
 i Then, with a piece of chalk, which he likewise had, he gave the horses a white foot 
 I each, as well as a good change of colour upon the face, and thenwith some change 
 i in the trappings, rapidly effected, made the whole turn-out look as different as 
 ; possible, seeing that it was really the same, from what it had been. Strange and 
 contradictory as it may seem, these partial disguises were more likely to succeed 
 with close and minute observers, like officers of police, than anybody else. They, 
 no doubt, had taken such notes of Claude's and Jack's horses, that any deviation 
 from this would induce in their minds a doubt which never presents itself to a mere 
 casual observer, to whom a horse is just a horse, and who does not look to see 
 if he has a white foot or a black one, or a spot upon his face or not. When Jack, 
 too, had another wig on, and with a piece of burnt cork, which he had carefully 
 wrapped up in a piece of paper, had blackened his eyebrows and removed his 
 false whiskers, he looked quite a different man. Job looked upon all the pro- 
 ceedings, rapidly executed as they were, like man in a dream, and when they 
 were finished, and Jack was mounted, he beckoned to him, and said— 
 
 ** Don't be afraid of me ; I have given him a month's notice a week ago, and as 
 the place don't suit me at all, you may do what you like." 
 
 " All's right," said Jack, " you will get a twenty pound note if you keep to that.'* 
 " A twenty pound note P Shall I ? Won't I keep to it above a bit, that's all. 
 Only put me on my oath, and, dem it, I'll swear anything you like ; I've often had 
 i an idea of being a highwayman myself, it is so uncommonly romantic.'' 
 •vHej !" 
 
 Claude, with all the coolness in the world, now opened the door of the sheriff's 
 carriage and got in. The moment he did so, he let down one of the front glasses, 
 and touched the coachman with the muzzle of a pistol. When that personage 
 glanced round, and saM it, he turned as white as a sheet. 
 
 "Peter," said Claude, '* remember that if you attempt to play any tricks, or dis- 
 pute orders, or in any way attempt to bring danger upon me, you are a dead man." 
 ♦* i won't— *I won't," groaned Peter. 
 
 "Now drive on," said Claude, " and recollect that your life is in your own 
 keeping. Andnow, Mr. Sheriff, you and I must understand each other. Madam, 
 I hope I don't incommode you? How came you to throw yourself away upon 
 such a brute— and an ugly brute, too, as this ?" 
 
 ^^^ « D tion I" growled the sheriff. 
 
 I " *' i'ic, §ir l" said Claude, " recollect that you are in the presence of a lady, and 
 ; endeavour to behave yourself like a gentleman, for once in the way. I have only 
 to say to you, that if you do not answer any questions that may be asked of you 
 in the manner to keep me safe — what manner that is, I need uot dictate to you— I 
 , will not be taken alive, nor shall you be Ir at the death, for I will assuredly send 
 a couple of bullet into your skull." 
 I The sheriff hesitated* 
 j " Drive on, Peter," said Claude. 
 
 I Peter put the cattle in motion, and off went the whole party. Jack bringing up 
 the rear with the two horses. They went on at a slashing pace, notwithstanding 
 a shower of rain that came on and a rushing wind that gave promise of a jjj^'sty 
 day. The sheriff sat in an extreme corner of his carriage, glaring at Claude as 
 . though he would gladly have eaten him with the smallest quantity of salt by way 
 of a relish ; and the sheriff's made-up old lady put on a girlish manner, and looked 
 at him from behind a fan, which she hoped only exhibited what she considered tiiu 
 most fashionable part of her face. Claude had fairly turned the good latly's 
 head by his flattery, and she really considered that the most agreeable circum- 
 stance that had happened for a long while, was this meeting with the hivndbome 
 and gallant highwayman, who announced himself to be no other than the cele- 
 brated and widely-famed Claude Duval.
 
 .W GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 CHAPTER LXXXIX. 
 
 A WEDDIN6, i 
 
 Truly 'a more complete tortege could not well be imagined than the 
 sheriff's now was. To be sure, it would have had a better appearance if Jack had 
 gone on in front, as a sort of outrider; but still the whole affair did very well. 
 And if the sheriff", with a laudable wish to preserve his life, did what Claude re- 
 quired of him, all would still go on well. 
 
 *' I have often heard of you, Mr. Duval," said the sheriff's lady. 
 I "Madam, I am the more highly honoured.'* j 
 
 " Oh, don't mention that, 1 have always heard that you were quite a lady's ' ' 
 man." 
 
 " Well, madam, I plead guilty, certainly, to a sort of devoted feeling for the 
 sex, particularly when it is a gratification to me to say, as in the present instance, 
 that gallantry is sanctioned, and, indeed, rendered absolutely agreeable by beauty.' 
 
 "Oh, sir!" , 
 
 •'How can you, Sarah," cried the sheriff*, "be such a fool as to believe the 
 hoaxing of that pupny ? There's no fool like an old one.** ! 
 
 " Sir," said Claude, "you must be a lunatic." 
 
 ** And a brute upon two legs," said the lady. " I'm often inclined to faint right ' 
 away, do you know, Mr. Duval, from the ill-usage of this monster in human form ; ' i 
 and it's quite well known that they made him a sheriff because he was decidedly , 
 the ugliest man in all the county." 
 
 " The devil, madam !" i 
 
 " Yes, as ugly as the devil," said Claude. *' I understand that perfectly. Oh, I 
 my dear madam, fate ought to have dealt more kindly by you, than to attach you | 
 to any such a baboon." 
 
 " A what ?" cried the;sheriff. " I won't stand this any longer— I can't stand it, 1 1 
 I— Oh! murder! Spare my life !" , 
 
 " I tell you what, sir," said Claude, " you may say just what you like, so long 
 as you say it in a quiet, respectable sort of a way ; but if you begin any confounded i 
 row, I will make a vacancy in your office as sure as yoti are noTr a living man." i 
 
 The sheriff shrunk back again into the corner of the carriage, from where, with 1 1 
 his little pig-like eyes, he^^lared at Claude as though he had been some ogre. | i 
 
 ** Coming !" said Jack, suddenly, in a clear voice. ' 
 
 Claude understood him, and turning to the sheriff again, he said-* ' 
 
 " It is your duty, and will redound much to your fame after you are dead, if you ! 
 say to the officers of police, who are now rapidly approaching, here is Claude . 
 Duval—seize him. But, it will be much more satisfactory to you to live with tfte I 
 comforts and the dignities you have about you, than to die for the commendations | 
 of the whole country; therefore, you will say that no horsemen have passed this 
 way, and that the groom and the two horses behind belong to you, if you should 
 be asked any questions ; while I am your cousin Walker.**. <, 
 
 "My cousin?" . , ' i 
 
 "Yes, Walker." • 
 
 f "Maylbe f* .. I 
 
 "Veiygood." .:.^ i.v 
 
 Click went Claude's pistol, and the lady whispered-^ » ' t 
 
 \ " If you do shoot him, put him out of his pain quickly." | 
 
 j! "No, no," said the sheriff; •• I am not tired of ray life just yet. A.x i asi of ' 
 you is, never to relate the story, and I will save you if I can. A man is bound to i 
 preserve his own life if he were sheriff" of all the counties in England, and I won't ! 
 ' commit what may be called suicide — I'll do it.'* 
 1 1 " You are wise," said Claude, as he threw himself back in the carriage j but 
 
 then a thought struck him, and, leaning forward, he touched the coachman, say- , 
 \\ ing— •' Peter, remember I"
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 361 
 
 . " Oil, good gracious 1 Yes, I'm all over of a cold perspiration, and shall never 
 
 forget to-niir'it as long as I live, I know." 
 
 "Very good." ■ • 
 
 "Halloa ! whose carriage?" cried a l^ud vcicp, •Svh-.se carriarre is ibis?" 
 
 There was a great scam;)f^r'r,'^^ i\n\ tc.filiij;: of hois.s' iVei," so that it v»-as 
 
 "V;, ^.O^. J '7-'-> 
 
 n&: 
 
 quite evident to Claude that tl ere were at least five or six horsemen upon the 
 spot. , ' 
 
 "The shlmrs." said John. 
 
 "Sheriff! Sheriff of what ?*• 
 
 "Of Hants." 
 
 *'I suppose you come from Lo.bi, su \ 
 
 , 1 'hiux ther 's no sheriff in 
 
 No A^
 
 362 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 the world but those you see in the gilt coacheB on liord Mayor's day. Eh 
 spooney ?" 
 
 "We must speak to the sheriff of Hants, then. Coachman, pull up." 
 
 " Pull up," whispered Claude. 
 
 The coachman stopped, and the officers surrounded the carriage ; little did they 
 dream that once again their prey was in their grasp. The principal — and he was 
 one of those whose horses had been started off by Claude, at the door of the 
 Old George luu—advaoced, and, touchiog his hat,- leant down to the carnage 
 door, saying— 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, bat wa are police-officers from London, upon the track of 
 the notorio us Claude Duval. He is upon this road somewhere, with a companion. 
 They are mounted well upon dark bay horses, and have played Ub one of the most 
 slippery t ricks we ever had pla.ved as in our Uveas.** 
 
 "Indeed!' ' said the sheriff. ' 
 
 "Well, my good mm, go on," said the sheriff's lady, *«tc ain't highwajmen, 
 are we, cousin Walker ?'* 
 
 "No, Sarah," baid Claude, "certainly not.*' 
 
 *' Sarah be ^ahem ! what a cough I have got," saai the sheriff. " Ahem — 
 
 ahem P* 
 
 "Yott can give OS no news, sir?" said the officer. "Have no mounted mea 
 passed your carriage, sir ?" 
 
 " None, of course ; I hope you may catdi him." 
 
 " Oh dear, yes," said the lady, who was willing to play her part well, tliat 
 Claude was in perfect fear that sbe would over-play it ; " oh dear, yes, of course 
 we wish that, don't we, cousin Walker ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sarah,'' said Claude. 
 
 ''We mast apologise, sir, for stopping your carriage," said the officer, "bat 
 we have a very onerous duty to perform. I aod one of our party have h^mt 
 hors^, and these we have are only hired upoa the spur of the moment. If thej 
 have iK« been seen bj you or your servants, sir, it's cf little use our psr««iiig 
 this roa4 more particularly as, upon the oiitskirts of Easiogstoke, there are «iz « 
 our people on the look- out. Perhaps, sir, if you see anything of the fellow*, *a« 
 will be »o good as to give advice to our iittie aarty of ii/' 
 
 "Yes— yes." 
 
 "Oh, dear me, certainly," said the sheriff's Wy, "of course we will, and J«aa* 
 kins, our man, who is bebij>d with a spare h©f«e, shall lay hold of him if b^ 
 meets him, shan't he, cousin Walker ?" 
 
 " Ah ! madam," said the officer, " it would reqaiise ft good many Jenkinses ta 
 catch Ciaude DutaL" 
 
 " I think it would," said CJaade. " Don't you, Sarah ?'' 
 
 '* Yes, cousin Walker." 
 
 The sheriff gave anol her groan, and the officer touching his hat very respect- 
 fully, withdrew from tiie carriage-door to hold a consultation with his companions. 
 The coachman, in obedience to the order conveyed in a whisper from Claude, was 
 about to diLve on, .when the officer rode up again to the window, and said— 
 
 *•* Sir, will you permit one of our men t6 ride along with your carriage and 
 servant to our next post, as the party there may as well be in full kuowledge of 
 what has already taken place ?" 
 
 : " Oh, certainly," said the sheriff, with an air of satisfaction, and then he added, 
 sarcastically— " Don't you think that will be quite a good thing— coiusjo 
 Walker?" 
 
 •' Quite, sir," said Claude. " Drive on, Peter." 
 
 The cavalcade again proceeded, and, with Jack, who little reli§hed such a com- 
 panion, rode a. mounted officer, who began in a garrulous sort of a way to tell 
 him all the particulars of how Claude had, as he termed it, " dished" them at 
 the door of the Old George. 
 
 " You don't say so ?" said Jack. 
 
 •' Yes, and it has made us all so savage that I do think the first of us that comes
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 363 
 
 across him, will not make the least attempt to take him, but will blow out his brains 
 without a single moment's hesitation about it. This rain is not so pleasant, though, 
 is it ? I wish I had brought a top-coat with me. I shall get wet through." 
 
 *' Very likely," said Jack. 
 ^ They now trotted on after the carriage for sometime in silence, for the officer 
 could not but see that his companion was rather taciturn than otherwise. The fact 
 is, that Jack was deep in thought as to how he could get rid of the fellow, in case 
 anything suspicious should lake place. He was armed, but he hoped a necessity) 
 for using his arms would not occur, and he breathed more freely as the distance"; 
 between this single officer, who accompanied the carriage, and Iiis five companions 
 •—for there had been six of them — momentarily increased. A result, however, of 
 the rapidly falling rain was slowly, but surely, taking place, which did not at all 
 occur to Jack until he was very disagreeably reminded of it by the officer suddenly 
 remarkii g, withxa puzzled and dolorous air — for he was not exactly a conjurer, 
 that man, who had been selected to accompany the sheriflf's carriage— 
 
 ** What on earth is that odd white stuff all about your horse's feet ? There's 
 some on his face, too 4" 
 
 " White stuff ?" said Jack, who now immediately comprehended that it was the 
 chalk with which he had disguised the horses, running off in the rain. " White* 
 stuff? What do you mean by white stuff?" 
 
 •* I should like to know what you mean by it ? It can't be kicked up on the 
 road, or else it would be upon my horse*s feet as well. How do you account for 
 it?" 
 
 "I don't see," said Jack, " that I am obliged to account for it at all." 
 
 " But it's very extraordinary." 
 
 " Very. How do you account for it, eh ? I don*t profess to know anything 
 about it myself. Do you know ?•— if you do, I should like above all things to^kaow 
 what it is. Go on." 
 
 The officer looked Jack in the face, and Jack looked at the officer for some fe^^ 
 moments in silence, and then the latter said — ---r* 
 
 " Do you know, old chap, it looks to me as if something had been done to those 
 horses' feet and heads to disguise them." 
 
 « Really?" 
 
 "Yes ; and it is sufficiently suspicious in these limes to make a iBan— " 
 
 " Look after himself !" said Jack, suddenly clapping a pistol to the breast of 
 the officer. " Stir one step, and you are a dead man !" 
 
 «• The devil !" 
 , *' Or Claude Duval— which would you rather have at your elbow ?" said Jack, 
 
 *'B — woo !" cried John, the footman. " My eye, here's a romance foif you! 
 Blaze away, gents, Blaze away, and don't mind me. Go it. Lord bless you 
 both, I won't interfere. Oh, dear !— oh dear ! what a dod»e that was about the 
 chalk, to be sure. If it hadn't been for the rain, now ? Well— well." 
 
 *' You are Claude Duval, then," said the officer, as his very lips turned of an 
 ashy whiteness, " and my very life is not worth a moment's purchase. You killed 
 the rector." 
 
 " A lie !" said Jack. "There was no ball in the pistol." 
 
 *' I know you are Duval now," said the officer. "Eire away—Good-bye to 
 my little ones," 
 
 Jack saw a tear flash in the man's eye, and he said to him— • 
 
 "Don't be a fool. — If you can't take me, you can take care of yourself. I don't 
 want your life.— Why should I ?— You talked of shooting Claude Duval the 
 moment you saw him j but why should you be so blood-thirsty ? God knows 
 what a child of your own— for you talk as if you were a father — may come |to. 
 Pancy the gentlest, and the one you love best, nunted like a wild beast from place 
 to place." ' 
 
 " You— you won't kill me ?" 
 
 ** Not if I can help it. Your are armed ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 <^
 
 3C4 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 "Give me your arms, then, and jou will see your little ones again, as far as I 
 ain coiicerned ; and when you think ot" me, don't i'ancy that because a man is 
 hunted by his fellows, that he must of necessity be as bad as to deserve such 
 treatment." 
 
 TJie officer's Lauds shook so as he handed Jack a pair of pistols, that he nearly 
 dropped them. -• 
 
 *'Now," said Jack, who still wished to keep up the delusion in the man's mind 
 ihat he was Claude Duval, and had ia some audacious and mysterious way attached 
 himself to the sheriff's cortecje, " You must do your duty, or seem to do it. You 
 look as if you thought I behaved generously to you. 1 only ask you ia return for 
 a little forbearance. Let us jog on as before, and you have nothing to report to 
 your comrades whenyou reach them, but what you knew a quarter of an hour ago." 
 
 ** And you will trust me ?" 
 * " Yes, if you promise. I have always gained more by trusting people thao- 
 suspecting them.'* 
 
 ** Listen, vheu," said the ofucer ; " may I never look iu the eyes of my wife 
 and children again, in this <vorld or in the next, if I betray you I Are yo* 
 satisfied ?" 
 
 " ** Most abundantly.'* • 
 
 ^ ^* You will not repent it, then. So now come on, and you will find that yoa* 
 liave made a friend where you had not the le^t possible chance of expecting one." 
 
 *' Come on,'* said Jack with a smile ; *' is not this better than my leaving yoir 
 a bleeding corpse upon the highway ? I trust you with all ray heart, and shall be 
 loth, indeed, to suspect you. Let us trot on. the carriage has got fu^^er ahead 
 than I wish it." ft' 
 
 He and the officer spurred on\rards, and soon came close up to the carriage 
 again. . _ 
 
 I "Well," said Jack to himself, "this is one of the most incredible of my 
 :adventures. It may be nothing to Claude to convert an enemy into a friend, but 
 1 must confess that I never belore succeeded in such a thing." 
 
 If Duval, snugly esconced as he was in the carriage, had had the Jeast idea of 
 what was going on in ifs rear, he would probably have felt any vi^ay but at his easej 
 notwithstanding the affair turned out so well; but so it is — our greatest dangers, 
 probably, always pass by us wiihout our being aware of them, while we start and 
 turn pale at a thousand petty chances, which, taken in their aggregate, would not 
 inake up the sum of one great risk which in its coming and in its going utterly 
 filudes our observation. The situation of what we may call the sheriff's party was 
 now rather curious. There was Peter the coachman in a slsftte of mortal trepi- 
 dation^ expecting each moment that from some sudden whim or suspicion upon 
 ; the part of the highwayman, he might be shot. Then there was the sheriff, so 
 angry that purple lines and cavities were all over his face, and ho absolutely 
 snorted with suppressed ire. There was his lady all smiles, and simperings, and 
 little sweetnesses, looking at Claude with " Oh, you good-looking wretch 1'* 
 sort of expression ; and tUen there was Claude, seemingly careless, but in reality 
 most acutely observant of everything that passed. Nor did John the footman and 
 Jack and the ofucer form a less anxious triumvirate than that which occupied the 
 ifttefior of the sheriff's showy aud most luxuriously appointed travelling carriage* 
 
 , CHAPTERXC. 
 
 THE BElflGUTtD XBAYLLLEBS. 
 
 ' The town of Basingstoke was now about two miles and a hf\lf only from the^ 
 carriage, and the duy^ was gettiug pretty well advancerl, for the adventures of 
 Claude Duval and his friend Sixtcea-stiing Jack had been sufficiently numerous 
 since the dawn of morning to occupy a tolerably considerable portion of time. 
 
 JSi
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 365 
 
 They had never inteuded to push on both day and night. There was one consi- 
 deration wiiich put such a made of proceeding completely out of the questiont, 
 and that was, that their horses were but flesh and blood, and required res. 
 Where to get them that rest, was a point upon which Claude Duval earnestly 
 reflected, and he would have been glad to have had five minutes' conversation with 
 Jack upon that subject, for he ftlt'quite sure, that alter, by the assistance of the 
 sheriff, passing the next party of officers, his best plan would be to lay by if 
 possible until night, by which time the cattle would be refreshed, and> besides, 
 night was the time when the most audacious schemes could be put in practice, and 
 when disguises passed muster, which in the eye of daylight would have looked 
 anything but the thing. To attempt putting up at any inn at Basingstoke would 
 be by far loo hazardous a proceeding, and yet where else to go it was a puzzler. 
 Jack, however, knew more of the country through which they were passing than 
 Claude, and hence the latter earnestly wished tg speak to him. There was time 
 enough for that, however, after they had passed the next party of officers, which 
 was a very great point to be gained, inasmuch as when it was accomplished it 
 would leave a world of danger behind them. 
 
 "Mr. Duval," said the lady of the sheriff, "is it true that you stopped the 
 carriage of the Bishop of Exeter, and made his lady get out to dance a minuet with 
 you ? I have heard it reported." 
 
 " It is true, madam, as regards the feet of my dancing the minuet with the 
 bishop's lady, but she might have declined honouring me so far, if she had pleased. 
 I used no compulsion." 
 " Is she handsome!""' 
 
 " Until to-day, madam, I thought her the most engaging person I had seen." 
 The slight bow which accompanied this delicate and well-timed compliment 
 sufficier»t,ly pointed it, and the sheriff's lady could hardly conceal her gratification. 
 Alas ! many a long and dreary year had passed away since any one had spoken to iaer 
 in such tones. No wonder that they came across her ears with all the fascination 
 of early recollections— she had been handsome, and a coquette, too, in her time. 
 Youth and age! — oh! how changeful are thy destinies ! Time was when she — 
 .but no matter, we are glad that Claude Duval broke through the cobwebs of years, 
 and let her once more hear the soft language of youth. 
 
 " There's two men a- coming," suddenly said Peter. 
 
 " Mounted ?" 
 
 <' Yes, sir." 
 
 '* Very well, if they ask you to stop, do so, and then utter one word, and you 
 know the consequences." 
 
 The tramp of horses' feet came plainly on their ears,_ and then there was the 
 dark shadow of a man and horse outside the carriage window ; and then a voice 
 said— 
 
 " Gentlemen, have you come far down the WinchQeld road ?" 
 
 " I can tell you,'* said the officer who rode with Jack, sudd enly riding forward. 
 
 " Oh, is that you, Griffiths ?" said one. 
 
 " Yes ; where's the rest of your party ?" 
 
 " About a quarter of a mile on ; but as we saw this carriage coming, we trot- 
 ted on to meet it. Is it not the sheriff's ?" 
 
 '■Yes; and he is in it himself. You had better speak to bim, and he will 
 tell you the state of the road. He might be offended, you knowr, if you were to 
 take a report only from me, while he i^ i ere." 
 
 " Likely enough." 
 
 The officer stooped to the window of the carriage, and touched his hat, as he 
 said— 
 
 " Sir, we are on the look out for Claude Duval. Perhaps you will be so^ kmcl 
 as to inform us if any suspicious-looking characters have been upon the road ^ 
 We are sure to have him, but we doa't know, when exactly. He has a com- 
 panion with him." 
 
 "1 know nothing about it," said the sheriff, gruffly. " Ask your fellow oihccr
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 there, who has followed mj carriage for the last five miles. He can give you the 
 report of the road, I believe, better than I." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I regret having troubled you upon the subject.*' 
 
 *• Oh it's no trouble." 
 
 ** And not the slightest consequence," said the lady. ** Peter, you cau go on." 
 
 " Go on," said Claude. 
 
 With rather anxious eyes, and with apprehension that he would not for the 
 world have let him see possessed him. Jack watched the proceedings of the oflficer, 
 named Griffiths. He cannot be said to have actually suspected him of treachery 
 fcut still Jack^had seen enough of human nature to expect almost any thing, how- 
 ever bla ck and abominable it might be. He well knew that man, made in the 
 image of his creator, and destined to immortality, was capable of any amount of 
 wickedness, villany, and ferocity that th e most dissuasive imagination could con- 
 ceive ; so it would not greatly have astonished him, if Griffiths had not actually 
 turned upon him, and tried to capture or to shoot him, even after what had passed 
 between them. The officer, however, was not among the worst species of humanity. 
 Jack had, in consideration of his children, spared his life. A recollection of those 
 children kept the officer bound, and he kept his word with the man whom he 
 considered was worth a thousand pounds to anybody at any naoment. This was 
 real virtue. Before he rode off with his companions, he approached Jack, and 
 iield out his hand, saying — 
 
 " Good-by. T hope we shall never meet again." 
 
 " Don't say that," said Jack ; ** I hope v^ shall, and that, when we do, I may 
 be able to do you a kindness. Good-by, to you. Remember me sometimes, 
 along with the old proverb, that the devil's not quite so black as he is painted." 
 
 "1 never thought he was ; but there's oae thing that puzzles me yet.*' 
 
 "What is it?'' 
 I "How came you to induce the sheriff to say that all was right, and to own you 
 as belonging to him, when he knows that such is not the case ? And you were not 
 sufficiently near him to prevent all dangerous mischances. One word to those 
 two friends of mine, from him, would have settled the matter, and they would 
 have stood between him and any danger from your resentment." .| 
 
 *• I have a friend in the carriage," said Jack. 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! Cousin Walker, I'll be bound." 
 
 « The same." 
 
 " If 1 did not suspect it, may I— well, well, I see it all^I see it all." 
 
 " Not quite all,*' thought Jack, "for you don't see that I am not Claude Duval, 
 and it is just as well that you should not see that part of the business." 
 
 The officer shook hands with him again, and then joining his companions, they 
 went on towards Basingstoke again, at a much quicker pace than the carriage 
 proceeded at. The first houses of the town were now distinctly visible, and j 
 Claude began to bethink himself of when it would be best to leave the sheriflf and 
 hk lady. After some consideration, ie said to the sheriff — 
 
 "1 will trouble you, sir, to accompany me through Basingstoke, until we are 
 quite clear of the houses, and then I will leave you, trusting to your discretion to 
 say notliiiig of this adventure, provided you will not promise silengp. If you do 
 promise it, 1 shall trust to your honour." 
 
 •' Of course h^'U promise it," said the lady. ** Ah, promise it— Sir Harry, pro- 
 mise." 
 
 " I may as well," replied the sheriff, "and I do. There is my money." 
 
 " No, sir," said Claude, "you have afforded me, whether willingly or not, the 
 shelter of jour carriage, and 1 will not rob you in return for it," 
 
 "_ Do you mean that?" 
 
 " I never say, by any accident, in such matters, what I do not mean.*' 
 
 "Very well. Periiaps this may not be the worst action of your life, or the least 
 likely to do you some good at another time ; and — I — I. But no matter. I have 
 said too mucij already," 
 
 " And you will take nothing from us ?" said the lady. . 
 ~ «a 1
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 367 
 
 " Nothing, I hope," said Claude, " but your pity." 
 
 ** Yes, you must oblige me by accepting of this ring, which I give you in the 
 presence of my husband. He knows it as well by sight as I do, and I hope that 
 if you get into any serious difficulty, and it is nothing connected with the taking 
 of life, you will not scruple to send it to either the sheriff or myself ; and I am 
 sure he will do what he can, consistent with his high station and his duties, for 
 you. Sir Harry is no every-day man, Mr. Duval."* 
 
 " I can see that," said Duval, witb a slight glance at the lady. 
 
 The sheriff's vanity was tickled, and he gave a growling assent to what his lady, 
 whom he really thought much of, had said, so that Claude Duval really seemed 
 likely to part with that most ominous functionaiy to gentlemen of his com- 
 plexion — a sheriff — upon the best of all possible terms, considering all things. 
 
 " I do not know your right name, sir," baid Claude. 
 
 " Sir Harry Ross," replied the lady, for the sheriff. 
 
 It was at this moment that the carriage drove past the six police-officers and 
 Griffiths, who had a little station just upon the commencenrient of the High-street, 
 Basingstoke. The danger, in its worSt aspect, was now passed. It was quite clear 
 that the sheriff did not intend to break his word, and that was a consolation to 
 Claude. It was equally clear that Griffiths did not intend to break his word, and 
 that was a consolation to Jack, so that they were both well enough pleased as things 
 went. On went the carriage at a good pace, although the horses were getting 
 fatigued, and the long straggling town of Basingstoke was soon left behind, and 
 once again between hedgerows the carriage took its course. 
 
 ** I am now, I presume," said Claude, " taking you out of your way ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the sheriff ; *' we turn off at a cross-road some quarter of a mile or 
 so now behind us." 
 
 •* Very well. Stop, Peter. Now, sir, and you, madam, I and my friend will 
 bid you good day." 
 
 The carriage stopped, and fhen Claude opened the door himself, and dismounted. 
 Jack rode up to him, and whispered — 
 
 " Have you a twenty-pound note about you ?" 
 
 '*! think so. — Yes. — No. Here are two ten-pound notes, they will do, I sup- 
 pose, as well ?" 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Jack went to the back of the coach again, and gave the uotes to John, saying — 
 
 "You have done Claude Duval a service, and he sends you these. Don't hesi- 
 tate about taking them." 
 
 *-I didn't expect it," said John. 
 
 "Never mind ; take it, that's all, and keep your counsel. Mind what you say 
 when we are gone. It's very easy for you to ascribe the whole of your conduct 
 in the affair to my pistol being close to your head. You understand me?" 
 
 "Oh yes, yes." 
 
 Claude now mounted his horse, which Jack had been leading, and then, taking 
 off his hat, he said, in a low voice — 
 
 " Sir Harry, and you, madam, I thank you, and wish you all the happiness in 
 the world. This ring will not leave my finger until it is taken from a dead man.'* 
 
 The sheriff s%t far back in the carriage and said not a word. He was terribly 
 ashamed of the whole transaction, but his lady kissed her shrivelled fingers and 
 looked over her fan languishingly. Peter turned his horses' heads again towards 
 Basingstoke, and in a few moments Claude Duval and Sixteeu-string Jack were 
 alone on the high-road. The sun was high in the heavens, «nd the birds were 
 singing merrily upon the bushes that grew around in abundance. Claude and 
 Jack set spurs to their horses, and galloped a good mile before they drew reins 
 again, and then it was to look about for a resting place. 
 
 "Behold!" said Jack; "gooi entertaiumeuo for man and beast, Claude— 
 there's the sign.'* 
 
 Glancim*- out from amid a cluster of trees was an old-fashioned inn.. It was 
 the Very picture of repose and quietness, and just such a place as, upon a summer's
 
 368 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 day, would have induced any lover of the quiet picturesque to turn aside from his 
 path, merely for the purpose of sitting for a brief space beneath the soft shadow 
 of the gigantic trees that had grown for many a long year within the sound of 
 lusty yeoman, cheering their hearts with the good things of the old inn. 
 
 ** This will do," said Claude. "There is an air of repose about the place which 
 seems to invite us to rest for a time in it ; and we will, if the police will be gra- 
 ciously inclined for a time to allow us to do so. What say you to the old house. 
 Jack ; do you think, with me about it ?" 
 
 " I think we are safe, now," said Jack, " for a time. They won't think of 
 stirring from their posts now until they get something like positive information to 
 £jo upon. What a famous old inn this is, to be sure. Did you eiver see' such 
 iVy, Claude ?" ... 
 
 "Seldom, Jack — very seldom indeed. I think with you, that if the sheriff keeps 
 his wo'-d, and your new friend Griffiths keeps his, we may comfortably enough 
 remain here until night arrives again to show us our way, and put other folks out 
 of the way." 
 
 *' Dismount, then, Claude. We will chance it, shall we ?" 
 
 Claude said " yes" with a heartiness of manner that quite assured Jack he felt 
 quite clear about the propriety of the proceeding ; and so firm a reliance had Jack 
 upon Claude's judgment, that he could be scarcely said to think for himself when 
 Duval- was present. They both rode up to the porch of the picturesque inn, 
 p.nd there dismounted. A rosy -cheeked damsel peeped at them from over a red 
 blind, and an ostler, with such an abundance of fat upon him, that all his clothes 
 seemed upon the full stretch, took charge of their horses. 
 
 «' Put them up," said Claude. " We shall not want them for some hours.*' 
 
 ''All's risht, sir." 
 
 " Spare nothing on them. The best food you can get is uottoo good. Where's 
 the stable?" 
 
 "Round the corner," said the ostler, in the true Hampshire dialect, which will 
 persist in cramming in an a where.au o ought to be. 
 
 " Very well. I always like to see my nag comfortable before I look to myself." 
 
 " And I too," said Jack. 
 
 They both followed the ostler, for it was a common measure of precaution 
 with both Jack and Claude> always to know where the st.able was, so that in case 
 of any sudden em.erfreily, they could themselves find their horses and prepare 
 them for the road without being indebted to any one else, who might do reluctantly 
 what might be essential to the safety of their lives in a case of sudden and serious 
 dangrer from their enemies. 
 
 CHAPTER XCI. 
 
 MIDNIGHT ALARMS. 
 
 HAViNGf then 
 a jrood feed eac 
 
 a seen the two horses properly attended to, and accommodated with 
 
 __ ^ h, and an abundance of litter — which a tired horse,** or indeed any 
 
 horse enjoys as much as his food — they entered the house themselves'. It will be 
 remembered that now, for many houis, they had had only the draught of milk 
 which they owed to the kindness of the girl at the farm ; so that it may be well 
 supposed that they were both ready enough to set-to well upon whatever provision 
 tiie good folks of the inn could afford them. Cervantes, in his world-wide cele- 
 brated romance of "Don Quixote,*' gives on amusing account of the grandiloquent 
 prowess i_n the way of good fare of Spanish innkeepers, as contrasted with what 
 they reafly at length place before the famished traveller ; but such is rarely the 
 case in English inns. It was not the case at the one to which good fortune had 
 conductj^^.Ciaude and Jack. The innkeeper was a jovial-looking soul, and his wife 
 and their buxom daughter looked as though gaunt famine, or even short commons,
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 369 
 
 were quite unknown in that locality. They were the very personifications of 
 ruddy health, and ihey had such a profusion of smiles ready at hand that it 
 seemed as though ihey must he upon the broad grin even in their sleep, in order 
 to be so perfectly practised at; it. 
 
 " Can we have anything to eat ?" said Jack. 
 
 CLAUDE AIS'D JACK AROIJStD fROM. A SIESTA AT THE ' VINE TKEE.* 
 
 ** And to drink ?'' snid Claude. ^ 
 
 The innkeeper looked at Claude intent^'-, and then seeming to be satisfied with 
 the scrutiny-, he said — .-^•v-: ..-.; 
 
 "If you ain't too proud to sit down with me, you can have a snack wi* us, 
 What say ye ? we shan't eat thee.'* 
 
 Claude was rather in a diftculty as to Jack, whom he wished, of course, to dine
 
 370 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 with him, although he was in the costume of a servant. He got out of the diffi. 
 culty, however, by saying frankly— 
 
 " If you have no objection to let this fiaithful fellow of mine sit down with us 
 1 shall feel the greatest pleasure. He has known me from my childhood, and 
 although my servant, I cannot help looking upon him more in the light of an old 
 and attached friend." 
 
 " Come now," said the innkeeper, w.ith a nod of his head and a twinkle of his 
 little mefry^ looking eyes, " I like you lull the belter for that. You couldn't have 
 found a shorter cut to my heart than the one you have took, young gentleman. I 
 don't wonder at your having about you an old and faithful servant, not L You 
 •re a good maater. Which one of yo«a! stuck-up young jackanapes, wife, that 
 we have come here in the red coats aad silver-topped whips, in the huimting 
 seasoa^ would make such a manly speech aa this young^ gentleman has made V 
 
 •'Not one of "em, Siiwoo,** saixj the wife. 
 
 ** ru be bound/* said the daughter, " to die: im old maid if they could." 
 I ••That you nefer can do/* said Claude, "until all the men die except one, and 
 
 •*Go along with yon.** 
 
 ••Bustle— bustle, wife,** said Simons. ** Get our smack of dinner readly„ and! let's 
 batve lots of home made and lots of hQOEK«>brewed iia case of other things falling 
 short. That's right— now fcs it. Ak thatf s the sort ol tkiina; Hannah, Ion the 
 •Vme-tree.**' 
 
 ** Is that your sign V asked Claude. 
 
 ** Yes, and it has been, they fcell me>, iSut s%a of the old heme for a humdred 
 years or more, and I only hope it may ba the. agn of it for a haodared mone. I 
 doa*t think the old oaJt uaifters wil! give way^ and there's some good lumps of 
 stone to hold '^em up j and a& for the thatch, why if that g^e^ it can be puit to 
 ri^ts agaitt. Ha ! ha t ha ?— ewgh t ha !— «ngh ! ha ! " 
 
 **Now, fether,** said the girl, "' there yott! go, choking youiraBdjf again.,' 
 
 " No— no — ah ! oth I Jit was only a sort «f joke I madfe ahout: tite' thardi, that 
 was alL That was all; wasBo^'t it, sir?'** 
 
 ** Yes«* said Claude, though for the Uifeof him he could mxt exactly ase; wbere 
 the joke was, but it wouM hi^e been an ungenerous thing o£ hua> to harataaid so. 
 
 The wife and daughter bustled about^ and in the couiise ^ ten. nunutes the 
 ** snack* appeared upon the table in the shape of as superfe a haunch of mutton 
 as any one could v^jish ta see.. "Phen there was a, piece of bacon that looked like a 
 mountain ; and then the!?© was- a chomp — we can find no more fittrag term—a 
 chump of veal roasted, tipcat sent up such a saToury steam, mingling with that 
 from the haunch and the saline exhalations firom, the bacon as was enough ta as- 
 tonish anybody. Then the heaps of vegetables., fresh from the garden, were 
 astounding, ami the home-brewed; ale stood invitingly in foaming tankaida.. 
 
 " Now for ttv* said the hmdioDd j ** set to work like Britons* Bets??,. 1 know 
 you is reiher doHcate to day, so I wonft serve you; with much at a feiaKL," 
 
 He only placed a pound of veal wid half a. pound of fet bacon in the dblicate 
 Betsy's plate, and then Claudfe and Jack were served sdi t&eir own request from 
 the haunch of mutton, which was such a picture. They forgot police — rewards 
 for apprehension— jails-gibbets, and the whote cafcalbgue of evils that were 
 usually present to their imagination, and gave themselves up to the enjo^nnent of 
 the hour with a zest that was truly remarkable in men situated as those two were. 
 What a rich treat — what food for the feelings it would have been for Cicely and 
 for May, and even for Markham Brereton, to have seen Claude Duval and his 
 friend thus far upon their journey, and enjoying themselves in such a fashion at 
 the old inn, as though they had nothing in the world to do but eat and drink, and 
 laugh, and make merry. 
 
 *' Eat away — eat away V cried the landlord ; and when he saw that Claude 
 and Jack would not consent to stuff themselves to repletion, he found out with 
 a rueful face that the dinner was not at all to their liking. 
 
 •• But," said Claude, "I assure you it is, and we are already stuffed as though
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 371 
 
 for a wager, while we are almost afloat with the ale. We are nearly ill already 
 by eating too much of such tempting cheer as this before us." 
 
 "Ah, now, if I could but think that, I should be contented. But, howsoever, 
 as you say you can't take any more, why you can't, and there's an end of that, 
 I suppose. You won't go on just yet, I hope. The day looks gloomy-like, and 
 towards sun-down there will be rain, 1 take it. Don't you hear how the south- 
 west wind is blustering about ?" 
 
 " Yes, we don't intend to go yet. The fact is, we have been all last nighc in 
 the saddle, and when we got to your door we were hungry and sleepy ; but we 
 are not hungry now." 
 
 " Ah, I take it you are sleepy, though ?" 
 "You are right." 
 
 "Very well. There's a good sofa in the next room, and an easy chair that 
 would do for an archbishop. It ain't cold, but when a man's asleep, he is apt to 
 get chilly. Betsy, set light to the faggots. There's lots on the dogs." 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 The delicate damsel who had eaten as much as a famished grenadier, and 
 crashed it all down with a quart of ale, lit the fire in the next room, and there 
 was soon a cheerful blaze roaring up the ample chimney, as the dry logs fumed 
 and blustered, and crackled, before the presence of the mightiest agent of de- 
 struction the world ever knew. Claude pointed to the sofa. 
 
 " Sleep, Jack," he aaiiJ ; "I know you want it. Sleep in security while I keep 
 watch over you. You will feel a different creature after a couple of hours* nap. 
 There, I have drawn it nearer the blaze, so that your feet will be warm. Don't 
 lose any time, now." 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 " No, Claude," he said. *' It is my business to watch while you sleep, if a 
 watch must needs be kep<- at all. You lie down and rest yourself. I can see 
 your eyes are heavy." 
 
 " Well, Jack, 1 tell you what it is. We will chance it, and both go to sleep, j 
 You take the sofa, and I'll take the chair, which, of the two, I think I shall hke 
 best. I will just put the door into a state of security, and then, i daresay, we 
 may sleep as soundly here as if we were far awav, or in Newgate." 
 ., "Newgate?" ' ' I 
 
 "Yes, Jack. It is in Newgate that a highwayman enjoys sounder repose j 
 than anywhere else ; for when he is there he ceases to start from his slumber ! 
 1 with the dream of an officer's clutch upon his throat, and the words, ' You are ; 
 ! wanted!' in his ears." j 
 
 I *' That's philosophy," said Jack, as he stretched himself upon the sofa — " that's 
 I'hilosophy ; but it comes in an ugly shape, don't you think, Claude ? Sufficient 
 for the day, however, is the evil thereof; so now a good repose to you< I was j 
 go'mg to say 'good night,' and 'good day' sounds odd." i 
 
 Claude shut his eyes, and pretended to sleep. Jack watched him for a few ! 
 moments, and then, feeling satisfied, resigned himself to a deep slumber; and 
 when Duval made sure that such was the case, he opened his own eyes and | 
 roused himself up a little, with the resolution of really keeping vvatch over the ; 
 repose of his devoted companion. • j 
 
 "It won't do for two such men as we are," he muttered, " both to go to sleep 
 at once, there are too many hounds upon the scent after such game as we are. 
 No, 1 will watch you, Jack. At my age I can do without repose better than 
 you can." 
 
 Once or twice Claude got up and walked stealthily to the door, to listen if j) 
 any sounds at all in the way indicative of danger could be heard, but all was ' 
 still. The serenity of the inn was undisturbed by anythiug that could by any 
 possibility be construed into a token of any more perils to those two, who had 
 already gone through so much. 
 
 " This rest," said Claude, as he again seated himself in full gaze of the fire, 
 ** is a real mercy to me and Jack ; without it we could not have hoped to get
 
 3/2 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 on much further, but with it we shall now be able to endure even a greater amount 
 of fatigue than we have already gone through ; and now I do be^in to hope." 
 
 He was silent for a time, during which his thoughts were busy, and as he 
 looked at the blazing logs on the hearth, he began to fancy strange shapea of men 
 and houses, and old buildings, and tall ships in the glowing embers. More than 
 once he had suddenly to arouse himself, saying— 
 
 ** Holloa, Claude ! Claude ! Is this keeping good watch and ward over your 
 slumbering friend V* 
 
 Upon such occasions^- too, he would, for a few moments, listen most intently, 
 and then, hearing nothmg but the mournful cadences of the south-west wind, he 
 would once more settle himself before the fire, and weave strong fancies out of 
 the burning logs. Sometimes a magnificent cathedral would rise ap in all its 
 majesty of gothic tracery before his eyes, and then it would melt away as if before 
 the touch of some enchanted wand, leaving nothing but the squalid appearance 
 of some ruined hovel. Claude's head slowly sunk, and bis arms hung listlessly 
 by his side. The warmth of the fire, and^his own previous fatigue, together v/ith 
 the hearty meal he had taken, were not too much for his resolution, but they 
 were too much for. his senses. In the course of another quarter of an hour 
 Claude Duval was as fast asleep as Jack. 
 
 Rap ! rap ! rap ! — Tap ! tap ! tap ! — " Sir, sir. — Gentlemen ! Hi ! what's 
 your name ? I say, open the door ! ' 
 
 *' What's that ?" said Claude, springing to his feet, and feeling astonished to 
 find himself in darkness ; "who's that ! — what has happened ?" 
 
 " It's only me,'* said the landlord from outside the door — " it's only me. Lord 
 bless you, nobody wanted to run away with you here, I'm sure. You need not 
 have locked yourself in so particularly." 
 
 Claude flung the door open, and Jack sprang from the couch. The landlord 
 stood upon the threshold wiih a light in his hand. 
 
 *' Well, how are yon?" 
 
 " Oh, all right," said Claude, " all right. Why, it's getting dark. I— I must 
 have slept longer than I thought. It seems as if I had only just nodded off." 
 
 ** Does it? You have slept six hours ; it's nine now, or close on it, and you 
 both of you laid yourselves down at three." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" 
 
 *' Perhaps not, but it's uncommonly true. Howsomever, I shouldn't have 
 ^aked you both up now, only I thought you were the very fellows to like good 
 company, and there's six of the mounted police down stairs, who are on the 
 look-out for Claude Duval, the noted highwayman. They are merry fellows,. 
 and have no end of droll stories to tell ; so, says I, that will amuse my friends 
 up- stairs, so I came up, that's all. Howsomever, I'm sorry enough if I have 
 waked you up and broke your sleep. 1 always feels what my missus calls extra 
 stupid if I'm woke up all of a sudden like " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," said Claude. '* And so they are quite merry fellows, 
 are they V* 
 
 *'0b, yes, full of their fun." 
 
 " You don't say so 1" 
 
 " Oh, yes. What Jo you think they have done now ? Can you guess \ 
 
 ** I really can't." 
 
 " Well, they have took up two hoises, do you know, and " 
 
 ** Our horses?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure they have, and placed 'em in quite another part of the yard, 
 and when I asked what' they did that for, they only winked at each other, and 
 said— 'It's only our funny way, landlord, that's all ;' but what they meant by it 
 I'm sure 1 can't tell, no more can ray wife, and she knows a thing or two, nor 
 my Betsy, who, delicate as she is, is no fool." 
 
 Claude now staggered, and sank back in the ensy chair, for almost the first
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 373 
 
 time in his life rather at a nonplus. Rousing himself, however, in a few moments, 
 he exclaitned— 
 
 "Onlyeix!" 
 
 " Hush ! " said Jack. " Hush !" 
 
 « Wliat is it ? What is it ?" said Claude. 
 
 There was a sound of voices from belo^v. The landlord suddenly closed the 
 door of the room, and placing the candle upon the table, he at once altered the 
 whole expression of his face, as he said — 
 
 " Claude Duval, I know you. What will you give me for getting you safe 
 out of here and on horseback on the road again ? I am not exactly what I seem 
 to be, I know you !" 
 
 CHAPTER XCir. 
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 Both Jack and Claude were utterly confounded at this speech. They looked 
 at each other, and they looked at the landlord ; but for a few moments neither of 
 them spoke. At length the landlord advanced towards Claude with a laugh 
 upon his face, and said — 
 
 *• It's all right. Don't put yourself out of the way. I was only joking when I 
 asked you what you would give to be mounted and upon the road again. You 
 shall be there, and all 1 pskfrom you is a cordial good-night." 
 
 *• Will you indeed thus befriend us?" said Claude. 
 
 *' Ay, will I. Do you think I want any of their beggarly reward for giving up 
 a poor fellow to be hung? Do you think I want, for the sake of fifty or sixty 
 pounds, which would be about my share of the affair, to be pointed out as the man 
 who sat down to dinner with a fellow, and then told him to sleep ir. safety, and 
 after that handed him over to the officers, who were snorting after the scent of his 
 blood-money? No—- -no — I'd rather see every timber of the old house rock 
 again," 
 
 " How did you know me ?" said Claude. 
 
 *' That's rather a long story, and there's no time now to tell it. I knew you as 
 soon as I came to speak to you, and what you said about having your friend here 
 to dinner confirmed me in it. But now we have no time for chattering. You 
 must get away somehow, and it must be done in a manner that shan't look as if I 
 had any hand in it."' 
 
 " Just manage it, then," said Claude, *' in any way you please. If you know 
 much of me, you know that I neverforgot a benefit conferred upon roe, although 
 I have both forgotten and forgiven many an injury," 
 
 ** I know it. Now, those chaps down stairs take me for a hard-drinking 
 gormandising noodle, and so they have been playing off their jokes upon me, and 
 I must confess I should like to play them a trick in return. They have ordered 
 beds, pretending they would stay here all night ; but, of course, as soon as they 
 can grab you, they will be off. Now, I want you to come down." 
 
 "They will shoot me," said Claude. 
 
 " No. In the first place, they are not ^uite sure of their man, and in the 
 second, I have overheard their determination to take you alive. They think joii 
 will have the audacity, trusting to your disguise, and finding that you can get 
 away, to sit down among them, and then they will seize an opportunity of spring- 
 ing upon you." 
 
 " I understand. Six men to one is certainly long odds in a struggle." 
 
 "Rather than it should conie to that — when you've got down stairs — sit down 
 near the door, and order a bottle of port. 1 will be close, bringing it, and your 
 fiiend here can come out of the room to hasten me. He will then bring it in, ia 
 K decanter. Pass this to them to drink, and leave the rest of the fun to me.'* 
 
 Sk
 
 3H GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ' -_u^ 
 
 « But " 
 
 *' Now don't say a word. Trust me." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Claude. " Come along, Jack ; it's all right.— 
 Remember what you said to John, the sheriff's footman. * There's a thousand 
 times more good got out of people by trusting them than there is bv suspecting 
 them.'" 
 
 •* There is," said Jack, *' You taught me the maxim, and I have stuck to it 
 many a time with the best results, and am quite willing to do so now. I know )i 
 my post very well, and I think, Mr. Landlord, I can tolerably guess what yours 
 -will be in this little affair." 
 
 " Very likely. Til just run down, and say you are bott coming.'* 
 
 He left the room, and then Jack, looking earnestly at Claude, said — ' 
 
 " This is indeed fine. Do you think this man means honestly by us, Claude ?* 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh ! yes — you are always trustful of people, and I very seldom am» Let us, 
 however, be prepared for the very worst that can happen. Look to your pistols, 
 Claude. I don't feel quite convinced yet that two determined men, fighting for 
 their lives, are not a match for half-a-dozen fighting merely to divide among 
 them a thousand pounds." 
 
 "That's right. Jack. My bull-dogs are in good order, any ready to bark and 
 bite at a moment's notice," 
 
 '• And mine too," said Jack, " Remember, Claude, we must treat everybody 
 to real bullets this time." 
 
 "Trust me for that, and if there should be such a thing as treachery, which I 
 really do not look for, Master Serious will not laugh through the savory steam 
 of such another dinner as we have had today. He may depend upon that." 
 
 The landlord had left the light in the room, and Claude now took it in his 
 hand, and preceded Jack down the stairs. They heard a sound of voices, and in 
 a moment they met the landlord, who saiJj in broad Hampshire dialect— 
 
 " Thie'sye room.'*, 
 
 He pointed to a door, and then, giving a nod of intelligence, pointed to a 
 decanter of wine upon a fehelf in the bar. Claude felt more and more assured, 
 and opening the door, he entered the parlour of the inn, in which there were the six 
 officers. It was evident that they thought a too close proximity to Claude might 
 be dangerous, for one side of the table was quite deserted— the sidejnext the door, 
 which Claude left ajar. They pretended to be smoking and drinkiog with great 
 ease and composure ; but Claude could see that several of them shook again, as 
 they believed they were about to make, through some peril, without doubt the most 
 important capture they had ever made in their lives. No doubt, although there 
 were six of them, they considered that probably some serious injuries to one or two ' *■ 
 of -them might be one result of the enterprise. They had made up their minds to [' 
 a particular course, and it was this. If Claude Duval came and sat down with !| 
 tliem, they looked upon that as pretty good evidence that he thought himself jj 
 unknown, and in that case, at some peculiarly favourable moment, a rush might 
 be made upon him. If, however, he should show in any way that he thought his 
 disguise was penetrated, they intended to shoot/him at once, for well they could 
 guess that he would otherwise lose no time in concocting some daring mode of 
 action, which, although against such odds it might not succeed, no doubt would 
 involve the death of more than one of them in its consequences. No wonder that 
 each trembled a little at the idea that he might be the victim, while his companions 
 might reap the reward. 
 
 " Good evening, gentlemen," said Claude- " Dear me, is that rain ?'* 
 
 Against a window that looked into the garden, there came such a clatteringj, 
 dashing, shower of rain, that it was almost enough to drown any one's voice. 
 
 " Yes, sir^" said one, rather nervously^ " it is rain — a very rough nighty in- 
 deed, sir." 
 
 " That's unpleasant," said Claude, ♦' for I purpose being on the road soon,** 
 
 "Towards London ?" said one, giving a sly kick to his nearest companion.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 375 
 
 " No," said Claude, ** quite the other way. My friend and I are commercial 
 travellers." 
 
 *• In what line, sir?'* 
 
 "Decidedly the hardware way," said Claude, drily. 
 
 "Oh— ah — yes— a-hem! dear me, how the rain does clatter, to be sure. Will 
 you take a glass with us, sir, and your friend, too? We shall be particularly 
 flattered and pleased by your company." 
 
 " Thank you," said Claude, as wit-h all the coolness in the world he emptied 
 the'glass of brandy and water that was before him, and then rang the bell. The 
 landlord made his appearance with an empty-headed sort of grin. — " Roughish 
 out of doors, gents. Ha, ha, ha !'* 
 
 t - " Fill that again," said Claude, pushmg the brandy and water glass towards 
 him, " and let us have a bottle of your best port, if it is deceat." 
 
 ** Uncommon good, sir.'' 
 
 "Very well. Be quick about it — glasses for all, mind. These gentlemen will, 
 I am sure, do me the favour of taking a glass with me. We travellers can afford 
 a bottle of wine ; and wc alwas put it down to the expenses of the road.'* 
 
 ** No doubt somebody pays for it," said one of the officers. 
 
 "And handsomely, too," said Claude. ''Are you going on far, gentlemen ?" 
 jj " Oh, no; not another inch. All our business down here we now consider 
 to be nearly transacted ; and when it is quite so we get to London again as quick 
 as horseflesh will enable us to do " 
 
 "Many a man," said Claude, gravely, "thinks Lis business comfortably settled, 
 when in reality it is only his own fate that is fixed, and that by a summary pro- 
 cess — in the midst of life, gentlemen, we are in dea,th." 
 
 The officers looked uncomfortable, and several of them shuffled uneasily upon 
 their seats ; but Claudd did not give them long time to think, for suddenly he 
 cried — 
 
 •* Where, m the name of all that's abominable, is that grinning ass of a land- 
 lord with the brandy and water? Just run out, Bob, and tell him we can wait 
 for the wine ; but the gentleman whose brandy and water 1 took is without any- 
 thing before him." ' 
 
 «' Ves," said Jack, " I'll rub him up a little." 
 
 This was done so well that the officers had not the slightest suspicion that 
 anything was going on beyond what was usual, and they made no opposition to 
 Jack leaving the room to get the brandy and water. In fact, they were all con- 
 siderably puzzled to know who Jack was, for not one of them recognised him 
 through his disguise. And even if they had thought there was a strong re- 
 semblance to a man whom they knew had been hanged, they would hardly have 
 been so absurd as to fancy it was him. In a few moments Jack returned with 
 a decanter of wine in one hand and a glass of brandy and water in the other, 
 saying as he came into the room — 
 
 " I have got them both. He was just coming. 1 never saw such a fool in ray 
 life. He is laughing no;v ready to choke himself, and nobody knows what at. 
 Oh, here he is with the glasses." 
 
 /'Ah, gentlemen," said the landlord, " I went down into the cellar for the 
 wine, do you know, and the light was nearly put out by a cobweb, and tbere I 
 think I made the finest joke that ever I heard in all mv life. Would you believe it ?" 
 
 "Really!" said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, sir. * Hilloa 1' said I, * that's a cobweb !' but now, here comes the 
 joke— < But,' says I, 'it ain't a cobweb.' What do you think of that? Ha! 
 ha! ha! Oh, dear! it makes the tears come into ray eyes, that it does." 
 
 "And it's enough to make them come into anybodv else's,'' said Claude, "to 
 be forced to listen to it. Now, gentlemen, you will take a glass with me, and 
 we will drink 'Better luck' next time.' " " ' 
 
 '•'Ha! ha !" laughed the officers. "Very good. •' Better luck next tirns.' Par- 
 ticularly good." They each drank a glass of" the drugged .vine but one, and across 
 his mind it seemed as if a shadow of suspicion had come that all was not quit;
 
 376 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 right, althougti he could not to himself exactly define what it was he suspected. 
 He refused the wine though. 
 
 "As you please," said Claude. "I'll take a cigar, landlord." 
 
 «* Yes, sir." 
 
 The rain came down in torrents, dashing and rattling against the window, 
 panes as though they must inevitably be driven in. The south-west wind/too, 
 to which the landlord had already drawn the attention of Claude and Jack, was 
 blusteiing and roaring among the trees at such a furious rate, that it seemed a 
 miracle the old house could keep its roof on. 
 
 *' A very boisterous night, indeed,' said Claude. "A regular brawling wind. 
 Well, these south-westers are generally more noisy than mischievous, I believe." 
 
 '* You have forgotten your wine/' said the officer who had refused to drink. , 
 
 " How. do you mean V said Claude, whose great object now was to gam time. 
 
 " I mean that you don't drink any of your own wine, although you^talked so 
 much about it." 
 
 «'\Vell?' 
 
 Claude fixed 'a calm, penetrating gaze upon Uiis man, and the landlord coming 
 in with the cigar he had ordered, handed it to Claude, who, with his eyes still fixed 
 on the officer, took up the candle and lit the cigar, adding, when he had done so— 
 
 *' Well, as you were saying. Go on." 
 
 ♦' I was saying that yoii carefully avoided drinkmg the wine yourself, although 
 all ray party partook of it. That is what I was saying." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 *' Hold — hold," cried one of the ofScers, suddenly rising from his chair, and 
 then as suddenly sinking down into it again. **I — I--don't feel — exactly as I 
 ought to feel — my head swims— and— and " . * 
 
 •'' Swim after it, then/' said Claude. '* I don't know that you can possibly do 
 better." 
 
 •'Help! help! T am ill/' said another. 
 
 A third fell from his chair to the floor with a deep groan, and lay in a state 
 of complete insensibility, while the two others were evidently too powerfully 
 affected by the drug that had been administered to them in the wine to move 
 or speak one word, if they had wished to do so ever so niuch. All this was 
 very rapid, and the officer who had refused the wine looked quite astonished for 
 a few moments. He recovered, though, mofe rapidly than any one would have 
 thought, and presenting a pistol at Claude's head, he cried— 
 
 " Stir an inch, and vou are a dead man !" 
 ■ "Afoo», instead of an inch," said Claude, " if it will answer your f)urpose. 
 Fire away— I am used to it." 
 
 Snap! went the- pistol. . ,r . ^ -u. ^^ 
 
 "Try again," said Claude, "try again. You are a brave man, and ought t6 
 have another chance for your life/' 
 
 "My life?" . , ' , 
 
 "Yes, to be sure. Why did you fire at me unless you happened to be weary 
 of it? You oBght to know me better. It is my turn now, so I advise you to 
 lookout, for mv pistols are not in the habit of missing fire." The officer was a 
 brave man ; but it requires something more than a mere brave man to look care- 
 lessly upon the approach of death, especially when neither the feelings nor the 
 passions are at all interested in the object in the pursuit of which death has been 
 encountered. 'For a moment only he stood firm. Then he dashed towards the 
 window, and made a frantic effort to escape ; and Claude, who had certainly 
 not intended to take his life, followed him closely. 
 
 ♦* xMiow me to assist you." 
 
 Duval then gave one of those evidences of marvellous strength which no one 
 would have expected from his appearance. He lifted the officer some four feet 
 from the ground, and dashed him with tremendous bodily force through the case- 
 ment, demolishing framework and glass alike in his headlong progress iato the 
 stable -yard at the back of the inn.
 
 GENT LEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THU ROAD, 
 CHAPTER XCIU. 
 
 377 
 
 THK ROAD AGATNt 
 
 *' Bravo !" cried Jack. 
 
 '* Hurrah !" shouted the landlord. 
 
 <* Hush I" said Claude—" hush I Rem mber,t an Jlord, that you are supposed 
 to do all you can to nab me, and that you are quite astounded at what has Uken 
 place in your inn, and cannot make it out in any way to your satisfaction. 
 
 CLAUDE INTERROGATES LORD COCKERSTON'S PORTER, 
 
 "Airs right— all's right!" . ,,*> ' 
 
 " I hope the depth from this window to the yard is not great I 
 
 '< Oh, dear, no— only about twenty-two feet." , , 
 
 '5 The devil I Then I am afraid 1 have killed that maft, but I could not help 
 
 it. These things will happen. And now, landlord, what sort of a dose have you 
 
 given these men lying here so still?" 
 
 \\
 
 I 
 
 378 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Nothing to hurt ; you be off now, and leave all the rest to ipe., It's a lucky 
 escape. They thought they had you as safe and sure as they had the eyes Jn 
 their own heads; but they have learned now jto know by theic owa experience 
 that there is mauy a slip betwixt the cup and the lip," 
 
 *' Yes, but how much are we indebted to you ?" said Claude. ** J have met 
 with many hair-breadth escapes, but seldom one iniwhich there was so much real 
 danger aa ia this." 
 
 ** Don't mention that." 
 
 ** Oh, yes, but I will," said Claude. "These are the things that ought to be 
 mentioned. One may be well inclined to say nothing about injuries, but benefits 
 may well be spoken of. I, for one, will take good care not to forget what I owe 
 to you." 
 
 •* Come, come, be oflp. That is the best thing you can do. Your horses are 
 already saddled, and you have nothing to do but to mount them, and ride away 
 as fast as you can, for these fellows will be getting up in a little while. There is 
 one thing that puzzles me still, and that is aa to who your companion is ; but if 
 it is a secret keep it, mind, and forget that 1 asked anything about it." 
 
 "It is a secret," said Claude, "and it is not mine." 
 
 ^'That's enough.'' 
 
 ** And odd as it may sound of me to say so," remarked Jack, " it is not al- 
 together mine, for a disclosure of it would affect others as well as myself." 
 
 "Then," said the landlord, "let me be one man to advise you to keep it to 
 yourself J and now be off with you at once. You are for London, I suppose ?" 
 
 " No — no." 
 
 " w^^^^ ^ '^^^^"^ ^* °°^ ^"^^ ^^^^ ^° ^® started in the country." 
 
 ** We are bound for Southampton, although my own private opinion is, that 
 
 we shall not reach there." o ., r t- 
 
 ** And yet you'll try it V* 
 
 " Yes, I have promised one that I wculd try it, and fairly try it, too, with whom 
 Zv ^^u ^"^'"S^y ^*"«a^ ^ai^^h- ^^hat a boisterous night it seems. Jack !" 
 Yes, the north-wester seems to be at its height. It does roar, indeed, at a 
 
 terrible rate." 
 
 fi, " ^u\i^'l °°* ranch," cried the landlord. " The trees make halfi and more 
 tHan half the bustle. This way— tiiis way for the horses. Now, my girl, brew 
 * MJ'Jf ff glasses of brandy and w ater fit for a prince, and then these gentlemen 
 
 * For tbey are lads wbo love the mooa— 
 Who love tb e moon — yjho love the moon. 
 And they— — * 
 
 Confound it, Pve forgot all the ol d ditties now, and there was a time when I had 
 them all at my fingers' ends, as. pat as may be. Well, well, we all get older; 
 but whether we get wiser or n ot is quite another affair, ain't it, Mr. Duval ?" 
 
 « A i ^"* ^°^*^ *^^'^ ^^ ^^' I a«^ Claude to my friends." 
 And the devil himself to yoi ir enemies. Ha 1 ha ! ha !" 
 
 Claude and Jack had follow ed the landlord to the yard of the inn, and there 
 ^f * k°^"^^ ^^^^ ^°^^^ ^^^ Jjorses all ready for the road, and no doubt much 
 refreshed by the rest they hai i had. Our two adventurers were mounted in a 
 moment. 
 
 «&[^^?^'" said tJie landio; rd ; "no— God bless me! -stop!'* 
 "What for?' ^ 
 
 at!*"^!?^!^^^"^^ ^"^ water, and here's my little wench with it, smoking hot. 
 ttie stuff "^^^ ^°^ *^ "*^* * ^^^^^ ^^ ^°^ ^° emperor, when she likes. That's 
 Claude would rather ^ fhsfe juncture have been excused from drinking ; but 
 ne nad received so mucli kindi .ess from the landlord that be would not offend 
 mm Dy refusing his proSTered hospitality, and he drained his glass. Jack: did 
 the same, and then waving their hands, off they went. 
 You know the way ?" said Claude*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 379 
 
 " Perfectly." • 
 
 They galloped on for some few minutes in silence. The thoughts of both were 
 busy with recollections of the past and anticipations of the future, and we may 
 take advantage of that silence to cast a glance upon the scene around them, and 
 the aspect of the weather. They were in an exceedingly picturesque portion of 
 Hampshire, and their road was shaded on each side by gigantic trees that even at 
 mid-day would have cast a peaceful shadow upon the path. Among these trees 
 the wmd made so tremendous a din that it would have been a difficult task just 
 at that part of the road to have carried on a conversation at all, for even the 
 sound of the horses* feet was obliterated to the hearing of both Claude and Jack. 
 Added to the discomfit of the blustering wind, and it was blustering enough to be 
 uncomfortable, was a drizzling, sleety kind of rain that seemed as if it were twisted 
 hither and thither into so many contrary eddies of wind as to corae from every point 
 of the compass at once. Sometimes for a few moments it would come perseveringiy 
 in their faces, and then without their having in the least changed their course, it 
 would dash into their necks behind with a most abominable perseverance, in- 
 sinuating itself beneath their clothing ia the most artlul manner. 
 *' Jack ?*' said Claude. 
 " Yes— yes." 
 
 "What do you think of this ?" 
 
 '* Why, my private opinion," said Jack, *' is, that it is about as uncomfortable 
 a state of things as any one would wish to have anything to do with." 
 
 " I agree with you. But I suppose we must endure it. Hilloa ! what's this ?" 
 
 A travelling carriage, the noise of which had been quite drowned by the wind, 
 
 now dashed suddenly past them, lighting up for a brief space with its lamp the 
 
 trees, and the road glistening with moisture, and then leaving everything in ap« 
 
 parently tenfold darkness. 
 
 ** Humph!" said Claude. *' Quick work. Where is that going, I wonder?" 
 
 "lean hardly guess," said Jack, *' unless right on to Winchester, which is 
 
 now the only place of any consequence remaining before us, and that is not very 
 
 eminent" 
 
 As Jack spoke, the travelling carriage astonished them both by suddenly dis- 
 appearing, with all the effect as though it had been swallowed up in the ground, 
 although neither Jack nor Claude were superstitious enough to think such a thing 
 for a moment. They scarcely knew to what circumstance to attribute the disap- 
 pearance of the carriage, but they at length concluded that its abrupt departure 
 from the high-road must have been caused by its turning to the right. 
 *'A cross-road," said Claude, " I suppose, to somewhere." 
 "It must be so," said Jack. "Push on." 
 
 At about a couple of hundred yards further on they soon saw by what means 
 the carriage had disappeared, for there were the open gates of some park, and a 
 pretty little lodge at each side of them, upon the threshold of which stood a man 
 in rich livery. 
 
 " Whose house is this ?" said Claude to the man. 
 
 "Lord Cockerton's country seat, sir," replied the footman. "It's the birth-day 
 of Lady Louisa, so there's ever such a grand paity, and a dance in what they 
 call the Templars' Hall, and a grand supper, and all that sort of thing. Why, 
 there's three hundred expected they say." 
 "Enough to be merry. Good night." 
 " Good night, sir." 
 
 Jack had fallen back in his position of groom to Claude, which accounted for 
 the respect with which the footman treated him. Jack and Claude rode on for 
 about a quarter of a mile, during which it was clearly visible to them both that 
 upon their right hand was an oaken park-paling, enclosing, no doubt, the grounds 
 of the mansion in which so glorious a feast and dance were going on. 
 
 <'Jack," said Claude, "this rain is decidedly not the thing for us. ^ in the 
 vallise there are plenty of gentlemanly appointments. Suppose we invite our- 
 selves to this grand party V
 
 380 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ** It's too hazardous, Claude." 
 
 " Not a whit. We will find some mode of entrance to the grounds, aod then 
 our only care will be to find shelter for our horses, and dress ourselves and go to \ 
 the house. I don't anticipate any difficulty In the matter. If we cannot find a 
 dry shelter for the horses, of course I shall give up the idea, for it won't do to 
 tamper with them by leaving them in such a drizzling rain as this for some time." 
 
 *' No, Claude, certainly ; and as for difficulties, I never yet knew you found any 
 in the way of the most desperate enterprises you ever planned. Come on, if it 
 must be so, only I won't dress otherwise than as your servant, in which character, 
 which will give me no trouble, I shail be better able to hear if there is any danger 
 gathering around you, than as though I went with you." 
 
 " That's as you please. Jack ; but I would rather you enjoyed the entertain- 
 ment with me." 
 
 " I could not support the character well." 
 
 *'As wellasl." 
 
 "No — no. You, who came off with such flying colours from a grand ball at 
 St. James's Palace, may well feel confidence in your resources, but all that sort 
 of thing is to me an effort." 
 
 " As you please, Jack — as you please. Just hold my horse, and L will dis- 
 mount, and walk slowly along this park-paling looking for a door, for there are 
 always some to be found in such fences at inlervals." 
 
 Claude dismounted, and that he was right in his conjecture about finding a door 
 was sufficiently manifested by his discoveiing one before he had gone thirty 
 feet. It was fast locked, but to such men as Claude and Jack a locked door 
 was no very serious obstacle. From a pocket devoted to the care of a few tools 
 and implements of the " profession," Claude took a picklock, and by the feel 
 only he succeeded in a few moments in turning rather a ponderous lock. The 
 door immediately gave way. 
 
 •* Quick ! quick !' said Jack. 
 
 *• What for ?" 
 
 *' Didn't you hear? There are horsemen upon the road, and by the sound, I 
 r^ould say no small number. We can hear them now that we are Uqc of the 
 trees. Hark ! hark !" 
 
 *♦ Ah ! Come in, Jack—come ipjuJack. This door is, indeed, most ©ppor* 
 tunely open." 
 
 Jack and the two horses were now inside the park gates in a moment, and 
 Claude closed the door again. The palings were not sufficiently high to come 
 over the horses' heads, but against the dark foliage behind them it was not at all 
 probable they would be seen by any horsemen galloping past. The danger turned 
 out, however, to be greater than Claude and Jack had either of them expected, 
 for the horsemen did not gallop past. The sound of rapidly approaching horse- 
 men increased each moment in clearness, and at length when Claude and Jack 
 thought they were about to sweep past, and the danger would in another moment 
 be over, a loud voice cried— 
 
 "Halt!" 
 
 With a clanking and a jingling of accoutrements that Claude was quite sure 
 did not belong to the police, the horsemen paused, and the voice that had cried 
 "halt," said— 
 
 •• Well, sir ; it don't seem that the parties you seek are upon this road. . Po 
 you think there is any urgent necessity for my men going at speed ?" 
 
 "You will remember, sir," said another voice, " that 1 have not called upon 
 you as a magistrate to press this dutj', but rather, as you were going upon the road 
 with your troop to Winchester barracks, requested as a favour that you would 
 accompany me and the police down the road." 
 
 "Oh, yes — yes," said the first speaker, who was a cavalry officer. "That's 
 all right. Of course, we are very happy upon an exigency to lend any practica- 
 ble assistance to the civil power ; but you find, that after a hard trot of five miles, 
 we come not upon the fugitives, or hear any news of them,"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 381 
 
 " And yet Sir Harry's information was very positive upon the subject, although 
 other avocations made it impossible for him to accompany us." 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! Who did you say he was V* 
 
 "The sheriff of the county, Sir Harry Ross, who declares that he saw Claude 
 Duval upon the road, and that, to the best of his belief, he is making his way 
 towards Winchester." 
 
 •• Very well," said the officer, *'It just comes to this : — These highwaymen 
 are in all probability much better mounted for speed than we are, and might 
 keep us on the race for miles. Our cattle are not so much adapted for speed, 
 and for dragoons to go hunting is rather an out-of-the-way thing." 
 
 '* I am obliged to you, sir, for what you have done.'* 
 
 ** Oh, don't mention it. A sharp trot now and then is no harm, and if your 
 party like to keep the pace of my party, well and good. We can go on together 
 until I reach my destinalion; and if anything should occur on the road, in 
 which my men can lend you a helping hand, they shall." 
 
 •* 1 am much indebted to you, sir. We are naore lightly mounted, of course, 
 than your dragoons, and will ride on. I wish you good evening, sir." 
 
 " Good evening.*' 
 
 The magistrate, who had a party of mounted police with him, again set off at 
 a good round trot, and then, after a few oaths between themselves, the officers 
 of the dragoons— who, although they put a civil face upon the transaction, wished 
 the police at the devil, and cared not one straw whether they caught a highway- 
 man or not— ordered their troop to advance again. Silence was soon as pro- 
 found as before upon that spot. 
 
 *' An escape," whispered Jack. 
 
 *' Rather," said Claude. " I must confess it would not exactly have suited 
 us to have fallen in with some twenty-five dragoons. That would have been 
 long odds against us, Jack." 
 
 •• Too long, indeed." 
 
 " Well. That danger, like many others, has passed away, and like others, I 
 forget it. Now, Jack, let us see it we can find shelter for our horses, and then 
 hurrah for the ball!" 
 
 CHAPTER XCIV. 
 
 THE BALL. 
 
 Jack, to tell (he truth, did not half like this desperate plan of Claude's, to 
 intrude himself into the mansion, when the festivities upon such a grand scale 
 were in progress ; but he knew quite enough of Duval to feel assured that no 
 persuasions would induce him to it give up. If Jack had chosen to ask, as a 
 personal favour, that Claude would give up the notion, there is no doubt but that 
 the latter would have done so instantly ; but that was what Jack did not like to 
 do, for then, if within the next few hours any serious danger occurred, he would 
 have the unhappy reflection, that but for him they might have been safe at the 
 mansion of a noble lord. Besides, liad not the plan at its very outset saved them 
 from the diagoons? To be sure it had, for if they had not been just ia time 
 through the little door in the park- palings, there would in all probability, upon 
 that night, have been an end to the career of Claude Duval. 
 
 "Jack," said Claude. *' Just look over there, and tell me what you see," 
 
 " A roof ot something among some trees," said Jack. ' 
 
 ** Let's make to it." 
 
 ** Why, It's most likely part of the house." 
 
 *« Never mind. Jack. I don't think anything too good for our cattle. A spare 
 room with a window opening upon the park would be just the thing, and the 
 
 — I ' l. -..I. ».-i.>i -I "" i ilii ii i I I.I. .. I I - I iw « ' ■ —
 
 382 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 horses don't want any fe^jp|^ now, after the good cheer that no doubt they have 
 
 had at the inn.' 
 
 :^ " They are, in fact, too full, Claude.*' 
 
 •* So I thought. Now lead yours, Jack, and I will lead mine. It's just as 
 well to let those dragoons get a start of U3,*fpr however much it might amuse them 
 to overtake us, it would not be near eif^tertaining for us to overtake them." 
 
 *' Quite the reverse," 
 
 Leading their horses, now, they slowly made their way over the wet grass of the 
 park towards a clump of trees, from amid which they could just dimly see, against 
 the night sky, the roof of some sort of building. What it was, they had not the 
 most distant idea. It was certainly too close at hand to be any portion of the 
 mansion itself. They did not, as they advanced, for some time exchange a word 
 with each other ; for they could not tell who might be close at hand, and the 
 horses* feet, as they were quietly walked, made no sound upon the soft wet turf. 
 After proceeding in this way for a much greater distance than they thought the 
 trees were oflf them, they reached their confines, and then they paused to listen ; 
 but not the least S9und came upon their ears. All was still as the grave. 
 
 *' Remain here for a few moments with the horses," whispered Claude, "while 
 I creep forward and thoroughly reconnoitre the place.** 
 
 Jack did so, and Claude, stooping low, and walking on with the utmost 
 caution, crept through the trees until he came to the building, which he then saw 
 at once was a summer-house, and he might well, as he did, conjecture that in 
 such weather and at such an hour it was deserted. In fact, so clear did he feel 
 upon the subject, that he was upon the very point of returning to Jack, when a 
 faint gleam of light from a little painted window came across his path. Claude 
 paused in a moment. 
 
 ** Who on earth can that be?" he said to himself ; and the idea for a moment 
 came across his mind that perhaps, after all, it would be safer and better to return 
 and give up the adventure; but this, with Claude Duval, was only a momentary 
 thought. His daring courage, and his real liking for anything in the shape of 
 romantic adventure, triumphed over every other feeling, and, instead of retreating, 
 he advanced towards the little painted window from which the gleam of light 
 proceeded. It was a strange colour this gleam of light, for it passed through a 
 tinted pane of glass, and when Claude reached the window he found that he could 
 see nothing through it. He could, however, hear the murmuring sound of voices. 
 After a few moments of vain endeavour to find a peephole, he took from his finger 
 a ring in which there was a small diamond, and by its aid succeeded, without 
 giving the least alarm to the persons in the little pavilion or summer-house, in 
 cutting out a small pane of glass from the stained window through which the 
 gleam of light came. In a moment he commanded a clear view of the interior of 
 the place. It was one of those tasteful little buildings, with painted walls and 
 showy drapery, which in the summer season aflFord such a pleasing and cool retreat 
 from the glare of the sun during a stroll through such a park as that in which it 
 was situated. But Claude's attention was only cursorily bestowed upon the 
 summer-house ; it was the occupants of it that rivetted his gaze. A young girl 
 of singular beauty, and whose dress and air showed that she was one of those 
 highly cultivated beings only to be found in the most wealthy classes, and then 
 not often, was standing by the side of a young man, whose left arm was round 
 her waist, while with his right hand he held her left, and at times covered it with 
 kisses. A loose cloak— it looked like a gentleman's—was thrown over the girl, 
 and the young man was attired in full evening costume. The light they had was 
 a Utile bit of wax candle, in a small silver taper-stand, and it seerned as though 
 they had sto'en away from the festive scene at the mansion to enjoy love's soft 
 converse alone in that summer-house, w^hen, upon such a night, they were not 
 likely to be observed, however much they might be missed. The maiden was 
 weeping bitterly, and he who held her affections in bondage was strivinir to 
 console her, as the voice of the loved one can only console.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 383 
 
 *' My darling/' he said, *' you quite unrnan me by these tears. Ah, my Lavinia, 
 let me implore you to look more hopefully upon the future." 
 
 *' Alas, Charles, how can I V* she sobbed. 
 
 ** Can you ask ? Do we not love eai%j*her, ray owji true-hearted love ? Why 
 should not the future be full of hope to xR, and full of joy ?'* 
 
 *' But— but *' 
 
 ** But what ? Surely since forbidding me to address you as a suitor, your im- 
 perious mother has not superadded any further tyranny ? Your heart seems to- 
 night to be full of affliction." 
 
 " It is— it is." 
 
 ** Who, then, should share it but myself ? Have you at length, my own girl, 
 a secret from me ?'* 
 
 *- No — no. Oh, no, Charles, I will tell you all. however repugnant to my 
 feelings it may be, but I have so accustomed myself to look upon you, and to 
 think of you as a second self, that I am unhappy if you do not know all that passes 
 in which your poor Lavinia is interested. Listen to me, Charles. — My mother—" 
 
 " Ah, yes, your mother ! All the unhappiness that you and I endure is caused 
 by her." 
 
 "It is, indeed.'* 
 
 The young girl wept more bitterly than before, and it was probably highly 
 necessary to her recovery from such an accession of grief, that Charles should 
 bestow upon her so many kisses as he did. At all events, they seemed to have 
 the desired effect, for in a few moments she was able to proceed. 
 
 " My mother, then, Charles, has set her mind upon my marriage v^rith Sir James 
 Raffles." 
 
 «' Yes— yes." 
 
 ** And it was only to-night that I really ascertained the unworthy inducement 
 which she had to sell her child.'* 
 
 " Sell ?" 
 
 *' Yes, Charles, that is now the proper word. By mere accident, I overheard 
 the bargain between them. She was to persecute me with a marriage with him 
 upon condition that he was to pay her twelve thousand pounds down, to relieve 
 her from what she calls her difficulties, and likewise give one thousand pounds per 
 annum unknown to any one, to enable her to indulge in play and other extrava- 
 gances to which she is attached." 
 
 " Oh, shame — shame ! have you no blush ?* 
 I " My soul revolted, Charles, against this horrible compact.** 
 
 " As well it may." 
 ! " My father allows my mother a queenly income, for he is rich and weak, and 
 what she can so much want money for, that she would sell her child to procure 
 it, is beyond my imagination to conceive," 
 
 " My darling," said the young lover, and his voice trembled with passion as he 
 spoke, **your mother — is — is — your mother; therefore, natural delicacy will 
 forbid me saying to her what natural feelings would prompt ; but as for Sir James 
 Raffles, he, as a man, shall answer to me for this insult ; and now, Lavinia, I 
 again urge you to place a barrier between your mother's tyranny and yourself, 
 which she cannot cross. — That barrier must be a husband. Fly with me, and we 
 will go at once to my aunt's in London, where you will receive the welcome of a 
 mother in reality, and a few days will join us to part no more." 
 
 «*0h, ifl dared." 
 
 " Dared ? Ah, Lavinia. Do you love me ?" 
 
 ** Do not ask me, Charles. Oh, let me not think— I— I— believe, I shall go 
 mad." 
 
 "No, my darling, You will, on the contrary, fly with me. I have loved you 
 since you were a mere child, and surely you may trust me now." 
 
 " I know I can trust you, Charles. You, in all the world, are my only friend. 
 God will bless you." 
 
 *' God has blessed me dear one, with your love.'*
 
 384; GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " I shall be missed. _ Oh, Charles, this interview has already lasted toa long. 
 I must leave now.'* 
 
 " Stop, Lavinia. It is now a quarter past ten. By twelve o'clock I will be 
 upon this spot, waiting for you, and outside the park- wall I will have a carriage 
 prepared for your reception. In a few hours you will be in the arms of my 
 aunt.'* 
 
 ** Ought I-^are I ?" "^ 
 
 '* You ought. If your mother, in urging upon you this hateful union with Sir 
 James, had b^en conscientiously seeking your happiness in life, however she 
 might been been mistaken, yon might hesitate to leave her, but when you know 
 she only seeks to make you the victun of her QWn gross selfishness, the case ta 
 indeed most widely diflFerent," 
 
 '* I heard it from her owa lips, Charles,** 
 
 " That was conclusiye.'* i 
 
 "And horrible.** 
 
 ** It was horrible, indeed, for a child, and that child a young girl, to hear suth 
 words come from one so near to her as a mother, I do not wonder at your tears, 
 my darling.'* 
 
 ** I felt, Charles, that from that moment I had no mother.** 
 
 « You will fly with me V* 
 
 « I will— I will." 
 f ** Ah, my Lavinia, you will never repent this step but in years of happiness, 
 and then you will look back to it as the one taken in the right direction, which 
 rescued you from an intolerable persecution, and united you to one who will 
 cherish you as the deaiest gift that God in his goodness can give him." 
 
 There was some more kissing. 
 
 " D—n it," muttered Claude, " I hate that when I am not a party concerned." 
 
 " Do not accompany me to the house," said Lavinia ; "we might be seen by 
 some one.*' 
 ^ "I will only watch you from here, love. Remember^be hear as near to twelve 
 as you can." 
 
 « 1 will, Charles, I will.'* 
 
 The lover carefully folded the cloak around the beautiful girl, for beautiful she 
 really was, and then he watched her small sylph- like form as it went towards the 
 mansion. < 
 
 *' May Heaven forget and desert me in my hour of utmost need, and when all 
 the hopes and wishes of this world have faded away, if, willingly, I ever give cause 
 to ray Lavinia to shed one tear of soirow !" 
 
 " Humph !'* said Claude, •* I hope they will get off all right— perhaps it may 
 fall in my way to lend them a helping hand. We shall see. At all events, Jack 
 and I must be off, 1 suppose, at twelve ; two of our horses are to find refuge here. 
 I must examine the place— Hilloa !" 
 
 The young man named Charles suddenly extinguished the little piece of wax 
 candle, and then Claude could hear him rapidly and lightly go towards the 
 mansion. Duval had always with him plenty of means of procuring a light, and 
 making his way now into the summer-house he ignited a match, but he could not 
 find the wax candle. He glanced around him by the light of three or four little 
 matches which he ht in succession, and he saw a door leading to another room ; 
 he passed at once through it, and found it led out to the open air again, and as 
 there was no furniture in this other room, and it could be got at without parsing 
 through that in which the meeting of the lovers had taken place, Claude decided 
 upon it as best adapted for his and Jack's horses. Having settled all that in his 
 own mind he made his way back to Jack, and briefly informed himot all tha.t he 
 had overheard, adding — 
 
 " It would give me much satisfaction to assiet these young people, for I am 
 convinced of the truth and sincerity of the lover from what 1 e said when he 
 fancied no one was at hand to hear his thoughts uttered aloud." 
 
 "•p^
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 385 
 
 '* There can be no doubt of it, I think, Claude ; we^do as much good as we go 
 along as people accuse us of doing harm. Don't you thiuk so ? ' 
 
 ♦' Why, 1 confess to a little of the knight-errant feeling about me, Jack. But 
 I think it rather arises from a passionate indignation against the oppressor, 
 than from any very great sympathy w^th the oppressed." 
 
 THE SECRETS OF CHARLES HERBERT AND LAVINIA OVERHEARD BY CLAUDE. 
 
 "Never mind, Claude, what it arises from, so that it takes a right direction** 
 ♦' Your philosophy is, in my opinion, (j .ite correct, so -now let us go otj, and 
 
 win." 
 
 They had not to lead the horses above twenty feet to the door of the room in 
 
 the pavilion where Claude purposed leaving them, and they were soon both housed. 
 
 The animals, no doubt, were a little surprised to find that they were upon a Turkey
 
 386 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR; 
 
 carpet instead of a bundle of straw, but beyond that, they seemed to relish pretty 
 well their accommodation, and, at all events, to be anything but sorry at escaping 
 the rain. 
 " They will soon be down, I'll be bound," said Jack, 
 !j "Do you think so?" 
 
 : ; <* Oh, yes. A horse, if he is in health, will, like a man, make himself comfortable 
 where and when he can ; it is only when he is ill that he gets particular, and 
 would prefer clean straw to a featherbed.'* 
 
 " You still persevere. Jack, in your resolution not to dress for the ball ?" 
 ** I do. As a matter both of policy and convenience, I prefer being as I am." 
 " Very well. Now light a piece of taper, and dome into the other room with- 
 my vallise. I must be a little particular m my toilette upon this occasion." 
 
 Jack found, among the miscellaneous collection of odds and ends in his pockets, 
 a piece of wax taper, which he lit, and by its aid, Claude plainly attired himself 
 for the ball, avoiding all outward and e'xtraneous flourishes ; so that he, while 
 looking in all respects a gentleman, was by no means attired in a manner to 
 attract more thaa a common passing share of ordinary observation. 
 
 CHAPTER XCV. 
 
 AN ELOPEMENT. 
 
 The ball-room at Winchfield Hall was, indeed, a gorgeous apartment. Ima- 
 gine a room of a hundred feet in length, and seventy in width, the roof of which 
 was of a corresponding height, while from twelve large windows there hung crim- 
 son satin draperies, adorned with a profusion of gold fringe and bullion tassels- 
 imagine mirrors set m the most costly and elaborate frames upon the walls, at 
 only about four feet distance from each other, while the intervals are filled up by 
 gilt columns, upon which are vases overflowing with flowers — imagine a ceiling 
 covered with fretwork in gold over an azure ground, from which depended three 
 chandeliers of the most magnificent cut glass—imagine, then, a thousand and one 
 : little articles of furniture in the shape of gorgeous seats and ottomans, and you 
 may have some idea of the ball-room at Winchfield Hall upon this memorable 
 occasion. There opened from it a multitude of pretty lii.tle apartments, hidden 
 by silken hangings, all of which were devoted to the purposes of holding refresh- 
 ments, and some of those apartments had French windows that led to a lawn. 
 It was by one of these that Lavinia had, for a brief space, escaped to meet her 
 lover in the little pavilion — it was by one of these that a tall distingjuished-looking 
 man entered some half hour afterwards. That man was Claude Duval. The 
 din and crash of music came upon Claude's ear, and a suffocating sense of 
 being ia ^ atmosphere full of perfumes came across him. He paused a moment 
 to look' at himself in a long mirror that was in the little room. 
 
 He then advanced to the table in the centre of the room, which was profusely 
 laid out with refreshments, and filling for himself a goblet of wine that held 
 not far short of half a pint, he drank it off, saying as he did so — 
 
 *' To my own success." 
 
 Then with that air of great confidence which a close observer like Claude 
 Duval had seen was one* of the distinguishing marks of good breeding, he strolled 
 gently towards the ball-room, where, amoug three hundred gents he thought that 
 surely he should be sufliciently secure from observation, A gentleman was 
 advancing from the ball-room to the refreshmenl-room as he, Claude, was so 
 gently walking on, and they both slightly bowed like two well-bred strangers as 
 they passed each other. "
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 387 
 
 " That will do/' said Claude, " that will do," and be passed on. 
 
 In another moment he was in the full blaze of the grand saloon, and then he 
 
 I found that the moment of his entrance was rather inopportune as regarded escap- 
 
 I ing observation, for some rather fatiguing dance had just finished, and most of 
 
 the company were seated, while a very few only lounged about, and the band, 
 
 I which was stationed judiciously out of sight somewhere, played an exquisite air 
 
 ! from *'Acis." Claude, without betraying the slightest confusion, made his way 
 
 I gently to a seat, while several whispered remarks of — " Do you know who that 
 
 is ?" passed from mouth to mouth. There was not much room upon the seat, 
 
 but a puffy, bloated-looking man, with an awfully sinister-looking squint, handed 
 
 I a lady to it, and with a profound bow, seated her. 
 
 ** As your ladyship was remarking," he said, " such an air as that is a recom- 
 pense for the fatigue of these new quadrilles, which have slightly incommoded 
 your ladyship." 
 
 " Yes, Sir James, yes." 
 
 " Ah — hem ! — ah ! Your ladyship, I think, remarked—" 
 "That I had not seen Lavinia for half-an-hour. Ah, there she is. Pray, Sir 
 James, go to her and secure her hand for the next dance, before any one else less 
 ahexceptionable'than yourself should forestall you. Do not take any excuse. ITse 
 my name." 
 
 ** Yes — yes ; a-hem ! Yes, my lady — ^I — will." 
 
 Sir James Raffles, for it was he, hurried off, leaving her ladyship, the merce- 
 nary mother of Lavinia, by the side of Claude Duval, who didnot waitlong before 
 he said — 
 
 " It must be a great gratification to you, madam, to see so many eyes doing 
 homage to your daughter's^ beauty and accomplishments." 
 <«Sirr - 
 
 Claude, with all the coolness in the world, repeated his remark verbatim, and 
 then her ladyship saw that whoever was the handsome stranger by her side, he 
 was not to be put down. She gave something between a toss and a bridle of her 
 head, as she said— 
 
 " I presume I have the pleasure of talking to the Earl of Harkeret V 
 " 1 wish you had," thought Claude. *' No," he replied, *' no, your ladyship is 
 mistaken. But among so many guests, it is not be wondered at if there are 
 some whose names escape your ladyship's recollection. I am unhappily among 
 he number." 
 
 ** Would it be inpertinent for mc now, sir, to request that you would inform 
 me to whom I have the honour of speaking?" 
 *' Not at all. But keep it secret — but I am ■" 
 
 Now, Claude up to this moment had really not quite made up his mind to say 
 who he was, but in the buzz of conversation that met his ears when he entered the 
 ball-room, he had heard the name of Sir Kenelon Microme — an odd name, and 
 one that, from its oddness, fixed itself in his memory. Accordingly, without a 
 moment's thought, he mechanically concluded his sentence, by repeating the I 
 name of — | 
 
 *' Sir Kenelon Microme." 
 " Sir?" said her ladyship, giving a slight start. 
 
 ** Yes," added Claude, gravely, and putting on a peculiarly mysterious look, 
 *' I am he!" 
 
 "Really, sir, you — you, perhaps think it a good jest, to assume the name of a 
 distinguished ancestor of this family before the name was changed to what it is 
 now, but permit me to say, that I, in my dull capacity, cannot see the jest." 
 " Nor 1, madam." 
 " Then why, sir — why, I say — — " 
 " I— am— he !" 
 
 Her ladyship's colour changed in spite -of her courage, and she half r6se from 
 her sear. 
 
 Sit !" said Claude.
 
 M 388 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Down she sat again, and thea summoniDg all her courage to her aid, she 
 said— 
 
 " sir, this is rather too absurd. Kov\r that you have had your jest, permit 
 it to end." 
 
 " Have you no portrait of me ?'* 
 
 " Yes — no — what am I saying ? How very ridiculous. You are taking advan- 
 tage of an accidental likeness you certainly bear to the portrait of Sir Kenelon 
 in the long: gallery.'* 
 
 " That's lucky," thought Claude. " 1 am accidentally like the portiait, or her 
 ladyship's own imagination has found out the semblance, ** No, madam, I am 
 . taking no advantage. It was necessary that I should pay you a visit." 
 
 " Necessary r'* 
 
 ** Yes. Look at my fairest descendant." 
 
 He glanced towards Lavinia, and the conscious-stricken mother shuddered, but 
 her ladyship was what is called a strong'-minded woman, and consequently she 
 made an effort to- rally from the shock that Claude had given to her. 
 
 •* Hark you, sir !" she said, "if you have anyttiing to say, or any com- 
 munication to make concerning my daughter, the Lady Lavioia, perhaps you 
 will have no objection to say it in the presence of my son, the major, and his 
 lordship ?'* 
 
 " None in the least," said Claude. 
 
 *• You — you have no objection ?'* 
 
 " None whatever. I can tell them, then, of the pecuniary agreement between 
 you and Sir James Raffles — who, by-the-by, if you were to succeed in forcing 
 Lavinia into a union with him, would pay you a moiety of the first £1200, but 
 not one penny piece of the annuity." 
 
 *' God Almighty !" ejaculated her ladyship. 
 
 "Hush, woman! Hush I" said Claude. *' How dare you use that name ?| 
 The mother who would sell her child to a worse than Egyptian bondage for the i 
 means of gratifying her evil passions and depraved taste, has nothing to do with ; 
 God Almighty. Repeat not that name again. There is danger in its sound to | 
 you and such as you." | 
 
 The woman trembled like an aspen leaf. Then with a shriek she fainted. 
 The whole saloon was in confusion in a moment. The music left off at a grand 
 crash, and the guests one and all flocked round her ladyship, eagerly inquiring of 
 Claude what was the matter with her, as though he by sitting next to her must 
 necessarily know all about it. I 
 
 *' Only the heat of the room," said Claude, " I suppose.*' I 
 
 " Heat of the room — oh, stuff!" said a lanky thin young man, " Mother is | 
 used to all this sort of thing in many London seasons. It can't be that." | 
 
 ** Humpii !" though'. Claude, " the major, I suppose ; I shall get introduced to 
 the whole family by degrees. What a booby he looks. Well, well, I have given 
 the old woman a fright, and of one thing I am quite sure, that is, that she will 
 not mention it to any one." I 
 
 This was indeed a safe proposition. Some of the guests suggested one thing 
 and some another, for the recovery of the lady, but she herself cut the matter 
 short by suddenly opening her eyes and exclaiming— 
 
 " Where is he?— where is he ?" 
 
 " Who ? — who ?*' cried everybody. 
 
 Her eyes fell upon Claude, and she shuddered, and turned away her head, as 
 she muttered in a faint voice — 
 
 " Take me away from him — take me away from him." 
 
 " Oh, is it the sight of this— "person, the lanky major was about to say, but a 
 glance at Claude's face induced him to think it was sater to say " gentleman that 
 occasions your inconvenience P I have not the honour of knowing who 
 he is." 
 
 " Your mother has that honour. Madam, will you be so good as to tell
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 359 
 
 your son that I am here by your command, for, in fact, you summoned me as a 
 very old friend of the family.'* 
 
 ''Yes, yes/* gasped the terrified lady of the mansion; *iyes, that is so. My 
 dear, don't touch him, and don*t speak to him.** 
 
 Claude gave a significant smile, and then glided away among the guests. He 
 looked at his watch and saw that it was nearly half-past eleven. Her ladyship, 
 when relieved from the embarrassment of Claude's immediate presence, recovered 
 herself sufficiently to feel heartily vexed that she had made a scene, but the long 
 booby-major remained by her, and was so persevering in his inquiries, that she 
 said, at length, to him, in a cautious under tone — 
 
 •• You are a fool, and always were one ; don't trouble me with your impertinent 
 questions.'* 
 
 At this moment the band struck up a lively waltz, and Claude upon glancing 
 around him, saw Sir James Raffles busily persuading the Lady Laviniato dance 
 with him. Gliding near to them, Claude heard him say — 
 
 " 1 have it in command from her ladyship, to request from her that you would 
 dance with me.** 
 
 *' I am engaged,*' said the Lady Lavinia, in a tone of distress. 
 
 •• Humph ! May I be permitted to ask to whom ?' 
 
 *'To me," said Claude, stepping forward. "That and any other question I 
 shall be very happy to answer you, sir." 
 
 "Oh!** 
 
 " Yes, yes, to you ; engaged to you,'* said the Lady Livinia, who felt exceed- 
 ingly grateful to the strange gentleman, as she called Claude to herself, for 
 coming in so promptly to rescue her from the hateful persecutions of Sir James 
 RafHIes. 
 
 They took their places in the dance, and as it would be some few minutes 
 before they would be lequired to move off, Claude said — 
 
 " I much fear that the knight was rude to you." 
 * ** Oh, no— no ; no more than his nature, and certain licence accorded to him 
 by-by 
 
 *' Your mother — warrants one to expect, you would say/* 
 
 Lady Lavinia looked at him curiously. 
 
 " Fear nothing,'* said Claude ; " I am a friend — not a lover in disguise, as 
 many professing friends in your case might likely be — I am one who wishes you 
 all the happiness with Charles that this woild can afford you.*' 
 
 " Ah ! you know Charles Herbert ; you are a friend of his V* 
 
 " I get information by degrees," tliought Claude, " that is the name of the 
 lover.** 
 
 Then, he replied, " [ am a friend of his, although he knows it not, and knows 
 me not. But see, we are waited for.*' 
 
 It was their turn to dance, but as they neither of them took, at that time, anv 
 interest in the fascirialing amusement, they soon got through their part otthe per- 
 formance, and were again free to talk the matter over, which they had commenced 
 80 interestingly. 
 
 ** You say you are a friend of Mr. Herbert's, but that he does not know you ?" 
 remarked Lavinia. " Have you any special reasons for secrecy V* 
 
 ** None very special.'* 
 
 *• Then tell me who you are, sir — I know you not.*' 
 
 "My name is Microme.'* 
 
 " Microme? That is a familiar enough name in this house ; the family name 
 was once the same, and our great ancestor, Sir Kenelon Microme, was the founder 
 of the fortunes of the house." 
 
 "Ayr* 
 
 The mysterious and marked manner in which Claude prenounced this " ay," 
 had an effect upon the Lady Lavinia, and wonderfully aroused her curiosity, as 
 well as in some manner alarming her fears. Her face assumed an expression 
 of great anxiety, and she said —
 
 390 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ** Sir, you will pardon me if some sad experience^ has made me suspicious ? I 
 know 1 have enemies in this house, and that those enemies are prompted by one 
 whose feelings ought to rally around m". for my protection, and for the assurance 
 of my huppioess. Oh ! there is Mr. Uerbert." 
 
 Claude glanced in the direction to which the eyes of the Lady J^vinia's were 
 directed, and there, sure enough, he saw the young man whom h^ Had before seen 
 in the summer-house, gazing upon them both with a look of tkxed and intense 
 curiosity, 
 
 " Will you take me to a seat?" said tbe Lady Lavinia. 
 
 *' Certainly, if you wish it." 
 
 " I do— I do !" 
 
 They could easily leave a dance in which forty couple were engaged, and Claude 
 conducted her to the nearest seat, and had scarcely seated her, when a door, not 
 very far off, opened, and a servant announced Sir Henry and Lady Ross. 
 
 "The sheriff of the county," said some one at hand. 
 
 "The devil!" mattered Claude, "that is an old acquaintance, whose company 
 just now 1 could very well have dispensed with." 
 
 CHAPTER XCVL 
 myStificatson. 
 
 Yes, :t was the sheriff in whose carriage Claude Duval had escaped from the 
 officers who had been so hotly in pursuit of him. The sheriff, who upon his 
 honour had promised to keep the whole affair secret, and who had since given 
 information that had set the dragroons upon his heels. The fat, puffy, irascible sheriff 
 who, since the adventure of the carriage, would almost have walked five miles to 
 see Claude hanged. It was lucky that this official personage did not turn his eyes 
 in the direction where Claude was with the Lady Lavinia, or an uncomfortable 
 recognition might have taken place. As it was, he and Lady Ross advanced to 
 where the lady of the house was sitting, who graciolisly rose to receive them. 
 
 '* Ah, my dear Lady Ross, you are late !" 
 
 " Yes, but when I tell you " 
 
 ** Another time will do for that," said the sheriff. 
 
 ** Remain here," whispered Claude to Lady Lavinia ; " I wish to say something 
 important to you, and will return to say it in a few minutes.'* 
 
 She slightly inclined her head in indication of assent. Nothing but a bold 
 stroke, now, thought Claude, can save me from the recognition of the sheriff, and 
 that bold stroke must come off at once. He made his way behind the c^air of the 
 lady of the house, and whispered to her — 
 
 " Introduce me to Sir Henry Ross, the sheriff of the county. I was sheriff." 
 
 " Gracious heaven, you here again." 
 
 " Ay, apd again — and again." 
 
 "But what shall I call you ? I dare not mention your real name, if you really 
 are— but, no — no, this is either all a dream or I am going mad." --. ^ 
 
 ** It is neither, madam. Call me by what name you will, so that you introduce 
 me to the sheriff as an old friend of your family, who has for a long time been, to 
 your knowledge, here in the family mansion." > 
 
 •' Yes— yes, you, no doubt, have — and yet this must be some juggle, roy reason 
 revolts at what ray imagination prompts roe to believe." 
 
 " As you please. Woe— woe — woe'upon this house if my commands are not 
 obeyed now. Against the parent shall the hand of the child be lifted. The good 
 name and the honour of those whom you love shall pass away like a vapour." 
 *' Oh, mercy — mercy!" .
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 391 
 
 *' Will you obey me ?" 
 
 *• I will — I will. Only tell nie that which you would have me to do. I fear 
 you, and yet each moment I feel much inclined to defy you ; but you have my 
 secret, and therefore you are dangerous." 
 •* I am dangerous. Introduce me.** 
 
 *' Yes — yes. Sir Henry — Sir Henry Ross ! Will you allow me to have the 
 pleasure of introducing you to an old friend of mine — indeed, a very old friend 
 of the family V* 
 *' i shall appreciate the honour, my lady." 
 
 Claude advanced and bowed; the sheriff did the same, although he much 
 wondered that the lady did not mention the name of the old friend of the family. 
 Lady Ross likewise executed a half bow, and then they both looked at the 
 introduced. 
 *• God bless me !" cried the sheriff. 
 The slieriffs lady uttered a faint lady-like scream. 
 
 The lady of the mansion looked perfectly bewildered, and the idea that she 
 saw everybody else going madbegan to make great inroads upon her credulity. 
 She looked at Claude, and then at the sheriff, and then at Lady Ross, and then 
 at Claude again, like a person in a dream, which, while it has locked up their 
 perceptions, has not deprived them of motion. She passed her hand over her 
 eyes, and then said— 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this?" 
 
 " Ay," said Claude. ** What is the meaning of all this ?'* 
 '* Why — hem 1" said the sheriff, " the gentleman's face is so remarkably like 
 the face of — I suppose another person that I — and I perceive Lady Ross is in 
 the same rama — should under any other circumstances than the piesent have 
 unhesitatingly said he was — *' 
 
 "What do you mean, Sir Henry?" cried Lady Ross. **I never saw the 
 gentleman in all my life, or anything like him." 
 *' Why, my lady, you screamed." 
 
 " And enough to make a saint scream it is, when such an elephant as you are 
 treads on one's toes." 
 
 "Sir," said Claude, " I certainly do not know you, and this lady will tell you 
 that I am an old friend of her family, and reside permanently in this mansion, 
 although I seldom make my appearance to visitors. To-night it is family matters 
 of much consequence that call me. Is it twelve yet ?" 
 *'He is quite right," gasped the lady, " he is quite true." 
 "Then I have to apologise," said the sheriff — adding to himself, "I am by no 
 means satisfied yet, and I'll keep a sharp look-out, for if this be not Claude 
 Duval or his shadow, I am not sheriff of Hants, but somebody else's nameless 
 old friend." 
 
 Claude deemed pretty well what was passing in the mind of the sheriff, and he 
 resolved to take his measares accordingly. Walking away to the seat occupied 
 by the Lady Lavinia,he found that the young lover, Charles Herbert, was near the 
 back of her chair, from whence, without being seen by her mother, he could with 
 tolerable ease converse with "her. When Claude came up, Mr. Herbert looked 
 rather suspiciously at him, but Claude at once spoke, saying — 
 
 "Mr. Herbert, I know your secret. Go, as you intended, to your aunt's in 
 London, with this lady, and you will find that an unknown friend as so far acted 
 upon Lady Lavinia's mother's mind that but little, if any, difficulty will stand in 
 the way of a complete and immediate reconciliation with the family." 
 
 "Who are you, sir^" said Herbert; "you profess friendship to me, and, by 
 
 what you have said just now, you have at all events convinced me that you have 
 
 the power of .being an enemy. Pardon me if 1 am, in my too overwhelming 
 
 anxiety concerning the success of to-night's proceedings, perhaps too mistrustful." 
 
 "Kely upon me — all will be well." 
 
 "Do you decline, then, mentioning who you are?" 
 
 ** My name is Microme, as I h ave taken occasidn to inform this young lady. For
 
 892 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 further information concerning me, I refer you to some confidential moment 
 with your noble mother-in-law that will be. She knows me, and« what is better, 
 she fears me." 
 
 *< Allow me to tell you," said Charles Herbert, in a low tone, " that Sir Hei^ry 
 Ross, the sheriff of Hants, has just now glided up near you, and is listening to 
 you." 
 
 " I thank you. This is for him.*' Slightly raising his voice, Claude then 
 added, " I shall be in the little pavilion in the paric at half-past twelve. Is he 
 there still, sir ?" 
 
 *' No, he has tripped away." 
 
 " Good. If you can complete your preparations, be off at twelve, while the 
 coast is clear, and when you find the ladjf's mother in a strangely altered mood, 
 remember me." 
 
 Claude instantly left them, and again made his way to the lady of tiie house, 
 to whom he said—*' Madam, 1 may not often show myself to the light, either of 
 day or of night ; but while I am here I have made a determination to confide to 
 you some important family revelations. Do you desire to hear them ?'* 
 
 *' Oh, yes — yes. But this place is not " 
 
 *' Exactly suited for such a confidential communion, you would say, and you 
 are right. You know the pavilion in the park ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes." 
 
 ** Meet me there at a quarter past twelve/* 
 
 *' Alone?' 
 
 " No, I would rather you brought your son with you— much rather, as what 
 I have to say will concern both of you greatly, and tend much to his fortune and 
 your future peace, while I shall avoid the utterance of one word in his presence 
 which you would wish to remain unsaid." 
 
 •' L — 1 thank, you. You force me to believe you are what you say you are, by 
 the simplicity of your pretensions; henceforward the barrier that 1 had erected 
 ijk my mind against all superstition is broken down, and I dare doubt nothing/' 
 
 A fit of trembling came over her; which she had some trouble in repressing, 
 and Claude saw Sir James RafHes coming towards them. He advanced to meet 
 him, and when sufficiently near, he said— > 
 
 *' May i have a word with you, sir ?" 
 
 *' Certainly— certainly." 
 
 **Theo, Sir James, if you have any desire to know who it is that the Lady 
 Lavinia loves, you will secrete yourself in the pavilion in the park at ten minutes 
 past twelve, not sooner or later/* 
 
 •' Indeed ! Confusion I Damn — — '* 
 
 *• Hush ! hush ! I may not hear such words, Sir James, In my time they were 
 not used." 
 
 "• Your time ! why you are younger than I, andwhat do you call your time ?** 
 
 « 1604." 
 
 Claude was close to one of the curtains that hid a refreshment room from the 
 great saloon, as he mentioned this date, and he dashed past it, and out by the 
 window, rapidly closing it again behind him, before Sir James had recovered from 
 his astonishment at hearing a young-looking man say his time was some two 
 hundred years ago nearly. Rallying his faculties, then, he entered the refreahment 
 room, but he found it completely vacant. Claude had succeeded in effecting a 
 tolerably good ghost- like escape from the saloon of Winchfield Hall. The cool 
 night air was particularly pleasant to him after the confined atmosphere of the 
 ball-room, and Claude stood still for a few moments to inhale it with pleasure. 
 The rain had quite ceased, and now and then the moon was peeping out from 
 amid masses of rugged- looking clouds that floated over the pure silvery disc. 
 
 *' This is a change for the better, indeed," said Claude. " I wonder where 
 Jack is?" 
 
 " Here!" said a voice, and Jack came from a dark corner. "lam here, 
 Claude."
 
 fmmv-ff:' 
 
 GESTLEMAN JACIt ; OR, Ll^fi ON tHE ROAD. 
 
 393 
 
 " And how, in the name of good fortu le, canae you here? ' 
 
 *• Why, I thought as this was the window you went in at, it was the most liliely 
 
 one for you to come out at." 
 
 " Upon my word, Jack, I did not know, when I came out of it, that it was the 
 
 same by which I had effected an entrance." 
 
 , Clau'de. The 
 presence here 
 
 A BUSY Scene at the summer housu, 
 
 *' It is ; but that is of minor import, and I have news for ynu 
 sheriff is here. Thank the fates you have avoided him, as your 
 suflBiciently testifies." 
 
 •• Never trust to app( arances, Jack ; I have not avoided him. 
 
 " You have not ?" 
 
 '• No, Jack. You k;iow what I always do when I am in^doubt about the
 
 394 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 extent of any danger; — I fro and look at it, so I got the good and rather credulous 
 lady of the house to introduce me to him as an old family friend, and the thing 
 passed off, at all events, quite as well as could be expected. Bat I must tell you 
 all that at some other opportunity. At present, all we really have to do is to 
 be off.'* 
 
 *' Any swag ?" 
 
 " Why, Jack, I thought a little cash might be useful, so I certainly, amid the 
 mazes of the dance, accidently possessed myself of a couple of pocket-books. 
 But come on to the pavilion ; I would faia be off as soon as possible." 
 
 They both walked rapidly across the park towards the summer-house, and just 
 as they reached it they saw a slight female figure durt to the few steps that led 
 to its principal apartment. 
 *' Are we discovered ?'* 
 
 " No. That is a friend who will not betray us trom inclination, even if she 
 were able, which she is not, from information to do so. Just get out the horses, 
 and I will join you4D a moment.** 
 
 Claude advanced to the door of the pavilion. He was met by Chiles Her- 
 bert, who said — 
 
 *• Hold, whoever you are ! Stir another step, and you are a dead man !" 
 ** It is I," said Claade, in the peculiar soft melancholy tone in «rhich he had 
 carried on all his conversation while in the grand saloon of Winchfield Hall— 
 *' it is I. Leave at once, or your enemies will be upon your track. Are you 
 all prepared ?" 
 "Yes— yes r 
 
 *'Then fly; I will remain here and stop all pursuit, if it should commence 
 before you are fairly off. Go 1 go I" 
 " How can I thank you V 
 
 " By carrying away at once my fair young descendant from an abode of 
 selfishness and vice. Take her away while you can do so, aad then in the 
 hours of your happiness remember me." 
 " I shall riot forget you." 
 
 Charles Herbert darted into the summer-house, and in a few minutes returned 
 with the Lady Lavinia, around whom he had wrapped an ample cloak. She saw 
 Claude, and uttered the words — "God bless you!" he bowed, and then they 
 hurried on, and were soon lost to view. Claude took his way back to Jack, whom 
 he found with both the horses ready for the road, and impatiently awaiting hida; 
 much wondering who the parties were with whom he heard him talking. 
 
 " Jack," said Claude, *'take the horses down to the wall. I will be with yojj 
 in a quarter of an hour; but there is some sport to come off here that I would 
 not miss for a trifle, I can assure you." 
 
 "1 will fasten the horses securely up," said Jack, " and come back to you." 
 "Very well — do. I shall be glad of your company. Jack, and will wait for 
 you upoa this spot." 
 
 Jack hurried off with the horses ; but as he took the very same route that the 
 fugitives took, they, hearing the sound of horses' feet, thought, to be sure, thkt ' 
 they were pursued, and rushed into the carriage like two maniacs, ordering the ; 
 post-boy to drive as though the very devil were at his heels, while Jack made>. 
 until he reached the wall, the most superhuman exertions to reach them, in order 
 to assure them that thers was no danger. Thus, not unfrequently in this world 
 do people fly about from friend to foe, fancying they are accomplishing wonders, 
 when such is far from being the fact. Jack soon got back to Claude again. 
 "Are they off ?" said Duval. 
 
 " Yes, and in such an infernal hurry that I am incled to believe they took me 
 for an enemy." 
 
 '• Not a doubt of it. It's perhaps as well that they should go fast for the first" 
 few miles; and as they will soon find that they are not pursued, they will relax 
 their speed." 
 '* Mow, Claude, what are we to do V*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 395 
 
 " Hush ! hush I They come/* 
 
 << Who— who?" 
 
 "Some people who, if I mistake not, will, in the darkness, afford us some sport 
 by their mutual mistakes and misapprehensions. Come close to this window, ia 
 which I have made an opening, we can both see through, and if there is not some 
 good fun shortly, Jack, I shall think my name is not Claude Duval." 
 
 CHAPTEE. XCni. 
 
 FAMILY TROUBLES. 
 
 Wb see that, in the midst of all his troubles and anxieties, the old spirit of fun 
 and mischief that was so prominent in his youth, stuck to Claude Duval, and he 
 would not have missed the scene that was about to ensue in the summer-house 
 upon any account. The first person who arrived upon the scene of action was 
 Sir James Raffles, and he came tripping along with amazing caution, muffled in 
 an opera cloak. Gently he tried the door of the pavilion, and finding it yield to 
 his hand, he entered the little building. 
 
 "Nobody here ?'* he muttered. "This is capital ; I am a little too soon for 
 them, and so I have a good opportunity of hiding. I ought from being here 
 often to know the place, and if I do not greatly mistake their dimensions, the 
 draperies at one of the windows are quite ample enough to conceal me." 
 
 In the semi-darkness of the place it was not an easy thing to find the hiding- 
 place that Sir James sought, but after a few minutes' tumbling about he did so, 
 and Jack and Claude heard him say — 
 ■ '* All's right." 
 
 Scarcely had the words passed his lips, >yhen voices were heard upon the steps 
 and Claude could hear the lady of the mansion speaking to the great booby of a 
 major, her son. 
 " Come along," she said. " What are you afraid of ?" 
 :' By Gad !" he said, *' I wish I knew.'* 
 I " You were always chicken-hearted," added his mother. " I don*t know what 
 I possessed you to go into the army and be promoted, because your father held two 
 j .rotten boroughs, the votes of which he gave to a liberal Minister, who wished to 
 ;j,wb the people." . ' 
 
 I *' How uncommon severe, mama. You know I went into the army because 
 ; there was a general peace, which all the world says will last ; but do you really 
 
 wish to make me believe that this mysterious man is — a — a ** 
 
 " Hush — he has parsuaded me that he is not of this world." 
 : i " How extraordinary — 1 don't feel well.'* 
 
 ; ! " What's the matter with you. now, booby ? Oh ! that I, of all mothers, should 
 have a c6ward for a son 1 Come on.*' 
 ** I'm a-coming." 
 
 " A nice pair, Claude," whispered Jack, " are they not?" 
 " They are, indeed, but listen to them, that will be the best, for I can just 
 imagine the bewildeiment of Sir James Raffles. But you are rather in the dark 
 aboat it all, Jack, and when I see it all over, and we are trotting on the road, you 
 shall have the whole particulars. Ah ! — do yoa hear nothing ?" 
 *' The tramp of feet." 
 
 *' Yes ; well, now Jack, what do yoa suppose that trampling of feet means 
 really r . ■ j , 
 
 " I cannot guess,*' 
 
 '' Why it is the arrival upon the seceno of action of the sheriff with a party he, 
 ViO diubt, thinks sutficientl^ strong to take me prisoner. Hush ! keep as close to
 
 396 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 the ivy as you possibly can and they will not see us, for they do not here expect 
 to see us. Confound them, what do they stop so close to us for?" 
 
 •The sheriff, with six able-bodied men, had taken a circuitous route to reach the 
 pavilion, where he fully expected to light upon the man who he fully believed to 
 be the idantical Claude Duval who had been in his carriage, notwithstanding the 
 lady's assertions of his being the o!d friend of the family. This idea had been 
 strengthened by finding that the lady did actually make her way from the saloons 
 at twelve o'clock, and then he had resolved upon the capture of Claude in the 
 pavilion, for that it was him whom she meant to meet he never doubled, after 
 what he thought he had so cunningly overheard, bat which Claude had uttered 
 for his special misleading. 
 
 *• Halt !" said the sheriff, in a whisper. 
 
 His men immediately came to a stand. 
 
 " Now, attend to me, my men. The prisoner you are to take is in the summer- 
 house there, along with a lady. It don't matter a bit to you who he is; I will 
 give you five pounds a piece for the job, but I warn you he is a bold, brave, strong 
 man." 
 
 " We'll have him, master,'* said one. 
 
 " Your best plan," said the sheriff, who thought he was very cunning in not 
 letting the men know that it was the celebrated Claude Duval thay were after— 
 " your best plan will be to make a rush in and knock him down at once, and 
 then tie him securely hand and foot." 
 . *• Yes, master." 
 
 " But be careful that no injury comes to a lady who is in the pavilion. As 
 for me, I — 1-— will stay here while you go and do it, and when you have got him 
 quite secure, you can call to me, you know. You are six to one, so that you'll 
 run no risk, only it is as well always to make these things quite sure while you 
 are about them ;' now be off with you at once. You know the entrance well." 
 
 The men crept round to the door of the summer-house, and the moment they 
 were gone, Claude felt that the sheriff's presence so near him and Jack was 
 decidedly dangerous, so he crept up to him, and suddenly grappling him by the 
 throat, said— 
 , " One word, or the faintest struggle, and you are a dead man." 
 
 The sheriff uttered a groan. 
 
 *• Traitor '.—dishonourable rascal I" added Claude, " so you betrayed me, after 
 alir 
 
 " Mercy— you are " 
 
 '* Claude Duval ! Do you not tremble at the name of the man who spared you 
 when he might have done otherwise— who neither robbed you nor inflicted upon 
 you the slightest injury, but whom you basely took the first opportunity of 
 betraying. ' Was that well done. Sir Sheriff?" 
 
 **No.'* 
 
 •? Can you say no ?" 
 
 ** Yes 1 can, for I am sorry for it, and throw myself upon your generosity, I 
 was planning only just now some means to save you, and put you fairlj upon the 
 road again." «i. 
 
 " Really 1" 
 
 ** Yes, I hardly expect you to believe me, but such is the fact ; and I hope you 
 have too much honour and generosity to commit a useless murder." 
 
 " It is well for you that 1 have too much humanity. Equity condemns you— 
 Jack have you a rope?' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Just tie the sheriff hand and foot, as he recommended a few moments ago 
 that another person should be tied. We will consider of his punishment when 
 the fuss is over.* 
 
 While this was going on with great rapidity on the outside of the pavilion, the 
 lady and her son were waiting for the arrival of the pretended Sir Kenelon 
 Microme, and Sir James Raffles were waiting with no small wonder and impatience
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 397 
 
 for an end of the whole affair. The six men of the sheriff were creeping on, fully 
 determined to carry out the intstructions they had received from him, and to 
 knock down their man at once, whenever they could get a good opportunity of so 
 doing, upon making a rush into the pavilion. Notwithstanding the sheriff had 
 tried to make light of the matter, they were fully impressed with the idea that 
 they were upon a dangerous expedition. The fact that he had employed six of 
 them, and the other fact, that he so carefully kept out of the way himself, quite 
 impressed their minds. The consequence was, that their imaginations were rather 
 unsettled by the time they arrived upon the steps of the little pavilion, which they 
 ascended in a body. They were armed with sticks, and then, saddenly pushing 
 open the door, thev made one wild sort of rush into the place. 
 
 *• Murder \" cried the major ; and then as the men just saw a somebody ia the 
 dimmish moonlight, down they knocked him. 
 
 " Help ! help l" cried Sir James Raffles, making a rush from his hiding-p'acc 
 to the front, and endeavoured to leave the pavilion, throwing down her ladyship, 
 who rolled from top to bottom of the steps on to the gravelled walk. 
 
 " Another of *era V cried one of the sheriff's men, and then down went Sir 
 James. 
 
 While the men were busy tying their prisoners, her ladyship began to cry aloud 
 for help. Claude hearing her, ran round the pavilion, and caught her arm, saying, 
 in quite another tone of voice to that which he had used when talking to her in 
 the saloon— 
 
 ** Another word, madam, and it is your last. This way.** 
 Upon the impulse of the moment, he dragged her round the building to the 
 spot where Jack had charge of the sheriff. 
 " Another bit of twine, Jack !" said Claude. 
 ** Yes, here it is." 
 
 " Just tie up the old woman, then." 
 
 '* If you are thieves," said her ladyship, *' take my watch, and let me go. I have 
 some rings likewise.'* 
 "Oh, murder I" said the sheriff; "is that you, my lady?*' 
 "Who's that r 
 
 ** Silence !" said Claude, as Jack finished tying the arms of her ladyship— 
 "silence! or it may be much the worse for both of you. I am in a joking, not a 
 murdering mood just now ; take care that you change it not. Jack, what largo 
 bush is that yonder ?'* 
 "Laurel, I think." 
 
 " Then we will accommodate her ladyship with that. Hark you, madam, one 
 Sir Kcnelon Microme has been here, and he says you are a bad mother. An 
 hour's reflection will do you good, and if before the full expiration ot that 
 time you call out for any assistance, there will be some one at hand who will 
 effectually stop your cries for the future. Now, Jack, once— twice— thrice, and 
 away she goes I" 
 
 It was not at all gallant, nor was it all romantic. We don't say it was, but 
 Jack took the lady by the heels, and Claude took the lady by the shoulders, and 
 so between them both, they comfortably hoisted her into the centre of the laurel 
 bush, and there left her. 
 
 " Now, Jack,'* said Claude, *• I can see for myself what that other hedge is. 
 It is blackthorn, and will just do for the sheriff.'* 
 
 '* Gentlemen, gentlemen J'* s-aid the sheriff. " Really I — oh, good gracious V 
 Away he went with a crash into the centre of the blackthorn bush, and at that 
 moment one of the six men came running round the pavilion, crying out — 
 " We have *em, we have 'em. Two of 'era. Sir Henry. We have *em." 
 " Keep 'em, then," said Claude, as with one straightforward blow he sent the 
 man insensible to the ground. Now, Jack, I am ready if you are.*' 
 "Quite." 
 
 They started off at once from the pavilion, and made their way to where Jack 
 had tethered the horses to the branch of a tree close to the little door in the park
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 paling, which had been so convenient alike to the young lovers and to our two 
 adventurers. They mounted at once, and without castng one glance behind them 
 at the lordly halls of VVincbfield House, they put their horses to speed, and 
 rapidly again took the southern road. They rode five miles befoce Jack said — 
 
 *' Remember, Claude, that I as yet know little or nothing of your first pro- 
 ceedings in the hall. I hovered about merely, and like young Norval, 
 
 < Marked the road you took.' 
 
 But what gave rise to all that ultimately happened — and which, I confess, was 
 entertaining enough— »I really, as you are aware, know nothmg at all." 
 
 ** True, Jack. But you shall know all if you will lend me your ears for ten 
 minutes, and as we have done a few miles rather sharply, we may give our cattle 
 a little rest by indulging them with a walk, especially as thiss is a little bit of 
 rising ground.'* j 
 
 While they ascended a hill of considerable length, but not very steep, for they 
 were getting upon those fine sloping plateaux that form so prominent a feature j 
 in the Hampshire scenery, Claude related to Jack all that is already well known j 
 to the reader. i 
 
 " The adventure will make a noise round the country," said Jack, *'and it will 
 be some amusement to us yet to see what complexion the local papers put 
 upon it." 
 
 " It will, if we live to read any more papers. Jack, But I ought not to make 
 such a speech, for I have promised not to despond, and that is j^ symptom of the 
 blues with a vengeance." 
 
 *' I am surprised to hear you, Claude." 
 
 " I sometimes surprise myself, Jack. But we will talk of something else. I 
 sincerely hope those red coats are safe in their barracks at Winchester." 
 
 '* The dragoons ?" 
 
 *' Yes. They, at all events, must be considerably a-head of us by this time. 
 Let me see— two hours at the hall— why they are, at their easy going pace, 
 fifteen miles off, I should say. Jack." 
 
 - *'• Quite. Depend upon it you have nothing to apprehend from thena, Claude. 
 And now that we have got so far upon our journey, and had such hair- breadth 
 escapes, I begin to have the best and most sanguine hopes of a successful termi- 
 nation to it." 
 
 « Do you reallv, Jack ?" 
 
 *< In good honest truth I do, Claude." 
 
 " It would make Cicely happy to hear you say so. Ah ! what must be the 
 state of their feelings while I am upon this perilous journey ? My anxieties can 
 he nothing, compared to theirs. I think I see them now— the sister and the wife. 
 But I must get rid of this train of thought. It is too nrmch for me. Come on. 
 Jack. A sharp trot again, upon this fine road, will put me to rights once more. 
 Confound it 1 I ought never to begin sermonising." 
 
 Off they both set again, at a sharp trot that made the trees pass them as 
 though they were part and parcel of a hunt, of a novel character. It is not Very 
 easy to keep up a conversation at a rapid pace, but Claude and Jack managed, 
 still, as they went on, to talk of their prospects and feelings, and ever and anon. 
 Jack took a careful and prolonged view around him, for the purpose of judging 
 as nearly as possible where they were. At length they spoke aloud. 
 
 " Claude," said Jack, " we are only twelve miles from the old city of 
 Winchester." 
 
 '* A pleasant place, I suppose. Jack ?" 
 
 "No." 
 • " Indeed ! I have heard quite the contrary. 
 
 "Yes, and sq has everybody else. Winchester has a long straggling up aud 
 down high street, like the back bone of some extraordinary animal, and from that, 
 to the right and to the left, are to be found little iaoes and miserable streets, la-
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. .3^^ 
 
 habited by an old set. The paiace and the cathedral are features, but the former 
 is now a barrack, and the latter is in a damp churchyard that always looks as 
 though it were reeking with the rank, pestiferous odours from maay graves. No, ^ 
 Claude ; doa't set } our affections upon Winchester.** 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 WINCHESTER. 
 
 Something seemed to be hanging heavily upon the mind of Claude Duval, 
 and he was uncommonly taciturn— so much so, that Jack, with a feeling of appre- 
 hension, said to him — 
 
 " Are you ill, Claude ?" 
 
 '«Yes." 
 
 " Ah, this fatigue, then, has at last been too much for your iron frame." 
 
 " No, Jack. I have, I think, an iron frame, to speak metaphorically, but I 
 have not, as I would fain have, an iron mind." 
 
 "Indeed !" 
 
 " No, Jack. I begin now to feel and to fancy that the shadow of some horrible 
 calamity is upon my soul. I shudder at the idea of something terrible occurring 
 that will plant in my heart a barbed arrow, which the efforts of a life will fail to 
 extricate. I don't know what it is, but, Jack, each moment, now, a more deadly 
 and heavier weight seems to come upon my spirits." 
 
 "All of which, Claude, in plain language, means that you have got the 
 blues." 
 
 " I suppose it does." j . . .. 
 
 *' It's tolerably clear, now, I ana beginning to have real hopes of a successful 
 issue to this strange and most eventful ride from London to Southampton. When 
 we reach Winchester, we are only some twelve or thirteen miles from our destina- 
 tion, recollect, and as we have baffled our foes so far, why may we not baffle them 
 further?" 
 
 *' There is no reason, Jack, why we should not in the world, only I think we 
 shall not, that's all ; but we have, all through my having the blues as you re- 
 mark, hit upon a most une^racious theme of discourse. Let us change it." 
 
 *' With all my heart. Do you see a light in the distance, Claude ?" 
 
 "I do ; it is the window of some road-side house by iits size and steadiness, 
 is it not?" 
 
 " Yes, I knew we should come upon an inn soon, although I could not tell ex- 
 actly where ; but without a doubt that is it. I wonder at what place our next 
 depot of obstructors, in the shape of police-officers, have taken up their abode." 
 
 " We shall come upon them soon enough, you may depend. Don't there 
 seem a great bustle at the door of that place, if it be an inn ?" 
 
 " Yes, 1 can't imagine what it is all about. Wait a bit, Claude, and I will 
 ride on and see. A single horseman will be less suspected than two.'* 
 
 ** Stop, here comes a cart. The driver will tell us who is at the inn, if it be 
 one. Don't you hear him whistling as he comes V 
 
 In a few moments a man trudging by the side of a cart came up to them, and 
 Claude said— 
 
 " Is there an inn hereabouts?" 
 
 ** Yes. Why, that is one right afore," , 
 
 " Is it full ?" 
 
 ** Whv, yes, the sodjers fill it up a bit." 
 
 " Soldiers ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, there's never such a lot of 'em, and horses too, They be rare 
 chaps for old ale, they be,"
 
 Ji^ m GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ^Thank you— thank you." 
 
 TLe man and the cart passed on, leaving Jack and Claude to consult upon what 
 they had beat do now that they were made aware of the fact that the dragoons, 
 j ^whoaa they had before escaped so narrowly, were at the ion by the road -side, which 
 if they went straight on, they must necessarily pass at the risk of arousing a suffi- 
 cient amount of suspicion to warrant their detection, and detection would be 
 fatal. 
 •• What's to be done ?" said Jack. 
 
 ** Push on across the meadows," 6«id Claude, " behind the inn. If we now 
 strike off the main road to the left here, and make a circuit of about half a mile, 
 we shall do very well, and no doubt get past. Of course, to meet those dragoons 
 face to face would be a hazardous thing afier what they have been told of my being 
 on the road, but otherwise they are much less to be dreaded than the police, who 
 make a business of trying to take us.*' 
 
 There was but a low insignificant hedge dividing the road from the meadows 
 upon its left, and Claude soon jumped his horse over it. Jack following him. They 
 alighted safely enough in a ploughed field, and then taking care to keep the lights 
 of the inn to their right hand, they struck across the country in as short a time 
 as they possibly could. They quite forgot the carter who had just passed them, 
 and answered Claude's inquiries. The curiosity of this man, who was not quite 
 such a fool as he looked, was aroused, and he went on very lazily, looking behind 
 bim every now and then until he plainly saw Claude and Jack take to the ^elda. 
 The tramp of horses' feet coming from a northern direction stopped this man from 
 taking any very immediate measures consequent upon this discovery, and then, 
 before he could very weH make up his mind what to do« three horsemen rode up 
 to him. 
 ♦* Have you come far down the road V* said one. 
 "No." 
 
 " Have you seen two men on horseback ? One dressed like a groom." 
 •* Yes, I have, and they have only just now cut across the meadows yonder. 
 That is the hedge that they went over, after asking of I who was at the * Stag,' 
 yonder.* 
 
 "And who is there }*' 
 ** Why, the sodgers, if you must know.** 
 
 *' AU right ; come on,'* cried one of the horsemen, ** we shall have them now. 
 Come on ; if we can get the aid of a couple of the dragoons, which the command- 
 ing officer cannot refuse me, I will undertake to lodge Claude Duval in gaol in 
 less thai^slx hours." 
 
 "You will do it. Sir John," said another, " if any one will ; and we will 
 follow you, wherever you may please to leaa us, sir; we only hope that if we 
 catch him tiie reward will be properly divided.** 
 
 " Oh. as to that," said Sir John, who was what is called an active magistrate 
 of the county, "1 want none of it, and it seems to me that you and the two 
 dragoons ought to share it among you. All I want is to take this fellow, who 
 has puzzled the London police, and made everybody think him something so 
 wonderful. D— n him I he'll find it a difficult matter to puzzle a practised fox- 
 hunter ; and I can safely say that I have more brushes hanging in my hall than 
 anyone in the county.*' 
 
 What strange things serve for human nature to boast of I This man was 
 elated with the idea that in the hall of his house he had an unusual number of 
 foxes' tails. If he had lived in the South Sea Islands, instead of Hampshire, 
 the Missionary Society would have collected no end of money /rom evangelical 
 old women, to send a* missionary to him upon the strength of that one anecdote 
 of the foxes* tails. But what will the reader think when we inform hira that 
 •' this fox-tail gentleman" was— do not start : such things are quite common in 
 wonderful England — the rector of the parish! < 
 
 What did he think most of? Being at the death of a creature much more 
 respectable than himself, or of the precepts of Him who taught that —
 
 GENTLEMAl^ JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 40l 
 
 " He prayeth best who loveth best 
 Man and bird and beast." 
 
 But all this by the way, only we certainly do delight in a fling at reverent 
 hypocrisy, Claude and Jack had no idea of their danger, and went on slowly 
 and cautiously through the meadows, making a half circuit round the inn, and 
 
 CLAUDE AND JACK ElLUDE THEIR PURSUERS BY A CROSS COUNTRY CUT. 
 
 intending to get upon the high road again as soon so possible. The three horse- 
 men, including the fox-hunting parson, reached in a few minutes the door of the 
 " stag, and his reverence dismounting at once, walked in and asked for the com- 
 manding officer of the party. He was shown into a room where that persanage 
 was discussing a tolerably late supper, previous to retiring for the night. 
 "Sir," said the parson, **the notorious Claude Duval is upon the road.'*
 
 m 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Confound Claude Duval !** said the officer, " I have heard of nothing but 
 Claude Duval since leaving London." 
 
 " But you know, sir, it is a great object to take him," 
 
 ** I dbn't knqw any such thing. It's no object to me whatever." 
 
 "Sir, I am a magistrate, and what I ask of you is that you will spare me a 
 couple of dragoons to assist in the capture of the notorious criminal I hare men- 
 tioned to you ?'* 
 
 " Impossible, sir 1'* % 
 
 ** Impossible ?" 
 
 " Quite. If you fancy that dragoons can go highwayman-hunting day and night 
 you are much mistaken. They can't do it, sir — die horses won't do it. Every dne 
 is stalled up now for the night, so I tell you it can't possibly be done. Why, good 
 God ! what sort of notion can you have of a dragoon, to suppose that, with his 
 heavy horse and accoutrements, he can do what would be heavy work for light 
 cavalry J" ' # 
 
 *' If I provide horses, you will allow two of the men to accompany me 2" 
 
 '* Dear me !— dear me ! How long would they be gone ?" 
 
 •* Not two hours ; I know where to pitch upon my man." 
 
 " Well, you can get two volunteers if you can ; but mind, we must be en route 
 by eight in the morning, and by then 1 shall expect to see them back again. Con- 
 found Claude Duval, I never was so pestered about such a fellow in all my life ; 
 if people are so cowardly as to let him rob them, why the devil, sir, need you put 
 yourself out of the way about it ?" 
 
 *• As an active and influential magistrate of this county, sirj I — — " 
 ' " Oh, well — well, take the men, but certainly not the cattle. Good night, sir- 
 good night, sir." 
 
 This was about as unequivocal a mode of telling a man to go about his business 
 as could have been hit upon; and indeed the Rev. magistrate was anxious to be off 
 upon his hunt for Claude Duval, so he left the room, and, hurried down stairs to 
 where the troopers were taking a supper of bread and cheese and strong ale, pre- 
 paratory to finding temporary accommodation for the n'ght. 
 
 " I have the leave of your officer," said the parson, " to ask two of you to come 
 with me, and assist me in the capture of Claude Duval, it will be a hundred 
 pounds a-piece to you— who will come ?" 
 
 *• I !" cried every one in chorus. 
 
 ** Settle it among yourselves while I go and see about a couple of horses for you, 
 as your officer objects to your own being used," 
 
 While the parson was gone, the soldiers settled among themselves by lots who 
 were to go, and the two to whom the chance fell got themselves ready, and took 
 their pistols and cartouche boxes with them, in case of a struggle, although, from 
 an utter want of knowledge of Claude Duval, they thought it would be one of the 
 easiest things in the world to capture him. 
 
 ** Mind you catch him, Bob," said one of their comrades, 
 
 «Ah, we shall do It," 
 t "There'sone thing you'll do," said another. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 ** Why, if you don't catch the highwayman, you know, you may catch a Tartar! * 
 
 A general laugh at this not over brilliant sally made those who were going 
 rather bitter, but, as the parson now made his appearance to say that all was ready, 
 they followed him in silence. He had procured a couple of sturdy hacks, well used 
 to the country, and fully up to the weight of the troopers, who were both rather heavy 
 men ; so that, take it altogether, that party of five was rather a. formidable one, 
 and more likely to be seriously mischievous to Claude than any that had been 
 yet sent against him. *' What the eye sees not, the heart rues not," saith the 
 proverb, and certainly Claude and Jack went on with no heart-ache at the pro- 
 ceedings that were taking place against them. The parson made a sort of speech 
 to his party before starting from the inn door. 
 
 "My men,'' he said, "this Claude Duval, whom we are going after, is no
 
 LIPE ON THE ROAD. 403 
 
 common robber. He is strong, active, and bold, so that there is positive danger 
 in the enterprise. You will not find me shrink from being foremost in that dan- 
 ger, and all X have to say to you is, keep together, and don't do anything without 
 my orders. He has a companion with him, but it is only himself that we must 
 look sharp to- Now, come on." 
 
 The soldiers listened to this address with all the coolness in the world, but the 
 two members of the police looked a little fidgetty about it. There was no such 
 thing, however, as their backing out of the transaction, so off they all went down 
 the road, fully expecting to be in for a very tolerable row. The parson had no 
 doubt but that Duval would, after making a sufficient detour to avoid the " Stag/' 
 take to the road again, and it was upon the road that he proposed attacking him, and 
 certainly he had very long odds indeed in his favour upon the occasion. He cal- 
 culated, too, upon Claude's horse, and that of his companion, being by that time 
 knocked up, but, as we happen to know, this was an erronous idea, for the cattle had 
 had a good rest. Leaving, then, the reverend fox and man hunter to pursue his 
 vocation, we return to Claude and Jack, who never at any period of their journey 
 from London thought themselves so safe as they did now, when, in reality, 
 they were environed by the greatest dangers, 
 
 " Heavy riding!thi6. Jack," said Claude. 
 
 *♦ It is, indeed." 
 
 "Where are we now, Jack? Do you think we are past the inn now? If we 
 are, we may as well turn round and get into the high road again." 
 
 •* I think we may turn round, Claude. Suppose we do so— Oh, all's right. We 
 are on the high road again. How is this 2 What a sudden turn we must have 
 made. How can this be 1" 
 
 " Is it the high road ?" 
 
 " Stop — no, Claude. It is a cross road. I thought, surely, such a circuit could 
 iiot have been made so suddenly ; but if we push on we shall do well now, for this 
 is, like most of the roads in Hampshire, a good one. I think, as near as I can 
 calculate, that we are a mile down the road." 
 
 " And so. Jack, we bid adieu to the dragoons, for which'I am not at all sorry." 
 
 "Nor I, Claude. Somehow or another, we can manage to outwit the police, 
 but dragoons, with all their stupidity, have a rough and ready mode of operation 
 that won't suit us." 
 
 "Not at all. Where are we?" 
 
 " I know now. Look at that group of old firs. There is an avenue close to 
 them, that leads to the oldest inn in the country. Now, I should seriously ad- 
 vise, Claude, that we go there until the dragoons have passed on, for it is far 
 better for them to be before us than behind us, and we are not particularly pinched 
 for time." 
 
 *' Well, Jack, be it so. Our cattle have had a good ten or twelve miles round, 
 and a bait will not hurt them a bit. Let us go to yon inn at once, Jack, Is it 
 a nice place?" 
 
 " I only dimly recollect it," said Jack. " What is the time, Claude ? Can you 
 see your watch ?" 
 
 " Yes, Jack ; it is half-past three.'' 
 
 '* And the rain coming on again. The sooner, Claude, we are housed the 
 
 better," 
 
 CHAPTER XCIX. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS. 
 
 We must leave Claude and Jack for a while, in order to introduce to the reader 
 some characters in this veritable history, which he will probably think as mysteri- 
 ous as any that the pages of romance, instinct of those of reality, can present him 
 with. About three hours before Claude and Jack reached the clump of fir trees,
 
 404 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 close to which was the avenue -which Jack said led to the old inn, there came three 
 horsemen from Winchester, and halted about that spot. One of these horsemen 
 was a tall stout man. The other two were slim-looking youths, amply protected 
 from the weather by travelling cloaks and caps, the lappets of which met under 
 their chins. The horses they rode were fresh, active looking animals, and when 
 they halted, the taller of the three said — 
 
 *' Tell me truly, do you think it policy to go any further on the road ?*' 
 « God help me, I do not know," said one of the younger men. 
 "What do you think V said the tall one again, turning to the other. 
 *' It is scarcely to be advised," was the reply ; *' we run the risk of those whom 
 we wish to meet taking some cross road." 
 
 *' Most certainly we do. Come, what do you say to that?" This was to the 
 other. 
 
 " I say again, God help me, for I am nearly distracted by a thousand appre- 
 hensions, and — and— and " 
 
 "And what? Speak!'* 
 '* I am very — very ill." 
 
 '* Gracious Hes/en ! why did you not say so before ? I feared this enterprise 
 would be too much for you. Julian ; but now, all other considerations must be given 
 up to the one of providing for you some place of rest." 
 
 " Yes," said he who was addressed as Julian, " rest is all I want. A few hours' 
 repose will restore me again. Heaven knows I thought 1 could have held out 
 against this, and much more than this, but, dear friends, I have much overrated 
 my strength." 
 
 '< As I feared— as I feared," said his elder companion. " And here we are, I 
 don't know really how far off any house of entertainment. Charles, what shall 
 we do ?" ... 
 
 **Hark! some one is coming this way. Ask if there is an inn hereabeuteJ 
 Julian will soon recover with rest, and then we will get back to Winchester, 
 Remember, dear Julian, that no one but yourself and I, and our dear friend here, 
 are suffering anxiety upon your account just now, since this enterprise is a secret 
 kept with uncommon strictness to ourselves." 
 '' Yes, Charles, yes." 
 
 A man came on past the clump of firs, and the elder of the three travellers 
 called to him, saying — 
 
 *' Is there any inn or public-house hereabouts ?" 
 
 *' Oh yes, sir; only just down the avenue, you will find the 'Vine,' as good an 
 old-fashioned place as the country can boast of, though I say it ; and Jem 
 Bowle;y, the landlord, is as good and liberal a fellow as any in Hants, though I 
 say that too." 
 
 *'What should hinder you saying, my friend, if the inn be good, and the 
 landlord liberal? You have a right to give both the fair character that is 
 their due." 
 
 «' Why, sir, to tell the truth, you see, I— I— am Jem Bowley." 
 "Oh,' indeed! that alters the matter rather. Perhaps you will show us the 
 way, for one of my young friends here is not very well, and we are rather desirous 
 of a shelter for the ramainder of the night. We have just taken a little canter 
 from Winchester." 
 
 *' You'll easily find the way, gentlemen. It's straight on. I shall be after you 
 in a jiffy. I am only going to set some — some — ahem ! — eel lines." 
 " Or snares ?" 
 
 " Lor', sir, don't think me capable of such a thing. You see, sir, the Itchen 
 sends one of its little streams into the valley, and it's famous for s ilver eels — that's 
 all, I assure you, sir — as sure as my name's Jem Bowley." 
 " Is not this an odd time to set eel lines ?" 
 
 " Not near so odd, sir, as to canter from Winchester with a young lad who is 
 not well, though I say it ; but no offence, sir. There's always spmebody up all 
 night at the ' Vme,' for you see it's an old post-house, and has been for a hundred
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 405 
 
 years and more, and though we are off the road a little, we don't know a minute 
 when some one may come up calling, 'Horses ! horses !' But you go on, gentle- 
 men, I'll be after you in a crack." 
 
 The three horsemen proceeded down the avenue, and the elder said, tenderly — 
 
 '* How are you now, Julian ?" 
 
 '* Better, better; it is only fatigue. I begin to think this expedition Avas a 
 little ill-advised, and yet, if I had not undertaken it, anxiety would have 
 killed me." 
 
 ♦*I'm afraid it would." 
 
 " I am sure of it, Charles. How well you keep up.*' 
 
 ''Yes," said the other youth, *' I feel as though I could go through anything 
 now, but yet, probably, should find a rest quite as beneficial to me as to you." 
 
 **No doubt," said the tall man, "no doubt. Ah, there are the lights of the 
 inn. What an immense old straggling pile of building it looks, to be sure." 
 
 '* It does, indeed," said Charles. 
 
 "Do you J5ee it, Julian ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, yes, my dear friends, do not suppose me to be very bad. I feel con- 
 vinced that I shall soon, very soon recover. Do all those windows belong to one 
 building?" 
 
 ** Yes, so it appears. Now leave all to me, and I will wait below while'you two 
 go to a chamber and rest yourselves for two or three hours. Indeed, I don't 
 myself see why you should not regularly turn in until the morning. It will be 
 the very best thing for both of you." 
 
 '*But will yau promise," said Julian, " that if you hear any news you will at 
 once awaken us, should we be sleeping, and let us know iti" 
 
 *' Oh ! yes, yes." 
 
 "Upon that condition then, Charles, we will retire, shall we, if we can find 
 suitable accomodation. What say you, dear friend ?" 
 
 ♦* I am only anxious to consult your convenience, Julian." 
 
 "How well," said the tall stranger, in a lower tone. *'you both keep up your 
 assumed names. I have not heard either of you trip in pronouncing them for a 
 moment." 
 
 "Why should we?" 
 
 " Nay, such a matter is more troublesome than it appears ; but I'm convinced, 
 that our deterniination and agreement to keep up this incognito, even in our 
 converse with each other, i? a wise thing. It not only accustoms us fully to it, 
 but puts an end to the possibility of any listener betraying us." 
 
 " It does ; it does. But here we are at the inn door. Recollect that, cousin 
 Black ; shall we alight at once ?" 
 
 " Yes, Julian ; yes. Alight, both of you, and follow me into the house as 
 carelessly as possible, and I will ask for a private room, and a bottle of wine. 
 You can order cigars, Charles." 
 
 " Yes, yes. I will." 
 
 The sound of the horses' feet by this time brought out the ostler of the 
 *• Vine," and the party having rapidly dismounted, he took charge of the animals, 
 saying— 
 
 " Shall I put them up, gentlemen ?" 
 
 "Yes," said the tall stranger; "is any one up in the inn to let us have a 
 private room?" 
 
 '• Oh, yes, sir. Two of the women folk take it by turns to sit up night and 
 day alternate, you see, gentlemen ; so you see one of 'em is always forward-like, 
 you understand, gentlemen. You'll find her in the bar if you'll walk in. Master's 
 up, and about somewheres, too, I think — ahem — " 
 
 It was quite clear there was some mystery about the landlord's proceedings, 
 which the ostler knew perfectly well, and was keeping down the utterance by a 
 cough or two, but the three strangers had plenty of mysteries and an'xieties of 
 their own to occupy their attention, without troubling their minds at all about 
 those belonging to other people. In the bar, half dozing over a good fire, was a
 
 I" --— ^ •r i T'^" ' " ' n«Tr- < > « i i nimwurnwn- i i i »inr t ir™nTn iiii n iii i n i n n ■ i « ■ ■ ■ ii . » 11111111 1 1 w i nm n 1 u t ii\ m mmmmmmmmtmmm 
 
 406 r GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 young buxom -looking wench, who started up at the approach of the travellers, and 
 said — 
 
 " Beds or horses ?" 
 
 *' Beds," said Mr. Black ; " beds, if you please, or rather one room will do for 
 these two young gentlemen, and I will sit up by a fire if you can let me have one 
 in a private room." 
 
 " Yes, certainly, sir. This way— the fires are all laid, and I can set light to one 
 in a momeiit." 
 
 " We shall want a bottle of your best port." 
 
 " And cigars," said Charles. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, if you please. This way, it's only on the first fleght. 
 Rather a damp night, sir." 
 
 **Very." 
 
 The girl led them to a comfortable sitting-room, adjoining to which was a large 
 double-bedded chamber, which she offered them the option of having, and which 
 they immediately accepted, so the fire in each room was set light to, and a cheerful 
 blaze soon irradiated both apartmeats. The two young men busied themselves 
 in looking on the panels upon the walls, until the girl left the room for the wine 
 and cigars, and the tall stranger said— 
 
 ** Let me advise you both now to go and lie down at once, I will bring you a 
 couple of glasses of wine each, and then no doubt you will have some comfortable 
 sleep." 
 
 *' And you ?" said Charles. 
 
 *' Oh, never mind me, I will just nod over the fire in this easy chair, and keep 
 watch and ward over you two, and let me implore you both to hope and expect the 
 best." 
 
 " We will— we will," said Julian, 
 
 ♦*Hush! here is the girl. Go into the bedroom, both of you at once, it Will 
 be better. Leave me alone to make any necessary remarks, for she seems rather 
 talkative." 
 
 Both Julian and Charles went into the adjoining bedroom, when Charles com- 
 menced whistling some careless tune, while the girl placed the wine and cigars 
 upon the table, remarking, as she did so — 
 
 " I have brought some biscuits, though they were not ordered." 
 
 *' Which is very thoughtful of you,'* said Mr. Black ; " but it Is nothing more 
 than one might fully have expected from such a pretty girl." 
 
 «* Sir-~-sir." 
 
 " Indeed it's a fact; but I suppose you have been told that by every gentleman 
 with an eye in his head ?' 
 
 ** Dear me— no, sir," said the girl, quite delighted. " What a fanny gentleman 
 you are, to be sure." 
 
 She left the room, impressed with a high opinion, at all events, of the taste of 
 the traveller, which, somehow or another, was in remarkable coincidence with her 
 own. When she was gone, he called to his young friends — 
 
 *' Julian ! Julian! -Charles I" 
 
 *' Yes, cousin Black — yes." 
 
 *' Come for your wine ; she has gone. Don't you hear the wind howling down 
 the chimneys ? Upon my werd I think you are both of you well housed. Come, 
 forget your sorrows and anxieties for a while, and endeavour not only to hope and 
 expect the best, but to believe in it as well. Don't you know the old piece of 
 philosophy, that by insisting upon believing in what we wish, if even what we do 
 not wish ultimately happens, we have already cheated it of half its disagree- 
 ables." 
 
 ** Yes, yes ; but " 
 
 ** Come, come, we will have no exceptions ; drink." 
 
 They drank one glass of wine each, and then Julian took from his breast a small 
 pair of pistols, saying-— 
 
 *' Shall I leave these here, cousin Black ?"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 407 
 
 " No, Julian ; keep your arms always with you ; and you, Charles, likewise, for 
 I see that your hand is upon your pistols. Look yourselves to the priming before 
 you lie down, and ram down the charge again, which, as I told you, is apt to 
 loosen. Now good night to you both, and remember that I am here, and that you 
 both rest in the most perfect security." 
 " Yes, yes. God bless you." 
 
 They would only take one glass each of the wine, and then, taking one of the 
 candles which had been left upon the table, they retired into the bedroom, and 
 closed the door of communication between it and the sitting apartment in which 
 was their cousin Black. He drew an easy chair close to the fire, and then, after 
 partakmg of a couple of glasses of wine and lighting a cigar, he gave himself up 
 to thought, and remained gazing in the fire, which sparkled and crackled gloriously 
 before his eyes. God knows what thoughts passed through that man's mind then, 
 but that some of them were most agonizingly painful might be imagined by the 
 deep-drawn sighs that occasionally came from his lips. Throwing down his cigar, 
 he abruptly rose, and was about to pace the room, but, suddenly recollecting him- 
 self, he sat down noiselessly again, saying— 
 
 '* No, no, I shall distuib them, and they really want repose.*' 
 
 He then sat and listened, becoming keenly and nervously sensible of the minutest 
 noises, a condition of mind which all who have experienced it will acknowledge to 
 be of the most uncomfortable character ; but there were many circumstances con- 
 spiring to produce it in this melancholy looking, and yet strikingly handsome 
 stranger, who thus most mysteriously played the part of guardian and sentinel to 
 the two slumbering youths in the adjoining chamber. 
 
 *• Alas ! alas !*' he said, " how strange is my destiny, and how strange is the 
 destiny of those whom I lore best upon earth. Who, to have looked upon me, 
 and known my position, one short year since, would believe it possible that I am 
 situated as I am now ! — Well, well, we must do as Providence wishes we should, 
 and I believe that there may be much happiness yet. Life is like a children's 
 game at see-saw — when we are most down we look for a change which 
 shall raise us, perchance, higher than we have ever soared." 
 
 He was silent for a few moments, and then he said — 
 
 *' Hope— Hope ! yes, 
 
 ' Hope smiles, and waves her golden hair.' 
 
 I will not despond, no — no — no ! I will meet, as becomes a man, the fiend des- 
 pair, and, despite its grisly looks, I will engage with the monster hand t j hand. 
 But despair always flies from a fair stand-up fight ! Ah, what noise is that ? 
 — More visitors here at such an hour? — That is strange — yet— no — why should it 
 be — any one might say the same of us !" 
 
 He still listened more intently. Then suddenly reseating hirasslf in the chair 
 from which he had abruptly risen, he said— 
 
 h* Why should 1 interest myself about what cannot concern me ? Some chance 
 travellers have come here, that is all. It is true that we are not what we seem ; 
 but it is not guilt that has lent to us disguise. Oh, no — no !" 
 
 He heard a confused sound of voices outside the inn, among which he recog- 
 nised the otler's as having a peculiar twang with it, and then footsteps ascended 
 the stairs. 
 
 " This way, sir," said the girl, *' this way— not that door, those rooms are occu- 
 pied." 
 
 Another door he heard opened upon the same landing, and some new guest, who 
 trod heavily upon the floor, was ushered into a private room in the *' Vine," bythe 
 same young woman who had done the honours to the mysterious strangers.
 
 408 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER C. 
 
 MORE ARRIVALS. 
 
 Ihe house was soon again wrapped in the most profound repose, and the tall 
 stranger by the fire, as he continued gaping at) the embers, felt a drwosy influence 
 stealing over him, which he in vain combated with. It was useless for him to^ 
 start and change his position. Nature would exert her supremacy— sleep he 
 must, and after maintaining a kind of contest for a time with the drowsy feeling, 
 he fairly dropped off into a slumber haunted by painful images. No doubt the 
 restrained position in which he sat in the miscalled eas chair, undeniably tended 
 to produce uneasy dreams, but judging from the starting and moaning, combined 
 w th the utterance of various inarticulate words that characterised his slumbers, it 
 was evident that they were not of a refreshing character. How long he slept 
 he knew not, but he was suddenly aroused by a loud voice, calling—** House ! 
 house ! house ! Is' any one up here P" The stranger started to his feet— 
 
 « What is that ?" he said, « what is that ?" 
 
 It would seem that at the same moment the two mysterious young men in the 
 adjoining chamber, were startled from their repose, for he who was named Julian 
 opened the door of communication that was between the two rooms, and looking 
 in, said — 
 
 " Is there anything amiss— what has happened ?" 
 
 '' Nothing, nothing, Julian— you are so fearful. Remember that we are off the 
 high road, and that it is not at all likely that we should here encounter whom we 
 seek. Gotorestagain/Julian— you mayyet, for all we know to the contrary, 
 require all our strength and all our courage to meet some emergency." 
 
 *' Yes, yes. Oh, I have had fearful dreams ; and during a short hour of repose 
 I have lived an age of agony." 
 
 " Calm A'ourself— calm yourself." 
 
 "Speak to the roaring sea to calm itself," said Julian, tottering into the room, 
 and half falling into a chair, *' It were as easy as to tell my heart to still its 
 tumults. Hush I hush!" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " They are speaking. Let us hear. Hush V ' 
 
 *' Betsy 1" said a voice. It was that of the laudlord. " Betsy, who is in the 
 inn besides a gentleman and two youths, that I sent on ? Here's some soldiers 
 and police, and heaven knows what besides, asking if we have got Claude Duval, 
 the notorious highwayman, in the place." 
 
 " Mercy ! mercy !" cried Julian. «« Heaven have mercy !* 
 
 The reply of the girl from the house came indistinctly upon their ears, but be- 
 fore either of them had time to make a remark, the door of the room was opened, 
 and a man entered, saying as he did so — 
 
 *' If there be no one here who wants blood upon his soul, allow me to hide for 
 ten minutes in these rooms. You will not find me ungrateful." 
 
 '• Claude !" shrieked Julian, springing to his feet. 
 
 ** Claude ! " cried the tall stranger. " Good God !" " '^T^^^^ 
 
 Claude Duval, for it was indeed he, looked astonished for a moment. He fixed 
 his eyes upon the tall stranger, and exclauned — 
 
 •' Markham Brereton ! is this, indeed, you ?" 
 
 Before Markham— for Markham it really was— could reply to him, Julian 
 sprang forward, and flinging his arms round Claude's neck, cried— 
 
 •' Ah, do you not know your own Cicely?" 
 
 " Good God ! is tWs possible ? How— what— why Tell me, am I asleep 
 
 or awake 1'' 
 
 '* All is easily explained," said Markham Brereton. " The anxieties of Cicely 
 and May would, I do believe, have gone far to drive them distracted, had I not
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 409 
 
 accompanied them upon the road with the hope of meeting you, and the chance of 
 assisting you. We went right on to Winchester, and having thoroughly ascer- 
 tained that you had not reached so far, we] came back upon the London road, 
 when, overcome by fatigue, I brought them here for a few hours' rest,*' 
 
 " Then, where is May ?'* 
 
 *' Sleeping in the next chamber.* 
 
 A SKIRMISH AT THE "VINE INN. 
 
 " I see it all. Cheer Up, toy Cicely, che^i* up. Nay, do not weep thus. Are 
 
 you not with me? Come, come, this convulsion of tears will make you ill. Do 
 you not hear my voice 1" ' 
 
 " Claude. Claude, they will kill you." 
 
 "Remember your enemies if you forget your friends," said Markham. "I 
 
 will go and listen at the stairhead." * 
 
 N^ 52.
 
 410 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *• Thanks," said Claude, *' I hope to deceive them yet. Jack has, no doabt» 
 taken care of himself somewhere belqve, and I have opened the window of my 
 room and hung a sheet out of it, one end of which I have tied to the bed-post to 
 induce the idea that I have escaped by such means, so that if I can get a temporary 
 asylum here, all will be well." 
 
 * Yes, Claude, yes,'' said Ciceiy, ** all shall be well. Oh, yes, yes." 
 * ' You had better awake May." 
 "J will -I will." 
 
 *'Hush! hush! Do not speak so loud," said Markham Brer eton, returning. 
 "Do not speak so loud, whatever you do. They are in the hJaSfe tiowi and a 
 long consultation is taking place below .' 
 
 *• What force is there ?" said Claude. 
 
 •* That I cannot ascertain, but there are soldiers." 
 
 Cicely at this moment returned with May, who threw her ttrins round her 
 brother's neck, and burst into tears as she exclaimed — ' 
 
 • *' 01 , Cflaude, they shall not kill you ! They shall kill m6 ! They may have 
 a life, but it must not, shall not be yours ! Cicely, Cicely, he shall be saved— 
 must be saved 1" 
 
 *' You will destroy all," said Clause, " by this vehemence. You will destroy 
 all,*' 
 
 "Hush! oh, hush!" said Markham Brereton. Hush, they cotne. Go into 
 the next room, all of you, and leave me to do what I cati. Haste! haste! I can 
 hear footsteps even now bpon the stairs. There is not a moment to be lost. Qb, 
 Claude, go. — Go at once, aind do not let a whisper betray you." 
 
 Claude, Ciceiy, and May at once went into the chamber, arid Markham Brere- 
 ton again placed himself in the chair before the fire, and restored tlie appearance 
 of undisturbed quiet to the place. He gazed at the fire like a inan half-sleeping 
 —but, oh, what a world of painful thoughts was busy about his heart at that tiflhe, 
 when he looked so calm and quiescent. Who would judge those, who, itt this 
 world look so calm and still, what torrents of hidden passions may still be it 
 the bottom of their hearts. A life of ordinary anxieties could not make up the 
 sum of five minutes of such mental apprehensions for those he loved, as now filled 
 the soul of Markham Brereton, The lagging minutes scertied lengthened into 
 hours, and if an hour had really elapsed , such an extent of agony must hate left 
 its traces for ertr upon his brow. On — on came the footstep, and there was a 
 tap at the door of the room. Markhanii Brereton made no answer. Tap! tap! 
 it came again. Still he was silent. The door was slowly and cautiously opened, 
 and a crowd of persons appeared upon the threshold, some of whom bore lights, 
 while arms glistened in the hands of the foremost of the group. Markham 
 pretended to be in a sound sleep. The magistrate who was so very anxious for 
 the capture of Claude Duval, when he saw that there was no immediate percep- 
 tible danger, walked into the room, and laid his hand upon Brereton's shoulder. 
 
 "Sir? sir?" he said, "sir?" 
 
 "Eh? What is it?" cried Markham, risbg suddenly. « What is the 
 matter ?'• 
 
 ** We beg pardon for intruding upon you, gir, as these are your private rooms, 
 but we are in search of the notorious Claude Duval,* 
 
 *'0f who?" said Markham, rubbing his eyes. 
 
 " Claude Duval, the notorious highwayman. By mere accident, after failing 
 to meet him as we expected upon the road, we have ascertained that he came here 
 with a companion." 
 
 '* Well, sir, are you satisfied that I am not the party whom you seek ?" 
 
 ** Quite so, sir, only I mention so much to account for this intrusion. We in- 
 tend to search every nook and cranny of the old inn, if it should take us twelve 
 hours to do so, for although there is a semblance of his escape, we are satisfied 
 he is still concealed somewhere upon the premises. We trust, therefore, that you 
 will excuse this intrusion, particularly as yoar companions are, as I understand, 
 young gentlemen."
 
 LIPE ON THE ROAD. 411 
 
 " Yes, but they are asleep, and 1 should, having the care of them, be loath to 
 have them awakened. I have been here some hours, and the rooms were most 
 decidedly vacant vhen we took possession.'* 
 
 " Nevertheless, sir, you will excuse me for saying that I shall not feel satisfied 
 unless I search the place well, and as a magistrate of the county, you will con- 
 clude that I have sufficient authority to do so. I am quite sure, sir, from your 
 appearance, that you would rather assist, than obstruct the authorities in the dis- 
 charge of an arduous and, after all, thankless duty." 
 
 *' Certainly, certainly," replied Markham Brereton ; " if you must search the 
 place, I should regret indeed to place any difficulty in the way." 
 
 He spoke these words very loudly ; for although he could hardly doubt but that 
 all that passed was overheard by Claude, Cicely, and May, yet he wished to be 
 quite certain that they should be made aware of what was proposed. 
 
 "Murder ! murder ! help !" cried a voice from the passage of the inn at this 
 moment. " Here he is ! here he is !" 
 
 Bang went a pistol shot. 
 
 ** The devil he is !" said the parson, as he rushed towards the staircase. *' Come 
 on, all of you. No — not all. One of you stay here and keep a good look-out, I 
 have my suspicions." 
 
 One of the officers staid above in the corridor, while the others all followed the 
 reverend gentleman down the stairs, whence the noise had proceeded. They found 
 the maid, Betsy, lying in a fainting fit in the Hall, while an officer, who had 
 been left below, was standing with his recently discharged pistol in hi» hand 
 looking rather confused, and spitting blood from his mouth, which appeared to be 
 somewhat damaged." 
 
 ** What's the matter — what's the matter 2" 
 
 *' I hardly know," said the officer. But somebody, deucedly like a gentleman's 
 servant, came up to the door and wanted to come in, and when I said no, he gave 
 me a tap on the mouth that I think has loosened all my teeth ; I fired after him, 
 and the girl called * Murder!' and then got up a faint.'' 
 
 *' Which way did he go V* 
 
 ** Through the house somewhere — I missed him." 
 
 " Then two or three of you must keep watch here, for that man is no other than 
 the confederate of him we seek, and whom 1 declare to you all is Claude Duval, 
 the famous robber." 
 
 Some of those whom the parson had with him looked rather pale, but they had 
 gone too far to back out of the enterprise now, and they could only devoutly wish 
 that they had never undertaken if. To the t?^o dragoons the information was 
 welcome enough, inasmuch as it promised them better sport than they had 
 anticipated. 
 
 *' He fights, don't he ?" said one. 
 
 *< So I have heard," said the other. 
 
 " Come up again/' said the magistrate. '* Come up again, I have my suspicions, 
 and no one can escape below, for the place is well guarded. Come on ! come on." 
 
 He had his foot upon the first stair, when a shriek was heard from above, and 
 over the balustrade down came the officer who had been left there on guard. 
 
 '• Below there !" said a deep-toned voice, and then all was still. The man lay 
 insensible in the passage ; for the height from which he had fallen was really 
 something very considerable, and probably, before being pitched over, he had 
 received some injuries. The party below looked panic-stricken fpr a time, and 
 even the parson magistrate looked rather flushed in the face for a moment, and 
 then rather pale. The dragoons began to feel interested in the affair, since it was 
 growing a little serious, but they waited as calmly for orders as though nothing 
 was the matter. The civil force evidently hung back. 
 
 " Come on," cried the parson, summoning all the resolution he could. " Come 
 on — I feel quite confident that those we seek are above stairs somewhere, but 
 whether that gentleman whom I spoke to is with us or against us I can't exactly
 
 ^^tttmOmm IT n 1 
 
 412 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 take upon myself to say. Come on — come on ! We will not be deterred hy a 
 little danger. Now for it." 
 
 ** Hold !" said a voice from above. 
 
 '* Surrender !" shouted the parson. " Surrender, and save your lives. We are 
 in force here, and we are determined to vindicate the law. You are summoned in 
 the king's name, whoever you are, to come down and give yourself up. We only 
 allow you two minutes, and at the expiration of that time, if anything happens, 
 the consequences are upon your own head." 
 
 *' Let's push on at once," said one of the dragoons. 
 
 <* No— no," said the parson, *' let's hear what the rascal has to say." 
 
 " If you are in force, sufficient to do so," said the voice from above, " come and 
 take me. I swear that I will serve every man of you as I have just served your 
 comrade." 
 
 " Come— come, submit to the laws." 
 
 There was a death-like stillness of some few moments* duration, and then a 
 strange dragging sort of noise was heard above, which for a few moments puzzled 
 those who listened to it, but at length one of the officers said^ — 
 
 •* Oh, they are barricading themselves up with the furniture." 
 
 A pistol shot at this moment sounded sharply, as from the back of the house, 
 and one of the dragoons immediately said — 
 
 '* There it is ; only two men were left under that window at the back, and no 
 doubt one of them has gone to the devil with a bullet in his brains, and your men 
 will escape that way." 
 
 <' Oh, no, no," said the parson. " You two keep guard here, and I and my 
 civilians will run round." 
 
 The two soldiers guarded the staircase while the parson magistrate went with 
 his men to the back of the house, where he had posted two officers at the only 
 window from which the yard could be reached. What had taken place there, 
 deserves a word, for by it we shall learn some news of Sixteen-string Jack, who 
 hitherto has not made a very conspicuous figure in this most fearfully complicated 
 affray." .;.„...^*. .^.1.:.* 
 
 CHAPTER XCIX. 
 
 A CATASTROPHE. 
 
 The fact was, that Jack was in the lower part of the inn, keeping a sort of 
 watch and ward over Claude's safety, when the magistrate and his party arrived. 
 B'romthat moment. Jack's grand object was to combine his strength with Claude's ; 
 and as getting up the staircase, guarded as it was, was out of the question, he had 
 made the rush into the stable yard at the beck, which we have mentioned, fol- 
 iowed by a pistol shot from one of the officers. Jack was not at all aware that the 
 magistrate had had the prudence to plant a couple of men there, and he came 
 upon them quite at unawares. His presence of mind, and that alone could save 
 him, did not forsake him in this awkward and most critical juncture. 
 
 " Is all right ?'' he said. " Have you seen anything ?" 
 
 " No — no. — Who sent you 1" 
 
 " My master, the magistrate, to be sure." 
 
 *' Oh, very well. Go and say to him that for some reason or another they have 
 just hung a sheet out o* window.* 
 
 " A sheet ?" 
 
 " Yes, don't you see it haflging there. You may depend it's to make believe 
 that he has made his escape that way, and if we had not been here to see, any one 
 might very well have believed it, but no one has passed us, so he must be hiding 
 alone still."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 413 
 
 *' Then he's booked, but the best plan would be for us to climb in by the sheet 
 while the others push on up the stairs. Don't you see how easy it would be t o 
 lay hold of it by clambering into that alder, the first ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and what sort of reception do you think you'd get from Claade Duval, 
 when you got up ?" 
 
 " Ke could only show fight. Come, get up." 
 
 " I tell you what it is. Master Groom, If you are so mighty fond of hazarding 
 other folk's lives, perhaps you don't mind running a little risk with your own V 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 "Then just go up by the alder tree and the sheet yourself. Ha ! ha .' 
 The devil ! You don't mean to say you really will V* ,^.,^^ 
 
 " Indeed I do." 
 
 " Then you are a clever fellow — I vv ish you luck." 
 
 Jack, whose only object was to effect a coalition with Claude, was quite de- 
 lighted at this opportunity of doing so, and soon reached in safety the room which 
 Claude had so recently occupied. He passed timidly through, calling gently upon 
 Claude as he did so ; and then, upon emerging into the corridor, the officer who 
 had been placed there pounced upon him, saying— 
 
 " You are my prisoner !" 
 
 '' Indeed !— for what ?" 
 
 **' Never you mind about that." 
 
 " Yes, but I do," said Jack; and feeling the importance of getting rid of this 
 man, he called to his aid all his ancient skill and much of his ancient strength, 
 and succeeded after a brief struggle in tumbling him over the balustrade of the 
 staircase. 
 
 Claude and Markham Brereton heard the tumult, and just pee ed out to see its 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Jack, Jack," said Claude. 
 
 "Yes. Oh, yes. Thank God I have found you !*' 
 
 *' Hush! speak in whispers. Are they in much force below?" ;'. 
 
 " Nothing to speak of, except the two dragoons.'* ." ".' ■ \ 
 
 " Humph ! — what part does the innkeeper and his family take ?" 
 
 "I hardly know, but it's against us, I think. Good God, Mr. Brereton, ow 
 came you here ?" 
 
 " Never mind. Jack. Cicely and May are here likewise, and we are all armed, 
 and resolved to make a good fight of it. What shall we do now 1" 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said Jack, ''there's no means of getting here con- 
 veniently but by the one window in which I came, and up these stairs. No 
 one will have the courage to attempt the window, and all we have to do is to 
 defend the stairs. Is there any tolerably heavy and at the same time portable 
 article in the room ?" 
 
 "Yes, an old cheffionier.** 
 
 "Then let's pull it out to the top of the staircase. It will be as good as two 
 more men to us, for we can use it as a barricade as long as we like, and send it 
 down upon our foes when we see occasion.'' 
 
 It was the moving along of the heavy cheffionier to the head of the stairs that 
 had made the strange noise heard below by the officers. The parson had run 
 round to the yard to see what had happened there, for Claude had slipped into his 
 bed-room,' and fired a pistol at the two sentinels, to alarm them. When the 
 magistrate reached the yard, one of the officers said — 
 
 '\0h, sir. Your groom is, we fear, murdered. He would climb in at the 
 window, though wc said all we could to prevent him from hazardiag his life in 
 such a way. Somebody has just now fired at us, and no doubt he is killed." 
 
 *' My groom ! — what groom 1" , 
 
 " Your groom, sir, that you sent to know how we were going on ; a tall man in 
 brown livery." 
 
 " Why, that's no groom of mine, but a confederate of Duval's. Could anything 
 be ?o stupid. Dear me, what mischief you have done. Why the fellow was fired
 
 414 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 after as he went through the passage, and if you had caught him, one half of the 
 affair would have been over." 
 
 The two officers looked uncommonly blank. 
 
 "Well," »dded the parson, who did not, by any means wish to dispirit his 
 force, " it can't be helped now. I think it is highly probable they may yet make 
 an effort to escape this way, so two of you are not enough/* 
 
 •• Oh dear, no, sir." 
 
 " Four will be, surely ; and especially as you need not be at all nice about 
 using your pistols, for remember this highwayman is to be taken alive or dead." 
 
 *' Yes, sir." 
 
 Four officers, with loaded pistols in the'r hands, were accordingly left, while 
 the parson went back to the staircase-foot with the remainder of his men, and 
 there held a brief consultation, in which the dragoons were allowed to take part. 
 The advice of the soldiers was to go right on up the staircase, fighting and scram- 
 bling over every obstacle, and take their man, of which they did not entertain the 
 smallest doubt, and as they offered to lead the van, the officers loudly applauded 
 the plan. 
 
 " There is only one thing that puzzles nje," said the parson, " and that is the 
 conduct of the gentleman and the two youths who occupy rooms adjoining, or 
 rather across the corridor, from Claude Duval's ; they are remarkably quiet, and it 
 is from fear or collusion. I begin to have some suspicion that, after all, they may 
 be friends of Duval's, and if so, there are five against us above." 
 
 " I don't see what difference that makes," said one of the dragoons. " We have 
 got it to do, and we may as well do it, so come on. Here we are wasting no end 
 of time, and making the enemy believe we are afraid of him." 
 
 While this consultation is taking place below, we may as well take a brief 
 glance at what was passing above. When the large cheffionier was moved to the 
 head oi the stairs, the position of Claude and his party was entirely so far improved, 
 and with Cicely clinging to him, and looking with fearful earnestness in his face, 
 while May sat almost fainting upon a chair near the door of the chamber, and 
 Jack and Markham Brereton looked, with their pistols in their hands, like men 
 resolved to conquer or die, the group presented a very picturesque appearance. 
 
 *• Escape ! escape ! escape!" was all that Cicely could say, 
 
 *' Hush! hush! It is not possible." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Claude ; the front of the house may not be guarded.'" 
 
 *' Ah," said Brereton, " that may be a good thought, although a random one. 
 I will go and reconnoitre that part of the premises at once.'* 
 
 Now the sitting-room and bed-room to which Markham Brereton and the two 
 supposed youths, Julian and his young companion, had been shown, were both 
 in front of the inn, while Claude's chamber being across the corridor, had a win- 
 dow, as we are aware, looking into the back yard. But, somehow, people don't 
 so readily think of getting out at a front window as a back one, and the parson, 
 although upon first entering the house he had placed a sentinel at the front door, 
 had been careless of keeping him there, and the consequence was, that the 
 front of the inn was unguarded. Still, it vvas not an easy descent, for except a 
 projecting piece of half-worn iron, from which the sign was suspended, there was 
 little or nothing to hold by. Nevertheless Brereton, as be looked, began tQ think 
 that Claude might escape that way, along with Jack ; and as for him and Cicely 
 and May, they had done nothing, and the officers could have no hold upon them, 
 and no right to detain them, even if by any acccident they should discover who 
 they were. He returned and whispered anxiously to Claude. 
 
 " Try the front window, while we keep the police in check.* 
 
 « But Cicely and May V* 
 
 <* You can leave them to me, can you not V* 
 
 "Yes; and yet " 
 
 " And yet, now that you have joined company with them, you are loth to 
 leave them.* 
 
 " I am ; besides, how could we get our horses ? That is to my mind a fatal
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 415 
 
 objection to the plan. To attempt to go further with any regard to safety upon 
 foot, would be sheer madness, and yet, if we could but get out of this scrape, it 
 would be a glorious thing." 
 ''What's that r 
 
 A few grains of gravel had been flung from witheut by some one against the 
 window panes, and upon Claude looking as carefully out as a little miserable oil 
 lamp, close to the sign, enabled him to do, he saw a man. making signs, to signify 
 that he should open the window and get out. This man had something in his 
 hands, which Claude could not make out. Fortunately the window was an old- 
 fashioned lattice one, and opened like a door, so that there was no chance of it 
 executing a scream when opened, as windows that slide up and down by the aid of 
 ropes and pallies not unfrequently have a knack of doing. Claude had it open 
 in a minute. 
 " Hist !" said a voice. 
 "Who are your 
 
 " The landlord. Get out of the way ; there you are ! Mind now, you had 
 that with you, and threw it out— not I threw it in— make the best of it. Your 
 horses are in charge of a boy at the milestone, about three hundred yards down 
 the road." 
 
 *• A thousand thanks." 
 
 "A thousand fiddlesticks; I know what's what. Don't swallow above one 
 half that you hear of anybody, and never suppose that I can be very friendly 
 with a preserve-keeping parsoh, v<^ho has had me twice in the Winchester gaol for 
 poaching." ^ 
 
 «• Oh, that's it?" 
 
 Yes, to be sure. Get out and be off as soon as you can; They will be upjthe 
 stairs directly." 
 
 <• I know— I know." ■' 
 
 Without closing the window, Claude properly secured the end of a stout rope- 
 ladder, that the landlord had cast up to him, so that there was an easy enough 
 mode of descent to an active man. He at once, in whispers, told them all what 
 ehances there were, and Brereton said nothing.** 
 
 ** Go, Claude. Go, for God's sake, at once. You and Jack go, and leave us 
 here." 
 
 *' If I thought you were safe—**' ■■"^' 
 
 *' What on earth can harm us, Claude, except your delay now ?— each moment 
 
 is precious. Oo, go at once, I implore you. Cicely, join your entreaties to mine, 
 
 and you too. May. You must all see that the oaly chance for Claude is instant 
 
 flight, by the means now so mercifully presented to him. Oh, go at once." 
 
 " Yes, Claude," said Cicely, ** my brother speaks truly. Go, and we shall be 
 safe. We will all meet to-murrovr, at sunset, in Winchester." 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " By the entrance to the [cathedral. God bless you, Claude, and as youlove 
 me, go at once." 
 
 *♦ Oh, yes— yes," said May ; *' go at once. Do go at 'onee, Claude, and 
 take your friend with , you. Remember that we shall be safe. Oh, yes-^yes. 
 Go— go at once." .-^ 
 
 '«Iwill." 
 
 *' Remember, at the gate of Winchester CathedralJto-morroMr evening, at 
 sunset." 
 ** Yes, yes. Come, Jack." 
 " I am ready — I am ready." 
 
 Markham Brereton held up his hand as a warning to them all, and then he 
 stepped lightly on towards the corridor. Claude could not leave at a, precise 
 moment of danger, and he followed Markham closely. They both paused close 
 to the cheffi jnier, and then they heard the magistrate say, in a voice^ that was 
 intended to be assuming, but which shook, in spite of all his resolution that it 
 should not shake —
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 *' Forward ! — forward ! Remember that your reward will be ample ; and that, 
 after all, all that you have to go against is a highwayman) who will soon surrender 
 before determined men." 
 
 The dragoons began marching up the stairs as if nothing particular was the 
 matter, and they were followed closely by the officers ; while, last of all, instead 
 of first, as he had all along pretended to be, came the parson. It was a critical 
 point that. 
 
 *' Claude !" said Jack. 
 
 *fYes, Jack." 
 
 *' Are your pistoh ready ?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 *' Then we will not and cannot allow ourselves to be taken in this way. The 
 blood of those who would take our lives be upon their own heads. I will fight to 
 the last, and I now feel justified." 
 
 CHAPTER XCV. 
 
 THE PIGHT. 
 
 Tramp — tramp — tramp— came the dragoons. Claude felt a touch upon his 
 arm, and turning he saw Cicely looking ghastly pale, but with a pistol fairly 
 clutched in her right hand. 
 
 " Back. Cicely, back." 
 
 *' No, Claude ; where you are there am I." 
 
 From the open room door, streaming from the candle that was upon the table, 
 there came a faint sort of misty light into the corridor. 
 
 " Surrender, or we fire !'* cried one of the dragoons, as they both by a turn 
 in the stairs came in sight [of the large cheffionier that was placed upon the top- 
 most step, just tottering, so that a slight push might send it down upon the heads 
 of the invaders. 
 
 "Retire/* said Claude, ''orwefire." 
 
 " Good ! Blaze away,'' said the soldier. 
 
 Bang-, bang, went the holster pistols, ard crash went the bullets into the 
 cheffionier. It was quite evident that under cover of this fire, the soldiers and 
 police expected to take the place and party by storm, but they were wofully 
 mistaken. They made the rush. *' Fire I" said Claude, and four pistol shots 
 went against them, while, before the echo of the discharge vas over, Claude gave 
 the cheffionier the necessary impulse, and over it went, sweeping all before it, 
 until it lodged in an awkward angle of the stairs, so firmly wedged in, that it 
 seemed as though nothing but hewing it to pieces would ever dislodge it. 
 
 *' Speak," said Claude ; *' are any of us hurt ?" 
 
 " No — no ;'' was the prompt rejoinder, and Claude drew a long breath of 
 exquisite gratification. But affairs were very different below. 
 
 A bullet had struck one of the dragoons in the face, and turning clean over upon 
 his heels he had fallen headlong down the stairs to the passage below. One of 
 the policemen was hit in the shoulder, and went down clutching the balustrades, 
 and yelling out that he was killed until, he fell upon the soldier. The cheffionier 
 swept the others before'jt like chaff before the wind, and they had some difficulty 
 to escape broken limbs. The parson was upset in the scuffle, and sent rolling into 
 the passage. 
 
 •* Hit, by God !" said the dragoon. 
 
 « Help— help ! Murder ! Oh— oh !" roared the wounded officer. *' Fetch all 
 the doctors. Oh — oh !" 
 
 "Come on, again!" cried the other dragoon, "follow me, and no flinching. 
 Keep the game going. Come on ! — what do you give it up ? Do you mean to
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 4,17 
 
 say that vou are beat already ? Well, have it your own way. It don't much 
 matter to me. If it's over, it's over. Landlord ! a glass of something hot and a 
 pipe. How do you find yourself, Bill V* 
 
 "Going.'* 
 
 ** You don't mean that?" [■ , . ,• 
 
 «a-I— do." . ' , 
 
 The dying soldier's face changed. The hue of death crept over if, and a 
 
 glazy film came over his eyes. He grasped at imaginary atoms floating in the 
 
 air, and then with a guttural groan he surrendered up his spirit to Him in who^^ 
 
 hands it might be refashioned into an angel or a demon. There was a death-like
 
 418 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 stillness for a few moments, and the parson having slovrly struggled to his feet, 
 looked wofuUy chagrined as he surveyed the wreck of his little party. The 
 wounded police-officer was still vociferous in his complaints, which so disgusted the 
 surviving dragoon, that he gave him a not very gentle pat upon the head with the 
 harrel of his pistol, saying — 
 
 '* Be quiet, will you ? There's a better man than you killed. It's like your 
 infernal impud ence to make a fuss about yourself. I never saw anybody so ugly 
 in all my life." j j oj 
 
 '* Oh, murder!'* 
 
 " Will you be quiet ?" 
 
 '• Oti, yes— yes. Dear me ! Is a man to be killed, and nobody pity him be- 
 cause he ain't quite an Adonis ?" 
 
 '' My horse )" cried the parson. '' Where's my horse, landlord ? I'll— I'll go 
 and get more assistance. I'll-— Fll scour the country. This aflfair will make a 
 noise. Murder has been done ! I— I_don't know what to say exactly. Good 
 God ! here they come again.'' 
 
 The balustrade against which in part the longer cheflfionier had wedged itself, 
 suddenly gave way, and that article of furniture which had done Claude such 
 good service, suddenly came down the remaining stairs into the passage like an 
 avalanche of mahogany. The alarm of the parson and of the remainder of the 
 officers was so great that they, one and all, made a rush into the bar-parlour as a 
 little snug room close to thern was called, and the dragoon had onlyjust time to 
 drag the dead body of his fallen comrade by the heels out of the way of the 
 descending mass of wood work. A moment's reflection, of course, was sufficient 
 to convince them of what had really caused this second descent of the cheffionier, 
 and the dragoon again tried to stimulate them to the fight by calling out to them 
 in a loud voice — 
 
 *• I will lead, if you will follow me. The staircase is clear now, and one rush 
 will do the business. Are you going to have it talked of all over England, that 
 you had not the courage to push on the moment you found your enemy was seri- 
 ous. Why, what the deuce did you expect in the affair, but a few pistol 
 shots?" 
 
 *' Recollect the reward," said the parson. "Recollect the reward, my men. 
 You don't have such a chance every day. Follow that brave soldier, whose con- 
 duct I will take care to represent in the proper quarter, and I will stay here and 
 take care that nobody attacks you unexpectedly in the rear." 
 
 The fox -hunter's courage had completely evaporated. Affairs had got much too 
 serious for him. 
 
 '* Stay where you like," said tha soldier. '* Cowards in action only confuse 
 brave men. Are you coming, any of you ?" 
 
 ^ Stimulateed by a hope of sharing amply in the reward, and hoping that the prin- 
 cipal part of the opposition was over, the remaining officers determined, especially 
 as the dragoon would go first, to make yet another attempt upon the staircase, and 
 yet another effort for the capture of the man upon whose head such a price was 
 set. They accordingly advanced, and one said — 
 
 " Yes, we will support you. Push on." 
 
 «* All's right — look to your pistols." 
 
 "They did so, and then the dragoon, with a coolness that they all envied, and 
 which was sufficiently admirable after what had already happened, advanced to 
 the stairs and commenced the ascent as quickly as he co'.::ld. 
 
 " Come on," he cried. " Come on ! If I fal'l^ don't stop, but scramble over me. 
 That's the way to do it." 
 
 There was quite a remarkable stillness up the stairs. No sight or sound what- 
 ever of opposition met them, and the dragoon actually set his foot upon the top- 
 most stair without seeing any one, 
 
 ''Lights— lights!" he cried. " Here may be some ambuscade. Bring some 
 lights from below." 
 
 The door of the sitting room that had been appointed for the use of Markham 
 
 '^
 
 LIFfi ON THE ROAD. 419 
 
 Brereton and the two females was suddenly opened in the face of the dragoon, 
 who stepped back a pace, saying — 
 
 "Surrender, or I fire!" 
 
 " What on earth is ail this about ?" said Brereton, looking like a man in the 
 greatest surprise, while he held the candle above his head and surveyed the soldier. 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 *' Who am I ? Why, No 28." 
 
 *' And can you tell me what has been the cause of all this disturbance ? Here 
 has been a man coming in here and threatening to blow my brains out if 1 stirred^ 
 and so, having a respect for my brains, as they are the only ones at my disposal, 1 
 have not stirred ! Have you caught him ?" , _ 
 
 "No — no !'' cried the officers in chorus, for they had by this time arrived, and 
 had crowded rouna the door of the room. 
 
 '• Has he oot away, the2i?" 
 
 *' We don't know. Perhaps he's hiding somewhere, but as we suspect you 
 have assisted him, we will take you into custody at once. We will have some- 
 body if we die for it." 
 
 "Come — com2 !" cried the parson, who had been listening upon the stairs, 
 and upon finding that there was no opposition, had ascended. '* Come — come ! — 
 What is all this about? I have no doubt that you are a confederate of Claude 
 Duval, the notorious highwayman, and I arrest you accordingly." 
 
 " You are able to do so, I dare say," said Brereton, *' but I warn you that I am 
 a gentleman, and not likely to put up with any injustice with impunity ; I shall 
 bring an action for false imprisonment against ariy one who shall presume to 
 detain me a moment, I warn you." 
 
 '* If you were not aiding and abetting the criminal, why did you not lend assist- 
 ance to the authorities ?" 
 
 ** I was not called upon. Besides, no man is required to do so at the certain 
 loss of his life. The two youths I have with me are ia verv delicate health indeed, 
 and I particularly request that you will not make any noi^r." 
 
 ''Search all the rooms narrowly/' said the parson. "Search all the rooms. 
 They cannot have escaped. Our men at the back would have given an alarm if 
 they had attempted it that way, and we ourselves never lost sight of the stair- 
 case." 
 
 It was remarked by the officer that the magistrate kept as close to the dragoon 
 as though he had never been so fond of anybody as of him in all his life. No 
 doubt he thought that where there was the greatest strength there was the greatest 
 safety, for he hud still an uncomfortable suspicion that Claude Duval might bounce 
 out upon him suddenly when least expected, and execute summary vengeance upon 
 him. Indeed, it was quite a matter of mystery to know where Claude Duval 
 could have got to. Certainly all opposition seemed to be at an end, and the spirits 
 of the officers rose proportionately, while the dragoon began to get thoroughly dis- 
 gusted at the turn affairs had taken, for if there was to be no more fighting, of 
 course his avocation was gone, and the police-officers could manage very well with- 
 out him. 
 
 " Manage'it among yourselves," he said, " I'm off." 
 
 "Oh, no — no — no," cried the parson, catching him fast by two little ridiculous 
 skirts that hung from his jacket behind. "No — no.. Don't you think of going, 
 my good fellow. I'll take good care that it is made well worth your while to 
 stay. You remain where you are, and keep close to me." 
 
 '•What for?" 
 
 ** Oh, we don't know yet, exactly, what may happen. 'You help us to search 
 for the fellow before you think of going, and then we will all go together, you 
 know. Besides, the conduct of this person (alluding to;Brereton) is anything but 
 satisfying, so we must still be upon our guard. Do stay." 
 
 "Well, well." 
 
 " That's right. Now, my men, let us search the place well, and not leave a ;
 
 420 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 nook or cranny unexplored, and, first of all, I will take the liberty of having a look 
 in this inner chamber.'* 
 
 <* I assure you." said Brereton, *' upon my word and honour, that there is no 
 one there but the two youths who are travelling m my company, but, of course, 
 as you have authority to search, it will be quite in vain for me to protest against 
 it, so walk in at once." 
 
 " May I ask your name, sir ?* said the parson. 
 « Oh, yes. Smith." 
 
 *' Humph ! A very common name, that." 
 '* Very." 
 
 " And the two young gentlemen ? Pray, sir, what may their^names be V 
 « Smith." 
 
 " How remarkable. You will permit me to say, sir, thai a man of the name of 
 Smith is, in my opinion, always likely to be taken up on suspicion of anything, 
 and I should plead his name as a justification. That I should, sir. Come on, 
 Mr. Dragoon. We will soon unearth our fox, if he be hidden anywhere near at 
 hand, and who knows but we may be yet in at the death, after such a hard race 
 as we have had of it. Ha ! ha ! 1 think we have all showed pluck." 
 
 '* Have we V muttered the soldier. " Pluck with the legs, more than with the 
 hands, I think, for I never saw such fellows as you all are for running out of 
 danger in all my life, not I.* 
 
 " A-hem 1" said the parson, as he pretended not to hear this remark at all, and, 
 followed by the ofiicers, with the exception of two left in the corridor for fear 
 Claude should rush out of some hiding place and escape down the stairs, and 
 keeping just half a pace behind the dragoon, he entered the inner chamber. 
 
 There were two beds there, and upon each lay a seeming youth. It did not 
 take above a minute or two to thoroughly satisfy the magistrate and officers that 
 no one was there concealed, and then, with a bitter feeling of disappointment, the 
 parson said to Cicely— ^^,^ ^ ._. 
 
 *' What is your name?" 
 « Smith." 
 
 "And yours?' to May. 
 " Smith." 
 
 *' Confound you all. I don't believe a word that any of yon say, and I'll take 
 you all into custody. If I don't, may I never follow a pack of hounds again to 
 get the brush in a good field. May 1 fall in a ditch, if I don't," 
 
 " But, sir, " whispered one of the officers, " if they are friends of Claude 
 Duval's, and he has really made his escape in some unaccountable way, the best 
 plan will be to follow them, when they leave here, secretly, and they may, with- 
 out meaning to do so, lead us to him. Whereas, you see, sir, if you take them 
 into custody, we at once lose all clue whatever ; don't you see, sirT 
 
 *' Well, there is something in that. Let it be so. But first we will complete 
 the search of the rooms, for I really cannot make up ray mind to the idea that he 
 has got away, and if we catch him hiding, we shall still go to Winchester in 
 triumph with our prisoner.'* 
 
 Their search was carried on with spirit, but it was totally ineffective. No 
 Claude Duval, nor any indications of his presence were discovered, and the chagrin 
 of the party was manifest in the countenance of each individual member of it, .^ 
 <♦ So," said the dragoon, " my comrade has been killed for nothing." 
 "I cannot understand it," said the magistrate. *' The six men in the yard 
 declare that no one has attempted to escape by the window where the sheet hangs 
 out, and we know that no one has gone down stairs." 
 
 *• Hark, ye, sir," whispered the necromances of an officer who had recom- 
 mended the system of espionage upon the family of Smiths. " Hark you, sir. 
 There are front windows." 
 \\ " Front windows ?" 
 
 II " Yes, to Mr. Smith's two rooms, and he may have helped our man out of the 
 l\ inn that way."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 42I 
 
 « It must be so." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it ; so you see, sir, it's more necessary than ever that we 
 should watch these people." 
 
 " It is — it is. You shall arrange it, and you may depend upon my duly repre- 
 senting your sagacity in the proper quarter. Let us go down stairs and consult 
 about the precise steps to take in the matter. I see that it is of no use attempting 
 to do anything here." 
 
 They now affected to feel quite satisfied with the search they had made, and in 
 the course of five minutes more Markham Brereton was left to the undisturbed 
 possession of his room. He waited until he was quite sure that no one of the 
 officers lingered. At last he thought he was quite sure of that, and then he went 
 into the adjoining room. 
 
 " All is well,'' he said. ** All is well, Julian." 
 
 **Hush!" 
 
 *' What is it ?" 
 
 '* There is a man in the corridor, just behind that door that opens upon it. We 
 have distinctly heard him. It is a spy upon our discourse. Are we suspected, 
 Markham ? Speak low.'* 
 
 :/. ' CHAPTER XCVI. 
 
 THE OLD CATHEDRAL. 
 
 Markham Brereton listened attentively. ' JCCT 
 
 *' Are you certain of what you say ?" he whispered. 
 
 *' I am— I am. No doubt they suspect our connexion with Claude, and have 
 set a man to watch us, in which case it will be next to impossible for us 
 to keep an appointment with him. Alas ! there are yet many difficulties in the 
 way of a successful issue of these affairs. What will become of us all?' 
 
 " Do not despair. Let me think a moment." 
 
 Markham remained silent for a short time, and was evidently in deep thought. 
 Then, beckoning Cicely and May to the wmdow which was quite out of earshot of 
 the door, he said — 
 
 " It is quite clear that unless we wish to be apprehended, we must keep up the 
 idea that we are not connected with Claude in any way." 
 
 "How can we do that?' 
 
 **By conversing upon indifferent subjects. You must take your one from me, 
 and when I make a remark which is intended for the Hstening officer, you must 
 reply to it in proper style. As yet, recollect, it can be nothing but suspicion on 
 the part of the police that we are in any way connected with Claude." 
 
 *' Then, are we to give up all hope of gaining him ?" 
 
 '* By no means. But, for Heaven's sake, Cicely, be of good cheer, and join me 
 cheerfully in doing the best X can to ward off evil consequences both from him 
 and from us.'* 
 
 There was a something in these words that sounded almost like reproof, and 
 they silenced Cicely at once, so far as any complaints went, so that Markham 
 was at liberty to say whatever he thought would be necessary for the purpose of 
 hoodwinking the officer. Raising his voice slightly, he commenced as though he 
 were continuing a conversation. 
 
 " Yes, the most remarkable thing is, as you say, that we should be robbed once, 
 and then come in all likelihood to the very inn where the thieves put up.'' 
 
 •* It is so," said Cicely, taking her cue from Markham. " Is it wbrth while, 
 think you, to make known our loss to the officers of justice who are here V 
 
 " Hardly ; and to tell you the truth, I am almost inclined to your first 
 opinion, to the effect, that thef?e men here are only pretended officers of justice.*' 
 
 " That was what 1 thought.'*
 
 J22 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** It may be so. At all events, liis lordship will be glad to see you both safej 
 and, after all, what is the loss of a few trinkets to you or to him ?" 
 
 " Nothing — nothing !" 
 
 " When you are at your family seat, and once more surrounded by your illus- 
 trious relations, you will only laugh at these adventures upon the road." 
 
 ** They will amuse the duke," said Cicely. " Don't you rememher once the 
 duchess came into the library with a newspaper in which there was something 
 about this very Claude Duval? I have a lively recollection of the circumstance, 
 but at this distance of time I have no idea of what it was all about." 
 
 ••^Some of his daring exploits !" 
 
 *' Doubtless." 
 
 The officer outside the door had all this while his finger against his nose, and 
 was looking as mysterious and as cunning as an owl in an ivy bush, 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" he said, *' so — so these are young noblemen, after all. Who 
 knows but I may make as much by being civil to them as by the reverse, or by 
 looking after Claude Duval. The duke? Humph! What duke, I wonder? 
 Upon my life, it was a good thiug"! came here to listen, for if I have missed the 
 scent I expected, I have lighted upon another which may do just as well." 
 
 " I am vexed at the idea of our cousin being made prime minister," said May, 
 " as we shall not have him at the hall now." 
 
 '* You cannot expect him," said Markham, " until parliament is prorogued ; 
 then, doubtless, you will see him. 1 hope when you do so, your ladyship will not 
 forget the little favour I asked of you for my young friend, the count." 
 
 " Surely not, Sir James." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" said the officer, " who but me— I'll stick to this lot— won't I. 
 Bother Claude Duval ! I wonder if the party below is off; I v;ant this aflfair all 
 to myself, that 1 do." 
 
 Full of the idea,'that if he were left alone he should be able to introduce himself to 
 people of consequence, the officer darted down stairs, and met the magistrate in 
 the hall. 
 
 ** It's no go, sir," he said ; " they have been talking quite confiden- 
 tially, and I am satisfied that they really know nothing of^Claude Duval, and have 
 no sort of communication with him." 
 
 *' Indeed?" 
 
 *' Oh yes, sir, you may trust to me for that. It's of no use remaining here 
 except upon one chance — that Claude Duval may be hiding in the vicinity of this 
 place, and even in that eveat one man only left here, to dog his footsteps until assist- 
 ance can be got to apprehend him, is fully sufficient." 
 
 " Oh, yes— yes." 
 
 *' I will stay if you like, sir ; and provided I get any information, I can send a man 
 on horseback, you know, sir, posthaste to you to let you know, and you can 
 adopt such measures as your well-known foresight will enable you to do." 
 
 «' Well— well. A-hem ! — of course, if you do get any news, it is very well 
 known that there is no magistrate in the county can make better. u§e of it 
 than I." 
 
 " We all know that, sir." 
 
 The magistrate felt himself amazingly flattered, and, after pretending to think 
 for a few moments, he said — 
 
 '•Very well. Remember, then, that ycu stay here on my account just now, 
 and by my orders, and I will be answerable, of course, for any reasonable 
 expenses." 
 
 *' And as these birds have flown, there can be no use in my staying here in an 
 infernal uncomfortable inn, where nothing is as it ought to be, and damp beds, I 
 dare say. Moreover, the death of this soldier is sure to make a noise, and I must go 
 to put that matter in the proper light ; so, landlord, my horse ; VU be off — and as 
 for you, my man (to the soldier), you had better come with me, and I will place 
 you all right with your officer, you may depend." 
 
 In the course of the next ten minutes the inn was quite clear of police, with the
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 exception of the officer who wm resolved to pay great attention to the young 
 scions of the personage whom he tally believed to. be travelling incog, and for the 
 present staving at the inn. 
 
 " Of course," he said to himself, *' they didn't wish it to be found out who they 
 were, and that fully accounts fo: many little suspicious circumstances in their 
 conduct. Hang me, if I did not think there was a kind of a — a — something — a 
 sort of a superior look about them. However, if I don't do the civil to them, and 
 make something by it, it will be odd to me. Relations of the prime minister's, 
 and sons of a duke. 1 rather think this a chance of a nice little bit of patro- 
 nage." 
 
 The officer winked at vacancy, and tapped his nose a great many times, all of 
 which was intended to imply how clever a fellow he thought himself, and what an 
 opinion he had of his own capacity of seeing further into a millstone than his 
 neighbours. Our friends above stairs waited rather anxiously for the result of the 
 scheme they had put in practice for turning the tables upon the spy. When they 
 saw the magistrate and the party of police depart, they really thought they weie 
 left alone at the inn, and Cicely and May were for ordering the horses and being 
 off at once, but Markham Brereton overruled thdt, saying— 
 
 " Do not be hasty. This, after all, may be a mere blind . Let us have 
 patience. That quality alone has gained the day many times in the face of great 
 danger." 
 
 " The dawn is coming," said Cicely. 
 
 ** Yes," replied May. " Another day has come lapon us. This window, which 
 looks to the east, is already beginninggto feel the effects of the sun. Oh, Markham, 
 if me and Claude do really succeed in escaping all these perils, what abundant 
 food for conversation we shall have by, I hope, a happy fireside, in time to 
 come, and in another land," 
 
 " We shall indeed," sobbed Cicely. « But I fear " 
 
 " Banish fears," said Markham, *' and welcome hope in its place. Fear is a 
 craven, but bright-eyed hope ever whispers to as of promised pleasure, and if it 
 creates not the happiness of the future, it at all events lends the radiance of its 
 beauty to the present." 
 *' It does — it does." 
 
 " Let me advise you now both to lie down again for another hour, and rest 
 yourselves, for this night can scarcely be said to have been one of repose to you ; 
 and when the day has fairly set in, we will take a morning meal, and then start, 
 according to how we shall find the situation of affairs.*' 
 
 *' And must we," said Cicely, *' think you, break the appointment with 
 Claude?" 
 
 '^I hope not. But it is far better to do that, than, by keeping it, to bring his 
 foes upon him. It we break it, depend upon it no one will sooner than Claude 
 divine the true reason of our doing so, and he will act accordingly." 
 
 " Yes — yes, you are right, Markham. Oh, forgive me, that, with my many fears, 
 1 am such ^reat charge and trouble to you." 
 
 " Forgive me, Cicely, if, in the impatience of the moment, and amid the many 
 anxieties that oppress me, I have by chance spoken a harsh word to you, or a kind 
 one in a harsh tone. I did not mean anything, dear Cicely." 
 
 "I know it, I know it, brother." 
 ' " There now," said May, " one would think you had both quarrelled, to hear 
 you speaking in such a strain. Come, Cicely, we cannot do better than take 
 Markham's advice, and secure some repose while we can get it. Heaven only 
 knows what fatigues we may yet have to endure. Come, come, I am sure you 
 have not slept one clear hour since Claude has been gone," , 
 
 "Indeed I have not." 
 
 Cicely was led into the adjoining apartment by May, and Markham Brereton 
 once again sat down to wait the coming of those events, each one of which was 
 so important both in itself and in its results to those in whose happiness he felt 
 60 deeply interested. He had not sat long there, when a soft insinuating sort of
 
 424 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 tap came at the door of the ronm. MarkhaMBiUftened intently, but made no 
 answer. Tap ! came some one's knuckles against the panels again after the lapse 
 of a (ew moments, and then Markham Brereton thought his wisest plan would be 
 to make no mystery, but, as a matter of course, if any one tapped at his door to 
 say "come in." When he did so the door was opened in a giagerly sort of manner, 
 and the officer's foxy-looking face appeared at it with a disagreeable leer, which 
 he fully intended should be at once fascinating, pleasant, humble, and foil of satis- 
 faction and proffers of service." Markham at once guessed, by the look of this 
 man's face, that he had swallowed the bait that had been laid out for him con- 
 cerning the nobility of Cicely and May, and his own claim to social distinction 
 likewise. 
 
 " What is it ?" said Markham Brereton. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir, for intrusion, I assure you; most sincerely beg pardon. 
 Hope, sir, you have rested pretty well, and the young gentlemen too." 
 
 *• Who are you ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, begging your pardon, I am an officer of police, and you see, sir, as 
 Claude Duval, the notorious highwayman, may be still somewhere in the neighbour- 
 hood, I thought, seeing that you were a real gentleman, I ought to stay, to see 
 that nothing amiss happened to you and the two young gentlemen, you see, sir.* 
 
 " You are very good." 
 
 " Oh dear, sir, don't mention that. I assure you that I shall feel only too well 
 pleased to be of service to you. But Claude Duval is a very desperate fellow, and 
 1 assure you, sir, from my own personal experience, it is something very far from 
 a joke to cope with him. However, this I will say, that if there is any man in 
 England of whom he has a wholesome sort of dread, it is of me.'* 
 
 " Indeed ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. I would not say so, I assure you, but upon the very best grounds.* 
 
 By this time the officer had insinuated himself fairly into the room, and the 
 foxy sort of smile with which he spoke continued upon his face, making him a 
 special object of disgust to Markham Brereton, whose natural straightforward and 
 manly disposition was always shocked at anything approaching to cringing or 
 meanness. 
 
 " Why sir," added the officer, "you see Claude Duval was nearly taken by me 
 once, and therefore, after such a hair-breadth escape, he naturally enough don't 
 want to meet me again." 
 
 " That may verv easily be believed, but as our stay here will certainly not ex- 
 tend beyoHd another hour, 1 don't see exactly how you can be of much service 
 to us." 
 
 *'That, sir," replied the officer, "briskly brings me to the point, and if you 
 have no objection, 1 will do myself the honour of accompanying you on the road, 
 and I pledge myself that you shall be in no sort of danger from an attack on the 
 part of Claude Duval." 
 
 *• But we may be going out of your way." 
 
 ** Oh, any way will do for me, as long as T have the pleasure of feeling that I 
 am obliging real gentlemen, and making myself useful in a proper quarter." 
 
 Markham Brereton would gladly have been without the company of the officers, 
 but he was afraid, if he entirely declined it, he might be giving rise to fresh susi 
 picion, and undoing all that he had done in the way of convincing that cunning 
 individual of his own and his young companions' rank in life, so he merely 
 said — 
 
 " I am not alone, and although in trifling matters connected with our journey 
 I consider I may act just as I please, I wish, as regards your proposal to accom- 
 pany us as a protection on the read, to speak to the two young gentlemen who are 
 with me." 
 
 " Quite right, sir — quite right." 
 
 ** This safety is to me an object of paramount importance ; .however, as regards 
 myself, I am, of course, pleased at any proposal that in any way tends to assure 
 me of it. Just wait here for a few moments."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 425 
 
 ** Certainly, sir — certainly. — A-hem! Won't I keep my ears open/' muttered 
 the officer to himself. 
 
 When Brereton got into the next room, purposely leaving the door just ajar, 
 he placed himself in quite a painful posture of listening, and he had the pleasure 
 of hearing Brereton say — 
 
 THE MEETING IN THE CATHREDRAL. 
 
 *' This 9 a police-officer, my lords, who proposes to accompany you. What 
 shall I say to him? Would it be at all^ a^reeahle to you?— he is 'in the next 
 room,** 
 
 Cicely and May at once understood that they were to reply for the officer's 
 hearing, not from Markham Brereton 's, and the former took upon her to add to the 
 state of mystification in which that amazingly artful individual already was. 
 
 No. 54.
 
 426 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XCVII. 
 
 WINCHESTER IN THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 "It's certainly as you, Sir James, and the Marquis think proper/' she said. 
 
 *' Oh, don't consult me," said May, *' I'm agreeable to anything. Only, as 
 there are three of us, we are surely safe enough from any attack from a mere high- 
 wayman ?" 
 
 "Yes,'' said Cicely, "and you don't know, Sir James, how we can fight, if 
 necessary ; 1 can hit anything I please with my pistols, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, but you know," said Brereton, '* if any accident were to happen to either 
 of you, the Duke would be frantic ; so, although I think with you, that we are 
 strong enough to protect ourselves, I should like for us to be strong enough to 
 present such an appearance as would prevent an attack, so I vote for letting the 
 officer go with us." 
 
 ** Do you mean it ?" whispered Cicely. 
 
 Markham nodded. 
 
 " Very well then. Sir James," said Cicely, aloud, " very well.' Of course we 
 bow to your decision in this matter, and if you think proper to let the officer come 
 with us, you can take his name, and the Duke or my uncle can, in any way they 
 may think proper, reward him ; they can give him money — I think I have 
 some forly or fifty guineas in my purse, and the Marquis as much." 
 
 •* Oh, all that will be right enough," said Markham ; *• then I will tell him to 
 see that all is ready for our departure as soon as possible, for I suppose we have 
 all had enough of the wretched accommodations of this place. I have, for 
 one." 
 
 ** And I," said Cicely. *' We are both of us, I assure you. Sir James, quite 
 ready for the saddle again, so get ready for us, and we will be off. These adven- 
 tures will do for us to talk about another time, and we shall, no doubt, have many 
 a good laugh at the recollection of them." 
 
 «* Ha ! ha !" laughed the officer to himself; *' upon my word, I have dropped 
 in with a good thing here, and no mistake, and I shall pocket, I dare say, a cool 
 hundred in cash, besides being recommended to the prime minister and a duke. 
 Well, luck's all entirely. Now, who would have supposed any such thing could 
 have turned up from my coming to hunt Claude Duval? All 1 wish now, or care 
 about, is, that they may not be going in the same direction as he is, for upon my 
 word, I'd as soon meet the devil himself upon the road." 
 
 The officer heard Markham Brereton returning, so he pretended to be not at 
 all listening, but merely looking at the fire and some memoranda which he hastily 
 pulled out of his pocket. At the entrance of Brereton he affected to give a sort 
 of start, as though he were disturbed in a reverie, and then bowing, he said — 
 
 *' I beg your pardon, sir — I was thinking of some affairs in London." 
 
 "You must, at times, have much upon your mind." 
 
 •■• Oh yes, sir, a great deal ; but I hope, sir, the young gentlemen are quite agree- 
 able to my escorting you and them V* 
 
 '* Why, very likely they thought themselves strong enough to resist any high- 
 waymen, but I don't want them to run the chances of a conflict, even should we 
 prove victorious ; so I have overruled their objections, and I can only say that your 
 reward for accompanying us shall be fully equal to your deserts." 
 
 *' Oh, don't mention that, sir." 
 
 *•■ Oh yes, but it is proper to mention it." 
 
 **■ I hope you, sir, and the young gentlemen, don't for a moment imagine that I 
 offer to guard you for what I can getl" 
 
 ** No, no. But yet you will find that we shall not be ungrateful. But there is 
 time enough to talk about all that by-and-by. Will you be so good as to see 
 that all is ready for our departure, for we wish to^o on at once. Our horses are 
 somewhere below."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 427 
 
 " Certainly, &ir^*' said the officer, with alacrity ; " I hope, sir, that you and the 
 young gentlemen will do me the honour of leaving ail troublesome little matters 
 connected with your journey to me; I will take care that everything shall be arranged 
 to your satisfaction." 
 
 ""Take this, then^" said Brerelou^ handing him a five-pound note. "Take 
 this^ and pay what expenses we have incurred here." 
 
 This effectually completed the conquest of the officer's hearty and he bowed 
 almost to the ground as he took the note, and then he bustled out of the room, 
 quite delighted with the manner in which he managed affairs^ so as to make him- 
 self a sort of gentleman in waiting to a marquis, a lord, and probably a baronet. 
 It was quite wonderful to see the airs that the officer gave himself in the lower 
 part of the inn. We considered that he was in such authority, that it was compe- 
 tent upon him to say or do just what he pleased ; and if we remark, that exactly 
 in proportion as he was cringing and humble above to Markham Brereton, he was 
 insolent and swaggering below, we shall probably convey a tolerably good idea of 
 his conduct. The horses were got out with all possible expedition. The bill was 
 paid, and the change at once pocketed, with a determination that it should be 
 forgotten, and then he proceeded up-stairs to tell his new patron that all was ready. 
 On the road he assumed again the foxy smile, so that by the time he got to the 
 door of Markham's room, he was again the very humble dependant. He tapped 
 gently. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 In came the foxy face and the foxy smile. 
 
 " Oh, it is you ?"" 
 
 " Yes, if you please, sir. The horses are all ready, and waiting, sir, at the door, 
 and the breakfast is spread, if you please, in the parlour below." 
 
 The officer, in his over civility, had the unfortunate knack of putting in the *' If 
 you please !" to foregone conclusions, like the footman, who was asked by his misi- 
 tress if the rain had ceased, and replied — " Yes, ma'am, ii you please." 
 
 "Very well," said Markham Brereton, '*we shall be down directly." 
 
 The officer bowed himself out again, and then Markham proceeded to the next 
 room, and held a brief conversation with his two lair companions, at which it was 
 finally agreed (hat they shoald take the V/inchester road, and at the first con- 
 venient confluence of circumstances get rid of the officer, but if he perversely would 
 stick to them, tliey meant to keep their engagement with Claude, and leave him to 
 deal with the troublesome escort. 
 
 " Now, let me advise you both to take a good breakfast," said Markham, *« for 
 you don't know whac troublesome adventures we may fall in with to-day." 
 
 " We will do our best," said May. 
 
 ** Yes," added Cicely. •' We will indeed, Markham, and we will not have 
 so many sad complaints for you as usual.'" 
 
 " No more of that. Cicely, if you love me." 
 
 They descended the stairs together, and upon the entrance into the parlour of 
 the inn, the officer made so low a bow, that the top of his head almost touched 
 the sanded floor, and then he put himself into such a state of bustle and perspira- 
 tion, by flying in and out with hot coffee and fresh buttered toast, &c., that it was 
 quite a shocking thing to see him, and the people of the inn really thought that 
 the man had actually taken leave of his senses for ever. Notwithstanding their 
 promises to Markham, neither Cicely nor May could make much of a breakfast, 
 which was by the officer attributed to the costly and delicate manner in which 
 they had been brought up, for nothing now, but the stern and stubborn truth 
 fully demonstrated to him, would have sufficed to knock out of his head the 
 conviction that he was making himself serviceable to some scions of ^he highest 
 nobility. It was really laughable to see him, and the inn parlour might at 
 that time have been not inaptly likened to the stage of some theatre, upon the 
 boards of which some entertaining farce was enacting, and no comic actor could 
 have made more of his p:irt than did this thoroughly deluded officer. It wa? 
 a rich and racy treat to see him. When the breakfast was finished the party rose,
 
 428 GENTLEMAN MCK; OR, 
 
 and in the course of another five minutes they were upon the road. It was then 
 that the officer ventured to insinuate the question of which direction the noble 
 party would like to take, 
 " We are going to Winchester," replied Markham, bluntly. 
 *'0h!" 
 
 The officer's countenance changed, foi he knew that if upon any road there was 
 a chance of them meeting with Claude Duval it was upon that, and he was quite 
 willing to take fcU the profit of playing the part of escort to the two noble gentle- 
 men without any of the danger. If they had gone any other way his heart would have 
 been quite light and gay, but to go on the very road that Claude Duval was 
 taking, was to really run the chance of having to do what he promised, namely, 
 fight him. However, he found that he was " in for it," to use his own expression, 
 and all he could do was to put a bold face upon the matter, and do the best he 
 could. He hoped] that even Claude Duval would not attack a party of four; 
 so after a time he recovered his equanimity, and it was quite amusing to see 
 how, with an air of determination, he would ride on before, and pretend to look 
 about him, to see if any highwayman was in ambush, and then when the road was 
 all clear, wave his hand for them to proceed. In this way then, just as though 
 they were going through an enemy's country, they proceeded, and now we shall 
 here, in order to go some distance onwards, take up company with Claude Duval 
 and his friend Jack, who were jogging on together. They had, of course, by this 
 time got a considerable distance on the road from the inn, but as yet they fe/t 
 they were anything but clear from the dangers of the road. »Even between them 
 and Winchester, there were to be expected many dangers, for the officers, who all 
 down the road from Londoo, had been hitherto disappointed in getting a clutch 
 of their prey, were, no doubt, concentrating their force in the neighbourhood of 
 Winchester, and thence to Southampton, As they proceeded their anxieties 
 naturally increased. 
 
 ** Jack," said Claude, " we have troubles both ways now. We have our best 
 and dearest anxieties behind us with Cicely and May, while before us we know 
 there are those who are armed against our lives, and who, for the glitter of gold, 
 would not scruple to murder us." 
 
 *' Yes," replied Jack, *' and that they dignify by the name of justice." 
 
 " They do, indeed. Well, I should be comparatively easy if I were quite sure 
 Cicely and May^had escaped the suspicions of having any connivance in our escape, 
 but I'm afraid that the next news I hear of them will be, that they, with the 
 gallant Markham Brereton, are in custody for doing so much to enable me to fly 
 from crime to peace." 
 
 <' Do dot fancy that, Claude." 
 
 " Alas ! Jack, I'm sorry to say, there is too good a reason to fancy it ; but I am 
 not one to meet sorrow half way, at all events, so I will look forward, and hope 
 for the best, if I do not in my heart think it." 
 
 As they thus jogged on in conversation, they srrived at a narrow lane, close to 
 which was a finger-post directing them down it, and an announcement that that 
 was *' The nearest way to Winchester." 
 
 "The nearest way is our way," said Claude. " Come bn. Jack." 
 
 Down the lane they went immediately, but they had not proceeded many paces 
 on, when a loud voice cried—* 
 
 " Stand !'* 
 
 *' What for ?" said Claude, as he drew one of his pistols, and glanced in tho 
 direction of the sound. 
 
 Just over a garden paling he saw five men on horseback, and one immediately 
 cried — 
 
 '* That's him ! Fire away, my lads ! Fire ! fire!" 
 
 Bang ! went three pistols just as Jack and Claude stooped to let the bullets 
 fly over them. 
 
 « All's right," said Claude. *' Fire and turn about."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 429 
 
 He fired, and down dropped one of the men ; Jack did the same, and with a like 
 result. 
 
 " Now for it. It's yo"r turn,'* cried Claude to the third man, but he hastily 
 rolled off his horse, and fled into a cottage that was close at hand. "Oflfand 
 away!" cried Claude. 
 
 Jack fully understood him, and clapping spurs to their horses, off they went at 
 great speed— a speed which they did not relax until they had obtained a good two 
 miles between them and the garden in which the three men had indirectly lain in 
 ambush, not for the purpose of making the smallest attempt at capture, but simply 
 to shoot them down as though they had been wild animals, goirig about seeking 
 whom they might devour. They saw a boy now before them driving a cow, and 
 Claude pulled up. 
 
 "My lad," he said, "how far are we from Winchester?" 
 
 " Winton beant this'n way." 
 
 " Not this way ?" -PSn" 
 
 *• Lor, no. TJiis'ii leads to Andover." 
 
 ** Don't try to deceive me, you young rascal ; I saw a finger-post at the corner 
 of this lane, and it said on it — ' The nearest way to Winchester,' and since then we 
 have come on as straight as a line. I have a good mind to lay my horsewhip 
 about you. 
 
 " Ihat'n,** said the boy, " wouldn't make this'n the way to Winton." 
 
 Claude was pleased at this piece of argumentation, and he laughed as he said— 
 
 *• How do you make it out, then, we are wrong, my lad?" 
 
 " Why, cos three fellows only stuck'n it up this marning— I seed un a|doing of 
 it, and arter they gitten into old Jones's garden, I seed un a doing of it, and I 
 hurd un say — * When they sees this'n it will lead 'em on.' '' 
 
 " Jack, you hear that 1" 
 
 ** Yes, and understand it too, Claude. We have escaped a most perilous ambus- 
 cade. 1 can see bv the position of the sun that we are not going to Winchester 
 direct, or Winton as the people about here call it, but I have been expecting ^a 
 turn in the lane that would have taken usrighc. They have paid dearly for the 
 attempt though, Claude." 
 
 " They have. I don't think that either of the three will be inclined again to 
 assist in the removal of a finger-post from its proper situation. — What are we to 
 do, Jack?" 
 
 *' Go on until we find a turn to the left. Andover is to our right now, of course, 
 and after all, who knows but, by encountering this lesser danger,^we may Lave 
 escaped a much greater, which was on the high road waiting for us." 
 
 " It may be so. Here, my lad, here is a crown for you." I 
 
 The boy eagerly clutched at the proffered coin and looked astonished at the 
 amount of it. It was probably more than he had ever had in all his life, and he 
 was so utterly confounded and dazzled at it that be was unable to speak, and so by 
 riding on at once Claude avoided the thanks which most likely when he did recover 
 himself he would have attempted to utter. 
 
 ** More time lost. Jack," said Claude. 
 
 "Yes, Claude, but remember that from the first moment of our leaving London 
 we have practised an amount of patience that few in our situation would have 
 dreamt of. With the knowledge that a price was set upon your head, and that 
 society at large, through the medium of its most degrading passion, was attempted 
 to be aroused against you, you might have had a natural feeling of revenge ; but 
 such has not been the case. Nq one has fallen by our hands, but in sacred self- 
 defence." 
 
 *' You are right, Jack, and ia another land, if we should have the good fortune 
 to get to one, nothiag will be more pleasant or consolatory to us than such a con- 
 viction. I would not have it otherwise for the value of ten thousand worlds. 
 Cicely, Jack, has implanted in my nature tome of her gentler and better feelings.
 
 430 GENTLEMAN JACK; OH, 
 
 CHAPTER XCVI. 
 
 CHILD'S HILL PARM. 
 
 After this they rode on in silence for some time ; it was a silence on the ' part 
 of Claude, which Jack would not interrupt, for he saw that feeling was busy at his 
 heart, and that he was plunged in one of those reveries common to him of late. 
 While this state of abstraction on the part of Claude lasted. Jack took good care to 
 look busily out for a turning that would again lead them into the direct road to 
 Winchester, and at about a mile further on he tound what he sought. It became 
 necessary now to arouse Claude. 
 
 *'This way— to the left," cried Jack. 
 
 Claude started as though suddenly awakened from sleep. 
 
 *' Ah Jack," he said, " so I was, as usual, dreaming. My thoughts were far 
 enough away at that moment." 
 
 ** So I guessed, but it was absolutely necessary for me to recall you from the 
 land of dreams. This turning will, I make no doubt, take us back again into the 
 direct road ; and now, Claude, I can tell you, from the character of the country, 
 that we cannot be very far from the old city of Winchester, and it is time we 
 should think upon what we are to do untill nightfall." 
 
 " True, Jack. It would be rather unwise for us to ride into the city as though 
 we owned it. We might be recognised, and the good citizens in that event might 
 make too much fuss about us, which is always disagreeabre ; so, like other great 
 personages, we will take refuge somewhere until the shades of evening allow us to 
 proceed. Where shall we go to. Jack ? — you know the neighbourhood well." 
 
 "I do. There is a hill overlooking Winchester, called Child's Hill, and upon 
 - that hill is a farm-house which some months ago was empty. A murder had taken 
 place in one of the rooms, and superstition had peopled tne place with gloomy 
 fancies — if we can get there Claude, we might remain concealed until night." 
 
 '* But shall we not starve, Jack ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, unless our appetites are over nice, for I have brought with me 
 some bread from the inn, and a bottle of wine." 
 
 ** Corn in Egypt, Jack ! You are indeed a most provident provider. What 
 should I have done without your foresight. Indeed, .Tack, one way and another, 
 you have preserved me during this period of extraordinary adventure. How far 
 are we from this house you mention ?" 
 
 "About four miles, Claude. But who shall say what a world of danger 
 lies between us and Child's Hili ; I would that we were there. Claude ! — stop ! 
 •stop !" 
 
 yd «♦ What is it, Jack?" 
 ;,'' " Look before you. Ah, they stop to consult." 
 
 Claude did look before, and to his consternation he saw six horsemen about a 
 quarter of a mile on the road before him. We say consternation, for Claude, 
 notwithstanding his courage and resolution, did feel an amount of consternation 
 upon this occasion, and which the reader will easily be able to appreciate if he 
 will place himself, in imagination, in Claude's position. 
 
 '•' Officers — Jack," he said. 
 
 •^ There cannot be a doubt of it. Ely, Claude." 
 
 *' No — no — yet a moment — we have time. The thought of flight is distasteful 
 to me. Stop, Jack, are you sure that they are foes ? and if they are, it is only 
 six to two.", 
 
 " Are you mad, Claude ? Is the thought of death or capture^ in a wounded 
 and mangled condition, worse to you thau the thought of flight ? — if so, fly ! We 
 have the start of a quarter of a mile. I tell you, Claude, that such a start is 
 everything. On ! — on ! — on !" 
 
 Claude yielded to the impulse that Jack gave his mind. 
 
 " The devil take the hindmost T' he cried, with his habitual gravity, turning
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 431 
 
 his horse's head northward again, and off he went. Jack was close -upon his 
 heels and so quick was the determination to %, and the flight itself, that they 
 gained nearly halt as much distance again upon the six men ; who, however, when 
 they did move from the state of surprise into which they were thrown, gave chase 
 with all their might and main. Both Claude and Jack took one glance behind 
 them and saw the pursuers coming on, and then turning their whole attention to 
 the management of their horses, they fled like the wind along the lane which they 
 had had the misfortune to traverse by mistake, in con&eqaence of the direction-post 
 being set upon the corner of it, by the three men who had made the attack upon 
 them A mile was passed over in an inconceivably short space of time, and then 
 the first object that presented itself to Claude, who was a little in advance, was 
 tlie boy to whom he had given the five shillings, and who had informed him of the 
 fact of the finger-post being placed maliciously where it was. Claude pulled up so 
 suddenly, that he brought his horse nearly upon his haunches, as he cried to the 
 
 " Do you know me ?" -, , t- i.- r 
 
 " Oh, yes. You are Claude Duval, the famous highwayman,— don t Ij^wish^ i 
 was. A fellow as said you had nigh shot him, told me." 
 
 " There are six men behind me. Can you hide me and my friend ? If you 
 cannot, they will take my life, you may depend." - , -xt- r. i.- j 
 
 " What? They are coming as 1 hear, a pelting along as if old Nick was behind 
 'em." 
 
 ** Yes — yes — they are my enemies." 
 
 " Come on — come on, don't say nothm now. Come on through this'n gap in 
 fence, loike — don't e say nothin. This'n way." 
 
 . " Oh, Claude, Claude," whispered Jack energetically, "Do you trust to this 
 mere boy ?" ■ r* 
 
 " Yes. Remember my reason. Jack. There's much gained by trusting. Oome 
 on — come on, don't hesitate. We are now like virtuous women, Jack. If we 
 hesitate we are lost. Come on." 
 
 They both hastily dismounted, and followed the boy through a gap in the hedge.. 
 It led to a kind of broken up meadow, in which there was a quantity of litter. 
 
 « Now for it," said the boy as he approached Claude's horse, **lift up his hiud 
 leg, master.'* 
 
 "His hind leg?" 
 
 *' Yes. • There he goes. That is done very well.'* 
 
 Claude had lifted up the hind leg of his horse, and the boy immediately lifted 
 the fore foot on the same side, when over went the horse among the litter without 
 doing himself the least injury. 
 
 " Hold him down," cried the boy, "by his head; he can't get up without his 
 head." 
 
 Claude understood him in a moment, and throwing himself on the ground he ^ 
 held his horse's head down. The same operation was performed with Jack s A 
 horse, and he likewise laid hold of his horse's head, while the bov commenced |* 
 
 covering them both with litter, chiefly composed of straw, for a large stack was 
 in the ground. Then he passed out through the,, gap in the hedge into the lane 
 again, and taking a knife from his pocket, he began peeling the bark from a thick 
 piece of alder. In another moment the six horsemen had turned the winding 
 portion of the lane, and they came thundering on. They had lost sight of Claude 
 and Jack, and seeing the boy they drew up, and one cried in an imperious v ice— 
 
 *' Have you seen two horsemen pass ?" 
 
 '* Two horsemen pass!" 
 
 " Ye fool." 
 
 " What ? A tall fellow and a little one, and the fall fellow with a grey coat on, 
 and a horse with a switch tail and a spot on his nose ?'* 
 
 u Yes— yes." « .- 
 
 "ThenlainV 
 
 ' '■!UM | ,j>JtilU ii ^J l )M t yijyjy, ||f t |>f< j p w w > i ;| || | llll ll ii J I w i t i il i j ! l|jjjtt i p^ i. L i [ i |i i <i . .i ^iii,iuy i i ,| Mj . ^ < i)t>t»ljj < »i* * WJt | WJ'fi;^^ .'1 ' f*"
 
 432 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 «' ToomI, looral, looral, loo, -while the pack I carried, 
 Brown Bet she says to me will you — 
 Teoral, looral, looral, loo, be tome mar-ri-ed." 
 
 " Now, you rascal," cried the officer, "if you don't tell me at once if you have 
 or have not seen any one pass here, I'll break every bone in your skin," 
 ** I seed two, a big un and a little un." • 
 
 " Really, Mr. Jenkinson" said another of the party, *' while you are talking to 
 this boy, who seems next, door to an idiot, our prey may escape us ; I beg you will 
 come on. There is no turning from the lane now until you get fairly into the 
 high road." 
 
 Without another word, ofFthey all set afc a gallop ; and when the sound of the 
 horses' feet had died away somewhat, Claude called to the boy, saying-* 
 " Is all safe now, my friend. Can we come out V* 
 " Bide a bit—bide a bit, and they'll be back again this'n way." 
 The boy continued cutting the alder and singing to himself— 
 
 *' As Sally was trudging along the highway, 
 A great squire he met she, and to she did. say, 
 Will you my lady love, sweet Sal-ly, be ? 
 Don't you wish you may catch me ? says she, 
 
 Says she, 
 Don't you wish you may catch me ? — says she. 
 
 Oh, Sal — ly, I'll buy you a new goulden coach, 
 Ear bobs and bracelets, gould rings, and a broach. 
 If you will con — sent my light o' love to be. 
 Don't you wish you may catch me? says she, 
 
 Says she, 
 D«n't you wish you may catch me ? says she. 
 
 *' And wery right of she it war too— a-hem! a- hem! They're a coming.** 
 
 Tooral, looral , looral, loo I* ' 
 
 Up came the six horsemen again, and he who was named Jenkinson, at ©nee 
 dismounted from his steed, and approaching the boy with a horrible forced smile 
 upon his face, that would not have deceived a cow — 
 
 ** Well, my lad, so you are here, enjoying yourself I see the best way j'ou 
 can." 
 
 " Likely enough," said the boy. 
 
 " Perhaps you don't earn much. Now, what would you say to a guinea ?'* 
 
 *' Nothin — I wouldn't be sich a gaby as to say anyiUn to a guinea, as couldn't say 
 mtUn to I agin.*' 
 
 ** Upon my word, you are a sharp lad ; I suppose, for a couple of guineas you 
 will tell us which way the two horsemen went who came up here just before we 
 arrived. They did not go on. We know that, mind ; so now, my lad, here's two 
 golden guineas if you tell us where they really went." 
 
 «• What ? Ain't all guineas goulden ?" 
 
 *' Yes, of course. Ha! ha ! — upon my word, you ought to go to London. I say, 
 Smith, could not you get this lad a situation of a £100 a year in London ?" 
 
 « Oh, yes," said another of the officers. *« Quite easy, I'll get it for him. Only 
 let him tell us what he can, and he shall have it. Would you like a situation of 
 *,£100 a year, my boy ?'' 
 
 " How much is it a week ?" * ^»' 
 
 " About £2." mx. <rf' "*■ "^- — ' 
 
 " And how many shillings 1*' 
 
 " Forty exactly." 
 
 " Ah, then, I couldn't do it. I gets a shilling a week here for minding the 
 cows, and it's as much as I can do from marning to night, so you see if 1 was to^ 
 ynrn forty times as much I should break down, dang it if I shouldn't." 
 
 ** But don't you know, my lad, in London people are paid moie in proportion as 
 they do little." ^ • ^
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK j OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 433 
 
 " Dang it, what a place that'll must he. Why, I'd swing on a gate all day 
 and eat applei?, dang it if I wouldn't.*' 
 
 "Well, well, you shall have what you like, and do what you like. Only tell 
 us which way the men have g^one." 
 
 '• Lor, what a pity." 
 
 CICELY SHOT 5Y THE WILITAKY IN THE CATHEDRAL, 
 
 " What's a pity ?•' 
 
 " Why, ain't it a pity as I don't know, cos if I did, do you think I'd be sich a 
 gaby as not to tell, and I should think not." 
 
 •• This fellow," said the officer who had just questioned the boy, to the others, 
 ** is either as cunnino; as we are, or he is the greatest fool I ever came near. 
 Which do you think ?"
 
 434 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 The officer looked purzled, while the boy continued cutting the bark off the 
 pieceof alder tree. After a brief, but rather crest-fallen consultation together, 
 they agreed to go back again towards Winchester as quickly as they could, and 
 there make a report of the fact, that the parties they wished to capture were in 
 the immediate neighbourhood, and that by keeping a good look-out they might be 
 taken. With this resolve, after casting sundry sour and menacing looks upon the 
 boy, off they went at a hard trot. Tim time they were gone in earnest, and ^he 
 boy knew it. He only waited until the sound of the horses' feet became rather 
 faint, and then he climbed up into the alder tree from which he had cut the piece 
 that had made him seem to have an occupation. 
 
 " One—two — three— four — five — six !'* he cpURted, as he saw the horsemen 
 ride away. " They are all gone. I shpulda't have wondered now a bit if 
 them chaps had left one of their lot behind to wfttch what I was about. 
 Lor, they ain*t half awake—^A^^'w as spoke tp mc war a ve^lar gahy he wari* 
 
 The boy descended from the tree, and then he called out — 
 
 " All's right, they is gone at last— all's right. 
 
 Claude at once sprung to his feet, and so did Jack. The two horses, finding 
 themselves no longir held 4pwn, rose likewise and §aye themselves a good shake. 
 
 " Are they out of sight ?■* said Jack. 
 
 " Yes,*' said tl^e boy, " and out of hearing too. Lor bless you, they is 
 a poor lot. Jt^ow, mind, they ^ gone on the road to Winchester— I heard one 
 say so." 
 
 "My boy," said |GI^||4p, f* we are indebted to you for our lives. We, no 
 doubt, should have ^iJlgJ ^ome of them; but six to two are long odds when 
 fire-arms are in the c^p, find very likely this lane would have been the stag^ upon 
 which the Jast scene of jpy career would have been enacted. Wl^at can I d(J to 
 recompense you ? 
 
 <* Nothing 
 
 "Nay, but I Jiave i^ji ^rdent desire to do something." 
 
 *' You can't do nothin. I ain't got no friends and no relations, and J ge^p 
 woUopped for a shilling a week, so you can't do nothin, you see." 
 
 Claude topk out a pocket-book and wrote down the name and address of the boy, 
 after which he said— --i-^^'^, 
 
 " Now, if in a mpnth's time I was to send for you to come to me pvijr 
 the sea, ap4 sepd ypij jjiQpey enough to come with, would you do so V 
 
 **Yes." 
 
 " Theii good hye, you will hear from me again.*' ^ 
 
 CHAPTER XOIX. 
 
 T^E HAUNTED FARM-HOUSE, 
 
 Cj^AUDE aad Jack immediately mounted, and, without waiting for another 
 word from thg boy, they bpth rode off down the lane, to find again the turn- 
 mg that led to Winchester. After they had proceeded a short distance. Jack 
 spoke — 
 
 '* Now, Claude," he said, '• our object should be as soon as possible to get shelter 
 until nightfall, for here upon these roads, in broad daylight, ',we run the greatest 
 possible risk of capture." 
 
 "What can we do, Jack?" 
 
 " We must get into some house." • 
 
 "Yes; but some house is a very indefinite sort of expression indeed. What 
 hou^ will open to receive us ? Can we not reach the old farm-house you 
 spok^ofr .,.,,..,,
 
 f LIFE ON THE ROAD. 435 
 
 "Upon Child's Hill?' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ** I think not, Claude, I think not. It is very close to the city : but if we 
 attempt i% we must make a considerable detour, and then there is just a chance, 
 and that is all. To the le/t we must seek out some road that will take us past 
 the city towards two places called Arlesford and Tichborne. We might 
 then possibly come in by a road that would lead us to the top of Child's 
 Hill, and possibly, by dismounting and leading our horses^ the trees might hide us 
 from observation," 
 
 " Can we do better, Jack ? — that is the question." 
 
 " I fear that the only other alternative will be to hide in the fields, 
 or get into some copse or thick preserve until nightfall. Which do you prefer^ 
 Claude ?" 
 
 " Decidedly the attempt to reach the farm-house, Jack. There is great risk in 
 hiding in preserves — they are rather too zealously looked af tea: in this country 
 to afford secure places of shelter, except upon some momentary emergency. 
 I will not go against your judgment, but my own feeling prompts me to 
 seek rather, by a circuitous route, the shelter of the abandoned farm-house you 
 mention." 
 
 "Be it so then, Claude. Come on. I will find out the way to it as well as I 
 possibly can. Don't talk of taking my judgment, when you know that I prefer 
 yours, so come on.'* 
 
 Jack was especially anxious now first of all to get into the high road, and then 
 to get out of it again on the left, so that he might know then that at every step 
 they were leaving the principal danger behind them, instead of, perhaps, facing it ; 
 for although Claude had made up his mind not to deviate from his direct route, 
 except upon the most urgent necessity so to do, he had found so many perils 
 besetting him, that it would have been the, height of absurdiiv to keep to such a 
 resolve. Of late, therefore, he had said nothing at all about it, in the course of 
 ten minutes they were again upon the turning that led them into the high road, 
 and then, full of nervous apprehensions for Claude, much more than for himself. 
 Jack began to creep on a little in advance, to look for some turning that would 
 take them from it again. To any one at all acquainted with the locality of 
 Winchester and its surrounding roads. Jack's policy will be apparent. He wished 
 to leave the city upon his right hand, and so to get upon the high ground to the 
 south-east of it, without entering it. This could only be done by finding some 
 cross roads, but, of course, there were many such, and in a country so intersected 
 by routes as England is, there can be no difficulty, provided any one knows the 
 direction in which his destination lies, in readily reaching it. Presently a beautiful 
 shady lane opened to the left, and Jack paused at it, saying — 
 
 *' 'This will do, Claude. The sun will guide us now, and I think that a couple 
 of miles, if we can successfully make them in this direction, will take us quite 
 past the city and its suburbs." 
 
 " And to the hill you mention ?" 
 
 ** Yes, Claude. Come on at once. I shall be in a world of fidgets until we 
 are housed now. Besides, the horses will soon require rest." 
 
 " They will. Jack. A couple of hours' repose now would do them no hurt. It is 
 especially harassing to them, the variety of paces to which by circumstances we 
 are compelled to put them, and if we have the good fortune to meet with our 
 friends according to appointment at the cathedral, I should like that we all made 
 but one risk of it to Southampton, and in that case we may find our perils at an 
 end." 
 
 *• I sincerely hope so, Claude." ' 
 
 As they went down this lane, they could not help beiag much struck by its 
 many natural beauties, and it was quite evident from the character of its roadway, 
 that it was not much frequented. The most magnificent tress arose majestically 
 on each side, and here and there were some rare specimens of exotics, which had 
 been carelessly probably planted in the hedge row, and done better there, than
 
 430 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 with all the fuss and attention of a professed gardener. As yet they could cee no 
 termi nation to the lane and each step they took down it seemed to improve 
 Jack's spirits. 
 
 " I begin to have good hope, Claude," he said, ** that all "will be well now. 
 This lane, as you will see by the position of the sun, goes directly in the direction 
 we wish, and if it but continue another rnile, we shall be able to think of bearing 
 to the right again, and looking for the high ground." 
 
 '* I have hopes too now, Jack," said Claude, ** an*^ after galloping so far, and 
 through so many serious perils, it would be a hard tlaag for us to break down 
 and fall into the hands of our foes. I wish to Heaven, Cicely and May had not 
 started from their security in London. Their appearance upon the road has 
 seriously complicated my anNieties," 
 
 To this Jack only made some common-place kind of answer, and then they in- 
 creased their speed a little, and the other mile of which Jack had spoken as a distance 
 which when once traversed in safety, would enable them to think of turning again, 
 Was gone over withoutencountering a single soul, a fact which was fully attributable 
 to the unfrequented character of the lane, and partly to its being the time of day 
 when the country people were engaged at their various employments. The lane 
 soon began to expand a little, and fi.ially they emerged from it upon a broad road. 
 Jack at once recognised it, and told Claude that, by continuing upon it to the 
 right, they should soon wind round the farm, and get^ upon the high road. 
 No one appeared in the \^ay, and on they went until the road began perceptibly 
 to ascend ; and Jack, who was some paces in advance, suddenly paased, and 
 said — 
 ''Behold Winchester !" 
 
 He pointed between two trees as he spoke, and upon Claude reaching the spot 
 he saw that the whole city and the surrounding country to a considerable extent 
 was spread cut before him like a panorama. The scene, as viewed from that height, 
 was a very fine one, for 
 I " 'Tis distance lends enchantment io tlio view !" 
 
 I Jack pointed out to Claude the old grey cathedral, shapeless and massive, looking 
 I like s(5rae monster hulk siranded, by some freak of fortune, in a churchyard. The 
 ; numerous chimneys of the convent, and the long expanse of the old palatial 
 j residence, were objects worthy of attention, but Claude was as well pleased with 
 the little streamlet, that gave a motive power to several water wheels, and wound 
 through a portion of the city, as anything else in the place. 
 "And this," he said, " is the far famed Winchester !" 
 
 " It is," said Jack ; *'the much vaunted, puffed old city, that disappoints every 
 visitor. The celebrated old cross is upon'the door-step almost of a huckster's shop, 
 and the cathedral, although truly magnificent within, is in one of the worst situa- 
 tions of the city — namely, a damp churchyard, and without, looks more like 
 Noah's Ark than anything else that can suggest itself to the imagination." 
 " And where are we now, Jack ?" 
 
 *' We are upon Child's Hill, from which by far the best view of the city can be 
 obtained, and from which it looks the best. People should stand here for half an 
 hour, and then go away with the idea of Winchester which here they have re- 
 ceived, without descending to particulars. Or if they want to see more, they should 
 make one nigh visit to the cathedral," 
 
 '•Which 1 will do, but not to see it, Jack. It will lie to look into the eyes of 
 *hose who are dearer to me than all the cathedrals or all the cities in the world. 
 Eut where is the farm that is to be our place of refuge ? Is it not time that w^ 
 sought it?" 
 
 " Yes, It is close at hand. I only wish that it may be found still vacant. 
 Let us now dismount, Claude, and the trees and bushes will then suffice to hide 
 the horses ; or if they are seen they will not be thought anything of. not being 
 mounted, for at a distance no one will suppose them to be anything else but some 
 that are being used for agricultural purposes." 
 
 «* ^^llPV bnf.Vl rl I* Km nil n to/1 onri ^oA ♦lioii. Virtvcao fnv crtma rlicton/>o w/VlftH amrsnor tVlP
 
 LIFE ON THE KOAD. 437 
 
 trees, Jack pointed out to Claude the old thatched roof and twisted chimneys of 
 the farm-house which they were seeking, and a few minutes more brought them 
 to a stone wall, over the top of which unpruned shoots of the peach, the apricot, 
 and the vine were straggling. There was a door in this wall, which Jack tried. 
 It was fast, but finding a stone of sufficient size to accomplish his purpose, he 
 forced it open, and they both entered a neglected garden with their horses. What 
 a wilderness this garden now presented ta the eye, in comparison doubtless with 
 what it had once been. Everything had gone to rot and waste, and rampant weeds 
 had, like tall bullies, waved up their heads in the place of fine flowers, which shrank 
 and withered in such evil company. Wall-trees had fallen and trailed their 
 lengths upon the ground, and the hedge-sparrows and the chaffinch had boldly- 
 built their nests in choice flowering shrubs, 
 " This is desolation ! " said Claude. 
 
 " It is, indeed ; but yet, to our eyes, it should be grateful, inasmuch as it affords 
 us evidence of the continued non-occupation of the place." 
 
 " It does ; but do you not. Jack, find something that appeals to all your most 
 melancholy feelings in a neglected garden ? I always do." 
 
 ** To some extent, Claude, but here we may safely turn our horses loose. 
 I have secured the door again pretty well, and they can come to no haim while 
 we take refuge in the house itself. We can easily station ourselves at some 
 window which commands a view of the surrounding roads, so that we shall see 
 if any one approaches us.'* 
 
 They took good care to secure the garden door effectually, and then taking the 
 bits from the horses' mouths and tying up the stirrups, they left them to amuse 
 themselves in the garden at pleasure, and made their own way into the farm- 
 house, by opening one of the windows tha^ was within a few feet only of the 
 ground. There was a damp and musty smell of decay in that deserted house, 
 that struck with a chilling influence upon their spirits. But when they had opened 
 some of the shutters a much more cheerful effect was produced, and the place 
 wore quite a different aspect from what it had only a few short minutes previously. 
 They found a top roo^ which had a commanding aspect from its window, and 
 there stationing themselves, sufficiently removed from the actual glass as not to 
 be seen, they gazed upon Winchester, and the many roadf3 coming into it in all 
 directions. They had not been long thus situated, when they heard a drum 
 beaten rapidly, and with the regular movement of a military signal. Claude 
 started ; but Jack said immediately — 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing, Claude. The barracks are not so far off, but that we 
 may hear the military signals. Ah ! There is a trumpet too. I was aware that 
 a regiment of cavalry was here." 
 
 A trumpet was blown sonorously, and the drum ceased. 
 
 " Jack, 1 cannot help my thoughts, and they seem to tell me that these sounds 
 have some reference to us. You may depend, now, that the greatest possible 
 exertion will be made to apprehend us, and that, after the desperate encounters 
 that have taken place, and the deaths that have occurred, the military force wiH 
 be alone considered capable of coping with us. I suspect that news of the death 
 of the trooper has reached the barracks." 
 
 *' It may be so, Claude, and yet we must not alarm ourselves. Our place of 
 retreat is not known, and we can, from our vantage ground here, listen to and 
 look upon any preparations that may be made against us." 
 *' I hope we can.* \ 
 
 " I'm sure of it, Claude — Come, now, allow me to show yeu what a capital 
 caterer I am, and let us taste the wine which I succeeded in procuring from the 
 public-house.'* 
 
 Jack produced his provisions, but' it was quite clear, notwithstanding he strove 
 to shake off the feeling, that his mind was ill at ease. Every now and then the 
 tap, tap of the drum, or the brazen sound of the trumpet, would make him start. 
 Suddenly, then, he dropped the bread he was eating, and changed colour, 
 " What is it ?'* cried Claude.
 
 438 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 — _j, , , 
 
 "Hush ! Yet no. No one can hear us. Look from the window to the right 
 there. What do you see V 
 
 *' A troop of dragoons.'* 
 
 " And— and " 
 
 ** Coming this way. Ah ! they halt. They place a couple of sentinels at the 
 corner of yon road. On they go. Now they leave two more men. I see what 
 the game is, Jack. They are determined to trace me by some means, and so 
 they are lining every road with troopers. We shall have a more difficult task to 
 perform to leave this place, Jack, than we had to get to it, but we are not beaten 
 yet.'* 
 
 Claude's spirits generally rose with th6 urgency of his danger, and now that he 
 fully understood the means that were being adopted for his capture, he was better 
 satisfied than before. Jack, as the reader has, n» doubt, well perceived by this 
 time, was of rather a different disposition, and for a few moments now his heart 
 sunk within him at the urgency of the circumstances that surrounded him and 
 Claude. He could not speak. 
 
 •• Courage," said Claude. " Courage, Jack." 
 
 Jack sighed. 
 
 "What ! are your going now to show the white feather yourself, because you 
 chance to see a few colours waving in the wind ? Nonsense, Jack, nonsense. 
 We shall yet only achieve the greater triumph by triumphing over the greater 
 obstacles. Come — come ! you must not desert me now. Jack, because things look 
 bad." 
 
 *' Desert you, Claude ? I desert you?" 
 
 ** Cartainly not. I only said that to rouse up your old spirit a little. Now you 
 look something like yourself. Why, man, they can but kill us; and death, you 
 know, is a sort of genteel independence with all your wants gratified. Place a 
 fellow in his six feet of earth, and he is*the only freeholder whose title no one will 
 carp at" 
 
 " I am all right again, Claude.'* 
 
 ** I rejoice to hear it." 
 
 " What do you propose doing, then, as things have taken such a turn ?" 
 
 " Waiting until night. I have the highest opinion of the courage of these 
 soldiers, but I have far from the highest opinion of their cunning, and I think we 
 shall find a means, not of fighting and defeating them, but of hoodwinking 
 them." 
 
 "Yes — yes!" 
 
 ** Don't you remember the old saying, Jack, * that if you can't play the lion, 
 you must play the fox.' That, then, is precisely our situation, and %vhile they 
 play the lion, we will take upon ourselves to come out in the character of sly 
 Reynard, and for me, I am resolved to spare no pains in the enacting of it." 
 
 CHAPTER C. 
 
 THE COMING NIGHT. 
 
 By attentively watching the progress of the" soldiers, they could see that at 
 every turning and available spot for accurate observation, sentinels were duly 
 placed, so that admitting Claude and Jack not to be in the city, they must, if 
 unknowingly they had approached it, have fallen into the hands of some of the 
 troopers. They likewise saw two persons on horseback in plain clothes visit the 
 sentinels, and say something to each, and they made no doubt that these were 
 magistrates, who were giving the soldiers as good a description as they could of 
 the parties they were to use their best endeavours to apprehend. When all this
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. . 439 
 
 was done, and the troopers were so placed that their officers considereJfand 
 justly too, that not a stray cat could pass into Winchester without their acquiescence, 
 Jack looked at Claude as though he would have said — 
 
 •'What now can we hope to do ?" 
 
 Claude smiled. 
 
 " Well/ said Jack, " I am right glad indeed that you take things so easy." 
 
 "The fox !— The fox! Jack." 
 
 " You still hope to be able to play that character then ?'* 
 
 *' Hope P I intend to play it. I have made up my mind to do so. I tell you 
 what it is. Jack; if I did not know that Cicely and May would keep their 
 appointment at the entrance of the cathedral this evening, we would, as soon as 
 the sun had fairly set, start for Southampton by this route and so get past the 
 city ; but what I propose to do, is, to make such changes in our apparel and 
 costume as we hare the means of doing while the daylight lasts, and then, leaving 
 our horses here, meet our dear friends at the cathedral gate." 
 
 "And then?" 
 W '* Why then, Jack, we can, if favoured by circumstances, all get here together, 
 and plan our future progress ; but at alF events, you and I, no doubt, will be able 
 to return and pick up our steeds again. One thing is quite evident, and that is, 
 that our retreat here is not even suspected." 
 
 '* That is tolerably clear, Claude.'* 
 
 " Well, then, can you see any rational objection to my plan. Jack? If you can, 
 let me know it at once, and I have no sort of objection to changing it," 
 
 **Ko, Claude, it must just be as you say. Let it jnst be so, and we will do our 
 very best, as you propose, to play the fox, since such is all that is left to us. 
 Thank Heaven the day is so far advanced that we shall not have much delay now 
 to engender in our minds that worst of all feelings, suspense/' 
 
 " True. The sun is already hurrying down the western sky." 
 
 While Jack and Claude are thus waiting anxiously for sunset, we can afford 
 time to take a glance at the progress of Markham Brereton and his two fair com- 
 panions, and the officer who so officiously had thrust his company upon them. As 
 they proceeded without meeting with anything in the shape of an obstruction on 
 the road, the courage of the officer, which had been a little damped by finding the 
 direction in which they were going, revived, and he began to talk rather large of . 
 what he would do if any knight of the road should have the impudence to shoi^ 
 himself in a menacing attitude. 
 
 **I think," lemarked Brereton, <'that you said you had already had something 
 like an encounter with Claude Duval ?'* 
 
 *' Oh y#8, sir. Certainly I had the honour of mentioning as much." 
 
 " Hov7 was it ? If it be not giving you too much trouble, I should like much to 
 hear, and I am sure my young friends here will feel likewise interested in the 
 recital." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said the officer, with quite a smile upon his face, **I shall 
 have great pleasure in telling you all about it, and why it is Claude Duval is so afraid 
 of me." 
 
 " Afraid of you?" said Cicely. 
 
 " Markham Brereton gave her a look to admonish her not to be imprudent, and 
 she at once checked her ardour in defence of Claude, and added— 
 
 " Of course, any one in his profession may well be afraid of an officer of the 
 police, whose official province he knows it is to apprehend him." 
 
 *' Yes, sir ; but what I mean is, that Claude Duval, the notorious highwayman, 
 has special cause to dread me, as you shall hear— a-hem ! Late one night a gen- 
 tleman was robbed upon Ealing Common of a considerable sum, and he ^ame and 
 laid his complaint before the police ; of course, all we could do was to say that we 
 could not help it. But next night another person was robbed, and the next night 
 another." 
 
 •'And by Duval?" 
 
 " Yea, so they all said. Well, when I heard of three robberies then in succes-
 
 440 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 sion, I began to think it was too bad, and ought to be put a stop to. I spoke to 
 the magistrates upon the subject, and they shook their heads very gravely and 
 said — * Certainly it ought to be put a stop to, but if we send a force upon the 
 common, away goes Claude Duval; for some of the country people are sure to give 
 him notice of it, and anything short of a good force is no* use.' Upon this 1 at 
 once said — * Gentlemen, I'll go alone, and I won't say that I shall bring in Claude 
 Duval, but I do say that I will try it.' " 
 
 " That was courageous." 
 
 *' Well, gentlemen, it was uo more than I felt I ought to do under the circum- 
 stances ; so at night-fall, in the midst of a drizzling shower of rain, oflf I set to 
 Ealing Common, dressed very genteelly in black, more like some rich banker or 
 City merchant going home to his country house, after being late at business in the 
 City, than anything else." 
 
 " That was to make yourself attractive, I suppose, to the attack of the highway- 
 man," said Brereton. 
 
 '* Exactly so, sir. What I wanted was for him to attack me, as you say, for 
 what else would take me to Ealing Common ?* 
 
 *' Precisely, Pray go on." 
 
 ** Well, gentlemen, when I got to the middle of the common I began to wonder 
 where the highwayman was ; and after parading to and fro for some time on my 
 horse, I went towards a clump of trees in the distance, and there I waited. Not 
 a very agreeable state of things, you may guess.'' 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, in about half an hour I heard the tramp of a horse's feet, and 
 out I sallied, picking my way over the common as though I were only intent upon 
 reaching home. In the course of a few minutes, trot came somebody after me, 
 and, of course, I sincerely hoped it was Claude Duval, for you see, gentlemen, 1 
 by no means "wanted to kave my trouble for nothing; I went to catch a thief, and 
 I wanted to bring one home with me." ' 
 
 " You are a truly valoroiis man." 
 
 " Ob, you may say that, gentlemen. Well, I did not slackpn my paee at all, 
 for I thought that if he really meant to come after me, he could easily overtake 
 me, and sure enough he did. At a long swingeing gallop, he came alongside me^ 
 and said — " 
 
 " May I have the pleasure of knowing who you are ?" 
 
 "No," said I. 
 
 *■ Indeed !" said he — ** you are upon the road. Have you never travelled this 
 way before?'* 
 
 " Yes," said I. 
 
 " Then, perhaps, you have heard of one Claude Duval ?" 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, at this question, I stopped." 
 
 " I have," said J, " heard of Claude Duval, and I want to see him." 
 
 "That," said he, '•' is easily accomplished ; you may look at me—* your money 
 or your life !" ' 
 
 '* That was coming to the point," said Brereton. 
 
 *'It was," said the officer, " but as it happened, it was jast what I wished : I 
 turned upon him in a moment, and in a voice that rather made him start a little, 
 said—' There is a third alternative, and that is to take you into custody, and lodge 
 you in jail.' With that, I made a grasp at him, and a porton of his collar came 
 away in my hand. He fired a pistol at me, and grazed my cheek, and then he 
 tried to escape, but 1 pelted after him, and caught him by the- back of the neck." 
 
 " I'll give you jglOOO," he cried, *' to let me go." 
 
 ** No," said I, '• not for the jewijls in the Tower." 
 
 " And so you caught him ?" 
 
 " Wait a bit, sir ; I thought I had him, but it turned out that I only had hold of 
 his cravat, and he cleanly untying it in front, off it came suddenly. The shock threw 
 me from my horse, when, as you may readily suppose, before I could mount, par- 
 ticularly as the horse got restive, as hors;s will do when they have seen a struggle
 
 GENTLEMA.N JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 441 
 
 going on, he had got a start of me that if. was out of the question for me to think 
 of following him." 
 
 " And so ended your adventure." 
 
 *' Yes, gentlemen. But Claude Duval, they say, has often told his companions, 
 with pn oath, that there was only one man in England that he would rather not 
 meet, and that was Jenkins. I am Jenkin?, gentlemen.** 
 
 CL.\UDE AND JACK HAVE ANOTHEB HAIR-BREADTH ESCAPE. 
 
 " Oh, that is your name." 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen, an old English name is Jenkins— a very old English name 
 indeed, T can assure you." 
 
 •* Well," said Brereton, " I once met Claude Duval, but I had not such an ad- 
 venture with him as you have had. 1 candidly confess that he robbed me, after 
 overcoming all the resistance I was fool enough to offer to him, for I had not 
 
 ■NTn Kfi
 
 442 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 really aafficient to lose to make it worth while risking my life for the protection 
 
 *'Ah, but, sir, the principle of the thing — I think of that ; that's what I go upon. 
 If we only had a small matter of eighteenpence, you know, in one's pocket, one 
 would not like exactly to have it taken from one by main force — that's my view 
 of the question, sir." 
 
 ** Well, no doubt you are right, but after all I do not regret my adventure with 
 Claude Duval, for it enabled me to take such a good look at him" that I shall never 
 forget him while I live, I should know him again anywhere." 
 
 " And so should I; sir.— So should I.*' 
 
 Brereton gave at this moment a sudden start, and exclaimed— 
 
 ♦» Good God! There he is!'* 
 
 "Murder!— murder! fire!" cried Jenkins. *< Help I— help. Let me go. 
 Murder 1 — murder. Oh, gentlemen, don't say I spoke of him. Oh good gracious, 
 let me go!" 
 
 As he uttered these words, off he set in the direction from whence they had 
 come at a tearing pace, and he had gone half a mile before he found out that he 
 was not pursued, and by the laughter that came upon his ears he began to suspect 
 he had been hoaxed. Rage and mortification filled his mind by turns, and he paused 
 to ask himself if he should now abandon the noble party that had played him such 
 a trick, or still remain with the hopes of getting something from their generosity, 
 if not Trom any over estimate of his services. Cupidity got the better of shame, 
 and he rode back. Markham and his fair friends were really in hopes they had 
 got rid of him, and that shame would keep him away, but in this supposition 
 they certainly, as it appeared, reckoned without their host, for back he came. 
 When he got within speaking distance he forced a laugh as be said— 
 
 «' Well, gentlemen, don't you confess now that I did that well V 
 
 " What, well ?" 
 
 " Why, the pretending I was frightened, and scampering away in the manner 
 I did." 
 
 ** So well," said Brereton* that you entirely imposed upon us, and we really 
 considered you were frightened at the prospect of an encounter with Claude 
 Duval." 
 
 *' Ha ! ha ! that is good. Oh dear, no, gentlemen, I always had a turn for 
 joking, so, when I saw you had a mind for a little jest, of course I followed it up 
 by pretending to be dreadfully alarmed, I hope the young gentlemen were not put 
 out of their way by this little frolic." 
 
 '« Not at all," said Cicely. ^ ^ -^ 
 
 * ** Certainly not," said May. *' We were too much amused at your consternatipn 
 to think of anything else.* 
 
 <' Ah now, gentlemen, that is really too bad, when you know it was all a 
 joke." 
 
 " For 'my part," said Markham Brereton, ** I don't yet see where the jest lies, 
 for through an aperture in the hedge as we passed I saw a pair of eyes, which, if 
 they did not really belong to Claude Duval, must have belonged to the devil him- 
 self, who for the occasion had thought proper to take his likeness.*' 
 
 " You — you — don't — really mean that, sir ?* 
 
 " Indeed I do." | 
 
 " But you laughed 1" 
 
 " Yes, to see how you scampered off I did laugh, and I think I should have 
 done so if a pistol bullet had whizzed past ray head. I have been in the army, 
 and it is no part of my disposition to know what fear is." 
 
 " The deuce," muttered the ofl&cer to himself. ** This is some general now, I 
 should not wonder. But if he really saw Claude Duval, and he is dogging our 
 steps — I only wish I was at home." 
 
 "The thought of the danger that he might be running had such an effect upon the 
 mind of the officer that he turned ghastly pale, and kept glancing around him so 
 auspiciously, that both Cicely and May, if their minds had been sufficiently free and
 
 LIEE ON THE ROAD. ' 443 
 
 unembarrassed to admit of frivolity, would have been highly amused at him. As 
 it was, melancholy thoughts of Claude, and what might be his position, would intrude 
 themselves to 
 
 *^ Spoil youth's frolic soul ;'' 
 and it would indeed have been something wonderful that could have coaxed more 
 than a passing smile from either of them at that juncture. 
 
 " Mr. Jenkins," said Markham Brereton gravely, " I cannot conceal from you 
 ray impression that Claude Duval is even now positively engaged in watching our 
 party." 
 
 *' You — you — really don't — think that V* 
 
 " Indeed I do.'* 
 
 *' Then I — I can only say that whatever your own notions may be, gentlemen, 
 I don't exactly advise you to turn and run, although, perhaps, that would be the 
 safest course to pursue." 
 
 '* Oh, no — no," cried May and Cicely. 
 
 " Certainly not," added Markham Brereton. " That is not what we are inclined, 
 to do. But, Mr. Jenkins, 1 make no secret to you of the fact that the safety of 
 these two youths is of more moment to me than ray own life, so I propose that 
 you and I ride on a little in advance, and if Claude Duval really meditates an 
 attack, let it be made upon us, and during the struggle they will be able to escape, 
 and if we are both killed we shall have the satisfaction of knowing that they are 
 safe." 
 
 The officer's nose [as umed quite a bluish tinge. 
 
 " Satisfaction !'* he gasped. " After you are dead?" '^' "^'r-M 
 
 *' Yes, certainly. You are not an infidel, are you, Mr, Jenkins V^ ,. ' 
 
 *' Oh, no — no — and yet somehow, do you know, I think, sir, we had better all 
 keep together. Don't you think we look much more imposing all together ?* 
 
 *' It may be so." 
 
 Markham Brereton saw that the fears of the officer would, after all. not be suffi- 
 cient to induce him to part company with them. The fact is, that rather too much 
 had been done to induce him to think them great personages, and it had h, 
 the effect of inducing him to think, likewise, that some very considerable advantages 
 were to be gained by staying by them. After a few moments more he even sum 
 moned up courage to say — 
 
 " Let us look to our pistols, for if Claude Duval does attack us our only chance 
 will be by all firing at him at once, and so, perhaps, managing to hit him among 
 us. Is your priming all right, sir? A raias-fire in the moment of danger is like 
 throwing away vour life at once. Only let us all fire together. That will 
 do it." 
 
 =; ;• >J CHAPTER CI. | 
 
 THK SENTINELS. 
 
 f' Cicely was SO indignant at this proposal for the death of Claude, that it was 
 not without some difficulty she could manage to control her feelings. One glance 
 at May, let the latter see what Cicely thought upon the occasion, but May placed 
 her finger upon her lips and shook her head admonishingly. Markham Brereton, 
 in order 'not to awaken any suspicion, did examine the priming of his pistols, a 
 bullet from one of which was much more likely, in case of any conflict,fto go through 
 the head of Mr. Jenkins than of CJauue Duval. They were how so rapidly ap- 
 proaching Winchester, that Brereton began to look seriously along the' road lor 
 Claude and Jack, or some news of them. He thought, and justly enough too that 
 if they had been taken or killed by the officers, eomo account of it would be brought 
 along the road, and so, while he heard no news, he considered that he heard good 
 J12WS. The presence of the officer was a great bar to the free intercourse of Brere-
 
 444 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 on and the fair fugitives, but if he, Markham, had known the real state of things 
 at Winchester, he would not have been &o eager to dispense with the company of 
 Mr. Jenkins, who really, as will presently be seen, became an useful ally. At 
 about one mile from the city they heard the clatter of horses' feet, and presently a 
 turn in the road disclosed two dragoons coming on at a trot. The soldiers did not 
 pause until they reached the party, and then one cried — 
 
 " Our duty is to speak to all strangers on the road. Who are you V 
 
 •♦ What?" exclaimed Markham Brereton. " Is Winchester under martial law?" 
 
 " No, sir, but we are turned out to apprehend two men — Claude Duval, the 
 highwayman, aad another. We have a sufficiently good description of them to 
 know that you are not them, but our duty is to report all persons who pass our 
 post.*' 
 
 *' Allow me," said Mr. Jenkins, taking out a little brass staff from his pocket. 
 '* You see that 1 am a jiolice officer — 1 am in search of this very Claude Duval ; 
 60 that, without further trouble, you may allow me and these gentlemen to pass. 
 My name is Jenkins." 
 
 " That will do, I suppose," said one of the troopers to the other. 
 
 '• Oh, yes — yes. Pass on." 
 
 «• Have you any good ground," asked Brereton, '* for supposing that Buval is 
 coming upon this road ?'* 
 
 *' We know nothing about it, sir," replied one of the soldiers, *' all we are 
 aware of is, that sentinels command all the roads into the city, and that we have 
 orders to apprehend two men of a certain description if they cross our post, and 
 to question all comers." 
 
 " Then, he has not reached Winchester yet," said Jenkins. *< I wish you may 
 catch him, that's all. I never did know a fellow give so much trouble in all my 
 life," 
 
 '' Nor T," said Brereton. "Come on." 
 
 They passed the two troopers, who, after going a few paces further, turned again 
 and followed them to the city, not with a design of following them, but simply 
 because, having been to the end of their post, they naturally turned, and their pace 
 happened to be much the same as the pace of Markham Brereton and his party. 
 In this manner, then, Cicely and May came into view of the old city of Wmchester 
 in the course of ten minutes, and had passed the guards that had been stationed 
 for the purpose of interrupting Claude. Mr, Jenkins began to get curious about 
 their destination. 
 
 " A-hem !" he said. " Well, we have baffled Claude Duval. You see what it 
 is to show an imposing front. No doubt he saw me, and hesitated to attack 
 us." 
 
 "No doubt.'* 
 
 " A-hem ! I suppose you are at home now ?*' 
 
 " At home ? Oh, dear, no.*' 
 
 " May I, then, make so very bold as to ask how far, gentlemen, you think of 
 going upon this route V* 
 
 " Oh, yes. Do yon know the New Forest 1" 
 
 " In Hampshire—just across the Southampton water ? I have heard of it often 
 enough, but I don't know it. It's some distance, that, from here,' j-^ ^ 
 
 " Yes, but there we are going." 
 
 " Humph !*' 
 
 " Do you know a place, there, called Brocklehurst ? If you do, you will know 
 that a certain Duke has an estate close by, which we may go and just have a look 
 at. However, we shall sleep to-night in Winchester, for I must not fatigue these 
 two youths by too much travelling, for their time is their own, and my time 
 belongs to them.*' 
 
 ** Yes, sir, that I can understand." 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 *< Then you will put up for the night at Winchester V 
 
 *' Yes, and at the best hotel. Will you make enquiry for it ? And I hope you
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 445 
 
 will have the goodness to say, merely, that four gentlemen travelling >viah for 
 accommodation." 
 
 "I understand, sir," said Jenkins. *' Lord bless you, sir, if you wa Actually 
 to tell me who and what you and the two young gentlemen are, the secret 
 would be as safe with me as though it had never been mentioned." 
 
 " For my own part, Mr. Jenkins," said Brereton, who began to think that, after 
 all, the officer's presence would have the effect of covering them from suspicion or 
 questioning. " For my own part, I should have'no sort of objection to being per- 
 fectly frank with you, but there is a certain great personage who might not 
 approve of my being so — you understand ?'' 
 
 " I do, sir." ^ 
 
 ** The time, however, Mr. Jenkins, will assuredly come, and that not at a dis- 
 tant date, when your eyes will be open to something that you now have no sus- 
 picion of." 
 
 " Think you so,^' said Jenkins ; but he added to himself, '< I know more than you 
 think for — I know that you are a Sir James somebody, and the two gentlemen ave 
 the sons of some duke, and the nephews of the prime minister. Match me ior 
 cunning. Catch a weasel asleep.*' 
 
 What a conjurer in a small way this Jenkins was, to be sure. And so, upon a 
 much more amicable and seemingly confidential footing than before, they nil 
 trotted into the City of Winchester, and passing down the narrow lane in which 
 stands the jail on the right hand, and the convent on the left, they emerged into 
 the long straggling High Street. The spacious frontage of the Crown Hotel w?.s 
 very inviting, so they made up their minds to make it their resting-place, until 
 events should let them see what was the next wisest course to pursue in the 
 present painful posture of their aflFairs. The officer bustled about, and saved 
 them all trouble, and by dint of winks and inuendos he impressed the people of 
 the inn with so high an idea of the importance of the guests, that the whcU 
 establishment was in an uproar to serve them with the very best of everythii;?. 
 It was a great relief to both Cicely and May to obtain rest and refreshment, anc a 
 greater relief still to be able to talk to each other, and to Markham, without ihR 
 interference of the officer, who did not dream of intruding himself into their 
 sitting room, 
 
 *' Here, then," said Brereton, ** we wait until nightfall, when, with or without 
 the officer, we will make an attempt to keep our appointment with Claude." 
 
 '* Oh, yes — yes,'* said Cicely. 
 
 ''And in the meantime," said May, "cannot some imformation be got. Surely 
 the milicary preparations that have been made, will warrant any amount of 
 curiosity concerning Claude. Will you not put some questions to the people here, 
 Mr. Brereton?" 
 
 "I will, the first time I can see the landlord. Probably, as I have ordered 
 dinner, he will make his appearance, and then I will question him. There can 
 be no possible danger in doing so, and at all events our minds will not be left 
 upon the rack of suspense." 
 
 All this conversation was carried on in such a tone as to defy listening, even if 
 any one had been practising a system of espionage upon them, which was not the 
 case, but still caution, under their peculiar circumstances, could not be said to be 
 thrown away, and the least act or word that might have a tendency to open the 
 eyes of the officer] to the manner in which he was being duped, would be highly 
 dangerous both to them and to Claude and Jack. As Brereton had anticipated, 
 the landlord made his appearance, for with a low bow he placed the first dish upon 
 the table. The waiters of the establishment followed with the rest of the dishes. 
 
 '* Pray, gentlemen, what wines," said the landlord, " would you prefer ?'* 
 
 " Hock, Sauterne, and— and . We will think of what else." 
 
 The landlord bowed and exiL He soon returned with the wine, and then Mark- 
 kara Brereton said to him carelessly — 
 
 ** I perceive that the city is restored to its usual quiet bow, by the arrest of 
 Claude Duval,'* ^
 
 446 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ''Arrest of him. sir? Lord bless you, gentlemen, they have not got him yet, 
 I can tpll you, and perhaps they won't — he's a slippery customer, sir. Why the 
 officers here are laying all sorts of extraordinary wagers about whether he'll be 
 taken or not." 
 
 *' Indeed ! We made sure, by the military prepar ous, that by this time he 
 must have been captured." 
 
 ** Not a bit of it, sir — I should soon hear of it if that was the case.'* 
 *' It's a sad thing to see that it is necessary to make so many preparations for 
 ths destruction of one man ?" 
 
 " Ve y sad, gentlemen — very sad, indeed. Is there anything else I can bring 
 you, gertlemen? We have everything in the house at a moment's notice, gen- 
 tlemen. 
 
 " Thank you ; we shall do very well at present. Of course you will let the man 
 below have what he likes at our charge. He is an officer of police whom we 
 picked up upon the road," 
 
 The landlord bowed again and again, and made his exit from the room. A, 
 couple of waiters attended at table, and Brereton did not think it was politic to 
 forbid them, notwithstanding their presence was so serious a check to the conver- 
 sation of the party. They did not hurry the duty over, but they got rid of it 
 as quickly as they could, without showing any undue haste, and when all was 
 cleared and they were alone again, they one and all looked from the window to 
 notice if the day was waning, 1/ some good and beneficent genius could but have 
 whispered to them that Claude and Jack were in perfect present safety, and only 
 awaiting for the sunset, they would have felt a sensation of satisfaction to which 
 they were indeed strangers. 
 
 ** The night is coming," said Cicely. 
 
 *' Yes," remarked May. « Let us hope that all will be well." 
 ** We ought not to feel any anxiety about this meeting by the cathedral," said 
 Markham Brereton, ** for if Claude be not there, we may still conclude that he is 
 in safety, but has found out that there is danger in keeping the appointment, while, 
 if he really keeps it, we shall know that all is well." 
 
 " Yes, Markham," sighed Cicely, *' Reason tells me to be tranquil, but feeling 
 beats an alarm, and will not be anpeased. Hark, what is that ?" 
 
 A trumpet sounded, and there was a trampling; of horses' feet in the street below 
 the window at which they sat ; upon looking out, they saw a troop of horse sol- 
 diers trotting down the hi^h road. They were going to relieve the guards 
 that were placed at the vanous entrances to the city. This fact w^ speedily 
 ascertained beyond the shadow of a doubt, and it had one comforting assurance — 
 namely, that if Claude had been captured, there, of course, would be no 
 necessity for relieving the'guard. This was so strictly true, that neither Cicely 
 nor May could, in their utmost imaginative terror, make anything else of it. The 
 return of the troop was a thorough confirmation of the fact, and then for a time 
 all was stillness again. The officer, after the dinner, tapped at the door of the 
 room, and when he came in, Markham Brereton thought it was a good opportunity 
 to broach the subject of the cathedral, for the danger of attempting to proceed to it 
 without his cognisance was by far too evident for him, Markham, to think of doing 
 so. 
 
 " I understand,'* he said, " that the principal object of interest in this place is 
 the cathedral." - ^ 
 
 **Yes, sir," responded the officer, " but if you leave early in the morning you 
 will hardly have an opportunity of visiting it." 
 •* Unless we go to-night.*' 
 •' Is it not too late, gentlemen V 
 
 *' Not at all ; I suppose it is possible to get a sight of it for money at any time ? 
 I never yet heard of anything in this country that had not its price, and more 
 especially anything connected with the established church." 
 :, The officer laughed, as he replied-— 
 '* Ah, sir, you are right enough about that, no doubt, and for that matter, you 
 
 '^*'*'*'"W'^»a«waw»»»i W< |ii i w i >i»»u> i .l l i. i J W W . w i W S ui i K. iiii h — h. m i i i»w«>w»Wf^ n i M > n w nil mi ^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 447 
 
 might, by paying sufficient, lodge in the cathedral if you like; so if you and the young 
 gentlemen wish to visit it this evening, I will make the necessary enquiries." 
 
 " Thank you. Just say that if any one will be there at eight o'clock to show it 
 to us, we shall not grudge recompensing them for the trouble.* 
 
 ** That will be all right, sir, no doubt — the clerk will jump at the offer; but I 
 will, of course, gentlemen, take care that your wishes are attended to," 
 
 •• Not sooner than eight." 
 
 *' Certainly not, sir." 
 
 When the officer was gone, Markham Brereton turned to his fair friends, and 
 said— 
 
 *' Now the period of an appointment with Claude will be about seven o'clock, 
 and, therefore, as the ice is broken concerning our visit to the cathedral, our great 
 object will be to get there early. No doubt this officious fellow will accompany 
 us. Indeed, he is not now to be shaken off, and so he must take the consequences 
 of so doing." 
 
 " He must," said Cicely. '< Avarice alone has been the cause of all bis pre- 
 tended civility snd proffers of service to us, so that he has really laid us under no 
 debt of gratitude, and as you say, Markham, he must take the consequences of his 
 own scheming. Those conse(^uences we will, of course, all of us, make as light 
 as possible, consistent with Claude's security.'* 
 
 *• Exactly so. Now, as soon as the street begins to wear a dusky aspect, I will 
 propose we walk through the town. If he will still hang uppn us, we cannot very 
 well prevent him, for although he might appear not to think anything of it, we 
 run the chance of his playing the spy upon us, which would be tea times worse 
 than if we took him with us, for in the latfeer case we have a command over 
 him, and in the former none.** 
 
 Both Cicely and May saw what good reasons there were for enduring the 
 society of Mr. Jenkins, and then in about another hour the streets wore a dim 
 and sombre look, and Markham, in answer to the landlord, who came himself to 
 know if they would have lights, said — 
 
 *' Not at present, for we purpose taking a stroll for an hour in the city." 
 
 They all fully expected that upon that news being taken to him, the officer 
 would appear. They were not disappointed. He came, as he said, to offer his 
 humble services to ihem in the walk, as it would be some time before the clerk 
 would be at the cathedral according to orders. .Brereton at once accepted the 
 officer's services, and in the course of another five minutes the incongruous party 
 was in the street* 
 
 CHAPTER CXI, 
 
 KlGHT AT THE CATHEDRAL, 
 
 As Jack had truly described it to Claude, in a damp and"' musty churchyard, 
 where in summer a stench arises from old graves, and where in winter the air is 
 filled by the sickening steam from vegetable and animal decay, stands, like some 
 large Leviathan stranded accidentally in that spot, the cathedral. About the ex- 
 terior of that building there is nothing but what may be all summed up in the 
 one word, ponderosity. Yes, it is ponderous, and that is all. The night was 
 absolutely still. So calm an eve had seldom peeped out from the heavens. Not 
 a breath of air stirred the leaves upon the old elms — the long grass, rank and 
 yellow, upon the grave mounds stirred not, and there was that peculiar clearness 
 in the atmosphere which in this country is usually the precursor of rain. All 
 nature seemed to be indulging in one of those silent pauses which are linnoticed 
 amid the turmoil and roar of life in cities, but which, in the deep solitudes of the 
 country, come upon the imagination with a wonderfully mournful effect, sending 
 the thoughts far back to other scenes and other conditions, and conjuring up to
 
 448 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 the mind's eye forms that long since have mingled with the dust. The hour of 
 seven has struck, and for half an hour the sun had sunk in the west, when the 
 dim shadowy forms of two men came picking their way among the tombs. They 
 paused not until they reached the entrance of the cathedral, and then, by the iron 
 railing which shuts out the profane vulgar from too close a contact with the doors, 
 they stopped. Those men were Jack and Claude. 
 
 *' This is the place," said Claude Duval. *' Oh that I could see those whom 
 we came to meet." 
 
 Jack did not at first reply to these words. He was looking warily about him, 
 for he keenly felt the peril of their situation, and a kind of presentiment of s5hie 
 dreadful coming struggle lay brooding at the bottom of his heart. When he did 
 speak it was in low and anxious accents. 
 
 ** Yes, Claude. Heaven send we were far away from this place. Its aspect 
 to me is soul-depressing. We seem to be quite alone among the graves here, and 
 beneath the shadow of this huge pile of stone." 
 
 " Quite, Jack — quite. The doors here seem close enough. Do you know, 
 Jack, I have a great admiration for the continental fashion of the open church 
 night and day. Many a conscience-stricken heart, upon the impulse of a moment, 
 might wish to commune with its Maker, but in England the doors of the temples 
 are closed except for the mere formalities of worship. Oh, what a trade is this 
 religion in England !" 
 
 '* Ye", Claude, but you and I may set the locks at defiance if we please, and I 
 have been thinking that by far our safest way would be to hold the conference 
 we propose within tVe walls of the building, instead of without. Shall we make 
 an attempt at an entrance ? ' • 
 
 " A happy thought. Jack. We go to desecrate no shrine — to outrage no sanc- 
 tuary. Open the door if you can, Jack. You are better at that than I am. From 
 the interior we can manage, no doubt, to keep watch for the coming of our friends." 
 
 While Claude kept watch that no one approached. Jack plied his skeleton 
 keys and soon turned the lock of one of the small doors that led into the long 
 centre aisle of the cathedral. There was no other fastening but the lock to con- 
 tend with, and when that was overcome the door yielded at once. 
 
 " Come, that's done," he said. 
 
 "Is it open '^'* 
 
 *' Yes. We can keep it nearly closed, and watch from the inside the arrival of 
 our friends. I suppose, Claude]! if they come not within an hour, now, you will 
 give them up?" 
 
 "I shall be inclined to do so," said Claude as he made his way into the cathe- 
 dral. *' How cold the air feels here. Jack, in this vast shell of stone." 
 
 •« It does, indeed. Bnt our advantage is great here, now. Nothing is more un- 
 likely than that this place should be to-night, visited again, and if it should be it 
 will only be a night-watchman to try the doors. We shall be able to see him 
 coming and to hold this one sufficiently firm against him to convince him it is 
 locked as usual. How strange it is that the very atmosphere of such buildings as 
 these seem to overcome one with a religious awe. I could never make out why it 
 was so.'* 
 
 ** Then I will tell you. It is the large space that produces that effect, and 
 nothing else. There is something so grand and majestic in a large covered space, 
 that for a time it overpowers the faculties, aod most people involuntarily speak in 
 whispers when they find themselves beneath a roof of extraordinary span. If 
 this temple were dedicated to an Indian idol, instead of to the true God, that efi'ect, 
 which is purely physical, would be the same." 
 
 *' Is the place growing lighter V 
 
 " Yes, Jack. Ah, how beautiful !" 
 
 The moon had suddenly sailed out from amid the clonda, and shone through 
 the windows of the cathedral, revealing its gigantic proportions to the eyes of Jack 
 and Claude. Under the magic and exquisite influence of that calm reflected light 
 the tall columns , the fretted roof, and the marble flagstone*, seemed as though
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 449 
 
 thev werfe all fresh from the hands of the sculptor, while the carved images upon 
 C tombs came out in broad relief, seeming almost instinct with life They 
 C re men of the world, those two silent spectators of the scene of beauty before them 
 'butchXd as were their feelings and sensations by many a rude turmoil of life. 
 
 even liey for the time forgot eWw^^ ^^^^^^ "^'^'"'l fjtl 
 
 shrine in which they were? Alow moaning noise came upon i heir ears. Astartled 
 
 MARKHAM BMHETON DELUDES JENKINS BY HIGH-SOUNDING TITLES. 
 
 bird that had crept in at a brolcen lattice pane sixty feet from the floor fluttered 
 across the roof, and then a gust of wind swept round the hoary pile, and the clouds 
 once more crept over the moon's face, 
 
 "The calmness is over." said Jack. „ , , i i, i , 
 
 « It is/' said Claude. " Oh, would that they were here. What a melancholy 
 ailing the wind makes in this vast space. We shall, after all, have a night ot 
 
 wailing tl 
 
 No. 57. 
 
 space.
 
 450 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 storm, surely. And they are not here. Jack, I caanot remain caged in this place 
 much longer. Are you keeping an eye upon the door V* 
 
 ** I am peeping out, Claude, but as yet see no one. Let us have a little patience 
 yet. It would be to them a most grievous disappoiatment to get here sifter much 
 peril, and then not see you." 
 
 " It would be »o. It would be so. We will wait as long as we possibly can, 
 until hope itself has fled, and there can be no further likelihood of their coming." 
 These words had scarcely passed Claude's lips, when Jack said to him— 
 "This way— this way! Look out, Jack, and decide for yourself if these are 
 them. No— no. They cannot be. Tliere are four." 
 
 The reader can come to a tolerably good conclusion as to whom the four persons 
 were, now approaching the gate of the old cathedral. There were Markham 
 Brereton, Cicely, May, and Mr. Jenkins, the officer, who thought he had dropped 
 into such a good thing. As it will be, doubtless, recollected that Markham Brere- 
 ton had made no attempt to keep the officer from following them, it may be 
 inferred that he stuck tolerably close to them all the way from the Crown to the 
 Cathedral. This fourth personage, however, was a puzzle to Claude and Jack. 
 
 " Hark J" said the former—" don't speak, Jack, while I take a go«d look at yon 
 fellow who is in their company. What, in the name of all that's foolish, could have 
 induced them to pick him up ? Why— why it's a police officer !" 
 **A what?" 
 
 " A police officer— I know the rascal's foxy-looking phiz, and should know it 
 among a thousand — his name is Jenkins. By what evil chance has Cicely fallen 
 into the company of such a man. This is a circumstance which staggers me.*' 
 
 " Do not be hasty. Who knows but this may be a something tliat the party- 
 could not prevent. Wait until you know more about it." 
 " I suppose I must. They pause.*' 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said Jenkins, to the party which he thought so noble. 
 *' Here is the old cathedral sure enough ; but it will be some time yet before the 
 clerk is here with the key to show it, as I told him eight o'clock, you imder- 
 stand." 6 ^ J 
 
 g: ** Ah," said Cicely, " but the door is not fast." 
 
 " Not fast — I wonder whether thieves have found their way into the sacred 
 building. It cannot be — yet — yes — it is so. The door is only ajar; perhaps, 
 after all, the clerk is there waiting for us. Suppose we walk in, gentlemen ?" 
 
 ** With all my heart," said Brereton. " Oh, Cicely," he whispered, aside, « if 
 Claude and Jack should be in the cathedral, for the sake of him and all ef us, 
 repress any sudden gush of feeling. Remember in how ticklish a position we all 
 stand." 
 
 «' Yes— yes/' 
 
 They all followed Jenkins, who pushed the door wide open, but as Claude and 
 Jack were behind it purposely, he failed to see them. 
 
 " A-hem !" he said. '^A-hem! Is any one here ? Eh? eh? Well, it is a 
 strange thing for the doors of the cathedral to be left in this manner, open to any 
 one, and nobody here to make any charge. God bless me, this is ^juite unpre- 
 cedented. Is any one here? Why don't you speak ?" 
 
 The whole party followed the officer, and Claude then, suddenly stepping up to 
 him, grasped him by the collar, as he said— 
 *' Pray what do you want here, Mr. Jenkins ?" 
 " Murder ! murder ! Who are you ?" 
 ♦' Claude Duval !'* 
 ''The devil!" 
 
 ** Claude, Claude," cried Cicely, as she sprung forward. Brereton and May 
 too advanced , and Jack went to the little door and looked out. He thought he 
 should be doing the best service to them by placing himself as it were upon guard, 
 so that he should see if any one approached the place. He could not do better 
 than this. 
 
 The officer's faculties, were so astounded by the unexpected assault npon the
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 451 
 
 I 
 
 part of Claude, that for a few moments he remained in a fixed attitude, as though 
 he had died and stiffened in it. At length, recovering himself a little, he gave a 
 y ell of despair, for he thought, to be sure, that death would be his portion. 
 
 '* Fool!" cried Claude, ** what want you here V* 
 
 "Do not kill him, Claude," said Cicely. "At some better opportunity you 
 shall hear all, and you will then be able to understand how he forced his unwel- 
 come presence upon us. At present, your safety is a paramount consider a« 
 tion." 
 
 "Are you quite well, Claude ?'* sobbed May. 
 
 " Quite— quite ; but this man——" 
 
 *' Oh, spare me — spare me !" cried Jenkins. " I begin to see somehow, although 
 I don't quite comprehend it, that I am in the wrong box. Oh, spare me — spare 
 me ! Don't take my life. It would do you no good to do that. Only let me go, 
 and I will swear lO you, by all that's sacred, that I will not betray you. Dic- 
 tate to me any oath you please, and I will take it. All I ask is my life— my 
 life I" 
 
 " You abject wretch !" 
 
 " Yes— yes. I am abject, for I am praying for my life — life that is so precious. 
 Oh, spare me — spare me !" 
 
 Claude, by the dim light of the partially emerging moon, that a^ain began to 
 peep through a crevice in the clouds, looked cautiously around himi for some 
 place in which to put Mr. Jenkins for security, and observing at some distance to 
 the right an ancient tomb, railed round, and within the enclosure of which was 
 some sculptured figure of an archbishop lying on its back, with the hands closed in 
 prayer, he said to Brereton — 
 
 *' Hold this man for a moment, my friend." 
 
 Brereton did so, while Claude, advancing towards the tomb, found not much 
 difficulty in pulling away one of the iron rails, so that there was thus snace enough 
 to allow of the passage of the officer through the bars. He then returned, and 
 seizing him, he dragged him to the tomb, not, however, without some diflBculty, 
 which arose from the fears of Jenkins having rendered him perfectly supine and 
 helpless, so that his legs doubled up under him, and he could not walk. Having, 
 however, got him to the tomb, Claude tumbled him in and replaced the bar, so 
 that Jenkins, in the dark, and amid the bewilderment of his own fears, did not 
 know exactly by what process he had been placed in such a cage. He tumbled 
 right over the sculptured bishop, and rolled down upon the other side of it, still 
 roaring for mercy. 
 
 " Hark you," said Claude, " if I hear another word from you, it shall be your 
 death warrant." 
 
 The officer was as quiet immediately as the defunct archbishop, or bishop with- 
 out the arch, into whose company he was so unexpectedly thrown. Claude im- 
 mediately returned to his friends. 
 
 ** There is now," he said, *' no time to lose. We have a couple of horses not 
 very far off, and we must manage somehow to get the thirteen miles to South- 
 ampton. Oh, Cicely, after so many strange adventures and hair-breadth escapes, 
 do I hold you to my heart again ?'* 
 
 Cicely sobbed aloud. 
 
 "Do not mar the meeting," said Brereton, "by tears.^ No one knows or 
 ever suspects who we all are but Jenkins, and he is secure. £Come away now, at 
 once." 
 
 Suddenly, before another word could be spoken. Jack closed the little door, and 
 shot two bolts that were within, into their sockets, as he cried — 
 
 "Lost!— -lost!— lost !" 
 
 " What do you mean?" shouted Claude, "are you mad, Jack, that you fill those 
 who cannot bear such shocks, so full of terror." ^ ' 
 
 " I am not mad, I wish that I were so. A company of foot soldiers have just 
 marched into the grave yard, at double quick time," 4^;^ 
 
 " Soldiers?" ' &>^:r"
 
 452 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Yes ; we are discovered, and all is lost." 
 
 *' Except life and a thousand chances of escape," cried Claude, *♦ gee to all tbe 
 doors, Jack. Perhaps, after a\l, this is a false alarm — nothing can be more un- 
 likely than a discovery of us. Some guard in this direction may be about to be 
 changed ; or, perhaps, a sentinel is to be placed at the gate of the cathedral, but 
 I cannot think that the troop of infantry has any direct meaning as regard* us 
 here." 
 
 ** Claude !— Claude! we will live or die together!" cried Cicely, 
 
 '* Yes, yes, dearest, we will live together, but don't talk of dying yet, for I do 
 not intend to do so to oblige anybody. Jack, look to your fire-arms.'* 
 
 *' Hush, hush." 
 
 Tramp! tramp ! tramp! came the company of infantry from the barracks, 
 aad when Claude and those who were with him really thought that they were about 
 to pass on without any pause by the gate of the cathedral, a loud voice ciied—- 
 
 "Halt !" 
 
 '* They come," said Jack. 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" whispered Claude, " let us listen, I am not 8ure yet, that we 
 are in more than usual danger," 
 
 *' Now, sir," said the same voice that had cried halt, ** pray open the door at 
 ouce, and my men will search the church ; but, really, I think your statement is 
 very improbable. You must have been deceived by some accidental likeness." 
 
 •*No, Captain Hurst, no," said another person, "I tell you, sir, that I was 
 coming to the cathedral to light the reflecting lamp in the centre aisle, and I saw 
 a man whom 1 know to be Claude Duval, the celebrated highwayman, walking with 
 another man; I saw him twic 3 in London, and cannot be mistaken as to bis 
 identity. His features are indelibly stamped upon my memory, but his companions 
 1 don't know.* 
 
 CHAPTER CHL 
 
 THE CONTEST IN THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 There was now no sort of doubt about the danger that was approaching to 
 Claude and his friends. One of those little cross accidents which will at time« 
 mar the best and boldest designs, had crossed the fate of those persons who had 
 fdmost begun to think something like safety was dawning upon them. The speech 
 of the clerk of the cathedral was only too painfully explanatory, and how to effect, 
 now, a successful rally from the pressure of such a state of things, was a riddle 
 difficult to answer. Cicely spoke first. 
 
 *' Is there no other door, Claude," she said, *' at which we may leave the place?" 
 Before Claude could reply to her, it seemed as though evil destiny had deter- 
 mined to cut off this small hope of escape, for the officer commanding the little 
 party of military, said — 
 
 *' Well, sir, if your suspicions are correct, you will, of course, have the credit of 
 finding the highwayman, for a sentinel is by this time at every outlet from the 
 building." 
 " God help us !*' said Cicely. 
 
 May clung to Claade, and burst into tears. Jack and Markham Brcreton were 
 anxiously whispering together while the rattle of the clerk's key in the lock of the 
 door, which Jack had bolted in the inside, ceuld be plainly heard, * 
 
 " Fasten all the doors you can, Jack," said Claude. ^f 
 
 '* Yes, yes." W^ 
 
 Jack flew from door to door, but he found that his services in that respect were 
 not required, for that at which they had entered was the only one left merely to 
 the frail security of a lock, all the others being fast bolted and barred wpon the 
 inside. ^
 
 LIFE ON THE UOAD. 453 
 
 After fumbling at the lock for a time, they heard the clerk say — 
 
 " Confound it ; this is the right key. What hinders the door from opening I 
 wonder ?" 
 
 "Why, of course, the persons inside," said the officer. "They have fas- 
 tened themselves in. Get out of the viray, my men will soon force an entrance." 
 
 '* But stop a little. I don't want the old door broke, if I can help it. Let me 
 just make sure that I cannot possibly open it,** 
 
 He commenced again fumbling at the lock, and certainly Claude might be 
 said to have a little respite in which to think, but too truly desperate was the 
 condition in which he found himself. There he was, caged up in the vast area of 
 that cathedral, with sentinels at each place of exit, and a strong force about to enter 
 and seize him. The desperate plan of waiting until the door -was forced, and 
 ihen making a sudden rush from the place, and so probably meeting death from 
 the soldiers, seemed to him the only chance of saving Cicely from the dangers of 
 an actual fight in the cathedral. He said enough to let them all feel that such was 
 his intentions. Cicely flung herself before him— 
 
 •*No, Claude," she said. *'No. You fancy that you can die abne, but 
 discard that idea. You shall not do so, for now I solemnly swear by the God in 
 whose temples we now are, that if you are killed I will not mi Ave you." 
 
 *' Cicely— Cicely, rely " 
 
 *' No more, Claude — no more. You have said that we should live or die to- 
 gether, and we shall. Here are five of us. Let us make what resistance we can, 
 f r our fates are bound up together, and may not now be separated." 
 
 " That is true," said Brereton. " Claude,"^! advise a retreat to the further end 
 of the cathedral." 
 
 ** Do with me as you will," said Claude. ** But you don't know how willingly 
 I would lay down my own hfe to see you all in safety." 
 
 With hurried footsteps they now all betook themselves to the further end of the 
 cathedral. They ascended some steps, and pushing open a pair of folding doors, 
 they found themselves in the crypt where service is performed, and the moon 
 having again fairly struggled out from amid a mass of clouds, there was amply 
 sufficient light in the place for them to see everything. 
 
 " We can make a stand here," said Brereton. "By these folding doors we 
 shall have an advantage. I advise that we stay here, and, above all things, let none 
 of us fire until we are first fired at. Let all we do be done in self-defence. Thus, 
 let what we do be done e/Fectually. Fire low, and do not, if possible, waste a 
 shot." 
 
 They formed in an anxitus group at the head of those few steps, and just with- 
 in the folding doors, one of which they kept closed. And now they were so far off 
 from the outer gate of the cathedral, that they could no longer hear any of the 
 conversation that took place outside between the officer and the clerk, but they 
 were soon made aware of the fact that the latter had given up the idea of opening 
 the door that Jack had bolted by fair means, and had surrendered that part of the 
 business to the soldiers. Heavy blows with the buttend of muskets against the 
 old oak panelling resounded like'^the reverberations of thunder through the cathe- 
 dral. In rolling echoes from wall to roof the sound was multiplied until the whole 
 space seemed full of destruction. Bang ! bang ! went the muskets against the 
 panels, and then a sudden cracking sound proclaimed, the door burst from its 
 hjijges. There being now nothing to obstruct the sound, they heard the officer 
 crying •* Forward !" and in another moment the troops were within the building. 
 
 " Surrender at discretion !" said the officer, "or you will only meet with cer- 
 tain 0eath." 
 
 " Oh, save me !— save me !— The first thing you do, save me!'' cried Jenkins, 
 popping his head through the railings of the archbishop's tomb. Murder !--HelpI 
 help! Save me, whatever you do, I am nearly dead already, indeed I ^m." 
 
 The sudden appeal from such a quarter, produced no small amount of amaze- 
 ment in the minds of all who had lorced a way into the cathedral. The officer 
 ordered his men to halt, and sent a sergeant with four men to the tomb, to see 
 
 ]
 
 454 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 who it was that implqred assistance in such piteous accents. Claude Duval and 
 his party might have taken an opportunity of firing upon that sergeant's guard, 
 if they had not fully made up their minds not to be the aggressors. 
 
 «< Who are you?" said the sergeant, whea he got to the iron railings of the 
 tomb. 
 
 *• Jenkins — Jenkins I Did you never hear of Jenkins ? Oh, have mercy 
 upon me!'* 
 
 ** How the deuce did you get into this cage?" 
 
 '• It ain't a cage, good people. It's a tomb, and for I don't know how long, 
 I have had no company but that of a dead archbishop, and there he lies. Oh, 
 take me out. Take me out !" 
 
 " It's very easy to say take me out," said the sergeant, " but how to do it 
 is quite another thing. You had better come out as you got in. I suppose 
 you managed to squeeze yourself somehow through the bars, for they seem all 
 right enough.*' 
 
 It will be recollected that Claude had replaced the bar he had torn away, so 
 that in appearance it looked just as solid as any of the others, and it could only 
 have been found by trying them all round." 
 
 " I can't get out," said Jenkins. " Only look !— my head won't go through." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins rather incautiously, to demonstrate to the sergeant that his head 
 would not go through between the iron rails, gave it so vigorous a push that it 
 did go through, but the getting i| back again seemed to be quite a different aifair. 
 In vain he turned and twisted it in all directions, and nearly dislocated his neck. 
 There he remained as if in the pillory. 
 
 «• Help, help, help !" 
 
 *' Don't make that row," said the sergeant, ** you did it yourself. I can't 
 waste time upon you. 1 must report myself. Right about face. March !* 
 
 •< But you won't leave me in this predicament ? Anybody might come and 
 knock my brains out, and I not able to move my head from oiie side to the other. 
 Oh, you wretches, I only hope and trust some of you will catch it, as most 
 assuredly you will. Murder ! Murder ! — I won't be quiet — that I won't. Murder ! 
 Murder! Fire! Help ! Murder !" 
 
 By the time the sergeant had got back to the main body, some usual military 
 precautions had been taken. A file of men were placed at the beaten down door, 
 and a corporal was busy lighting a large link that the party had brought with 
 them. In another moment, and while the sergeant was repeating to his officer 
 the odd situation of somebody who called himself Jenkins, the torch was ignited, 
 and a dull reddish glare was cast upon the soldiers, and upon the majestic 
 architecture of the cathedral. The officer now divided his force into three 
 portions, one of which he kept in the centre of the building under his own charge, 
 while the other two he sent right and left to march up the side aisles i with orders 
 to penetrate into every nook and corner, and make prisoners of whoever was met 
 with. He then ordered the men he had with him to advance. They had not 
 gone many steps, when a loud voice — it was that of Claude — cried from the position 
 in which he and his party were — 
 
 " Halt !" 
 
 So mechanically had the soldiers been m the habit of pausmg at that word, 
 that they did so for the moment, until the voice ot their officer, crying ** Forward !'' 
 came again upon their ears. 
 
 '* Advance another twenty feet and we fire !" cried Claude. 
 
 " Forward, men. Forward !" . 
 
 The ofiicer came gallantly on with his sword in his hand, and as the troops 
 seemed resolved to take the party by storm, there evidently was no other way of 
 stopping their progress but by firing at them, and Claude did not do so a whit 
 too soon, for the officer, when he got near the steps, made a dart to ascend them 
 rapidly — ^he gained half way up, when Claude fired a pistol at him. He tamed 
 clean over upon his heels, and his head fell upon the marble floor with a fVightful 
 crash, that would have beea death without the assistance of the pistol shot that j
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 455 
 
 had entered his lungs. The soldiers halted now without orders, and raising their 
 muskets to their shoulders, fired a volley. The effect of that discharge of fire-arms 
 within these echoing walls was something truly prodigious. The noise was of 
 the most tremendous character that can be conceived, and it was some minutes 
 before any sound could be heard amid the roar of that mimic thunder. 
 
 « Speak, speak ! all of you,'* cried Claude. " Are you hurt ? Cicely, May, 
 Jack, Brereton." 
 "Well— well." 
 
 All answered but Jack — for, as yet, no Jack was upon the ground ; but Claude 
 was so delighted to find that neither Cicely nor May had received any hurt, that he 
 forgot to ask where Jack had disappeared to. 
 
 " Fire !" he cried. " Fire upon them. That is right." 
 
 Both May and Cicely fired the pistol they each held in their right hand, and 
 with Claude's and Brereton's shots they made four, which certainly did some 
 execution among the soldiers, for there was evident confusion for a few moments, 
 and the link lay half out upon the floor. 
 
 " Fire away, my lads !" cried the sergeant, who now took the command of the 
 soldiers. ** Fire away, and then rush in upon them and take them." 
 
 Another volley immediately succeeded, and then the soldiers made a rush 
 forward. 
 
 " Fire!" cried Claude, and four more pistols flared and thundered in their 
 faces. A bullet had just touched Claude's shoulder, and Brereton, too, was slightly 
 wounded. 
 
 *' Forward, forward !" cried the sergeant. *' Give them no time, my lads." 
 One of the soldiers dashed up to the folding-door. Claude met him, and 
 successfully eluding the bayonet, closed with him, and wresting the gun from his 
 hands, sent him headlong down the steps again, with a blow upon his skull that 
 put an end to his worldly troubles. It was at this juncture that Claude heard the 
 voice of Jack crying— 
 
 " Back, back, back ! There is safety this way." 
 
 He obeyed the summons and retreated. Two more soldiers scrambled *'over 
 the body of their fallen comrade, and rushed into the crypt. Claude at a venture 
 levelled the gun he had at them, and pulled the trigger. It was loaded, and 
 one of the soldiers fell. ' The other did not fly, but he turned and cried to his 
 comrades— 
 
 " Come on. Come on !'' 
 
 There was a momentary respite from hostilities, while the remainder of the 
 soldiers scrambled into the crypt, and Claude felt a hand grasp his arm, while 
 Jack's voice whispered— 
 
 " Follow me. I have found a door by which, I think, we may leave the 
 cathedral. This way. This way." 
 " Thank God, Jack !" 
 " Quick ! Quick !" 
 
 " Is all well with Cicely and May ? Where are they ?" H^t-IilJ 
 
 " Here, here !" cried Cicely. Oh, Claude, is not this horrible ?" 
 " It is forced upon us. Ah !" 
 
 The soldiers had hastily formed, when they had got fairly within the crypt, and 
 had fired a volley at the fugitives, whom they could only see in the distance. 
 Cicely had been leaning upon Claude's arm. She fell with a shriek upon his 
 bosom. The musket fell from Claude's hand, and he felt a cold rush of air as an 
 open door swung close at hand. Jack dragged him past it down three or four 
 steps, and then pushing ©pen a little arched door, be dragged him and Cicely 
 through it. May and Markham Brereton, who was supporting her, followed, and 
 Jack closed the door. 
 
 ** Not a word — not a word," whispered Jack. " I have purposely opened a 
 side door through which they will suppose we have escaped. It is ten chances 
 to one that they will do so, and then we shall be here in security. Hush, hush 1 
 if you value your lives say not a word.*' r^i,^
 
 456 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "Circly! Cicely!" gasped Claude. "Cicely! Cicely!" 
 1 h^re was no reply. 
 
 *' Good God !" said Jack, «'you don't say she is huttj Claude V* 
 
 *' Savages ! monsters ! they have killed her ! Let me gO, and take such vengeance 
 ns a maddened heart may take before it burst, unhand me, Jack." 
 
 "Claude—Claude — will you sacrifice us all because you must have revenge ? 
 Shame upon you if you do." 
 
 Probably no other argument in the world than this would have had any effect 
 upon Claude, but this did — it was just the sort of appeal and reproach which he 
 was sure to feel acutely, and he was silent accordingly. The soldiers came march- 
 ing on, while the shout of the serjeant of " Forward ! — forward !" came plainly 
 upon the ears of the fugitives, and then, when he reached the open door through 
 which the cold air came, they heard him cry — 
 
 "Escape — escape! After them, my lads — they can't be far off !'* 
 
 There was a rush of f^Qi, and then all was still for a few moments, after which 
 one solitary voice, at an apparently long way off, called— 
 
 " Murder 1— murder ! Help 1 — help!'* 
 
 It was Jenkins, who, being disregarded by everybody, was 'still in his awkward 
 position, with his head through the rails of the archbishop's tomb. At any other 
 time Claude might have laughed at the predicament in which Mr. Jenkins was 
 placed, but now, with the insensible, and, for all he knew, dead form of Cicely 
 in his arms, the hilarity and joy of his heart seemed to be gone from him for 
 ever. 
 
 " Jack," he said, *' I must see how it fares with her. I cannot — will not stay 
 here." 
 
 "Follow me," said Jack. "Mind the stairs — God knows where this leads 
 to ; but follow me, Claude, and we will get a light as soon as we are out of the 
 reach of the door. Hope for the best— she has perhaps only fainted, Claude, from, 
 over excitement. Follow ca^efull5^" 
 
 Jack slowly decended a narrow stone staircase, and Claude, clasping Cicely to 
 his heart, followed him as closely as foot could fall. Markham Brereton and May 
 brought up the rear of this now most melancholy and forlorn procession. Oh , 
 what language could paint the feelings ol Claude during their slow and dreary pro- 
 gress down those steps? 
 
 CHAPTER CIV. 
 
 THE VAULTS. 
 
 Down, down many steps — old worn steps, some steep, and some so slant that by 
 the foot reaching them unexpectedly a jerk was given to the whole system — down 
 —down— far below the floor of the old cathedral. Cobwebs gathered round their 
 faces— reptiles ran screeching before them, and a damp unwholesome odour came 
 from deeper, deeper still. 
 
 " Jack — Jack," said Claude, " where are we going ?" 
 
 " To safety, I hope. Have yet a little patience. How is Cicely V* 
 
 " God ! I know not. If she would but speak. Cicely— Cicely ! No— no.- I tell 
 you they have killed her— why did they not kill me ? They have killed my 
 heart?" 
 
 " Oh, Claude— Claude," said May, sobbing, « you will kill me too, to hear you 
 speak thus. Mr. Brereton, speak to him, I pray you." 
 
 « Courage, Claude— courage," said Markham Brereton. " Do not allow your- 
 self to be beaten down in Ibis way." 
 
 Claude made no reply, and Jack in a few moments said — 
 
 " We are at the foot of the stairs. Stop all of you, while I get a light. Stop a 
 moment."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 457 
 
 -— ; — ";i„^„„.j and in a few moments they saw a faint blue light from 
 
 a. if the blood had for ever departed from his cheeks. It .^.^^^^^ Pf^ f^^^^^^ '^'^^ 
 alHed to that of death itself that he exhi^bited. The ^eart of thi strong bold man 
 was nearly crushed and lost. Behind him, a few paces h,ghe up, appeared Wlay 
 and Markham Brereton. They looked all the anxiety they felt. ,^ , 
 
 " Come on !-Come on !" said Jack - We can pause here CJaude. 
 
 He hastily stuck the little piece of wax candle against a projection m^ 
 
 No. 58.
 
 458 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, ^ 
 
 stone wall, and then, throwing off his coat, he laid it upon the damp ground, 
 saying — 
 
 " Place her here, Claude, and you will soon, I hope, ^see that she is not much 
 hurt, if anything at all/* 
 
 Claude did not speak, but he slowly descended the remainder of the steps, and 
 then, stooping low down, he placed his insensible burden upon Jack's coat. One 
 tear fell upon the chee.k of Cicely. Jack saw it, but he would not notice it, 
 
 "How fares it with her ?" said Markham Brereton. 
 
 May knelt down by her side. 
 
 "The— the light !*' gasped Claude. 
 
 •* Yes — yes/' 
 
 " Nearer— nearer still! Thank— thank you, Jack. Nearer yet. Hush!— 
 hush!" 
 
 Cicely't hands were crossed upon her breast, and compressed tightly one upon 
 the other ; and for a moment or two, Claude only looked in her face. ^ 
 
 ** Does she sleep ?" 
 
 May shuddered, and laid her hand upon Cicely's brow. 
 
 «' Cold— cold !" 
 
 *• No — no r' cried Claude, ** not quite cold. Do not tell me that."| 
 
 *< I have some wine here, in this small flask," said Jack. " Touch her lip3 
 with it, Claude, or try to make her swallow some. It may recover her/' 
 
 Claude took the little flask in silence, and gently poured a few drops of the red 
 wine that was in it upon the lips of Cicely. In about half a minute there was a 
 slight spasmodic movement of the throat, and then, after two or three nervous 
 twitches, the eyes opened. 
 
 " Cicely ! — Cicely !'* cried Claude. 
 
 She did not speak. 
 
 " Cicely — Cicely. I implore you. My Cicely ! 'Tis I. Do you not know 
 my voice ? Speak to me, if it be only one word ? 
 
 ** Cicely!— Cicely!" 
 
 She did not speak, but she looked up in his face with such an expression of 
 hopeless agony, that it was indeed heard* breaking to see her. 
 
 "One word. Only one word !" added Claude, in tones of anguish. "If you 
 cannot speak. Cicely, it is my crimes that have killed you." 
 
 A strange, half-uttered sob, like that of some dying bird, came from her lips, 
 but the sound did not form itself into any articulate one. Claude shook like one 
 wrestling with death, -and while the tears chased each other down his cheeks, he 
 tried again to place upon her lips a small portion of the wine from the little flask 
 that Jack had handed to him, but he trembled so excessively that he was unable 
 to do so. Markham Brereton, without a word, took the flask from hira, and with 
 a steadier hand administered the wine. It had, as before, a temporary effect, and 
 Cicely appeared to be looking down at her hands, that were crossed and placed 
 one upon the other, tightly upon her breast. Claude placed his own hand upon 
 one of them. It felt like lead. 
 
 " My Cicely," he said — "my only love—my wife, speak to me now/' 
 
 She was evidently making a great effort, and he stooped low, reclining his 
 ear to catch the smallest articulate sound, and then, in a feeble whisper, she did 
 
 say— 
 "Claude." 
 
 it Yes— yes, she speaks— she speaks ! Again Cicely — again.*' 
 A change came over her face. It was like the change upon the fair face of 
 
 some sunny landscape, when clouds sweep between it and the glorious orb of light. 
 
 A horrible metallic-looking lustra came across her eyes, and the flesh of the round 
 
 and beautiful cheeks sunk deeper — deeper still. The breath came in intermitted 
 
 gusts from her bloodless lips. 
 
 « Dying—dying," cried Claude. *' She is dying/' 
 
 it No — no,* almost screamed May. *' It must not— cannot be/* 
 
 " Cicely— oh, Cicely/' murmured Markham. " Sister, speak to me/'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 459 
 
 The dark shade came more and more over her face. The cheeks sunk more to 
 the bones, and a startling projection of the lower part of the face did much to alter 
 the whole aspect of it, Claude wrung his hands and wept bitterly. 
 
 " She is dying !" he said. " She is going from me. She is dying— Cicely ! — 
 Cicely. They have killed you — God ! they have killed you.*' 
 
 " No — no," almost shrieked May. 
 
 "Look upon her," cried Claude, echoing the shriek, "Look upon her and 
 tell me if she lives — Cicely — Cicely — Cicely, I say. One word — only — only— one 
 word." 
 
 There was one faint sighing breath. It came like a zephyr, audit passed away 
 like one. It was the last breath of Cicely. Claude staggered back until he was 
 stopped by the wall, and there he stood, looking more like some figure sculptured 
 upon a monument than a living man. His lips were parted, and his face was of 
 a marble paleness. His matted hair hung in dishevelled masses. His hands 
 were clasped, and all he said was— 
 
 "God— God— God!'* 
 
 He then fell forward upon his face and lay profoundly still. Jack was incon- 
 ceivably shocked, but May and Markham Brereton were kneeling by the side of 
 Cicely, and their whole attention was absolved in a contemplation of the dead. 
 Markham gently took up one of the hands that lay across the chest of the dead. 
 It was cold and heavy. He placed it by her side. Slowly then he raised the 
 other, and then with a shudder, he saw that there vsas a gun-shot wound in the 
 breast, from which the blood was slowly oozing. The bullet had entered her 
 lungs, and hence she had been totally incapacitated from uttering one word. 
 
 " Yes, she is dead/' said Markham. 
 
 It seemed as if those words were a talisman to call Claude Duval to life again. 
 With a bound he sprung to his feet, and in a voice that rung through the vault, 
 he cried — 
 
 " Revenge ! Revenge !" I 
 
 May clung to his knees. 
 
 "Claude! Claude!" 
 
 *' Vengeance !" 
 
 "Claude!" 
 
 "By the Great God!" 
 
 " No, Claude, No — no— no— a thousand times no ! You shall take no im- 
 pious oath of revenge — of ill-directed revenge. You cannot tell what hand sped 
 the bullet that did this mischief. Are you to make war against all the human race 
 for one chance act ? No, Claude, you dare not — you shall not. Speak to me. 
 Do not look so cold and stony at me. Claude — Claude, I say. Oh, brother- 
 brother, speak to him. Is he going mad ?" 
 
 "Duval," said Markham Brereton, " recollect yourself. Speak to me,** 
 
 Claude pointed with both his hands at the corpse of Cicely. Speak to that, he 
 said— I say speak to that. And so they have killed you, my poor girl ! He 
 knelt down, kissed the cold lifeless lips. And this," he said, "is human justice !— 
 this is human vengeance, 1 — I think at times there have be soft places in my 
 heart, but there never will be again — never — never — I am adamant now,'* 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, brother, think of something," whispered May, "to 
 remove him from this fearful condition.'* 
 
 « What can I say ?'* 
 
 " Anything that will occupy him. Lead him to think of placing her in the 
 grave — and — and of prayer.** 
 
 The emotion of May overcame her, but, wrung with grief as his own heart was 
 Brereton took the hint that his sister had given, and touching Jack upon the 
 shoulder, for he was standing glaring at Claude as if stupified, he said — 
 
 " A grave !'* 
 
 Jack started. 
 
 *' A grave for the dead," said Brereton.
 
 460 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 After dashing aside some tears from his eyes. Jack looked about him vacantly. 
 He then approached Claude and laid his hand quietly upon his arm. 
 
 " Old friend," he said,*** shall we not consign to the earth what is now earth?" 
 He pointed to the dead body. Claude looked at him^ and then said in a deep 
 hollow voice — . . ; 
 
 "It is over!" 
 " What is over, Claude V ' 
 " Follow me." 
 
 He stooped and lifted the body of Cicely from the floor, and carried it as tenderly 
 in his arms as though she did but slumber, and any rude shock might yet awaken 
 her to a sense of pain. He ati^de in silence towards the staircase by which they 
 had all descended. In vain May tried to stop him— in vain both she and Brere- 
 ton spoke to him. On— on he went, with his still and cold burthen. Jack 
 snatched the little wax light, which was now nearly expiring, from its place against 
 the wall, and rushed after him. 
 
 " He goes, perhaps, to destruction,* said Brereton. 
 
 " Then he shall not go alone," said Jack. " I am willing to die with him. 
 I come— I come, Claude. Your old and faithful friend will be with you to the 
 last." 
 
 " What does he intend to do ?— oh, what does he intend to do ?'* cried May. 
 *' Will any of our intellects survive this dreadful night ? Claude — Claude I** 
 
 Markham Brereton rushed after Jack, and May could not remain alone in that 
 mournful place, so she followed close upon the footsteps of her brother. Claude 
 did not pause, but ascending the whole of the steps, he passed through the little 
 door into the cathedral. At that moment Jack's little light expired. The clouds, 
 however, had swept away from before the face of the moon, and a clear white 
 light was shining in the cathedral. The door at which the soldiers had left the 
 building was now closed, and there was nothing to indicate that the sacred pile had 
 80 recently been the scene of strife and bloodshed. Claude strede on until he reached 
 the comm'union-table, in that portion of the church which the limited require- 
 ments of Protestantism had apportioned off for the services of its ceremonials, and 
 then, sweeping off a book and some other matters that were on the table, he laifl 
 the dead body of Cicely thereon. 
 
 *' Let the priests," he said, '* who affect to do their duty here to God, do their 
 duty to these remains of one of His best and purest creatures." 
 " Will you leave her, then V said Jack. ■■\'yj 
 
 "Yes, yes. Cicely, farewell— farewell, dear one." 
 Again he kisfeed the pale lips, and turning to his friends, he said— 
 " Well, why do you not go ? Why do you linger here V 
 *' Come away at* once, then, Claude." 
 
 "No, I stay with my dead. You, all of you, go, for there is danger; but, I 
 stay with my dead." 
 
 " No, Claude," sobbed May, ''you must come with us. They will kill you if 
 you remain here. This is no asylum for you !" 
 
 "I want no asylum, now, but the grave. They have killed the better part of 
 me, for they have crushed my heart. What more can human spite or human 
 vengeance do against me ? Yes, Cicely, I will stay with yoii. Go— go all of 
 you, and God's blessing bf with you." 
 
 *' No,** said Jack, " it is my belief, that when the soldiers fail in finding you 
 in the environs of the cathedral, they will return here, and they will fire upon 
 any one whom they may see, in revenge for the loss they have themselves received. 
 I will stay, Claude, and die with you." 
 " And I," said May. 
 " And I," said Markham Brereton, 
 " Claude looked at them all. 
 
 '< No— no— no," he cried. "This should not be a temple for human sacrifice. 
 Go, I implore you all to go, and leave me to my fete. I have nothing to do with
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 46i 
 
 life now. I pray you, if you love me, think £2^ently and kindly of me when I am 
 gone, and leave me to die with her. But a little space she has gone before." 
 
 "As you please/' said Jack, *'if you will stay, you involve us all in your des- 
 truction, but if you leave here you save us. If you like. Claude, you may sacrifice 
 the living for the dead. Say no more about it, Claude." 
 
 CHAPTER CV. 
 
 THE REVENGE OF CLAUDE. 
 
 Could Claude Duval hear such words as these from those attached friends, who 
 had done so much, and suffered, and sacrificed so much for him, unmoved ? 
 Could he, without rousing himself to a different state of feeling, accept that one last 
 instance of their devotion to him ? No, it was not in Claude's nature to do so. 
 There was a brief stiuggle between the morbid feelings that the death of Cicely 
 had awakened in his bosom, and his better thoughts, and then the latter 
 triumphed. For a moment he bowed down over the corpse, and hia very soul 
 seemed to be shaken by the wild tumult of passion that be felt. Then he rose, 
 and by the pale moonlight, they could see that his face had undergone a remark- 
 able change. For the first time, marks of age began to show themselves upon the 
 countenance of Claude Duval. They all remarked this phenomena, but they said 
 nothing. Claude was now in reality twenty-nine years of age, and he looked ten 
 years older at the very least, when he rose up from that prayer, or vow, or 
 whatever it was, which had bent him over the dead. H© turned to his 
 friends — ^ ; :^ 
 
 " You have conquered me," he said. 
 
 « Thank Heaven !" said May. "' ''T^mmm 
 
 "Yes," said Markham Brereton, *' I, too, thank Heaven. Remember, CJaude, 
 that you do not alone suffer ; she was my sister, the last lie of blood that bound 
 me to the world ; 1 loved her too for her gentle virtues, but life must not be cast 
 away like a broken reed, because those whom we love precede us upon the grand 
 route to eternity," 
 
 "Enough — oh, enough," said Claude; "dear friends, now let me ask of you one 
 last, and only favour. It is, that you will not speak to me of her.*' 
 
 "As you please, Claude." 
 
 " There will be times and seasons when it may drive me mad to think of this 
 night. Do not ! oh, do not, you three, who are the only witnesses to what has 
 happened here, refer to the dreadful scene, unless I speak of it to you." 
 
 " We promise !" they all said, 
 
 " It is enough. Come away." 
 
 Claude took three steps from the communion table, upon which lay the corpse 
 of Cicely, and then he wavered, for he could not think of so parting with the fond 
 object of his only love. With a sob that struck a most painful dread into the bosoms 
 of his friends, he turned, and again sought the communion table, where he bent 
 over the lifeles remains of his Cicely. 
 
 " Oh God, can it really be I" he cried. Can it really be — oh God !" 
 
 May would have sprung towards him, but Brereton held her back, saying — 
 
 " No, no. The streams of the mind, like those of the material world, will not 
 be stayed. No human power can do so. They must, and they will run their course 
 ^ pray you. May, to let him aloi e." 
 
 " I had hoped," said May, *' it was over," / 
 
 "And I." 
 
 Claude rose again, and walked towards them. He spoke quite calmly— = 
 
 " Earth," he said, '« has me back again."
 
 462 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR. 
 
 Jack slid his arm within that of Claude's, and as he led him gently on, followed 
 by Markham Brereton, he said — 
 
 ** Come, Claude ; our horses, you know, wait for us at the Old Farm upon 
 Child's Hill. Come, the night is clear, and we shall reach Southampton yet 
 before midnight." 
 
 *' No— no." 
 
 " Oh yes, Claude, *' we shall easily." 
 
 " No, I say, Jack ; no." 
 
 "But is not such your intention, Claude? In a foreign land you will find that 
 peace and consolation, which in England you will never know." 
 
 " Listen to me, friends." 
 
 They walked slowly by Claude's side, and thus he spoke — 
 
 *' My span of life will now be short, but until some bullet lays me low, I will be 
 a scourge and a desolation. Society rose up in arms against me, saying * no 
 longer this man shall ^be again a vexation — we will kill him.' — Well» I was 
 willing to go far away, never again to show my face beneath the sun of England, 
 and God knows, and you know, that I made what may be called superhuman 
 efforts to accomplish such a purpose." 
 
 "■ You did— you did/' 
 
 " Well, they would not let me. The bloodhounds came upon my track ; I was 
 sold for paltry gold to him who should slay me. And I need not say with what 
 relentless hearts they have carried out their object. I shall not live long, but 
 while Ijlive, it shall be to make war against the laws, and the laws* administrators 
 and executers. My career may and will in all human probability be a brief one, 
 but it shall be a bloody one." 
 
 ** Oh, no— no, Claude." 
 
 " Sister,, say no more ; I am fixed." 
 
 "This is a sad determination, Claude," said|Markham Brereton, "for those who 
 wish you well to listen to. I pray you think better of it." 
 
 ** There are moments into which are compressed the agonies of years, and 
 there are moments in which the mind lives an age of thought — I have had such 
 moments." 
 
 " But," said Jack, " remember " 
 
 f^ " I will remember, Jack," said Claude, ^4hat you are my dear friend, and that 
 I am y out's. Further, then, do not let you and I go in our remembrances." 
 
 " This is sad, indeed," said Brereton. 
 ^ *< Not sad for you — nor for you. May. Markham Brereton, you love her !— 
 Take her. She is a good girl. Take her, and the best thing you can both do is, 
 as speedily as may be, to forget that there is in the wide world such a person as 
 Claude Duval." 
 
 "Oh! brother—brother!" 
 
 •' I do love her with all my heart," said Brereton, " and I will, while I live 
 stand between her and all harm ; but we can neither of us forget you, Claude, if we 
 would, and we would not forget you if we could.'' 
 
 " No, never — never, brother," 
 
 "You will be his Cicely?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *' Then so far I am content. God bless you both. Perhaps I am mad, but if I 
 am, ask yourselves what I have suffered, and then perchance you will not wonder 
 at it. Come, let us leave this pUce now. Methinks the air is full of blood." 
 
 "Blood, Claude?" 
 
 *' Yes, 1 seem to move as through a heavy misty atmosphere, which has the 
 scent of human gore. This feeling will pass away ; but now, as you say. Jack, 
 we must seek our horses, and then — why, then, to London." 
 
 " To London ?" 
 
 *' Yes, Jack. Once more to London. I have been'a something to be feared 
 and dreaded. What shall I be now ? We shall see — we shall see. The moon 
 shines bravely. How rich and rare it inakes^ the old cathedral tolook,. One
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 463 
 
 would scarcely think, now, the creatures that could faahion this were such men of 
 sin, and carnage, and horrors, as human nature may be." 
 
 " I will step a few paces before," said Markham, " and see if our route is 
 clear." 
 
 " Yes, yes,* said Jack, *'itV9jU be well to do so." 
 
 Markham hastened on to thelittle'door by which they had entered the cathedral, 
 and by which they hoped to leave it. He approached it very carefully, and as 
 he came near to it, he found that it stood open. He was about to pass out by it 
 in order to look abrotad, when he heard the tramp of a footstep without. He paused 
 instantly. Tramp —tramp —tramp came the footsteps, and Markham Brereton's 
 watching experience at once told him that he was listening to the iread of a couple 
 of soldiers. They passed the door, and after proceeding a distance of about thirty 
 feet, they turned and came as regularly back again. Being convinced that there 
 was no danger of their penetrating into the cathedral, he approached the little 
 crevice that the door was open, and peeped out. There he saw two sentinels on 
 duty, with their full arms and accoutrements. He walked gently back again to 
 his friends. 
 
 " There are sentinels in couples,*' he said, " posted round the cathedral, and 
 any attempt to leave it would be attended with the greatest danger." 
 
 " Danger ?" said Claude. 
 
 He pronounced the word in such a tone, that Brereton replied at once — 
 
 " Claude, if you wish to throw away your life, you can do so. There is the 
 door ; but I thought, whatever might be your plans of revenge, that you had given 
 up the idea of suicide." 
 
 ** I have — I have. Forgive me. We will leave this place if we can. That 
 word * Revenge!' Brereton, is useful to me. Say it, if you see my spirit sinking, 
 and I shall again recover, and be once more myself. Come on, and let us listen if 
 any chance of eluding these sentinels presents itself." 
 
 " They all proceeded close to the door, and after waiting a moment or two, they 
 heard the sentinels coming on with the same regular tramp. When they neareo 
 the door, one spoke to the other, saying— 
 
 " Stand at ease, Jem." 
 
 " Very well ; 1 ain't so chilly as I was. It's a deuced dull road this." 
 
 The stocks of the muskets rung upon the stone paving as the two soldiers stood 
 at ease beneath the ancient porch of that House of God, which upon that night 
 had been so awfully desecrated by man in his worst aspect. What were the money- 
 changers in the Temple to those who sought that ancient pile, which had so eften 
 echoed to the voice of holy supplication, for the purpose of slaughtering a fallen 
 ereature for money ? 
 
 " Let us listen to them," said Claude. " We may gain some useful information 
 from these men." 
 
 Brereton and'.May stood close together, rather to the right of the little doorway 
 — Claude was the foremost, and Jac k was within about two paces of him. They 
 all four kept perfectly still while the following dialogue took place in rather a low 
 tone of voice between the two sentinels. 
 
 *• It's very odd how they got away," said one." 
 
 **Very.'» 
 
 " 1 can't at all understand it ; and our officers think, I suppose, that they must 
 be in the building yet." 
 
 " Not a doubt of that, or they would not have distributed their whole force round 
 it in sentinels — -doubled, too — while they went to the barracks for a stronger party 
 to look into every nook and corner of the old church." 
 
 " I suppose not. I only wish they would come back," 
 
 '* Yes, this is dull work." 
 
 " It is ; but what puzzles me is, what became of the woman. I saw her clear 
 enough, and shot her through the heart. I never felt so sure of a shot in my life. 
 I saw her fall back plainly, and if she was not killed by me, nobody ever yet fell 
 hy a musket bullet,"
 
 464 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Jack/' said Claude. . ^ 
 
 "Yes, Claude." 
 
 ''Youhear that, Jack?'* 
 
 «'Ido. Hush!" 
 
 *' Are you quite sure now, Jem, that you hit her?'* said the other soldier. 
 
 ** I tell you what it is, I wish this hour may be my last if I didn't. Thinks I, 
 what makes these fellows fight so is this woman, and if one of them is only laid 
 down, they will give in. What naakes you doubt it V 
 
 ** For the best of all possible reasons, that I saw no woman.** 
 
 *' But you heard that police fellow say that they were dressed in men's clothes, 
 and what's more, the hat of that one had fallen off, and then there was no mistak- 
 ing her.*' 
 
 " Well, T don*t envy you the feat. Now, to tell the honest truth, Jem, I didn't 
 like the job at all, and the only time I fired, I let fly so high that I reckon 
 the bullets went a good six feet over anybody's head.** 
 
 *' Then if I don't report you, my name is not Jem Mason, and 1 didn't come 
 from the county Cork, old boy." 
 
 ** You may report and be hanged. Thank God, I have a good friend in Captain 
 Sopwath, and I don't thmk he will let me come to any harm on the word of an 
 Irishman. I was a fool to exchange one word with you, and I'm only sorry I 
 atn posted with you." 
 
 "Are you, by gosh? It's mighty soft hearted you are. I only wish I had 
 another shot at them." 
 
 Claude's hand had been upon the door for the last two minutes. He did not 
 say another word beyond the remark, if remark it could be called, that he had made 
 to Jack, but suddenly, like a flash of lightning, he flung the door open and stepped 
 out. The soldiers started, but before either could adopt any offensive line of opera- 
 tion?, he seized the musket of him who had not murdered Cicely, and wrenched it 
 from him. I 
 
 ** Fly for your life!" he cried. j 
 
 The irishman immediately raised his piece and fired at Claude. The ball grazed | 
 his side, but he felt nothing of it. To reverse the musket and rush upon the I 
 soldier was the work of a moment. The one who had been disarmed by Claude, 
 cried in a loud voice — | 
 
 " Good ! good !" 
 
 The other, finding his shot ineffectual, threw down his musket and tried to 
 escape. He got about a dozen steps from the spot into the churchyaid, when 
 Claude, by a terrific hop, overtook him. Whirling the musket in the air round 
 his head, he brought the brass bound stock down with terrific fi)rce upon the skull 
 of the soldier. There was a horrible crashing sound as the bones of the head 
 gave way before that blow, aad the body fell rolling over a grave mound. Claude 
 felt that the blow did not want repeating, and casting the musket down, he was 
 within the church again in another moment. 
 
 "Follow me," he cried. "Quick! quick!'* 
 
 They all rushed after him, and across the grave-yard. In two minutes they 
 were in the high street of Winchester. 
 
 I 
 
 ^y CHAPTER. C VI. 
 
 TO LONDON. 
 
 They emerged close by the Old Cross. May had darted from the arm of 
 Markham Brereton, and was clinging to that of her brother. She looked in 
 his face tearfully. 
 
 " You are calmer now, Claude." iiU < i* 
 
 " I have begun to be avenged," he replied.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIEE ON THE ROAD. 465 
 
 " On— on," said Jack, in an anxious whisper. '* To your right, Claude, and 
 walk fast ; we shall get through the High Street to Child's Hill. Quick—quick, 
 Claude, or you may lose all the advantage we have gained." 
 
 '* Yes," said Brerelon, "they will not put up with this defeat very quietly. If 
 we do not soon get clear of Winchester, we shall have more of our enemies than 
 may be pleasant. What a night this has been ?" 
 
 CLAUDE AND JACK INGENIOUSLY CONCEALED FROM THEIR PURSUERS BY A COUNTRY LAD. 
 
 " And not over yet," said Jack. 
 
 "Claude, with May clinging to his arm, made his way to the riqht ss he was 
 directed to do by Jack, and at a rapid pace sped down the High Street df Win- 
 chester. They soon reached the little branch of the river Itclien, wh'ch is the 
 motive power of some water-wheels, and with the babbling music of the streamlet 
 in their ears, they began the ascent of the hill that overlooks the city. That hill 
 
 No. 59,
 
 466 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 is mostly chalk, with but a thin upper stratum of loam, which a slight shower 
 penetrates in a moment ; and there had been rain enough already upon that event- 
 ful evening to make the narrow path up the side of the hill perfectly slippery. 
 Several of our party had falls, but none of them were serious, and after about ten 
 minutes' toil, they reached the summit of Child's Hill. Then tb*e country spread 
 itself out in those sweeping slopes and uplands, so peculiar to the coast portion 
 of Hampshire; and upon glancing towards the city, they could see the lights 
 twinkling like stars, and dimly too they could distinguish the massive old cathedral, 
 dusky and grey, huge and shapeless, against the night sky. 
 
 ** Follow me," said Jack, " the farm-house is quite close at hand. Follow me." 
 
 Jack pursued, for some distance, a path skirted on the left hand by a plantation, 
 while on the right it was open to the meadows and corn-fields, and after a short 
 time he opened a G;ate, and in a few moments they were all in front of the house. 
 It was no part of their inclination, however, to make a stay at the old farm, as no 
 doubt all the environs of the city would be speedily reached for the fugitives, so 
 Jack led them round the house to the door in the garden wall. The horses could 
 just be seen dimly, but at the sound of the footsteps approaching, they approached 
 in the most docile manner. . 
 
 *' What shall we do?" said Brereton ; **two horses don't conveniently moun 
 four peop e." 
 
 " Leave Jack and me," said Claude. *' You, Brereton, and May, mount and 
 be off. We will shift for ourselves somehow." 
 
 " Fly," said Jack, after a moment's pause. *' This is no time to be particular. 
 Let us all go on until we find an opportunity of getting some conveyance. We 
 can walk, Claude, tolerably fast ; and Mr. Brereton and your sister can accommo- 
 date their progress to ours." 
 
 " 1 will walk," said Brereton. "You, Claude, mount your own horse, and if you 
 fall into any danger, never mind us, but gallop to London. I'm sure Jack and I 
 can walk fast. Now, May, mount — keep your brother company." 
 
 *' That will do very well," said Jack, "but for God's sake, be off quickly. All 
 our lives may hang upon the events of the next quarter of an hour.'' - :■ 
 
 May and Claude mounted, and in another minute the little party left the old 
 garden of the farm-house, and emerged into one of the cross-roads that pursue 
 their way upon the high ground in the neighbourhood of Winchester, 
 
 " Stop one moment," said Jack. 
 
 They all paused. 
 
 *' As I thought/' Jack added, " if we had staid another minute, we should 
 perhaps have found it difficult to escape. I can hear men ascending the hill side. 
 We have been traced in some way, and we shall have yet a hard struggle for it# 
 Come oDe" 
 
 " At a walk, merely, so that the sound of the horses' feet should not be too 
 apparent, they proceeded along the road which took a north-easterly direction, and 
 they soon, notwithstanding they appeared to go very slowly, left a considerable 
 distance between them and Winchester. Suddenly they heard the grinding sound 
 of wheels rapidly approaching them, from the direction in which they were pro- 
 ceeding, and in a few moments the lamps of some vehicle fiashed-upon the dark- 
 ness of the road. 
 
 " Some one is coming," said May. 
 
 " Get to the road-side,'' cried Jack. " Leave me to see who it is.'* 
 
 The light? rapidly approached, and the party soon saw that they belonged to a 
 chaise that was being driven at a very rapid rate by some one. Whoever that 
 one was, he seemed to have observed that somebody besides himself was upon the 
 road, for he called out in an imperious tone — 
 
 *' Get out of the way, will you, or I'll run over you." 
 
 At the same moment they heard him lashing his horse furiously. The animal 
 swerved to the road-side. Up went one of the wheels on to the bank, and over 
 went the chaise as easily as possible, to all appearance. But as regaids upsets on 
 he road, appearances are often deceitful ; for although the chaise may come down
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 407 
 
 agreeably enough, its occupant may not do so ; and in this instance, the man, who 
 had evidently considered that the high'-road was made especially for his con- 
 venience, rolled out head over heels with a vengeance, that for the time being 
 seemed to completely knock the breath out of his body. The horse lay kicking, 
 but Jack sprung towards it, and quickly released it from its harness, when it sprung 
 to its feet, and was off like the wind. 
 
 " Is he killed ?" said Jack, as he took one of the side lamps from the chaise, and 
 approached the man who lay in the road. *' No : he is only stunned. Claude, 
 this is a chance that may not again come to us." 
 
 " How do you mean, Jack ?" 
 
 '* Why your horse, you know, will go well in harness. Suppose we put him in 
 the chaise, and you and May, and Mr. Brereton can get into the vehicle, while 1 
 ride saddle. We shall all get on without fatigue, and quickly too." 
 
 "It's a good thought," said Brereton; '• but what shall we do with this man?— 
 not leave him in the road, Jack." 
 
 " Certainly nor. Lend me a hand, Mr. Brereton, and we will place him com- 
 fortably among the long grass in this meadow close at hand. There's a gap here 
 ■in the hedge that is just the thing to carry him through." 
 
 Jack took the man's head and Markham Brereton his heels, and so they carried 
 him through the gap in the hedge into the meadow, where they laid him down. 
 Jack's private opinion was, that he was very drunk ; but at all events he could 
 come to no harm where they placed him, and as they intended to borrow (?) 
 his chaise for a short time, it was the very best thing they could do for him. 
 Jack had released the horse without any damage to the harness, and when he and 
 Brereton raised the chaise, which they easily did, they found that, beyond one of 
 the steps being broken off, it had not sustained the slightest injury. Indeed the 
 step, by catching the ground first when it fell over, had sustained all the shock of 
 the upset, and saved the whole machine. Claude's horse was quickly put in, and 
 May and Brereton got into the vehicle. By a little — a very little crowdiog, it 
 held Claude likewise, and Jack mounted his own horse, which May had been 
 ridins, and they were all ready for a start again. 
 
 " I'll go before," said Jack, " and pay the toll-bars, so that there will be no 
 delay as we proceed : and now come on." 
 
 He set oflF at a hard trot, for ne knew very well what Claude's horse could do, 
 even with three people in a chaise behind him. At a good even pace of eight 
 miles in the hour, away they went; and Winchester, with all its sad recollections 
 to the party who were taking flight, soon faded away in the distance. They 
 agreed that Jack should be the pioneer of their flight, and he was looking oat for 
 some road that would take them still further to the right, and out of the general 
 track, when a loud voice from the road-side cried — 
 
 ** Hilloa ! where do you come from?'* 
 
 " Winchester," said Jack, as he pulled in. 
 
 **Is there any news of the notorious highwayman, Claude Duval ?" 
 
 "Plenty. He is nabbed at last." 
 
 "You don't mean that!— I say, Griffiths, here's somebody from Winchester 
 says Claude Duval is caught at last.'* 
 
 '* The devil he is," said another voice. *' Weil, I told you I thought it was of 
 no use humbugging here any longer. Where was he taken ?" 
 
 " In the Old Cathedral," said Jack. " The whole city is alive with the news, 
 but they say he shot two or three people before they got him." 
 
 ** That's iikely enough. We had better push on to the city. Thank you, sir. 
 Sorry to have interrupted you. Good night, sir.'' 
 
 " Good night," said Jack. " It's no interruption. I'm very glad I was able 
 to tell you." 
 
 '* Off went Jack again, and soon overtook the chaise which Claude had quietly 
 driven on, but not so far as to be out of ear-shot> for he would quickly enough 
 have gone to Jack's assistance if the conversation with the officers-— for officers they 
 ,were— had not chanced to go oiF quite so smoothly as, by good fortune, it really
 
 468 GENTLEMAN JACK: OR, 
 
 did. The fact is, they had no suspicions cf any one coining from Winchester. 
 They looked for Claude as coming in the opposite direction altogether. After the 
 party had driven on another mile or so, Jack let the chaise come up to him, and 
 then called out — 
 
 *• Stop a moment, Claude. I want to speak to you.'* 
 Claude instantly drew up. 
 
 " This won't do," said Jack. ** We must get out offtbis road, right [ot left, 
 the very first opportunity, or we shall, all the way to London, be running the 
 gauntlet through parties of the police. We might escape thera, it is true, but it is 
 not now worth while running the risk." 
 " What do you advise, Jack ?" 
 
 '' Why, that we go across the country for thirty or forty minutes, until we get 
 into quite a different line of road. What do you say, Clauder— shall we adopt 
 that course i(" 
 
 " Any course you please. Jack, n§w. Let me be where I will, it is indifferent 
 to me now. I have all the world before rae, and I care not in what part of it 
 fortune places rae for awhile. Take the whole direction of the route, Jack." 
 
 Jack did not lliink proper to make any remark upon the desponding character 
 of Claude's words, but he merely turned his horse's head again and went on. 
 
 ** Let May speak to him," he muttered. *• The women are always best to eope 
 with a man when his heart is sad." 
 
 After proceeding about two miles further, and hoping for a road to the right, 
 which, for various reasons. Jack thought would be preferable, he suddenly came 
 upon one to the left, at the corner of which was a finger-post. It was much too 
 dark for him to see what was there indicated, for the moon was again, as it 
 frequently had been during the course of that night, shrouded by heavy clouds 
 which obscured most effectually its light from the earth. Jack called, however, 
 to Claude to draw up, and approaching the chaise, he said — 
 
 " I must borrow one of the lamps to see yon finger-post. I think I know the 
 road, but we must trust as little to chance as possible. 
 
 Taking the lamp from its place at the side of the chaise, he heW it up at arm's 
 length, and with some difficulty read upon the finger-post — "lo Stockbridge." 
 " Ah ! that will do," he cried. 
 " Where will that lead us ?" said Brereton. 
 
 *• It is the high road to Salisbury, or rather, if I may call it such, it is a high 
 crcBs-road. We will push right on to Salisbury, and then take our »oute to 
 Londcn by Andover, unless'* — here Jack stooped clese to the ear of Brereton as 
 he replaced the lamp in the iron socket, and whispered to him — ** unless, on the road 
 between here and Salisbury, you and May can persuade Claude to turn }et his 
 face to the south, and make an attempt to leave England." 
 " It would be the best.'* 
 *' Unquestionably.'* 
 
 Markham Brereton nodded, as much as to say the attempt shall be made, and 
 ther; Jack cantered d^wn the Sto: kbridge road, promptly followed by the chaise 
 which had formed so great a convenience to the fugitives. This road which they 
 now tcok was different, very remarkab'y, from the one they had been pursuing. 
 An air of coldness and desolation had rather characterised the road they had lett, 
 but this one lo Stockbridge was quite verdant, and beautiful largf; trees hung 
 upon each side of the way, whose topmost branches at placs met over head with 
 a pleasant rustling noise, and even at mid-day must have made a deep shady 
 alcove. At that time, however, when all was darkness around, they made that 
 part of the road look like a cavern. The lights from the chaise whistled along 
 like Will-o*-ihe-Wisps, lending to the rich vegetation of the road-side a 
 flickering radiance, and imparting to the leaves of the hedge-trees that metallic 
 aspect which artificial light gives to vegetation. Neither Jack, however, nor the 
 party in the chaise p^ld much attention to the scenery around, for their thoughts 
 were tco busy with their own griefs, and hopes, and fears. The picture was to
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 469 
 
 Miem a clues, fiom out of which were to be shaped the events that were to make 
 or mar them. 
 
 " This is gloomy," said Brereton. 
 
 Claude started, 
 
 « Pardon me,'' he said, " I did not hear you.'* 
 
 " Hear me, Claude," said May, <* I wish particularly to speak to you — I hope 
 you vfM pardon what I am about to say.*' 
 
 *' Say on, May. Say on, sister.'* 
 
 CHAPTER CVn. 
 
 THE OLD MOON TAVERN. 
 
 May, now that she had^ got so quietly leave from her brother to speak' 
 was silent for a few moments. It was not that she did not know what to say J. 
 bat simply because she could not make up her mind which was the best way o 
 saying it. At length, in a faltering voice, she said — 
 
 "All that vou love, Claude, has not passed away ?" 
 
 «' No, May.'* 
 
 *' Then you will, while you grieve for what is gone, think yet of what 
 remains?'* 
 
 <• Yts, May." 
 
 " Oh, C audfi, I am yo'r sister — your only one. Do you remember when 
 you and I, upon Hampstead- Heath, knelt by — ^^by— our father's — — " 
 
 '* Corpse,*' added Claude ; *' I remember it well.** 
 
 "Then, Claude — " she began to weep so bitterly, that her words were scarcely 
 articulate. " Ther, Claude, you promised to be father — mother — brother — 
 friend — all to me. You may still be so, Claude. Time, in which we were 
 estranged, has passed away. The years that have gone are lost to us, and time 
 present is but as a dream, but the future is the property of all who choose to use 
 it. Claude, do you understand me ?" 
 
 ** Then, Claude, it is that future — which is your property, and my property, and 
 every one's property who likes to put in his claim to the possession — that I would 
 have you use. It is that future, Claude, tnat lies outstretched before you as a 
 glorious possession which you may make what use of you please.'* 
 
 Claude was silent for a few moments, and he s&id, in a tone of deep 
 earnestness — 
 
 '* I do mean to make something of the future." . 
 
 *' But sometking worthy, Claude ? Something worthy of yourself and of those 
 who love you." 
 
 "One is dead already.** 
 
 " One ?— One what ?'" 
 
 *' One of those for whom 1 yet cling to life. One of the murderers of Cicely. I 
 swear that *' 
 
 " No, no, Claude, you shall make no rash oaths ; I feel now moved to say to 
 you what I so much wished to say, and it is, that, for the sake of those whom you 
 still love, you should not now sacrifice yourself to a spirit of revenge. The road 
 is yet open to you to leave England. The boat still hngers by th© beach. The 
 ship sCill tosses on the sea, that will carry us all far— far away. Do you hear 
 me?'* 
 
 « With all my ears." . : '^'^ i,^~ 
 
 "And you will — you will " 
 
 *' Have my revenge." ' 
 
 May sighed deeply, and c overing her face with her hands, her convulsive sobs 
 shook her whole frame. Markham Brereton, who had said not one word to inter-
 
 470 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 rupt the foregoing brief conversation, passed his arm round her waist and pressed 
 her gently to him. Ii vras as though he had said— 
 
 " Here is one who will yet be to you, father, brother, and friend. You are not 
 quite desolate. May Duval." 
 
 She felt the appeal and looked up. 
 
 "Markham?" 
 
 " Yes, dear May.*' 
 
 ** Can you say anything V* 
 
 ** Hold !" said Claude. "There is ao doubt he could gay much— very much. 
 Reason and argument are all upon your side, but I ana unchangeable. Do not 
 seek to turn me from my course. You could succeed but in one way, and that 
 would be by killing me. Adopt that plan, and you do indeed stay it, but it is the 
 only way.' 
 
 " I have nothing to say," remarked Markham Brereton, " but to hope that if 
 time softens your determination, Claude, you will not allow a slavish love of con- 
 sistency, as it is called, to stop you from the adoption of another and a better 
 course." 
 
 " 1 will not." 
 
 " Now, May," added Markham Brereton. " You have acted quite right. You 
 have done all that any human being could do. You have spoken well, and you 
 have done your duty by your feelings. Leave the rest to time, for I am sure it 
 will bring about the best results. Remember, that wounds freshly made, will not 
 even bear the most delicate handling." 
 
 " You are right," said May, " I will say no more." 
 
 " That is a great relief to me," said Claude. 
 
 " During this discussion, Claude had unconsciously driven the chaise very 
 slowly, so that Jack, hearing that something was going on, had ridden close 
 enough to hear all that passed, and he felt satisfied that a strong effort had been 
 made to turn Claude from his purpose, and still it had been made ineffectually. 
 He said nothing himself, for he found that the dialogue was in good hands, but 
 when he found that, he rode on with a feeling of great depression. 
 
 *« Alas !■' he said, " Claude will sacrifice himself." 
 
 Jack was now ver}^ fearful that some one might be met upon the road whom 
 Claude would take it into his head to include in his plan of general revenge against 
 all who in any way had been instrumental to the death of Cicely, and he looked 
 out very anxiously as he proceeded. The road for four miles further was solitary, 
 but suddenly the lights of the chaise flashed upon a horseman, who seemed to be 
 pausing for its approach by the road side. They all saw this man. Jack, as he 
 passed him, raising his voice, said— 
 
 "Goodnight." 
 
 The man made no reply, and in another moment they no longer saw him. 
 Claude, when May looked into his face again, was very pale. They went on with- 
 out making any remark about this stranger, until the lights of the chaise flashed 
 upon him again, or just such another figure upon horseback, standing by the road 
 side. Jack was taken by surprise, swerved a little, but quickly recovering himself, 
 he cried — 
 
 *' Who are you P" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Stop, Jack," cried Claude, " I will suffer this no longer," 
 
 " As he spoke he threw the reins to Brereton, and stood up in the chaise. 
 
 " Who are you ?" he cried. *' Speak, or I fire." 
 
 There was no reply, and Claude fired. The chaise had got on some dozen 
 yards past the spot where the figure had been seen, so that it was, to tell the 
 truth, rather a random shot, but yet Claude took it, and then, before either May or 
 Markham Brereton could stop him, he sprang out of the chaise, and snatching one 
 of the lamps from the side of it, he rushed back to the spot where the horseman 
 had appeared. Jack, being mounted, followed him instantly. . .
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 471 
 
 *' Hold, Claude! Hold!" said Jack. *' Do nothing hastily; you may be 
 running into some snare set on purpose for you.'' 
 
 |Ji Claude held up the lamp. There was not the smallest vestige of any one there, 
 or^of any one having been there. 
 " This is strange,'* said Jack. 
 
 •* Strange, indeed," said Claude. " Hold the lamp. Jack." 
 Jack did so, and Claude scrambled to the top of a high bank crowned by 
 a thicket, with here and there young elms shooting up from amid the blackthorn. 
 He looked earnestly around him, but he saw nothing but the quiet undisturbed 
 vegetation. 
 
 " Escaped V said Jack. 
 *' Perhaps so," replied Claude. , 
 
 He then descended the bank, and slowly walked back to the chaise again, into 
 which he got without a word. 
 " You found no one," said May. 
 
 " No. Into thin air that horseman seemed to dissolve. I am not superstitious, 
 but yet it is very, very strange, Markham, do you believe in the supernatural at 
 all?" 
 
 " If you mean," said Brereton, " to ask me if I incline to the opinion that the 
 man on horseback was a ghost, Claude, I answer no as unhesitatingly as you 
 like. Shall I drive ?'' 
 *' Aye, if you will/* 
 
 Claude made a movement to give Markham Brerelon his place, but the latter 
 checked him, saying — 
 
 " I shall do very well here. Yoa watch the hedge as we go along. Who knows 
 but we may see our mysterious mounted acquaintance again. You too. May, 
 keep watch ; I shall have enough to do to attend to the horse." 
 
 ** In this way they all went on for another mile, when Claude cried— 
 ** There — there he is again !" 
 Brereton pulled up. 
 
 *' Stop ! Fiend — devil ; be you what you may !" cried Claude, in an excited 
 tone. " I fear you not, coward^ Do you again vanish from me ?" 
 ** Gone !" cried Jack. ** He is gone again. Oh ! Claude — Claude !" 
 ** What would you say, Jack ?" 
 
 *' Nay," cried Brereton, " this is folly. Are we children, to be thus played 
 upon ? You take the reins again, Claude, and I will keep my eye fixed upon the 
 hedge, and with a pistol in my hand, that has never yet played me false, I shall 
 not fear to fire at whatever I may see. Drive on, Claudec* 
 
 Scarcely had these words come from Brereton 's lips, when' the most horrible 
 yelling laughter that could be supposed to come from the lips of any fiend, came 
 upon the night. This dreadful yell — half shriek, half laugh — lasted but a 
 moment ; but it seemed to have filled the air for full five minutes afterwards with 
 its terrible echoes, and it made all those who heard it tremble with affright. The 
 two horses shook and cowered from the hedges, and Claude, as he grasped the 
 side of the chaise, said, in a gasping whisper-- 
 "Can — can such — things be?" 
 «' God of Heaven !" said May. *' What was that V 
 
 Brereton was silent, and Jack sat upon his horse, huddled up as though he had 
 been death-stricken by that frightful" sound, which had found an echo in all 
 their brains, and loaded the night air with horrors. There was a pause of some 
 minutes' duration, aud then the shrill sound of a distant clock came upon 
 their ears. Claude gave the horse a lash with the whip, and off they all 
 went. 
 
 * « • * * * ^ 
 
 In another half hour it was day-dawn. The mystery of the horseman by the 
 road-side, and of the horrible laugh was discussed, and after exhausting all con- 
 jecture upon the subject, Claude and his friends gave it up in despair ; but yet it 
 made a aeep and lasting impression upon the imagination of them all. They pro-
 
 472 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ceeded right on to Salisbury without meeting with any adventure worthy of 
 notice, and at that city they put up for six hours. After that time they proceeded 
 in as direct a route for London as they could. They passed through Andover, 
 Kingclere, and Reading, and finally entered Loudon by the western road without 
 meeting with any adventure of sufficient consequence to stand beside those re- 
 markable episodes in the life of Claude Duval, which we have already laid before 
 the reader. 
 
 " Where shall we go ?" said Brereton. 
 
 " Follow me at once to Drury Lane," said Jack. " We shall find shelter and 
 welcome at the ' Moon !* " 
 
 In a few minutes more they travelled from Holborn into that salubrious (?) 
 thoroughfare. 
 
 "Our journey is over,'* said Claude. 
 
 * * * * * « 
 
 They alighted at the *' Old Moon,'* which has already been introduced to the 
 reader, in Drury Lane. And thus was Claude Duval once more, after making the 
 most vigorous attempt to leave his evil courses, thrown into the arena again. 
 Was it fate —providence — chance — or what was it that had stopped this man 
 from leaving England as he meditated, and trying, in some foreign land, to 
 regain the good name that had passed away from him in England. Alas ! 
 what a thousand pities it was that one gifted as he was by nature, with capa- 
 cities of a superior order, should, by a confluence of circumstances, be thrown upon 
 the world as one of its scourges — an outcast from all that was good, peaceful, 
 and happy. At that juncture, when his heart was softened by affection — when 
 he had about him those whom he loved and who loved him, and who were 
 ready to share his voluntary exile, surely society should have held back, and 
 said — 
 
 " Let him and his go." 
 
 But no, the spirit of legal revenge had taken hold of the authorities, and they 
 had offered the most tempting rewards to the underlings of the law for the 
 destruction of this man. It would seem that in this transaction — for it must be 
 remembered that from first to last the authorities knew that it was to leave 
 England Claude Duval wished, they did not say to themselves—^ 
 
 " Let us get rid of this man, who makes our highways dangerous," but .<' Let 
 us have this man's blood, for he is willing to turn away from his wickedness." 
 
 Never had human being been pursued with such inveterate rancour as he had 
 been — and what was the result ? One of the most pure and innocent beings 
 that the light of day ever shone upon had been sacrificed, while he, against whom 
 we may say the resources of a nation had been put in motion, escaped, and 
 with a bosom burning with revenge stood free and unshamed in one of the most 
 populous thoroughfares of London. No one had yet gloated over the gold that 
 was to be the price of his destruction. No one had yet succeeded in selling the 
 blood of Claude Duval to the authorities. Disappointment, death, and pain had 
 resulted from the brutal attempt to place society in arms against a human being 
 who had virtually said — 
 
 " Forgive me — ^I will sin no more !" 
 
 CHAPTER CVlir. 
 
 THE SBCREtARY OF STATE, 
 
 After his great fatigue, Claude slept well. The publicaii had placed him in 
 a room where he knew he would be safe, for ths only entrance to it was at the 
 head of his own bed, so that Claude was very effectually hidden. The comfoit 
 and serenity of the rest of a^r .'•avellers were well seen to likewise, and when
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 473 
 
 the morning light from a small window in the roof of his chamber, not larger than 
 the removal of one tile afforded it to be, fell upon Claude's eyes, it reminded him 
 of all that had happened for the last ten days, which seemed like the feverish 
 excitement of a dream. There he lay, the man who had eluded the police of a 
 nation, who had bearded and insulted all the force, civil and military, who could 
 
 ANTHONY CONCEALS CLAUDE DUVAL IN THE BEAM AT THE " OLD MOON.'' 
 
 be brought against him. There he lay, looking up to that small window, as calm 
 and passionless as though he had been one of the most ordinary personages the 
 bright sun ever looked down upon with an eye of warmth. But this quiescent 
 state was not to last. Gradually the mental functions unfolded tliemselves, 
 awakening fully to life and energy, and then Claude felt it was indeed no dream 
 tha he had passed through, but a fearful, horrib^^, i~Mty. And yet in all his 
 
 No CO.
 
 474 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 adventurous career, in nil his hair-breadth escapes, there was nothing to chain his 
 attention — all was forgotten save one frightful image, and that he saw in his 
 mind's eye with a distinctness that looiced like present visibility. It was the still 
 mute form of the murdered Cicely upon the communion-table of the old Cathedral 
 of Winchester. Yes, that was the image that rose up between him and all other 
 objects, and seemed as though it would for ever so rise up to madden him by the 
 thought that irdirectly he had been the means of leading her to such a fate. 
 
 "Cicely! Cicely!" he cried. "Oh, God! she is lost to me for ever. lean, 
 in another world, hope for no connection with her piire spirit, for she is with God! 
 while I — oh, horror ! — horror! — horror !" 
 
 Tap ! — tap !— tap ! came a sound upon the wall of the room. Claude was still 
 as tne grave in a moment A rastliiig sound succeeded. Then the click of a small 
 lock, and the night-capped head of Anthony, the host of the *' Old Moon," was 
 popped into Claude's little chamber. 
 
 " Holloa ! captain," he said, '* what's the matter V 
 
 *' Oh, is it you?" he sai3. 
 
 *' Yes ; all's rieht. Are you ill ?" 
 
 " Sick at heart" Anthony." 
 
 " Oh, that will get all right. I know you have gone through what no other man 
 ever went through, and 1 will venture to say, what no other man ever will go 
 through; but you make yourself comfortable, and always remember that what's 
 past is gone." 
 
 *• No, Anthony, no.** 
 
 "No?" 
 
 •* Thfe past leaves its worse than presence behind. It leaves 'the pain of the 
 wound that it has inflicted, to fester in the heart. Oh, if I could but forget." 
 
 *♦ Humph !" muttered Anthony to himself. *'He seems in a bad way this 
 morning, poor fellow. I'll just get up and brew him something rather strong. 
 Well, well — I don't wonder at it, for if only one half of what I have heard about 
 him lately be true, he has had enough to turn the brains of most^men. Cheer up 
 —cheer up, Claude." 
 
 ♦' I will try, Anthony.'' ^ 
 
 " Then it's as good as done. If a man tries to cheer up, half the battle is orer, 
 and he is in a good condition for winning the other half. Be still, and Jiftl't, on 
 any account, stir from your hiding-place till I tell you." Wf 
 
 " I have no inclination to move just at present." 
 
 *' Good ; I won't keep you waiting." 
 
 Anthony was hastily dressing himself while this little colloquy was going on 
 between him and Claude, and by its conclusion, he Jiad completed his toilette. He 
 hurried down stairs, and made enquiries of a scout he kept about Drury Lane as 
 to whether there was anything of a suspicious character going on. 
 
 "All is q[uiet, master," was the reply; *'but an old woman has been by the 
 house a great many more times than necessary," 
 
 " An old woman ? 
 
 "Yes, a big old girl, too, that looks, to my mind, not just the thing." 
 
 " Well, Bob, keep an eye upon her, and if anything firther should happen, just 
 pop into the bar to me, and if I am not there ring my private bell." 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 
 This old woman, who was reported to have passed and repassed the public- 
 house much oftener than seemed reasonable, inight, or might not, be an emissary 
 of the police; but, at all events, he was not disposed to put himself out of the way 
 about trifles, and leaving to his scout, Bob, the task of watching her, he went into 
 the bar to prepare something for Claude. This something consisted of half-a-pint 
 of the finest old port wine, warmed, sweetened, and spiced, but without adrop of 
 water in it. He took it up to Claude himself, and when, by dint of persuasion 
 he had induced him to partake of it, Claude could not but admit that he felt much' 
 better in consequence." 
 
 ** Tell me," he said, " how are my friends ?"
 
 LIFE UN THE ROAD. 475 
 
 "All right and comfortable. Mr. Brereton is waiting to see you; and as for 
 Jack, he ain't up yet. Lord, what a rum story that is of Jack's." 
 
 " It is indeed. Do you know where my sister is?" 
 
 "Not 1 ; but Mr. Brereton, I dare say, can tell you. Shall I bring him in ?" 
 
 " Yes — oh yes." 
 
 " Very well ; you make yourself quite easy, and I will soon put things to rights 
 for you, and above all things, remember thai you are quite safe." 
 
 "I know I am." 
 
 " That's right ; so now I'll bring in your friend, Mr. Brereton, to you, as I dare 
 say he will be up and about soon." 
 
 The landlord left Claude to his meditations, and in a very short time he returned 
 with Brereton, who, to get into the room had to scramble over the head of the 
 landlord, since it was the bureau that hid it from observation. Claude smiled faintly 
 when he saw him, and held out his hand. Brereton grasped it. 
 
 "Are you well, Claude?" 
 
 " As well, Markham, as I can hope to be after " 
 
 He pause(), and turned his head aside, for the sight of Markham Brereton again 
 brought Cicely vividly before his imagination. Brereton then spoke — 
 
 *' We are both afflicted," he said, " from the same cause. I have lost a sister 
 "whom I loved tenderly, and you a wife, who in another land might, and no doubt 
 would have been, the solace of your life. But it is as useless as it is unmanly to 
 indulge in long continued grief for the dead.'' 
 
 " Can we help it ?'* 
 
 *' Yes, in a great measure. Reason will go fur to enable us to help it, Claude.* 
 
 " Can reason reconcile me to her loss?" 
 
 "Answer me & question, Claude, instead of asking me one/' 
 
 « I will." 
 
 "What would you have suffered to spare Cicely pain ?" 
 
 " Anything in the world. I am one who can calmly bear pain, so that it is only 
 myself that suffers, and not those whom I love." 
 
 " Indeed then, Claude, you have answered as well as me. Does Cicely suflFer P 
 — No. Is she enduring pain ? — No. Death is the end of all pajn and of all suf- 
 feringi It is then, not for her, but for yourself that you weep. Think again, 
 Claude, and you will see that I am right. You know that I loved her.'^ 
 
 " You are right,'' said Claude. " All grief for the dead is perfectly selfish." 
 
 " Certainly it is." 
 
 " You have done me good, Markham, and I thank you for it. I shall be better 
 now, but while I may succeed in controlling my tears for Cicely, I will not forget 
 that I have yet to avenge her." 
 
 " Forget that, Claude. Those who took her life were merely the weak assistants 
 of others ; and you sacrificed the actual one of them who did the deed. By seekino- 
 for the revenge you talk of, you might as well feel your ire kindled at the musket 
 from which sped the fatal bullet." 
 
 " You mean that I cannot reach high enough in my vengeance to strike those 
 who put the instruments of their own barbarous policy in motion ?" 
 
 " I do.' 
 
 "You ar^ mistaken, Markham." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes. You may, in your cool judgment, believe or believe me not, but in this 
 matter cf private revenge, where there is a will there is a way ; he who seeks the 
 revenge is sufficiently unscrupulous as to the means which he takes to accomplish 
 it, and as to the extent to which it may work. That am I !" 
 
 *' I see," said Brereton, " it will be quite useless to argue this point with yqu just 
 now, but 1 hope that time will soften your feelings." 
 
 "No— no." 
 
 " You do not ask for May ?" 
 
 ** Pardon me, I had forgotten. When the whole soul is engrossed by one sub-
 
 476 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 jeet, there can be few others than can for a moment even successfully intrude ; and 
 yet I do love May. Is she wellP" 
 
 *' Yes, perfectly ; but full of heavy affliction. I have procured a lodging for her 
 with a widow woman in Museum Street, close at hand. And now, Claude, what 
 are your real views as regards the future V 
 
 *' I am at war!" 
 
 " At war ! "With whom?'* ^ 
 
 " With what is called society, Markham Brereton.'* 
 
 Alas, Claude ! is society worth your making war against ?** 
 
 '' It has made war against me, Markham, and bo you cannot blame me for accept- 
 ing the challenge. Henceforward I shall do what I can to conquer. I shall take 
 to the road again.'* 
 
 " I regret to hear you say that." 
 
 " What then would you have me do, Markham ? What is there left for me but 
 the road ? I have once taken to that pursuit, and it is evidently the determina- 
 tion that society has come to, to keep me in it. I am as one to so many, that it is 
 impossible for me to resist its behests. So, to the road again go I.*' 
 
 " Alas ! alas !" 
 
 " Do not pity me. Some friendly hand will lay me low ; and he who sends 
 a hatchet now through the brains of Gentleman Jack, as they will call me, will 
 not incur any great penalty. With my last breath I will forgive him." 
 
 Markham Brereton saw that there was nothing further he could say that would 
 be at all likely to influence Claude, ae all events at present, so he gave up the mat- 
 ter in utter despair. Claude seemed to see exactly the state of feelings of Markham, 
 and after a few moments' pause he said to him — 
 
 '< Remember that I have no tie now to bind me to the world. If you had not 
 loved my sister as you do, I should, perhaps, have thought it necessaiy to live for 
 her, but as it is— — '* 
 
 Markham Brereton held up his hand and said— 
 
 *' Hush." 
 
 " What is it ?" said Claude. 
 
 ''I hope nothing that concerns you, but I heard just now a small bell ring 
 violently — there it is again." 
 
 " It does concern me.'* 
 
 Scarcely had Claude pronounced these words, than the door at the head of the 
 landlord's bed openeel, and Anthony made his appearance. 
 
 '*No hurry," he said. "Slow and sure, but the grabs are upon us." 
 
 «Ah!** 
 
 Claude started up and laid his hands upon his pistols. 
 
 *'No, no," Slid Anthony, '^ they will do sometimes, but not now. We must 
 play the fox's game, not the lion's. Come along, Claude, and you, Mr. Brereton, 
 if you will lend me a hand we may manage matters." 
 
 " Anything that 1 can do,'* said Brereton. 
 
 '* This way. Now, what I want you to be at is to help me to move my bedstead 
 to another part of the room, so as to leave the door opening to Claude's chamber 
 quite clear to be seen, I will bestow him somewhere else, and if you will then 
 occupy his bed for half an hour, all will be right.'* 
 
 There was no time for anything in the shape of delay. Brereton and Claude 
 both exerted themselves to do what was necessary, and the arrangements of the 
 landlord were completed in a few moments. Claude dressed himself hurriedly, 
 and while Brereton undressed and got into the bed, he followed the landlord from 
 the room. The small bell rung again sharply. 
 
 " Ah, there is no time to lose," said Anthony. " Come on, Claude, I will place 
 you where the devil himself would find it no easy matter to find you. This way 
 — this way, Claude. After me."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 477 
 
 CHAPTER CIX. 
 
 A SEARCH AND A VISIT. 
 
 We may mention that tho scout who was placed by Anthony upon the watch 
 in Drury Lane, had soon seen good reason to beHeve that the seeming old woman 
 who had passed the " Old Moon" so repeatedly, was none other than an officer of the 
 police in disguise, and such being tlje fact, he, of course, was not slow in giving 
 Anthony notice of it. He rung the small bell, which was a warning of danger in 
 the *' Old Moon," and then going to the street again, he saw enough to fully con- 
 firm his suspicions. The pretended female, upon reaching the corner of a court in 
 Dn:ry Lane, was joined by six men, and after a brief consultation they all came 
 at a brisk pace towards the public house. Now, in those days, and in these like- 
 wise, for all we know to the contrary, officers of the police prided themselves very 
 much upon the manner in which they weie able at a gliance to know a thief from 
 a true man, and it is probable enough that practice and experience may have sup- 
 plied them with a kind of tact in that way ; but admitting so much, there is another 
 fact in connection with the subject that deserves notice, and that is the extraordi- 
 nary skill and cunning with which thieves will scent out an officer. Let the 
 police functionary conceal himself how he will, he is sure to have a something 
 about him that proclaims his calling, and if this was the case long ago, when 
 officers really took pams to conceal their profession, and put on good disguises, 
 what must it be now, when a policeman, if he disguises himself ever so cunningly, 
 always takes care to keep on the police boots, and generally police inexpressibles. 
 These Solons of the "force" must be of the opinion of those wild animals, who, when 
 they are chased, hide their heads in some hole and fancy themselves out of sight 
 because they cannot themselves see, forgetting that they leave out their tails, to 
 tell the secret of their whereabouts. But to return to the scout. That individual 
 no sooner saw that assurance was doubly sure, than he made his way to the 
 private bell again, and gave it a vigorous pull. This was the peal that had con- 
 vinced Anthony that the danger was getting really imminent. We shall now, 
 therefore^ again accompany the landlord and Claude. Duval thought that he was to 
 be secreted in some of the underground regions ot the house, and he was surprised 
 when the landlord did not take him down stairs at all, but only traversed with 
 him a long landing on the upper floor until he came to a room that was used as a 
 kind of store for keeping all sorts of out-of-the-way goods. Old butter firkins, jars, 
 bottles, baskets, broken furnitue, cheeses, and such a melange of matters as 
 might be supposed to be partly the refuse and partly the stock of a public-house, 
 was there to be found. The Old Moon was one of those ancient wooden houses 
 of which now so few remain in London. It occupied the space of at least two 
 modern residences, in which everything is done that can be done to save a foot of 
 land,3and the consequence was, that it had in it such a number of intricate pas- 
 sages, that it would have taken a month's residence within its precincts thoroughly 
 to^comprehend it. Then, in the construction of the old houee, about as much timber 
 was used as would now-a-days suffice for an ordinary street of " eligible dwelling 
 houses." In almost all the roo«is there were huge beams, standing up like giants, 
 to support the walls and the roofing, while across many uf the roo's, just about 
 a foot or so from the ceiling, would run a beam of extraordinary thickness, which 
 was supposed to hold the walls together in some way, and by adding weight to 
 add solidity and security to the structure. It is with one of these horizontal beams 
 that we have now to do in the attic full of miscellaneous property to which we 
 have already alluded. This tremendous beam of wood, which was about three feet 
 square, did duty as a sh^lf as well as a stay (o the house, for on the upner side of 
 it were placed a number of smail aiticles, and several hooks and nails driven into 
 the side of it, served to suspend some hams and bottles of odd-looking liquids with 
 greasy cords round their necks. To the surprise of Claude, the landlwd com- 
 menced stripping this beam ©f all its various encumbrances.
 
 478 GENTLEMAIJ JACK ; OR, 
 
 " What are you about?" said Claude. 
 
 *' You must hide here." 
 
 " Hide here ?" 
 
 Claude looked around him and shook his head. 
 
 " You don't see any likely place at all here, do you now?" said Anthony. 
 
 " I confess I do not." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad of that, for if you don*t see it others may not. Come, look at 
 this beam of wood, it has a solid look about it." 
 
 "Ah, it is hollow." 
 
 '* Yes, when I said solid, of course, that did the business. Behold, Cteude. 
 I don't think you will have much chance of being found out here." 
 
 Anthony had cleared the beam of all obstructions, and then, by the aid of a 
 small chisel that he picked up from the floor of the attic, he took out the side of 
 the beam, showing that, in lieu of being solid, it was only composed of four pieces 
 of wood, not thicker, each of them, than floor boarding. The space in the inside 
 was quite large enough for a man of a size beyond Claude's, and he saw in a 
 moment that he could lie down within it, and suffer no personal inconvenience. 
 
 '* Will that do ?" said Anthony. 
 
 *' Yes — yes. I have my pistols with me, though, so that, if by any chance they 
 should jBnd me out, they shall not obtain a bloodless victory." 
 
 " I don't think you will have occasion for them. No less than five cf the best 
 men on the road have found shelter and safety here at different times, and it will 
 be odd if it don^t serve your turn for once. Now for it. Clamber up. — Don't 
 mind me." 
 
 Anthony stooped down with his hands upon his knees, so as to form a bank for 
 Claud3 to clamber up by, and he did so in a moment. 
 
 "All's right," said Anthony, when he saw him lying down within the seeming 
 beam. " Now I'll cover you up, and don't stir until you hear me say ' All's right, 
 Claude.' " 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 Anthony immediately replaced the side of the beam, and then silently, but 
 rapidly, proceeded to load it again with all the articles be had displaced from it. 
 He carefully placed dust in the seam where the boards joined, and in the space of 
 about two minutes he had completed his arrangements, and instantly left the attic. 
 
 *' Master ! — Master !" cried a voice from below. " Master !" 
 
 "Aye!— Aye!" 
 
 *' Here's some gentlemen want to see you." 
 
 *' To see me ? I'm coming." 
 
 When Anthony reached the lower part of the house, he was met by Jack in the 
 costume of a waiter, for he had put on such a disguise for the express purpose of 
 preventing his recognition by any one. He was even now afraid ibat the officers, 
 who were not far oflf, would hear him if he said anything confidentially, so he kept 
 up his assumed character in speaking to Anthony. 
 
 " Master," he said. ** You are wanted directly.'' 
 
 '' Indeed, Sam. Who is it 1" 
 
 *' Some gentlemen, sir ; and thsy have shut up the front door.** 
 " The deuce they have." 
 
 As Anthony passed Jack, the latfer said in an earnest whisper— 
 "Is he safe?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! I am ea»y, then." 
 "Hush I" 
 
 Anthony passed on, and soon encountered the officers, one of whom said to him — 
 '* Well, Master Anthony, this is rather a serious affair. We have positire infor- 
 mation that some one uncommonly like Claude Duval came here last night. You 
 know he is no common criminal, and his capture no common object. The conse- 
 quences to you of hiding him here would be absolutely ruinous, lor the magistracy 
 will take it u
 
 LIFE ON THE EOAD. 479 
 
 " Well," ftftid Anthony; 5* what's the end of all this V' 
 
 " Why, good advice, if you will take it, AnthoDy. It is to give up him whom 
 we seek at once, and space yourself the consequences of having him found here, 
 hidden by you. Come : a hundred pound note is worth having. No oue will be 
 a bit the wiser, while you will be something the richer." 
 
 *' That's true." 
 
 *' Will you take it, then ? Only say the word." 
 
 *' Now do I look like such a goose as to refuse a hundred pound note when it is 
 offered to me in this sort of way, for nothing ?" 
 
 " Not exactly f©r nothing. Next to nothing, you may call it. You have only 
 to give up to us, without further trouble, Claude Duval, and his associate, a man 
 whom we don't know by name, but should know by sight." 
 
 " Without further trouble 1" exclaimed Anthony, opening his eyes to their 
 utmost width. *' Well, that is a good idea. How am I to know what amount of 
 trouble it may be to catch a man, who, for all I know, may be in the moon?" 
 
 " That is sufficient," said the officer, with an air of vexatien. " If we find him, 
 the consequences of hiding him be upon your own head, Mr. Landlord, Now, 
 my friends, we will not leave a hole or corner unsearched in this house.'* 
 
 " I might," said Anthony, "ask you for your warrant, only that I really would 
 much rather you should satisfy yourselves than not : so search away as long as 
 you like, only I don't see why you should shut up my door and stop my business. 
 That I won't put up with, for your warrant, if you have one, won't carry you so 
 far." 
 
 <' We will try that," said the officer. " Your house is pretty well surroundedby 
 this time. There are twenty-five officers on this expedition, so thac you see we 
 feel tolerably confident of our man here, whatever sort of face you may put upon 
 the matter." 
 
 **As you will. — As you will. I cannot resist so many; but I will take pro- 
 ceedings if 1 find I have the power to do so." 
 
 Two of the officers now remained to keep guard at the door, while the remain- 
 der of the force commenced a search, such as the '* Old Moon" had not witnessed 
 for a very long time indeed. Each of the officers had a holster pistol in his right 
 hand while he made this search for Claude Duval ; and there can be very little 
 question but that, had he been seen, the intention v^as to shoot him at once, rather 
 than run any further risks with him, especially as the government proclamation 
 promised the same reward for him, alive or dea-d. The cellars, which were very 
 capacious, were thoroughly searched, but, of course, without any result but disap- 
 pointment, Anthony accompanied the officers, and it was amusing to see how they 
 watched his looks upon coming into any room to commence a rigorous investig^a- 
 lion of it. When minute after minute passed, and room after room was searched 
 without any one being found, the officers began to get desperate, and muttered 
 oaths and threats of what they would do if they did catch Claude, escaped from 
 their lips.' At length the landlord's bed-room was entered, and one of the officers 
 walked into that very apartment which had been so recently occupied by Claude 
 Duval. , 
 
 '' Hilloa !" he cried. ** Here's some one in bed." 
 
 Two others immediately joined him, and dragging the bed clothes from the 
 lower part of Markham Brereton's face, one cried — 
 
 *' Who are you ?" 
 
 *' Pray what is that to you ?" said Markham. 
 
 "Oh ! 1 know him," said another of the officers. "Don't you recollect he was 
 tried at the Bailey for highway robbery?" 
 
 " And proved to be innocent," said Brereton, 
 
 " Well, yes; but — but a man who has once been tried- " 
 
 " Whether innocent or guilty, has the odium attached to him for ever,, I am 
 quite aware that such is the case in this free, enlightened, and religious country. 
 It is as well established a fact in England, as that he who is poor, must necessarily 
 be dishonest. Well, what do you want with me f "
 
 480 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Nothing with you, sir.* 
 
 " Then get out of my bed-room." 
 
 '* It's rather odd for a man to be in bed so late." 
 
 " Very likely." 
 
 The officer found that there was nothing to be got by prolonging a conversa- 
 tion with Mr. Brereton, so, after an active scrutiny of the chamber in which 
 he lay, they took their leave of him, and proceeded to the examination of the rest 
 of the rooms upon that floor. One of these rooms was the one with the beam. 
 That apartment was the last but one that was searched. The officers turned 
 aside an old door frame that was in one corner, and then, with a hearty 
 curse of theiij own non-success, they left the room. Anthony breathed more 
 freely, for admirable as the hiding-place of Claude was, yet human means are 
 not infallible, and he might have been discovered, notwithstanding all that had 
 been done to keep him secret. In another halt-hour the search was over, and the 
 principal officer turning to Anthony, said — 
 
 " We are foiled, but not satisfied," ^ 
 
 " y«ry good. I can't help it, whether you are satisfied or not." 
 
 Without another word they left the house; but a quarter of an hour after 
 that, two men, habited like graziers, came into the public-house, and asked 
 if they could be accommodated for a day and a night. Anthony knew both of 
 them 
 
 CHAPTER ex. 
 
 A GREAT PERSONAGE, 
 
 Jack was in the bar of the *' Old Moon" when these two men came in. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the landlord. " I shall be glad to accommodate you." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, sir," said one. " We be strange to Lunnon." 
 
 " Ah,|you lookjike it. I suppose you will stay now ?^or do you propose looking 
 about you a little, and coming here to sleep ?" 
 
 " Oh, we have been looking about us a bit, and we have seen St. Paul's, and the 
 Tower, and the Kxeter Change besides ; so we wool stay now belike." 
 
 " Very good. Just step this way, and Til show you the parlour, gentlemen. 
 What would you like to have for dinner?" 
 
 " Anything as you have, landlord. We bemain peckish." 
 
 Anthony showed them into the parlour, and handed them a couple of news- 
 papers. Then telling them that he would send them in some steaks and pickles 
 in a quarter of an hour, he left them to themselves. When he reached the bar 
 again, he said— 
 
 "Jack, do you know them ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 '* Ono is Foster, the officer, and the other is Lee, the police spy." 
 
 Jack changed colour. 
 
 « Pho ! there is no danger mow they are known. No doubt they think that 
 they are doing the thing rather cleanly, but as soon ss I knew really who they 
 were, the danger ceased. Look here, Jack. You see this little bit of red cord 
 projectme from the wall ?'* 
 
 *' I do> 
 
 " Well, Jack, keep your eye on the parlour^door, and if you see one of them 
 conae out, just give this cord a touch. It rings my little alarm bell." 
 
 ' I understand. You are going to prepare Claude?" 
 
 « I am. But we must not seem to know anything ; I will order them their 
 steaks and pickles, and you draw them a pot of porter, Jack, and take it in to them. 
 I ou can manage to do that?"
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE RgAD. 481 
 
 *' Oh, yes, yes." 
 
 Jack did do it to perteetion, and with the poi-tei* in his hand, and an apron and 
 pair of sleeves on him, he looked the very beau ideal of a respectable middle-aged 
 waiter. A wig and some colour very different from the natural one of his skin, 
 pretty effectually disguised his face, so that he had no fears that either of the men 
 in the parlour would know him. Jack entered the room quite briskly. 
 
 Claude's REVENaE on lord abingdon, the secretary of state. 
 
 ** Porter, gentlemen. The steak will soon be ready." 
 
 " We be main obliged to you," said one, and then with a wink at the other 
 he added, " what do you think ?" 
 
 S No, no," said the other, «* don't risk it." 
 
 Jack quite understood that one of them was for trying to suborn him, but that 
 the other thought it would be decidedly unsafe to do so. He did not wishthem to
 
 482 , GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 try it, for now that he knew who they were, he had nothing to gain by any con- 
 fidence ihey might be indiscreet enough to place in him. 
 
 *' Any further orders, gentlemen V he said. 
 
 " No, no, only the steak and pickles." 
 
 While this was going on, Anthony slipped up to the attic, in the croga-beam 
 of which Cluue waa concealed, and said *o him— 
 
 " All's right, Claude. How are you ?" 
 
 " Quite well," said Claude, " can you let me out ?" * 
 
 ** Yes, in a minute." 
 
 It took some time to unhook the haras, candles, and other matters that hung on 
 the side of the beam, but at length Claude was liberated from his curious place of 
 concealment, and the moment he reached the floor, Anthony said to him— 
 
 "The Old Moon is too hot to hold you, Claude." 
 
 " Ah, I thought it would be." Your opinion only tallies with mine. You 
 think 2 ought to leave directly ?" 
 
 " 1 do indeed.*' 
 
 " FTow, Anthony ? — that is the only question." 
 
 " Why, look you, Claude ; I am quite convinced that a strong push is being 
 made to take you here ; therefore, to leave by the door is out of the question. The 
 old house is pretty well watched in all places. But where tfcere is a will there is 
 a way, I v\ill have your horse waiting for yon at the corner of Denmark-street, 
 and there U an empty house in the court at the back of here, and one of the 
 windows of which is only about fifteen feet from the corner of a part of the roof of 
 this house. If you can leave by that window, you c?.n get out at the back of the 
 empty house, over a yard or two, and so make good your escape. Will you try 
 
 it r 
 
 « Will I ? Can you doubt ?" 
 
 " Very well. Come on at once. Only leave word where Jack shall join you, 
 for, after you are gone, I know that wild tiorses would not keep him here.'' 
 
 *' Let him meet me by the One Tun on Hampstead Heath, one hour after sunset 
 to-night." 
 
 ** Good. You may take your oath that he will be there, Claude ; so now come 
 at once, and be o9F, for I shall not feel comfortable while you are in the house," 
 
 " Is it safe at daylight?'* 
 
 "Oh, yes, perfectly. The court has not the sort of inhabitants to betray yoa, 
 and if any one wished to do so, who might by accident see you, they won't bare 
 time till you are oflF and away. What costume will you wear?" 
 
 " I will fit myself out from Jack's portmanteau. By the bye, did you remore 
 it from the bedroom P" 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 *' It would have told tales if the cfl&cers had looked into it, bat we ought to 
 owe something to good fortune as well as to ill. Show me the way, Anthony, to 
 my room again, for amid the intricacies of your old house I might lose my 
 vay. 
 
 Anthony conducted him to the chamber, where they found Brereton up and 
 dressed, waiting for some intelligence. He was well pleased to see Claude, who 
 soon made a most remarkable change in his appearance, far he looked like some 
 resDectable clergyman when he had made himself fully up. 
 
 **Now," said Anthony, **we shall need all the firength we three canjnuster, 
 in order to place a plank that 1 have got ready over the chasm between the gable 
 end of this house and the window of the empty one in the court," 
 
 ** I can jump 5 1," said Claude. *t.*-^-. ., 
 
 Anthony shook his head. •? 
 
 *' No, Claude. If the space that is filled up by the window were open, I should 
 say, jump away, but it is an awkward thing to jump against a closed window, with 
 the chance only of your weight carrying you through it. The least thing might 
 send you a depth of sixty feet upon the cold stones below." 
 
 ** I don't want to die yet," said Claude ; " I must have my revenge yet. I will
 
 LtFE ON THE ROAD. 48 
 
 preserve my life and my strength more religiously now than I have ever done 
 before. I consider that 1 have a mission to perform." 
 
 Brereton would fain have made some remark upon this subject, but he did not 
 like to do so, for he knew enough of Claude to feel convinced that if anything 
 turned him from his purpose of taking vengeance upon all who were in any way 
 accessory to the death of Cicely, it would be time — Time, that great agent of all 
 mental changes ! He and the landlord, with Claude closely following, went to 
 one of the attics, in the roof of which was a trap door opening to the top of the 
 house. In that attic, too, was a long piece of planking, (juite of sufficient dimen- 
 sions to reach the fifteen feet required, and as light as was consistent with strength. 
 It had before done the same service that it was now called upon to perform. 
 After they had all three scrambled on to the roof, and dragged the plank after them, 
 Anthony pointed to the gable end which faced the window, and said — 
 
 " It will take us ail three to hold the plank by the small end of it here, while 
 we push it across the chasm.* 
 
 It was an awkward job, for there was but a frail place for them to stand upon, 
 but they did, after two or three abortive efforts, succeed in getting the further end 
 of the plank fairly rested upon the window sill of the empty house, and what was 
 more, they were pretty well satisfied that two children, at an attic window close at 
 hand, were the only auditors of the transaction, so that one part of the danger 
 that had been apprehended from ihe affair, was got rid cf, 
 
 "Good bye, Claude," said Brereton, 
 
 *' Good bye, and good luck to you," said Anthony. 
 
 They both shook hands with him, but Claude's feelings were too much upon the 
 strain for him to say anything, and only looking an adieu, he commenced the pas- 
 sage of that frail and perilous bridge. To walk across the bridge would have been 
 next to impossible, for the vibration of so frail a structure would have been suffi- 
 cient to throw any one off it. He did not therefore venture upon such a course, 
 but upon his hands and knees he set out upon the expedition. Even then it 
 was a perilous affair, and the more especially as he had to make his way through 
 the window when he got across the plank. The window was close shut, but 
 Claude, as soon as he reached ii, having previously provided himself with a glove, 
 dashed his hand through the first pane of glass he came to, and unfastened the 
 window. It was then but the work of a moment to fling up the sash. 
 
 " All's right," said Anthony. 
 
 "Thank God — yes," said Bi-eieton. 
 
 Claude did not stand upon ceremony in getting into the empty house, but head 
 foremost, in the best way he was able, he plunged through the open v;indow, and 
 so for a moment disappeared from the sight of his friends. This disappearance, 
 however, was but for a moment — they saw him again, waring his hand, and then 
 he was gone and the window closed. 
 
 *' Now for the horse," said Anthony. ^'Ah, the bell ! — Jack has something to 
 tell me, I suppose. Come on, Mr. Brereton. We must get down stairs as 
 quiskly as we can, now, for something is amiss." 
 
 They both ran along a narrow passage, and got to the head of the attic stairs 
 in a few moments. Anthony went first. The stairs were very dark, and lie had 
 not got down above half-a-dozen of them, when a voice a short distance below him 
 cried — 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 "■ The devil in a gale of wind," said Anthony. " Who are you?'' 
 
 " Never you mind. Surrender, or 1 fire. I am an oificer." 
 
 " Blaze away." 
 
 Bang ! went a pistol shot. 
 
 "All's fair at fair time," cried Anthony, ais he sprung upon one of the 
 pretended graziers, who by the flash of the pistol upon the dark staircase had been 
 revealed to hiaa. He got hold of the barrel of the discharged pistol, and wrenched 
 it from the officer's hand, and then, as he dealt him a blow upon the head with 
 the butt end of it, he said — ■
 
 484 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' My friend, if you play at bowls you must expect rubs ! " 
 
 They heard the officer fall backwards and go bumping down the attic stairs 
 until he reached the landing place, and then all was itiW* j,^^^^^^^_^^ 
 
 *' Have you killed him r" said Brereton. 
 
 ♦* On my faith I don't know, but he tried to kill me." 
 
 "He did." 
 
 " Then let him take his chance. I will run down and open a shutter of the 
 staircase, for I can enlighten the route to my attics when I like. You stay where 
 you are for a minute or two, Mr. Brereton." 
 
 Anthony ran down stairs and opened a shutter. A stream of light came in, and 
 there lay the officer perfectly insensible. At that moment a voice from below 
 called out— . 
 
 " Mr. Lee — Mr. Lee — where are you ?" 
 
 " Who's that ?" said Anthony. Below there ! If you are a friend of a gentle- 
 man who lies here upon my landing, you had better come up, for something seems 
 to be rather the matter with him." 
 
 '* Beware all of you," added the voice ; " I am an officer, and I'll blow out 
 the brains of the first man who raises a finger against me. I am Foster, the 
 officer." 
 
 Accompanied by these words up came the other mock grazier, with a loaded 
 pistol in each Imnd. 
 
 *' Holloa !" said Anthony. " Ain't you a grazier either?" ^'S^^fh 
 
 '* You are all my prisoners." 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it. The ' all * is only me and this gentleman, and the 
 whole of our crime is that we were coming down stairs and heard a row, which has 
 apparently ended in the upset of your friend here." 
 
 " Who has done this deed V* 
 
 "Ah, that's the question. Somebody ran down stairs very fast, and must have 
 passed you, I should think." 
 
 " No. No one passed me that I was aware of, unless they stood up in the dark, 
 for your staircase, at places, is like night. This sort of thing won't do though for 
 me. It was a fool's trick of Mr. Lee to proclaim himself so soon, but he thought 
 he would do wonders by popping up-stairs at unawares." 
 
 As he said this, the officer made his way into a front room, and throwing up 
 the window, he sprung a rattle that he took from his pocket, whiclu in a few mo- 
 ments, brought half a do^^ctf^ more police to the house. 
 
 CHAPTER CX, 
 
 Claude's progress in revenge. 
 
 We must leave Anthony to get on with the police in the best way he is able, 
 not for a moment doubting but that his sagacity and courage will be more than a 
 match for them, while we follow Claude, with whose fortunes we have more im- 
 mediately to do. When he had wared his hand in token of adieu to Brereton and 
 Anthony, he closed the window of the empty house, and began to make the best 
 of his way out of it. He ran down stairs, and opening the back-door, got into 
 the yard ; from which, the only mode of escaping was by crossing two other yards, 
 •dmd then dropping from the wall of the last one into the small paved court. It 
 was not a time for hesitation, so Claude clambered the first wall in a moment, and 
 crossed the first of the two yards between him and the court. No one appeared 
 to offer him the least obstruction, but when he got into the second yard he almost-' 
 jumped upon a man who was walking in it smoking a pipe. 
 
 *' Holloa !" cried the man ; '* old friends generally come in at the street door. 
 Who are you V* .v^, -^.f,^^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 485 
 
 " A fugitive,*' said Claude. 
 
 « Oh, from the ' Old Moon V The grabs are after vou ?" 
 
 **Yes.» 
 ' ** All's right, then. Don't you cross into the court. They have got a couple 
 of runners at the mouth of it. I'll let you out at my door." 
 
 **I am much beholden to you." 
 
 "Oh, don't mention it. "rhe family, of course, must help each other. How is 
 old Anthony?" 
 
 ** Quite well. You are then, I presume— — " 
 
 " A cracksman, at your service. I don't ask who you are, because I suspect." 
 
 *' Suspect what V 
 
 *' You are young Guy, called the * Yorkshire Knight,' ain't you ?" 
 
 " No. I am Claude Duval." 
 
 The man with the pipe started back in surprise. Dashing the pipe then to 
 the ground, he cried— 
 
 *' Here's a honour. Have I acfvwally got Gentleman Jack in my crib ? Lord 
 love you, haven't I often wished to say something to yer !'' 
 
 " What was it ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothink ; but how is yer, my tulip ? That's all. Come on. I'll walk 
 along of yer, if yer like, a little way. The idear that I should be having a quiet 
 go in at a pipe quite promiscous, and come across Gentleman Jack. Well, if I 
 
 don't tell this here story to the old woman and the kids, may I be Oh, dear— 
 
 oh, dear, what a world we live in, to be sure. This way. What will you have 
 now ?" 
 
 ** Nothing, my good friend. Nothing ! Believe me my situation is a very 
 urgent one, or I should not leave you so suddenly, but I have an appointment, 
 which it is of the utmost importance I should keep. I won't come to the * Old, 
 Moon 'again though without paying you a visit, you may depend upon it. I shall 
 know your house again. Good bye.'' 
 
 Claude shook hands with the cracksman, and was safely let out by the front 
 door of his house. The sun was shining fitfully as he made the best of his way 
 along a street that led him into St. Andrew's. street, and then proceeding along 
 High-street, St. Giles's, he soon reached Denmark-street, and cutting off the 
 distance as much as possible, while he did not walk so fast as to attract atten- 
 tion by seeming to be in any extraordinary hurry, he soon reached St. Ann's 
 Church. Close to the curbstone was a boy, holding Claude's horse. 
 
 " All's right," whispered Claude, as he took hold of the bridle, '* Do you 
 know me?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Oh, yes." 
 
 Claude mounted, and then he added — 
 
 «* Who am I, then ?" 
 
 ** Claude Duval," said the boy in a whisper, while his eyes sparkled with 
 animation. 
 
 " And do you know what a large reward is oflfercd for me dead or alive ?" 
 
 *' Yes. It comes to X2000, they tell me, now.'' 
 
 " You might soon earn it, by giving the hue and cry after me in the streets 
 of Soho." 
 
 An angry flush came over the boy's face. 
 
 " You don't know me half so well as I know you," he said, as he turned 
 away. 
 
 ** Hold," said Claude, taking a handful of guineas from his pocket. ''Buy your- 
 self something in remembrance of Claude Duval, my lad, and remember that we 
 are friends. Shake hands with me." 
 
 The boy did so, looking quite radiant with satisfaction. He would have 
 refused the gold, but Claude pressed it upon him, and then galloped away,, leaving 
 him standing by the church door gazing after him. It was odd that Claude 
 Duval, since he had made up his mind to meet Jack at the 'One Tun' at 
 Hampstead, should not travel northward, but he did not do so, for, »n the con-
 
 48G GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 trary, he made his way into St. Martin's Lane, and then at a very steady pace 
 he crossed Chafing Cross, and betook himself towards Downinu-street, which 
 all the world knows is a litrie past tlie Treasury. The clock at the Horse Guards 
 Struck twelve as he passed ir — he was rather surprised to find that it was so 
 late. 
 
 " Well, well," he muttered. Perhaps that is all the better, as I am going to 
 $et my life upon a cast this morning. I will do something that will surprise 
 Kurope." 
 
 He turned his horse's head up Downing-street, and slopped at the official 
 residence of the Secretary ot State for the Home Department, Several servants 
 were lounging about the place, and one went towards Claude, seeing him draw 
 rein at the door. Notv Claude's appearance was, under all circumstancfes, 
 strikingly in tiis favour. There waj about him an air of aristocratic grandeut of 
 aspect, which he would have found it as difficult to conceal, as any one not so 
 gifted by nature, would have found it difficult to assume, and now, attired as he 
 was in the ecclesiastical habit, and so superbly mounted as he was, it was not to 
 be wondered at, that the servants should treat him with markad respect. To the 
 footman, who approached, Claude said — 
 
 *' Is Lord Abingdon here ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Very well. Hold, or get somebody to hold my horse, and when my groom 
 comes, tell him I shall walk across the park, and meet him with the horse at 
 Buckingham House." 
 
 " Yej--, sir." 
 
 Claude dismounted, and ascended the steps of the Home Office. He was at 
 once ushered into a room upon the ground floor, and a servant out of livery 
 respectfully requested to know his business. 
 
 *' I wish to see my Lord Abingdon for a few moments upon a private matter 
 of some importance— lam Dr. Bleadon." 
 
 The servant bowed, and made an exit. In the course of about five minutes, 
 there came into the room a gentleman, who in the most polite manner said — 
 
 "Lord Abingdon very much regrets that he cannot have the pleasure of 
 seeing you personally, as he is very particularly en/aged, but he desires his 
 compliments, and that you will be so good as to tell me your business, 1 am his 
 lordship's private secretary." 
 
 " Sir," said Claude, '* if the business that has brought me here was anything 
 but what it is, I should not have solicltell an interview with his lordship, but 
 have asked for you at once. I am sorry he cannot see me, as in that ca e I must 
 go as i came. I should have thought that my position in society would haVe 
 put an end to any supposition that this call could be a matter of idleness or 
 impertinence." 
 
 The secretary looked puzzled. 
 
 *' Pray, sir," he said, " wait a moment or two, and I will speak to his lord* 
 ship again. Is it a matter of public imponaLce ?" 
 
 ** It is indeed." 
 
 Away went the secretary, and down sat Claude. In the course of five minutes 
 more a gentleman entered the room, and slightly bowed. 
 
 " Have I the honour of speaking to Lord Abingdon V said Claude. 
 
 *' Yes, sir. I am Lord Abmgdon. Pray be seated. I regret to have kept you 
 waiting. Dr. — Dr. Bleadon, I think ?" 
 
 "Yes. Seat yourself, my lord, and tell me before I begin. Are we strictly 
 private hele ?" 
 
 " Well, 1 — I really ! Suppose we make certain by stepping into the next room, 
 Dr. Bleadon. This way, if you please. I suppose you have some plot to tell us 
 of, and 1 can assure you thai his majesty's government will feel sincerely obliged 
 for any communication that may tend to the preservation of the peace bf the 
 nation," 
 
 Lord Abingdon led Claude from the large reception-room into a much smaller
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 487 
 
 apartment, and Claude himself closed the door, and look care to keep between it 
 and his lordship, as he said — 
 
 "My lord, there is a highwayman named Claude Duval." 
 '* Oh, is it about him. I wish you would see Mr. Hope." 
 
 "No, my lord, I must see you. It was known to you and to the police that he 
 wished to leave England for ever, but large sums were issued for his capture, and 
 what was worse, a sum was set upon his destruction. He was hunted like a wild 
 beast, ar.d that, too, at the very time that you knew he wished to leave England, 
 having found ties that would perhaps have made Inm in some other country a 
 happy aqd useful member of society. My lord, why did you do all this ?" 
 
 "Upon my >*ord," said Lord Abingdon, '' this serves me right for departing 
 from my rule of never granting an interview to a stranger. Good morning, sir, good 
 morning." 
 
 "Nut so fast. Do you fancy I have taken all this trouble just to say to you 
 what I have said ?" 
 " "What else for, sir ?" 
 
 " Blood for blood. I have come to blow out your brains, The consequence of 
 the orders emanating from you to hunt Claude Duval, has been the murder of one 
 so dear to me that I cannot trust myself to say more upon that head." 
 *' Pray, sir, let me pass." • 
 
 " No. You are a dead man if you raise the least alarm." 
 
 *' Who are you, that dare " 
 
 " I am Claude Duval !" 
 
 The face of Lord Abingdon turned of an ashy paleness, and he sunk back into 
 a seat, as he gasped — 
 
 " You are Claude Duval." 
 
 " Yes, you have, no doubt, heard of many of my extraordinary disguises, 
 and this is one of them — I only live for vengeance now. Well I know that at the 
 sound of the pistol shot that will deprive you of life, aud make a vacany in the 
 Ministry, your domestics and others here will rush upon me, but I have another 
 pistol for myself. You and I will descend, my lord, to posterity in the same page 
 of history." 
 " Good God !" 
 *' God is good, no doubt." 
 
 Lord Abingdon shd from his chair on to his knees, as he said — 
 "Oh spare me! — spare me. Why should your revenge fall upon me? Oh! 
 spare my life, and I will get a free pardon from the crown, and an unmolested 
 passage where you please. I am a man with a family." 
 
 " Oh, your family will be well provided for out of the public purse. You know 
 that well enough, my lord. I could have, for myself, freely forgiven the man-hunt 
 in which you and your myrmidons engaged — you as paymaster, and they as the 
 executive — but death followed in their bloody footsteps, and one of the fairest and 
 the best of human beings was the victim. 1 will sacrifice you to her memory.'* 
 
 The Secretary of State fell at Claude's feet, and with tearful accents pleaded for 
 existence. 
 
 " Spare me, oh, spare me !" he said. " Indeed it was not T, half so inuch as 
 my Lord North, who issued the offers of reward for you. It was not, indeed. 
 Oh, do not kill me here in cold blood. If I have, in my mistaken zeal for the 
 public service done you personal wrong, I ask you to forgive me as you hope lo be 
 forgiven, and when you are before your God,, and it shall be said, 'This man has 
 taken life,* you can say, * that, although full of your wrongs, and with me in your 
 power, you spared me'and left me to Heaven.' What is a life? I must die at 
 some time — perhaps of a lingering disease, during the agony of which I may many 
 a time wish for your pistols to end my sufferings. Is killing, vengeance ? Alas, 
 no. I have already in my feais suffered twenty deaths. Spare^ me-^pardon 
 me !" 
 
 "Abject wretch 1" 
 
 '< Yes. I am abject. On^y spare me. In all ycur carear'you have never done
 
 488 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 a deed like this. You have often spared a fallen foe, but you hare never yet sacri 
 ficed one. I repent of what 1 have ddne. God asks no more," 
 
 Claude paced the room twice with perturbed steps, and each time that he passed 
 the kneeling secretary, that exalted individual made a catch at his legs to implore 
 his clemency. At length Claude paused. 
 
 " I cannot do it," he said. " It is contrary to my nature. I cannot do it.— 
 Rise, sir, you are saved : and bow, 1 suppose, you will do your best to have me 
 killed or apprehended." 
 
 " No. Indeed I will not. Go in peace.*' 
 
 " It will look better if you see me to the door, my lord. Beware of treachery." 
 
 " Upon my sacred word I mean none. You shall go as you came, and I only 
 wish that this visit may be buried in oblivion, I will withdraw the reward for 
 your death ; and if at any time I can do you a favour, I will." 
 
 *' Very well. We shall see.'* 
 
 Lord Abingdon walked with Claude to the outer door, and the servants were 
 amazed to see the disordered condition of his lordship. 
 
 <• Remember l*! said Claude, when he had mounted. 
 
 Lord Abingdon bowed, and then, as soon as Claude had ridden off, he turned 
 round and fainted in the hall of the house. A scene of confusion instantly ensued, 
 and it was a full hour kefore he was restored to consciousness. 
 
 CHAPTER CXI. 
 
 THE RETRIBUTIOK AT HAMPSTEAD. 
 
 Claude said not a word until he was two miles from Downing-street, a distance 
 that took him fairly on to the North-road, and then drawing a long breath, he 
 uttered the ejaculation of— . 
 
 " Thank God !* 
 
 After chus breaking silence with himself, he added—- 
 
 *' Yes: I thank God that I did not take that man's life. I might have done it — 
 I ineant to do it ; but it is not done, and I am the happier. I would not have the 
 weight of his blood upon my soul. Alas ! what common everyday materials, after 
 all, go to the composition of a great man!" 
 
 As he uttered these words, he came to the junction of roads that divide to go to 
 Highgate and Hampstead respectively, and he took the left-hand one, which would 
 lead him to the latter village, though a verdant lane rather than a road, for such at 
 that time, with its tall elm trees, was the route to Hampstead. As he went on, he 
 asked himself if the Secretary of State would keep his word with him or not. If 
 he did not, an immediate change in his (Claude's) equipments would be very 
 necessary; while, if he did, the disguise he was at present in, was in all proba- 
 bility the one most likely to suit his purpose of personal coDcealment, 
 
 " I will risk it," he said ; " for once I will trust to the word of a great man. 
 He surely cannot be so base as to betray me now." 
 
 With this comfortable assurance, Claude Duval jogged on, and soon passed 
 the Load of Hay, then a long, low, rambling-looking wooden house by the way- 
 side, and considered to be a considerable distance out of London. Without 
 pausing for a moment Claude rode up Haverstock Hill, and passing the Grange, he 
 soon scampered through the straggling High-street of Hampstead, and arrived on 
 the Heath. Claude, who knew every tree, andhill, and dale in that charming spot, 
 was always much affected upon coming within its precincts. It reminded him 
 forcibly of his boyish days— of his mother, and her long sufferings — of his father, 
 and his unjust death— and it reminded him likewise of the vengeance he had 
 taken upon the man who had hunted and persecuted his father to death— the 
 death of a felon ! But the day was yet young, and although well disguised.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LTEE ON THE KOAD. 
 
 489 
 
 Claude felt the impolicy of passing much time upon the Heath, exposed to the gaze 
 and curiosity of chance passengers, as well as of the residents upon that favoured 
 spot, so he made his way at once to the One Tun public house, where he had 
 agreed to meet with his old friend Jack. Then pulling up his horse, he ordered 
 the best dinner the house could, afford to him for money, and taking his seat by 
 
 CLAUDE AGAIN ON THE ROAD— ROBBEIiy OF THE YORK MAIL. 
 
 an open window that commanded a view of the beautiful heath, he gave himself 
 up very much to the thoughts of the busy past. And oh ! how like a dream • of 
 romance did much of his life appear to him, when now looked back upon' from 
 his present vantage ground of safety. He wondered how he could have gone 
 through what had happened to him, and now he shuddered much more at past 
 risks, than he had done when they had been present ones. But soon to Cicely 
 
 No. 62.
 
 490 GENTLEMAN JACK; OK, 
 
 his thoughts ran, and as she had been, and as she was, he pictured her to his fancy. 
 So beautiful, so gentle, so pure, and so good as she had been, to think that she was 
 now a corpse. That that silvery voice was hushed for ever—that those sparkling 
 eyes had lost their lustre — that the soft skin had upon it the pestiferous danops of 
 the grave, and that worms could riot within the chambers of that brain which for 
 holy and beautiful emotions had known no superior, and but few equals. Oh, it 
 was maddening to his very soul. Resting his head upon his hands he wept convul- 
 sively. Durng the continuance of this accession of grief, the waiter came into 
 the room, but he stopped shorf when he saw the respectable parson-like lookine 
 gentleman in such dolour. Claude did not bear him until he made some noise 
 purposely in placing some things upon %%<^ t^ble for the dinner. Then Duval 
 looked op. 
 
 *' Beg pardon, sir," said the waiter, *^onty come to lay cloth, sir." 
 
 " It's of no consequence. A gentlenian of my profession must see much to 
 weep for in the depravity of human nature.'* 
 
 '• Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Any pickles, sir ?" 
 
 "No—no " . 
 
 *' Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.*^ 
 
 All this man's feelings and capabilities seemed comprised in " Yes, sir. Cer- 
 tainly, sir." 
 
 *' Will, then, dinner be ready soon V* said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, sii". Hiiloa ! another gent on oss back, as Vm alive. Coming directly^ 
 sir." 
 
 The souiid of a horse's feet coming directly up to the inn-door were now plainly 
 to be heard, and Claude looked from the window. What was his satisfaction to see 
 that it W4^s Jack himself, so much sooner than he had expected him. 
 
 "Jack !" h^ called, from the window, " Jack, I am here." 
 
 Claude's name was upon Jack's lips upon the impulse of the moment, but be 
 prudently suppressed it;, merely calling out ii^ return, " Ah, sir, I am glad to see 
 you ;" so thai CU\»de might act as he pleased, either to admit hipi as an equa^ or 
 keep him out as a subor-dinate, whichever he might think would look best, and 
 be the safest to do as regarded the people of the inn. Claude, however, did not 
 think that there was any reason ior keeping up any distinction between himself 
 and Jack, and he beet^oaed ^q him to come in at once to the room, where the 
 dinner would soon be laid. 
 
 *' Jack," he said, " I did not expect you for seme hours." 
 
 " Nor I yoq," said Japk. " But I thought, as I had nothing bettei to do, I 
 might as well come here and wait." 
 
 '* That was my precise idea." 
 
 " So I surmised whep I saw yoq. I am very anxious, Claude, to know wh»t 
 course of conduct you intend to pursue.'* 
 
 " After dinrier we will talk that over. Call me Mr. Brown before the waiter, 
 and I will call you Smith." 
 
 The dinner was soon placed upon the table, and both Jack and Claude managfsil 
 to do tolerable justice tcTit ; so that by the time it was removed it was past five 
 o'clock, and the evening was creeping on apace. Then Claude, drawing near to 
 Jack, and helping himself to a glass of wine, said — 
 
 '' Jack, I have failed." 
 
 '•Failed in what?' 
 
 "In carrying out my scheme of revenge. Listen to me, and you will hear of 
 one of my most hazardous adventures." 
 
 Jack listened with all attention, while Claude told him whal had happened at 
 the office of the Secretary of State ; and when he had concluded, Jack shook 
 him by the hand, as Le said — / 
 
 •* Then really, Claude, you thought there was but little chance of us ever meetr 
 ing again." 
 
 •* 1 scarcely can say what I thought. Jack. My whole soul was bent upon 
 revenge, until the moment it was in my power, and then a total revulsion of
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 491 
 
 very 
 
 feeling took place, and the affair looked toa like murder to please me, I am 
 glad it went off as it did, Jack." 
 
 " And I, Claude. So much, then, for the past ; now for the future." 
 
 *' The road I" 
 
 *• Really and truly ?" 
 
 "Yes, Jack, the road for me. T am fit for nothing else, and nothing else is fit 
 for me. Jack. It is my opinion. I know that it will be my death, but I likewise 
 know that while I live, it is my life. Besides, Jack, what are you to do?'* 
 
 "Never mind rae." 
 
 ** Yes, but I do though, mind you. The road will be a subsistence to both of 
 lis; and, according to our old plan, we will take from the rich and give to the 
 poor, Jack, so that we shall be quite orthodox in our mode of life. I will en« 
 deavour to forget the past, or to think of it merely as a dream." 
 
 *' that is wise," said Jack ; " I only wish " 
 
 *• Wish what. Jack?" 
 
 *'That I could forget all the past. But it is easier to wish for oblivion than to 
 find it, yet time will do much." 
 
 " It will. But now, Jack, I have an account to settle here, as well as the money 
 one for our dinner here." 
 
 *• Indeed !'* 
 
 *'Yes; don't you recollect a public-house called ' The Antlers,' on the north 
 side of the Heath, that is kept by a certain Mr, Matthew ?" 
 
 " I do indeed. And you made the aforesaid Mr. Matthew a promise which, I 
 guess, you will now fulfil, Claude." 
 
 " I will. Such revenges as do not take life or injure limbs I will take, for the 
 sake of even-handed justice at large; so, in about an hour. Jack, we v. ill pay a 
 visit to Mr. Matthew, if you are inclined that way." 
 
 " Most willingly-,«jost willingly, Claude. Now that you no longer talk of 
 killing, you take a ]tfad horn off my heart, such as I scarcely knew it sustai/ied until 
 now, when I feel relieved from it/' 
 
 " They both rose, but before they could take a step towards the door, the noise 
 and confusion incidental to the arrival of a carriage at the little suburban inu 
 came upon their ears, and they, in a few moments, heard some people ascendiag 
 the staircase. 
 
 "This way, madam; — this way, sir," they heard the innkeeper say. "A 
 private room — oh yes, sir, there could not be a more private room than our best 
 one, overlooking th(t garden, with a view all over the Hea'h. This way, sir, if you 
 please, and the blacksmith shall attend to the tire ot the carriage wheel directly." 
 
 " Oh— ah !'' said a voice. " All's right— demme ! Ah ! c®me on, my Lady 
 Bab, these things will happen— demme I" 
 
 " Surely," said Claude, "I have heard that voice before." 
 
 *' And I, too," added Jack. " It is no other than Tom Brereton who speaks. 
 The cousin of Mr. Markham Brereton ; who accused you and Mr. Markham both 
 of robbing him.'* 
 
 " It is— it is. Hush !" 
 
 "I do think I shall faint right away, Colonel Tomlins," said a lisping affected 
 female voice,^ ♦* Oh, dear !— oh, dear ! The idea of coming to a common inn, 
 where there may be common people.*' 
 
 " Why, my Lady Bab," said Tom Brereton, for it was indeed no other, **it is 
 rather horrid. But sometimes people of quality have to put up with such things 
 — demme!" 
 
 " What the deuce can be the meaning of all this?" said Claude. 
 The couple, who called each other respectively Lady Bab and Colonel Tomlins, 
 were shown into the room adjoining that occupied by Claude and Jack, ^"^, ^^ 
 there was only a very thin partition between the two apartments, our friends had 
 no difficulty in quite clearly overhearing what passed. 
 
 " This promises some sport," whispered Claude to Jack. " I will forego my 
 visit to * The Antlers ' for an hour or so." ;
 
 492 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 lit My dear," said Tom," I will just pop down stairs— demme !— and see what 
 adfrt of accommodation this beggarly place has, and then come back to you in a 
 jiffy." 
 
 *' Oh do, Colonel. Come, quick. ' 
 
 *' Yes, my ducksey." 
 
 '♦Oh— oh!" - 
 
 The sound of a very amorous salute followed, and then Tom left the room. He 
 had not bee<i gone a minute when, after a deep sigh, the lady said—. 
 
 *' Oh, dear ! if I can but go through it, of course, it will be the making of me ; 
 but I sometimes do think that something will happen to prevent me. Oh — oh — 
 how my heart beats, to be sure. If, now, I was to meet anybody who happened to 
 know me, and say—' Lor ! that is only Lady Bab Percival's waiting maid.' 
 What should I say to the colonel, lo be sure V But I think the one hundred 
 pounds I placed in his hands has quieted him. It was lucky I found so much in 
 my lady's escritoir. But to marry a colonel with a fine estate in Oxfordshire is 
 worth some trouble, and when he finds it out, what can he do ? Nothing but give 
 me a fine maintenance, to be sure, and that will be right enough I'll be bound, 
 I shall be some honest man's money after that, I rather think. 
 
 "This is rich," said Claude. 
 
 " Very," said Jack. «« W hat will you do V* 
 
 ** Certainly nothing to interfere with the denouement of this comedy." 
 
 *' Denouement I How do you mean ?" 
 
 '* Why the marriage. Are they not well mated ? The mock colonel with the 
 mock lady ? In truth, it would be a thousand pities to separate them.'' 
 
 "It would." 
 
 " And yet I will have some sport. I owe Tom Brereton a grudge. I can't 
 think how he came to evade the indictment for perjury which was brought against 
 him at ihe Old Bailey. However, we will have that hundred pounds, Jack, for 
 pocket-money, that Lady Bab speaks of.*' 
 
 '< Very well, Claude. If we make up our minds to rob true men, surely we 
 may rob thieves, so have it, in the name of all that's lucky, for cash we want, and 
 cash we must get somewhere, you know.'* 
 
 ♦' Precisely, Jack. I want to distribute a few hundreds among those who have 
 befriended us lately," 
 
 CHAPTER CXIL ; 
 
 A COMIC ADVENTURE. 
 
 At this juncture Tom Brereton returned. 
 
 " My charmer," he said, *' the carriage will soon be ready." • ''-'^ •^' 
 
 " Ah ! colonel, what a man you are." 
 
 " Yes : I believe you, my lore. My estate in Oxfordshire made a man of me. 
 I believe your ladyship has some large properties in Wilts?" 
 
 " Oh ! dear, yes. Quite a castle." 
 
 " Really. Well^ my love, this secret marriage of ours at Hendon church will, 
 I rather think, astonish your noble family a little." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; but what care I, as long'as I have the man of my heart ?" 
 
 A tap at the door, and then the opening of it, announced a visitor to the 
 enamoured pair. It was the landlady, who came to offer her services to the lady : 
 and the meek ?prig of nobility tripped off", leaving Tom Brereton in a very happy 
 frame of mind. 
 
 " Well,"- he said ; " so I shall make my fortune by marriage after all. What 
 a lucky thing that I should attract this lady at the masquerade, and that she 
 should so soon consent to a run-away match. The stupid pump, to believe that 
 I am a colonel with large estates. Egad, I never had any estate but a very small
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 493 
 
 one at Guildford, and that the confounded lawyer has got possession of, for freeing 
 me from that bothering affair at the Old Bailey. I wonder now what has become 
 of that Claude Duval. What a desperate fellow, to be sure. How I have watched 
 the newspapers to see if there was any news of his being killed or taken. Ah ! 
 well. I dare say I shall never again encounter him. Let me see. Lady Bab's 
 hundred pounds, and my own eighty pounds, make a hundred and eighty pounds ; 
 and that's about all I have : but her ladyship will pretty soon put me in funds, 
 and after wo are married, as long as she makes me a handsome allowance, what 
 do I care what she says or what she thinks? She is not so young. An old maid, 
 or she would not have snapped at me so easy." 
 
 Tom now walked to and fro in the room for a few moments, and then stopping 
 suddenly, he said— 
 
 " I wish I could get those jewels she has from her. They are worth something. 
 Bolides, I feel confident she has'got more money. Bother her, why didn't she give 
 it all to me ? Well — well ; I'll get it, and a pretty lot beside. I'll go and see 
 how that fellow is getting on with the horses now.*' 
 
 Down stairs went Tom ; and Claude, after whispering to Jack that he would be 
 back again in a few minutes, popped down after him. Tom — after speaking to a 
 coach-smith, who was putting the tire on one of the wheels of the hired carriage 
 which had conveyed him and the sham lady back to Hampstead — walked through 
 the inn, and took a stroll in the garden at the back. It was there that Claude 
 joined him, and walking up to him when he was at the furthest distance from the 
 house, he suddenly said — 
 
 " Good day, Mr. Tom Brereton." . • -^ 
 
 The start that Tom gave was quite ludicrous. ^~ ^ , > 
 
 " I— I— I ain't Tom Brereton.—I am Colonel Tomlins." 
 
 "Oh! nonsense. I know you. I am Claude Duval." 
 
 Tom staggered back until he was stopped by a tree; and there he stooi, with 
 his mouth and eyes wide open, looking the very picture of consternation and amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Hark ye," said Claude Duval, " this house is completely in my power, and 
 all the people in it are in my pay. Now, I tell you, that if you don't quickly give 
 up all the money you have about you, I will tell Lady Bab who and what you are." 
 
 "Oh! don't— don't!" 
 
 " Come — the cash." 
 
 ** I — I — have only twenty pounds : that's all." 
 
 ** Stuff : you have a hundred and eighty." 
 
 Tom uttered a deep groan, and would have fallen on his knees; but Claude 
 stopped him by saying— 
 
 " You had better appear as much at your ease as possible, for Lady Bab can see 
 you from one of the windows, and she might put some awkward questions to you 
 if she sees any fear exhibited on the part of the gallant Colonel Tomlins. Pro- 
 duce the money, and remember I shall give orders to whoever you may speak to 
 upon the subject here to blow your brains out at once." 
 
 With tears in his eyes Tom produced a pocket-book, from which he handed 
 Claude the money. 
 
 " Oh! dear — oh ! dear," he said. "J can't now pay for the marriage ceremony 
 or the mending the lire of the wheel." 
 
 yl don't want to stop the marriage," said Claude. " Here are a couple of 
 guineas for you, which will suffice for your expenses. When you are married, 
 you know, you can draw upon the lady for some cash ; and now, if ever you 
 breathe to any living creature the fact that I have robbed you, I give you notice 
 that I will find you out, if I have to travel five hundred miles to do so, and smash 
 your skull." 
 
 " Oh dear !— oh dear." 
 
 Claude turned round, and with all the unconcern in ihe world made his way back 
 to the house aga'n, where Jack was, as may be supposed, rather anxiously expect- 
 ing him. '
 
 494 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Take the mocey, Jack/' said Claude. "You had bellei: be cash keeper. I 
 should like to send a couple of hundred pounds as soon as we are worth as itouch 
 to Anthony, for I am sure he is not doing quite so well as I could wish him," 
 
 "You have relieved Tom Bt-ereton, then, of his cash ?* 
 
 *' I have, and roW for the lady whom I hear coming in ffood time. Hush !" 
 
 *• Colonel/' said the mock Lady Bab. " Colonel. Oh, he is not here." 
 
 ** This way, madam,'* said Claude, in his most insinuating tones aS he opened 
 the door of the room in which he and Jack were. " This way, madam, if you 
 please. Mind the mat/' 
 
 '* Thank you, sir. Is the colonel here ?" 
 
 '* No," said Claude as he closed the door, and put hiis back against it. 
 
 The lady, we beg pardon, the lady's maid, gave a faint scream. 
 •Another such cry," said Claude, " and it is your last in this world. Listdn 
 to me, madam, and act prudently." 
 
 A terror came over Tom's female companion. Nothing short of discovery of 
 who and what he was, stared her in the face. 
 
 ** You are," added Claude, " Lady Bab Percival's maid, and you have robbed 
 her of a hundred pounds, with which to blind thie eyes of Colonel Tomlins, whom 
 you intend to marry if you can do so ?* 
 
 Down went the mock lady upon her knees. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Officer, for such of course you are, spare me !" 
 
 "Upon one condition. We officers, after all, are only men/' 
 
 " Oh, anything — anything." 
 
 ** You have some jewels of your lady's." 
 
 " Yes. A necklace, earrings, brooch, and bracelets." 
 
 '^ Hand them to me." 
 
 After some rummaging in rather a capacious pocket, a small pocket-book of red 
 morocco was produced, which contained the art'cleS mentioned. Alter assuring 
 lieraelf that they were them, and that they were of considerable value, Claude 
 handed them to Jack, and then he said— 
 
 '•'Now, madam, money.*' 
 
 "Money!* 
 
 "Yes, I will, and must be paid well, if I permit you to proceed without inter- 
 ruption, and marry the colonel without exposing you/* 
 
 " And you will?" 
 
 " Yes, if you pay me. As I said, we are but men.** 
 
 '*Then take all. There are thirty-four pounds, and it is all I have, but I'd 
 give double the sum rather than the colonel should find out that I am not what I 
 seem to be — that is, before the marriage — after it, 1 don't care, for he must allow 
 nie a handsome maintenance out of his estates, and then he may do with himself 
 what he likes/* 
 
 " Very well," said Claude, as he handed the money to Jack. "Now mark me, 
 if you by look, hint, or word, let any living being know of this transaction between 
 us, I will take care that you shall be hung, for I will never rest until I have 
 accomplished that object. You are warned, so you had better make the best 
 of it." 
 
 *' Do you think I would mention it. Oh^ dear no. I was never in such a fright 
 in all my life, and I'm only too happy to p^et off so well. If I meet you again, and 
 have the means, which no doubt 1 shall, I will give you a further reward." 
 
 " Very goo(L Now, madam, the best thing you can do is to get off from here, 
 and be marriea to your colonel as soon as possible/* _ 
 
 Claude moved aside from the door, atd with some more profuse expressions of 
 gratitude to him for his leniency, the mock lady reached her own apartment just 
 as Tom Brereton, who, till then, had been composing his nerves below with a glass 
 of something, made his appearance, i here was a slight air of composure now in 
 the manner of each of them, ;or they felt conscious of having a new secret to keep ; 
 but that soon vanisljed, and ihe carriage beii-g reported as ready, off they whirled 
 to the picturesque old church of Hendon, where the ceremony that was to make
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 495 
 
 them man and wife vr&s to take place. In a little time after. Jack and Claude 
 mounted and left the One Tun. 
 
 *' Now for the Anthrs," said Claude. 
 
 " But what do you mean to do ?" said Jack. 
 
 ** That I hardly know ; I must be guided entirely by circumstances; I will do 
 nothing very bad, but I will certainly frighten mine host of the Antlers a little, or 
 I will know some very special reason for ?illo\vinff him to escape. He wont 
 know me in this disguise, and moreover, I fancy nothing is further from his 
 thoughts now, after what iias been heard of me, than finding me in this part of 
 the country." 
 
 They stopped at a cottage about two hundred yards from the Antlers, and Jack 
 and Claude both dismounted. A woman came to the door, and as Claude threw 
 her a shilling, he said — 
 
 '* Will you allow us to tie our horses for about ten minutes to your gate ? We 
 have a call to make in the neighbourhood." 
 
 The woman was quitt poor enough to grasp at the shilling, and the two horses 
 were tied up accordingly. Claude and Jack then went on foot to the Antlers, and 
 strutted in with a careless air and manner. The landlord himself was in the 
 bar, 
 
 *' To the left for the parlour, gentlemen," he said. 
 
 " Thank you," said Claude, with an assumed lisp $ " bring utA a bottle of wine — 
 port if you^/eaMe." 
 
 ** I have the finest port, though I say it, in all the country." 
 
 " They went into the parlour, and in about five minutes the landlord came in 
 with a bottle of port and two glasses. The moment he got as far as the table, 
 Claude adroitly stepped behind him, and kept guard at the door j then, when the 
 landlord turned round, he said in his natural voice— 
 
 " Matthew, do you know me V* 
 
 *' Good God I" cried Matthews, " it*s Duval." 
 
 *' Yes ; you .sincere, excellent, old friend, it is Duval. Why, man, you look as 
 if you did not expect me ; I promised to come, but a variety of engagements have 
 kept me hiiherto from performing my promise, but, however, here I am at last, 
 you see." 
 
 " Oh, I am lost ! I am a dead man !" 
 
 " Not yet, Matthew. If you call out, or make any alarm, you are, but if it is 
 any consolation for you to know, that I mean to stop short of killing you, I tell you 
 as much ; but I promised that I would repay you for the trick you served me 
 when I was last here, and by all that's holy I will keep my word." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude took a pistol from his pocket, at the sight of which the 
 landlord gave a hideous groan. 
 
 '* You are going to wound me," he said. "Oh, spare me !" 
 
 ** Did you spare me? Come, Master Matthew, has your chimney here been 
 swept lately P'' 
 
 "Chimney?" 
 
 " Yes," added Claude, as he took out his watch and laid it upon the table. 
 ' I give you ten minutes to get up this chimney and out at the top. Jack, you 
 stand outside and see him do it. If by the time ten minutes are expired, my 
 friend here don't call to me that he sees you, I will fire a brace qf pistols up the 
 chimnev after you, so now you know what you have to do." 
 
 « Oh'—oh !•' * • 
 
 *' Come, be quick ; nine minutes only now." 
 
 *' I— I can't. I— I don't— know " 
 
 " Eight mmutes and a half.'* 
 
 In a fit of positive desperation, Matthew ran to the chimney and put his head 
 up. 
 
 " Jiight minutes," cried Claude. 
 
 '^he struggle that he made to get up was prodigious. His feet rested upon the 
 hobs for a moment or two, and then disappeared. Huge flakes of soot came
 
 496 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 rolling down in^o the room, and the struggles of the landlord in the flue came 
 distinctly upon Claude's ears. 
 
 •* Six minutes !" bawled Claude up the chimney. 
 
 Down poured the soot, and up struggled the landlord. Jack, who had only 
 gone outside, came into the room again ; and, unusual of late as that operation 
 had been to him, he faintly laughed— 
 
 "He can't do it, Claude." 
 
 "No, I don't expect he can,*' said Claude, as he drew the ballet cut of one of 
 his pistols. *• Nor can we stay here, for we shall be smothered with soot." 
 
 Approaching, then, the chimney, Claude bawled out— 
 
 « Time's up!" 
 
 " No — no !* shouted Matthew, in stifled accents. 
 
 "Yes.*' 
 
 Bang went the pistol up the chimney, and down rolled Matthew, making sure 
 he was shot, and bringing such a volley of soot down with him that Claude and 
 Jack were glad to leave the man and the inn. On the door step nearly they met 
 Matthew's wife, and she said — 
 
 " Lord bless me, gentlemen, what noise was that ? Have you seen my husband ?" 
 
 *• Yes, mum," said Claude; "you will find him cleaning {limself in the parlour." 
 
 They then hurried to the cottage where they had left their horses, and untying 
 their bridles from the gate, they mounted ai once. 
 
 '* Where to?" said Jac if . , 
 
 "The road!— the road!" 
 
 CHAPTER CXIV. 
 
 THE OLD CATHEDRAL AGAIN. 
 
 What a riot and confusion there was in Winchester, upon that evening when 
 Claude Duval escaped from the old cathedral. How the alarm bell was rung. 
 How the vergers ran about hither and thither ; and hew the old superannuated 
 canons, who possessed stalls — and uncommonly snug stalls they are too — in the 
 cathedial, looked aghast. How the soldiers swore, too ; and how the 
 drums beat, and a strong guard came from the barracks to do wonders, 
 when the birds were fairly flown. The death of the soldier, whose 
 trains had been dashed out by Claude upon the threshold of the sacred 
 edifice, was quite an event, and the news of it spread over the 
 city like wildfire, or like scandal, which is about the fastest spreading thing 
 that we know of. The principal authorities of the cathedral, had been before 
 that, duly informed that something very serious was going on within it, and the 
 two acting canons — resident fellows, as they were called — were quite in a ferment. 
 One ol them was purblind, and the other was deaf, so that they were not such 
 wonderful great guns, those canons, but yet in the cathedral, to ihe vergers, the 
 beadles, the singing men, they were great men indeed. Now, in the good 
 city of Winchester at that time there was an extremely uncomfortable-looking 
 building to the eyes of these canons, and all the men and all the boys belonging 
 to the cathedral — that building was an Unitarian chapel ; and as the Unitarians 
 are considered to be the radicals of religion, and shrewdly suspected to entertain 
 various unorthodox views regarding established churches and pluralities, and rich 
 endowments, and so on, no wonder that the canons condemned the aforesaid 
 Unitarians to all the pains and penalties of burning brimstone, and lakes of 
 boiling asphaltum, in another world I Didn't they wish they could have given 
 them a taste of it in this ? We should have said literally nothirg about these 
 sad Unitarians, but that the Rev. John Harper, the preacher at the chapel, 
 walked down to the cathedral to see what was the matter, and the senior verger 
 havings announced as much to one oLthe canons — the blind one — he sent foi the
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 497 
 
 deaf one, and bawled into his ear-trumpet the propriety of going themselves, les 
 the said Rev. John Harper should get all the credit of doing the right thing, 
 while they did nothing. , . t t , i., 
 
 1 1 «' Oh, yes," said the deaf canon, " D— n him—I— I melan bless us ! 
 
 CLAUDE, IN A MILITARY CHARACTEB, AT OAKLEY HALL—TIIE EVELYNS. 
 
 "Come along then," said the blind canon. <<You show uslthe^.way, Mr. 
 Verger, and take care there is plenty of force." j-^^**h 
 
 "Ah !" remarked the deaf one. '' We will let them hear what we have to say. 
 TO think of the cathedral being desecrated by a brawl about catching a thiet ! 
 T hope nobody has disturbed the curtain of my stall." ^ 
 
 Off they both went, and with them the two vergers and the two beadles, and 
 ^ # — -—^'-^^
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 four singing men, and the scripture reader, and the chaunter, and heaven knows 
 how many persons besides, who nibbled a good fat subsistence out of the old 
 church. The distance was short, and by the time this posse eeclesiasticus reached 
 the door of the cathedral, the constables, and a fresh detachment of military, 
 arrived likewise. Torches were lit, and a general muster, as* though they were 
 an invading force, took place. 
 
 " Hilloa ! hilloa!" cried the blind canon, "we must not have the cathedral 
 desecrated. Come, come, come !** 
 '• But if you please, doctor," whispered a verger, ** it's thought there is danger." 
 '* Who's Grainger ?" cried the deaf canon, who had by dint of hard listening 
 thought he heard something at last. 
 " I can see no danger." 
 
 " 1 should be surprised if you could see anything." muttered one of the singing 
 men. 
 
 ** Gentlemen," said the officer of the military party, *' my men are ready. We 
 have suiFered some loss, and the guilty parties are suspected to be in the cathedral, 
 so it is my duty to take them. If you will accompany me, well and good, but 
 if not I go without you.* 
 
 ** I doubt, sir," said the blind canon, " if the Ecclesiastical Court would justify 
 you in what you say. What do you think, brother canon ?" 
 *'Ehr 
 
 ** Oh, it's useless to talk' to you. Well, sir, upon consideration, we will wait 
 here while you go in and look about, and if there is really no danger, we will follow 
 you.** 
 At this moment the door opened from within, and a man appeared* 
 " Seize him '.'* cried the officer. 
 
 In an instant a file of men surrounded the new comer, who said— 
 *' Dear me, what's the matter? My name is Harper." 
 
 ** Oh, it's the Unitarian parson," said a verger, spitting fts Jie spoke, as though 
 he were in the presence of some unclean thing, 
 
 *' Never mind," said the blind canon. •* We don't know who it is.|^We find 
 him here, and we know nothing. Lodge him in jail, that is sufficient.** 
 
 " Sir,** said the Unitarian preacher, " that you know nothing I will take for 
 true upon your own word ; but as for committing me to prison because I came to 
 the cathedra) to see what was the matter within its time-worn and venerable walls, 
 thai is more than you dare do. As for you, sir," to the officer, *' I wish you 
 would come with me, for I think there is some one lying dead in the body of the 
 building." 
 
 *' Lead on, sir," said the officer, who had rather a poor opinion jof canons and 
 vergers, and such liks. " Lead on, sir. Forward ! March ! ' 
 
 In filed twenty-five soldiers after the Reverend John Harper and the officer 
 into the cathedral. They went on, guided by Mr. Harper, until they came to the 
 communion-table, at the far end through the chapel, and upon it lay a body 
 dabbled in blood. The soldiers held up their torches, and the officer, with Mr. 
 Harper, advanced close to the communion-table, and looked into the calm still pale 
 face ot Cicely, as she lay there in man's apparel, as Claude had left her. 
 " Who is this V* said the officer. 
 '* I know not.*' 
 
 Mr. Harper had some medical skill, and he at once tore open the vest of the 
 body, and placed his ear upon the region of the heart. 
 •• Not dead," he said, " and a woman !" 
 " A woman !*' 
 *■ ** Yes, sir. Do you not see the breast? This is a most singular affair truly. 
 It is not only a woman, but a young and singularly beautiful one, too,** 
 
 "What — what — what?" cried the blind canon, suddenly advancing, closely 
 followed by the deaf one and the whole of the ecclesiastical throng, for they had 
 gathered courage to follow the soldiers into the building, after hearing that they 
 encountered no opposition, and that all was still.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 499 
 
 " A young female, sir," said Mr. Harper. 
 
 " Send her to prison." 
 
 **No, no; she is wounded." 
 
 MEh? eh?" said the deaf canon, stepping forward and looking at Cicely. 
 «< Why—why— it's a young girl. Send her to my house. Oh, the hussey I" 
 
 *' A hospital," said the Unitarian preacher, " is the proper place for her. Who 
 will assist me to carry her ?" 
 
 ** No, no— to prison. Let them look after her in prison," persisted the blmd 
 canon. 
 
 Mr. Harper at once raised the insensible form of Cicely in his arms, and said— 
 
 " Let who will molest me. This young creature is badly hurt. Be she whom 
 or what she may, there is but one duty to be fulfilled concerning her, and that is 
 the duty of hospitality and Christiaa kindness. You, sir," to the officer, ** I 
 presume, have no wish to interfere with my taking this young creature to my 
 family?" 
 
 " None in the least. It is not delicate women we seek, but strong men." ; 
 
 '< What are they doing ?" said the deaf canon. ** Tell me, somebody.*' 
 
 *' Please, sir," bawled one of the beadles into his ear-trumpet, « the gentleman 
 as you often says you wishes was fired is a going to take the young woman home." 
 
 *• Stop the devil. I said Td take her." 
 
 " But you shan't have her," said Mr. Harper. " I am a married man, and can 
 give her to the care of ray wife ; while your three wives are dead, and your house- 
 keeper dots not bear the best of characters ; so get out of the way.'* 
 
 Mr. Harper brushed past the canons, and bore Cicely from the cathedral to his 
 own house, which was not far oiF. 
 
 " What does he say V cried the deaf canon. 
 
 *♦ He says, sir, if you please, that he'd rather have her than you, for you have 
 had three wives already, and have got a housekeeper now." 
 
 *' Search the whole building," said the officer to his men. " I will wait with a 
 file of men here. Take any one you meet with, dead or alive." 
 
 Our readers are well aware that Claude and his friends had escaped, so that the 
 search was productive of no results ; and, therefore, we need not follow it, but 
 proceed at once to the residence of the Unitarian preacher, whither Cicely had 
 been taken so rigorously and so promptly. A very few words from Mr. Harper 
 sufficed to explain to his wife and daughter how he came by his new acquaintance, 
 and leaving her in their care, he went for a Doctor Macqueen, who was in the city, 
 and an intimate friend of his, as well as a man of extraordinary skill in his profes- 
 sion. The doctor returned immediately with Mr. Harper, and by the time they 
 reached the house of the latter. Cicely was in bed, and had given some signs ot 
 consciousness. The medical man at once instituted an examination of the condi- 
 tion of his patient. In half an hour a bullet was extracted from a spot near the 
 arm pit. 
 
 *♦ It's well," said Macqueen, ** that I had some experience in gun-shot wounds 
 when I was with the array. There she goes !" 
 
 " Dead !" exclaimed Mrs. Harper. 
 
 " No, madam. This is only a state of syncope, from which she will recover. 
 If no very serious injury has been done by the bullet, and if no inflammation super- 
 vene, the patient may recover. — Who is she J" 
 
 ** That we know nothing about." 
 
 A loud knocking at the front door of the house now arrested the attention of Mr, 
 Harper, who was in the adjoining room. 
 
 <* Good gracious !" cried Macqueen, *' what chance has a patient in such a 
 house as this? — Just knock d*wn whoever it is at the door." 
 
 Mr. Harper went down stairs, and found a couple of constables, wh,o said to 
 him— ' 
 
 " Sir, we are directed by Hamilton, to take into custody the person you brought 
 from the cathedral." 
 
 *« What, a wounded girl !" 
 
 ««
 
 500 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " We cannot help it. Such are our orders, sir. She will be attended to if she 
 requires any attendance, in the infirmary of the jail. Have her we must, and 
 have her we will." 
 
 '* Not while 1 am here," ixclaimed Mr. Harper. " You can go and tell Mr. 
 Hamilton that he is a disgrace to the bench upon more accounts than one, and 
 that " 
 
 The officers made a rush into the house, and a dangerous riot between them 
 and Mr. Harper would have taken place, had not the doctor suddenly called from 
 above, in a loud voice — 
 
 " Let them come up, Harper—let them come up. It is all the better. Don't 
 hinder them." 
 
 Mr. Harper was astonished, and the officers rushed past him, and up the stairs. 
 He quickly followed them, and when he reached the room in which was the 
 wounded person, he found them standing thunderstricken. The body was 
 covered over, face included, by a sheet, and Dr. Marqueen was standing bv the 
 toilette table washing his hands. 
 
 "Take her," he said. "You are too late, that's all. A stronger warrant than 
 yours has been here already, my men." 
 
 ** Dead !" said one. i - V 
 
 '*Look for yourself. Don't say I told you." 
 
 " Oh, no— no. We know you, sir. We— we don't want to meddle with any 
 corpses. They ain't at all in our line. Come along, .Tem, this won't do. Come 
 on. Beg pardon, sir, for giving trouble, but we had our orders." 
 
 *' It don't matter a straw to me," said the doctor, *' one way or another." 
 
 The officers, looking rather crest-fallen, descended the staircase, and without 
 another word left the house. 
 
 '• Alas !" said Mr. Harper, " and so all our care has gone for nothing? ' 
 
 "Humph !" 
 
 /* When did she expire, poor thing ? Just as I was below, I suppose. Why 
 do you laugh ?" 
 
 "Humph!" said the doctor. 
 
 CHAPTER CXY. 
 
 Claude's return to the road. 
 
 "The road!" said Claude, when Jack asked him what he was going to do. 
 *' The road»" 
 
 It would seem as if he wished to stop Jack from making any reply to this, for 
 at the moment he put his horse to speed, and Hampstead Heath was soon left 
 behind a considerable distance. Jack was well mounted, and kept up with Claude 
 without any difficulty, and thus they rode on for two miles without encountering 
 any one, or exchanging a single word. At length Claude pulled up. 
 
 •* Jack,'' he said, "we are on the wrong road." 
 
 " How do you mean, Claude V 
 
 " Why, that there will be nothing worth having here. We must find a way 
 across the country to the great North Road, Jack. If I mistake not, there is a 
 lane here that will take us to the right." 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, " I know it will. It is not fifty paces on." 
 
 " Come, then." 
 
 The lane was reached in a few moments, and Jack, as he pointed down it amid 
 the darkness, said — 
 
 " It is three miles across the country to the Barnet Road, Claude, and when 
 there, of course anything that goes or comes on the high North Road must pass 
 us. Bdt there have been so many robberies on that road lately, that no one is 
 better watched or protected." j J 
 
 — i— **jigp i I ■ ■ r7 i liwii ii ii i i « «t ii H —..M I — ■ ■■■.. '■■■ ' '""•^-r air-. }
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 501 
 
 " That don't make muck difference, I think, to us, Jack. Since you left the 
 road, though, I should have thought they had got quit of their apprehensions, for 
 time was, when for fifty miles upon the North Road travellers used to ask each 
 cther^ — ' Have you seen Sixteen-String Jack ?' " 
 
 " Ah, yes. They did. I have been asked the question myself, and I have often 
 replied, 'Yes, in a glass, but you may see him without one* Look at me.' 
 Come CD, come on, Claude. I don't want to think of the past. It is too horrible 
 for me, and contains far too many sad reminiscences." 
 
 •* And what," said Claude, in a voice of gloom, " must be the past to me ?" 
 
 " Think no more of it, Claude— think no more of it. Come, a sharp trot will 
 take us to the North Road in twenty minutes. On — on.'* 
 
 OflF they yrent down the lane. The dark, and by that dim light of the night, 
 strange, mystic-leoking hedges and trees flashed past them. Occasionally they would 
 pass some garden wall, and a watch-dog would bay out his alarm. A gloomy 
 mansion or two would loom upon their vision for a few moments, and then all 
 would be trees and .hedges again, from which now and then some startled bird 
 would fly, with a shrill cry of fear, as the tramping of the horses' hoofs upon the 
 hard greund startled it from its slumber. The air was keen and damp, and loaded 
 with vegetable odours, mingled with which now and then would come the scent of 
 the climatis ; and so on they went until they suddenly emerged from the lane, and 
 saw the lights twinkling in the high street of Barnet. Claude drew up, and so did 
 Jack. 
 
 " How do you feel now ?" said the latter, 
 
 "Better, better. Ah ! some one comes. A toll— a toll." 
 
 They heard the tramp of a horse, at a canter. 
 
 "Stay for me. Jack," said Claude, and into the middle of the road he went. 
 "Halt !" he cried, and the passenger drew bridle. 
 
 * 'What's the matter?" 
 
 " Nothing particular," said Claude. " Are you a gentleman V* 
 
 *' Who dares question my title 2" 
 
 *• Oh, that will do. Are you aware that there is a toll levied upon this road, 
 and that I am the new collector? Your money, watch, rings, and so on, sir, if 
 you please." 
 
 "Ah! A highwayman." 
 
 "Exactly, Come, sir. Delays are dangerous, and my best friends say I am 
 ihort tempered." 
 
 '* Both friends and enemies say I am," retorted the traveller. " If you come 
 near me, I'll knock you down with my riding whip." 
 
 " Indeed. Are riding whips to decide it ? Here goes then." 
 
 Claude darted up to the stranger, who made a blow at him, which was dexter- 
 ously avoided, but the heavy silver handle ©f Claude's whip fell upon the shoulder 
 of the stranger, who gave a cry of pain, and shrunk down upon his horse, 
 
 " Is it enough ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Curses on you, whoever you are. If I had but my pistols." 
 
 ** What a pity. Now, sir, your money, watch, &c., &c." 
 
 " Well, well, you must have them." 
 
 He put his hand in his pocket, and rapidly pulling out a small pistol, he fired it 
 in Claude's face. The bullet made a furrow along Claude's cheek, which at the 
 moment he was perfectly unconscious of. The smoke and the charge so close to 
 him, had no confusing effect upon him. Before the traveller could get away, he 
 grasped the bridle of his horse, and said — 
 
 •* Now, sir, your money, watch, &c., &c." 
 
 *' Have you a charmed life?" ^Vl Kji' 
 
 *' Yes — quick, quick!" ' 
 
 The traveller handed to Claude a purse and his watch, saying as he did so — 
 '• I'll have you yet, as sure as my name is Faversham." 
 *' Faversham ? Is that your name 1 You could not have one more hateful to 
 me."
 
 • 502 GENTLEMAJ^ JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Wiiat exception can you take lo it ? I am Sir John Paversham.** 
 
 *' The eldest son of Sir Lionel, of the Old Grange l" 
 
 " Yes—the aamo." 
 
 *' Well ; your father falsely swore away the life of my father, and so some years 
 ago I shot your father upon Hampstead Heath ; I, have heard of you as his fiend- 
 tempered, hard-hearted, generally disliked son." 
 
 *' Villain ! you are then *' 
 
 " Claude Duval. I thank you for calling me villain, for by so doing you have 
 made a new quarrel with me ; I had forgiven your pistol shot, but now we begin 
 again. Dismount, sir, this instant." 
 
 Claude sprung from his own horse, and seizing Sir John Farersham by the leg, 
 he tilted him off his horse, after which he began lashing him with the riding whip, 
 until he was tired of the exercise, when he seized him by the back of the neck 
 and tossed him into a pond bv the way-side. The horse of Sir John galloped off, 
 and Claude, as he mounted his own, cried<«" 
 
 ** The next time we meet you will be more civil. Jack I This yray ! the road ! 
 the road 1 Life on the road for me !" 
 
 Jack and Claude galloped off towards Barnet. 
 
 " Did yoa hear all that ?" said Claude, when they were about two miles on. 
 
 *• Yes, all. You served him right. He is so generally detested for his vicious 
 temper, that if he tell the story, it will rejoice everybody who hears it. My 
 opinion is, however, that he will keep it a profound secret, and seek by some 
 underhand means to have his revenge upon you." 
 
 " Let him, let him. Where are we now. Jack ?" 
 
 *' Near a public-house, called the Half Way." We are a good twenty miles 
 from London now—just listen a moment ; Claude, don't you hear wheels on the 
 road ?* 
 
 " Yes, yes. Let us step aside." 
 
 In a few moments, a man driving a small cart came by Claude. Fancying that 
 he heard the sound of other wheels in the distance, as well as those}of the cart, he 
 called to the man, saying— ^ ^ 
 
 " Is anything on the road V 
 
 ** Nothing as I knows on," said the man, «< but the York mail, that will be up 
 soon, I take it." 
 
 ** Thank you." 
 
 The man passed on, and Claude turning to Jack, said — 
 
 '* I don't think I ever stopped the York mail yet ; I will try my hand at that to- 
 night. It will be something for the newspapers to talk about to-morrow, at all 
 events, not that I expect much booty from mail-coach passengers. But there is 
 always some fun in such an affair." 
 
 '* And no small amount of hazard," said Jack. 
 
 " I think the hazard is less than it appears. People don't carry much money 
 when they travel by public conveyances, and as it is, of course, everybody's 
 business to repel an attack, it becomes no body's." 
 
 *' There is something in that, Claude. But shall I not accompany you ?" 
 
 " If I want you, I will whistle. But until then. Jack— pardon me for hiving 
 the vanity to suppose I can reb the York Mail by myself." 
 
 '•Very well." 
 
 Jack trotted his horse to the road side, and Claude stopped ia the middle 
 of the highway, to commit the audacity of stopping a mail coach, in which 
 were four good horses, and upon the outside of which was a guard, with a loaded 
 blunderbuss. He had not to wait long, for the mail was well horsed, and on it 
 came, a great lumbering machine as it was, at a capital pace. The lights flashed 
 upon the roadway, illumining the trees and hedges with transient beams* 
 
 "Hold !" cried Claude, in a voice that was plainly heard above all the rfettle 
 of tl# wheels, and all the tramp of the cattle. ** Hold hard !" 
 
 Tfs coachman half pulled up. With annoying quickness Claude rod* up to 
 the pair of horses nearest to the coach; and cut the traces upon the side next to
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 503 
 
 him. This was done before the coachman could think of what it was better to 
 do. But the guard dragged his blunderbuss from the case, and presenting it at 
 Claude, just as he had finished cutting the trace, cried— 
 
 "Take that, Mr. Highwayman.'* 
 
 Click ! — pluff ! went the lock and the priming. 
 
 ** Why, what a fool you must be/' said Claude, ** who ever heard of a guard's 
 blunderbuss going off properly. Come down. Come down !'* 
 
 " Oh, no — no— no." 
 
 '* Come down !" 
 
 Claude presented a pistol at him, and down rolled the guard. In an instant 
 Claude seized him by the collar with his left hand, and fired his pistol into his ear 
 with his right. Down went the guard, and then replacing his discharged pistol 
 in his breast, and drawing out another, Claude cried— 
 
 " Coachman, sit still, and no harm shall come to you. Move, and you will be 
 shot through the head." Then bolting up to the coach door, he let down the 
 window, and looking in, he said — 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I will trouble you for your purses and watches. 
 Quick— Quick !" 
 
 Two ladies who were there screamed, and two gentlemen gave up their purses 
 with surprising alacrity. The ladies likewise handed theirs, and one her 
 watch. 
 
 " More watchea," said Claude. 
 
 The gentlemen handed theirs, and the one lady, who had not produced such 
 an article, said — 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Highwayman, forgive me for not having a watch. You shall have 
 my rings." 
 
 " Certainly not, madam. Do not distress yourself, I beg. I never like ladies* 
 rings. Gentlemen, if you have any, will you have the goodness to hand them to 
 me." 
 
 " I have none," said one. " I, said the other, have one, but it is a mourning 
 ring, which I wish very much to keep, if you will permit me." 
 
 " Certain' y — certainly, I make war against folk's pockets, but not against their 
 affections." 
 
 " You are singularly polite. May we know who you are ?" 
 
 *' Claude Duval !" 
 
 There was a sensation among the passengers at the mention of this name, and 
 one of the ladies said — 
 
 *' WelL I don't mind being robbed by Claude Duval, for it will be something 
 to talk about as long as one lives," 
 
 " Madam, you do me honour !" 
 
 ** Come out of that !" cried a voice behind Claude, "I won't stand nothin'. 
 Come off thy horse, man, and I'll show thee what I can do." 
 
 •' What can you do?" said Claude, turning round rapidly and surveying a 
 brawny-looking countryman, who had descended from the roof of the coach. 
 " What can you do, my friend ?'* 
 
 *• I bean't no friend o' your'n. Don't make any use of thy popguns, and I'll 
 polish thee off in no time. Come, I'll give it to thee." 
 
 C laude whistled, and up came Jack. 
 
 " Hold my horse half a moment, Jack. Here's a north-countiyman going to 
 polish me ofi^, he says, if I won't shoot him.'* 
 
 Claude hastily dismounted, and the countryman sprung upon and laid hold of 
 him round the waist with the grasp of a wrestler. Tug — tug — tug ! 
 
 *' Will that do ?" said Claude coolly. " Try again." 
 
 The fellow made a stupendous effort, and nearly bent Claude double, but the 
 moment he let his breath go, Claude slipped his hands to the small of his Antago- 
 nist's back, and by a dexterous movement he canted him fairly over his head, and 
 there he lay quite senseless upon the road. 
 
 "Will that do?'* said Claude.
 
 504 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 There was no reply, and Duval immediately mounted. 
 
 " Farewell," he said. " You will easily mend your traces, and you can say 
 that you were stopped on the road by Claude Duval while there was a reward of 
 two thousand pounds hanging over him for his death or capture. Good night." 
 
 Away he galloped and Jack with him, but the latter gaid — 
 
 " Ah, Claude, I'm sorry you killed the guard." 
 
 " Killed the guard ? I did no such thing. Jack, I only frightened him. There 
 was nothing but powder^ in the pistol ; I dare say it scorched his whiskers a 
 little." 
 
 « What a relief," said Jack. " Now, indeed, I see nothing, but a good 
 scope for mirth in the stopping ot the York mail. It will make some noise in 
 London, Claude, to-morrow morning, I rather think." 
 
 CHAPTER CXVL 
 
 OAKLEY LODGE. 
 
 ** We must bait now, Jack," said Claude. *• Look out for some resting place.*' 
 
 " There is a light on in advance a little way. Do you not see it? There, among 
 the trees — there." 
 
 " Yes — yes. It is an inn." 
 
 ** By the ruddy character of the light I should think it wa?, Claude. Let us 
 drive on and take a look at it. Don't you think the country will be up in arms 
 against us by the morning ?" 
 
 " It may be, Jack. But it won't do for us to wait until then. We must make 
 an appearance here again in about three weeks ; the principle upon which we must 
 go must be to visit one district only, occasionally. We must strike a blow and 
 then be off." 
 
 *' Then you have done for to-night, Claude V 
 
 " Ihopp'so. for I am tired. Jack. Ah, this is not an inn. Why, something is 
 going ou heie. surely" 
 
 As he spnk ', ('laude drew r.in at the lodge entrance to some estate. A large 
 bright la(H{> was burning there, and the moment he and Jack appeared, a servant 
 rushed out, j nd cried — 
 
 *' Oh, sir, how glad we are to see you. Gome in, sir. My young mistress, 1 
 am sure, will be {juife delighted, and so will the old lady. This way, sir — this 
 way. Is this your friend, sir ?" 
 
 " My friend." 
 
 .*' Very good, gentlemen ; any friend of yours, of course, sir, must be welcome 
 indeed." 
 
 " The deuce he must," thoujjht Claude. ** Who am I taken for now, I wonder? 
 Come on-— come on. Jack. Let us see the end of this adventure." 
 
 The servant went on officiously enough before, and Claude and Jack paced their 
 rather tired horses up a beautiful avenue of chesnuts, that led to what, as far as 
 they could judge of it by the darkness, was a large and handsome house. They 
 were met at the door by several servants, one of whom, an old grey bearded 
 domestic, said — 
 
 •* Is this the gentleman ! " 
 
 ** Yes," said the servant, who had met Claude at the gate ; " and this is his 
 friend." 
 
 *• Nay," interposed Jack, who always had rather a dread of being introduced to 
 high people and drawing-rooms. ** He is good enough to call me his friend, 
 because I saved his life once, I believe, but 1 am only a servant." 
 
 " Oh, how good of * him !" cried all the servants in a breath. " How good of 
 the major. How my young lady will delight in such a trait of goodness."
 
 GENTLEMAN JA.CK ; OR. LIFE ON THE KOAD. 605 | 
 
 " The devil," thought Claude. " I am a major, am I ?" ^ 
 
 " 1 will remain with all of you," aaid Jack, *' upon one condition ; and that is, 
 
 that no question is asked me." 
 
 " Oh, we have our orders to say nothing," remarked the servants. " ^Fot one 
 
 word will we say— not a word. This way, if you please, sir— (to Claude)— this 
 
 . OLD mAtHEW, of the ANTLEES, PREVENTS JOLIFFE FROM SHOOTING CLAUDE. 
 
 way. There is a capital fire in the libraryj and Mr, Fordyee will be, quite de- 
 lighted to see you." 
 
 '•Mr. Fordyee," thought Claude ; " now, how I should like to know who 
 heig." 
 
 Jack remained in the servants' hall , and Claude, having divested himself of his 
 riding cloak, appeared in the really handsome suit of clothes, of rather a clerical
 
 506 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 cut, in which he had paid his visit to the Secretary of State. He was conducted 
 along a pasfage, and then through two elegantly furnished rooms into a third, 
 which was covered upon the walls with books in superb bindings. An elegant 
 chandelier was suspended from the ceiling, and an elderly gentleman, with a bald 
 head, upon which was sprinkled some hair powder, rose to meet him. The old 
 gentleman stretched out both hands, as the servant announced Claude as — 
 
 " Major Young." 
 
 "My dear sir, I am delighted to see you, after all the sinister rumours to the 
 contrary. Oh, what a world of anxiety Mrg. Evelyn has suflFered upon your 
 account. As for Belinda, I cannot say that she has really felt so sternly the affair 
 about the property, for the loss of Johu has affected her too deeply." 
 
 '< Indeed, sir," said Claude, who felt pleased, at all events, to find who he was 
 taken for in tha mystery. 
 
 *< Yes, my dear sir. But the young folks will be young folks. The report of 
 your death at St. Helena was confounding." 
 
 "Not a doubt of it, sir." 
 
 "But still, as the old family adviser, I stuck to it that the ladies should be 
 allowed to remain in quiet possession of the estates until this day and ^ight had 
 passed away, for it was upon this date, you know, that you said you would be 
 here, in vour letter dated at Bombay." 
 
 ** Exactly." 
 
 '< Well, my dear sir, the Wights would not cdwent." 
 
 «P— n them!" said Claude. 
 
 ** Hush! hush! you military gentlemen get such a sad habit of swearing.^ As 
 I was saying, the Wights would not wait, but swore they would come with their 
 solicitor at twelve o'clock to-night, and take possession if you were not heie f 
 prove the signature to the deed sent home by John, and which you alone witnessed, 
 for if nothing could be proved on account of your death at St, Helena, you see, 
 the demise would have been useless, and the Wights, according to the terms of 
 Wilkinson's bequest, would have become possessed of the estate in fee 
 simple." 
 
 ** The devil they would,* said Claude, who felt rather 'confused at this legal 
 jargon. 
 
 ** Yes, major, and lalber than be engaged in troublesome litigation, which would 
 be adverse to the Evelyns for a certainty, they would have given way, not that 
 the Wights would have shown them the smallest consideration, for a more selfish 
 —oh, dear, I don't know what to say they are." 
 
 « Really," said Claude. 
 
 <* Have you not heard John speak of them ? " --- _ | 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 ** Ah, you did not pay much attention." 
 
 '< No, not much." 
 
 " And yet, poor fellow, after you had taken care of him during a toilsome march 
 of four hundred miles through the most hostile part of India, he actually expired 
 in your arms. What must have been your feelings ?* 
 
 •*Ah, what, indeed. Confound the Wights, and the Wilkinsons, and the 
 Evelyns,'* thought Claude. " I only wish I was out of this," 
 
 ** So, sir, you see you perfectly understood our position. I dreaded the case of 
 'Doe on the' demise of Wilkinson,* you see." 
 
 "So should I." 
 
 ** Now, my dear sir, I will go and prepare the ladies for your reception. They 
 will both be deeply affected upon seelfig you," 
 
 " But, my dear sir, I am so little accustomed to business, that now I hardly 
 know what X am to do, precisely." 
 
 " Dear me, it's as plain as possible. You see, John Evelyn, before he went to 
 India, was not wortn twopence, but old Wilkinson, who, to tell the truth, had 
 robbed the Evelyns of a great amount of money, suddenly dies, and leaves John 
 ;£100,00O and this estate, with a plftuse that he, John, might leave it to whom he 
 
 i?>tKi»ir^i;r-rr(^vB^imJBr»frK{rr'iiri^;T,,--riaii2&
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD; * 607 
 
 pleased, but that if he should die without issue, or without executing a deed of 
 demise to any one, his, old Wilkinson's own family, in regular legal succession, 
 "were to inherit." 
 
 "Yes. Yes. To be sure." 
 
 ** Well, John, when he heard all this, wrote back from Calcutta, that, as the army 
 was going upon an expedition against the Jongmars, he could not, with honour, 
 leave until the campaign was over, but that his sister, Belinda, and his mother 
 were to take possession of Oakley Lodge." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 *' Here, my dear sir; here." 
 
 ** Oh, ah ; to be sure/* 
 
 " Even to take possession of Oakley Lodge, and to have what cash they pleased. 
 Lord bless you, sir, in the two years they have been here, they have not used a 
 thousand pounds of the money at Coutts's. Well, major, then comes your letter 
 about the death of poor John, and you enclosed a deed, which he made, while 
 wounded, by the assistance of a civilian, who since died, putting Belinda in posses- 
 sion of the property. 
 
 ** Oh yes, yes— I. believe I was tolerably explicit." 
 
 " Very. Well, the Wights— old Wilkinson's heirs-at-law— laid claim to the 
 whole, and commenced proceedings, saying—** If Major Young witnessed John 
 Evelyn's signature to the deed, let him come and say so ; but he does no such 
 thing.' It was then, you see, that I heard of your death at St. Helena." 
 
 *' But you see I'm worth half-a-dozen dead ones yet." 
 
 ** To be sure. You said you would be here to-day, and I always doubted the 
 news of your death, so I actually placed the servants on the look-out for you, and 
 I am sure the pleasure I felt, as the old friend of the late Mr. Evelyn and all his 
 dear good family, when I heard you had come, almost made me a young man 
 again— that it did." 
 
 *' Then," said Claude, who now had a clear comprehension of the whole affair, 
 and of who he was mistaken for, "tkese Evelyns are amiable people?" g 
 
 *' Amiable ? They are indeed." 
 
 ** And what are the Wights really ? " 
 
 <' Why, old Wight, who married Wilkinson's sister, is a pawnbroker and 
 money lender. His son Joseph is an attorney in Gray's-Inn— — " 
 
 " That's enough," said Claude, * Damn them !'* 
 
 " My dear sir l" 
 
 *« Excuse me, but will you allow me to say a word to my man, whom I left in 
 the hall ; I should like to make a slight change in my dre^s. After riding many 
 miles in one coatj'one gets sick of it." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; I will have 5'ou shown to a chamber, while I prepare the ladies 
 to see you, and your own man shall attend you. Dear me — dear me— I have 
 been so remiss as not to ask you to take any refreshment," 
 
 " My good sir," I will take a cup of coffee with the ladies when I come 
 down stairs again, if you please." 
 
 *• Yes, yes. That will give them much pleasure, my dear sir." 
 
 The lawyer rang the bell and ordered a servant to show the major into a 
 chamber, and to bring to him his own man. All this was done, and in the course 
 of a few minutes Claude and Jack found themselves alone in a magnificent bed- 
 chamber, with half-a-dozen wax lights burning upon the toilette table. 
 
 "Jack," said Claude, ** shut the door," 
 
 Jack did so. 
 
 *• Have you got our vallaise >" ^"'^^^ 
 
 " Yes, they told me you wanted to make some change in your dress, so 1 brought 
 it in my hand." 
 
 " Good. Now listen to me. Jack, and I will astonish you." ' 
 
 Jack did listen to him, and that most attentively too, while Claude related to 
 him at full length all that he had heard from the lawyer. 
 
 ** So you see, Jack," he said, <* they will make me a military man, whether J
 
 508 GENTLEMAN JACK; 0% 
 
 . r-. i n,.i. . .. .. .. I, ii^iii.i ,1,1 ., I , . 1 ,u» , m i. — .. Ill ,1 ,.-1 , i-nr., . ni i i ■ .... » ~— — . 
 
 I like it or not ; and as, from till I can hear, 1 like the Evelyns and detest thd 
 Wights*— why, 1 feel much inclined to support the character." 
 
 *<-Do 60, Claude. Let this be one of the good deeds that shall plead for you V 
 
 ''Humph! We won't talk of the goodness of my deeds. But have we any- 
 thing in the vallaisc that will help to make me up ip a more .military appearance 
 than I now have." 
 
 *' Yes. An undress officer's frock-coat, elegantly braided. Oh, you will do 
 famously." 
 
 Claude put on the coat which, like allthe apparel he had provided himself with, 
 was of the first character, and with a rich new lace cravat he certainly looked a 
 gentleman of extraordinary good breeding.'* 
 
 " That will do," he said. 
 
 " Do !" cried Jack. *' They may look far and wide, Claude, before Ihey find 
 your equal. It is splendid." 
 
 " Well, Jack, all you have to remember is, that I am Major Young of the 
 Indian Army, and you havabeen with me in several battles, and once saved my 
 life. You have a recollection, too, of John Evelyn. Now I will go down stairs. 
 I can't miss my way, for the staircase is sensibly lighted here." 
 
 - - CHAPTER CXVII. 
 
 A FAMILY SCENE. 
 
 Claude, thus attired, and certainly presenting a distinguished appearance, 
 descended the staircase, but just as he got within six steps of the bottom he saw 
 a door open and the lawyer appeared. :• 
 
 "Ah ! major," he said. '* I was coming to call you." 
 ** I hope," said Claude, •* I have not kept you waiting, sir, nor the ladies." 
 *' Oh, no. They are both in the drawing-room and will do themselves the 
 pleasure of seeing you at once. They will be affected, but you will do your best, 
 I^am sure, to re-assure them and to waive any very close remarks concerning poor 
 John. The less that is said of him the better." 
 •' I perfectly agree "with you, sir." 
 
 ** Well, well," muttered the old lawyer to himself as he preceded Claude. It 
 is one comfort to find poor John's friend such a perfect gentlemai]. Oh dear— 
 oh dear, if he really had died at St. Helena in coming home from India ! It won't 
 bear thinking of— it won't bear thinking of." 
 
 *' Humph r thought Claude. ** I strongly suspect that there the real major does 
 lie, but if by personating him I can do a great good to worthy people, I shall think 
 the sin of doing so amply absolved." 
 
 Claude was right, we think. The drawing-room door was thrown open by the 
 lawyer, who stepping aside to allow Claude to enter first, said — 
 
 *' My dear ladies, this is Major Young, and I introduce him to you as a real 
 gentleman as well as a real friend," 
 
 Claude walked into the room. A young, lady whose age could not be above 
 seventeen, advanced to meet him. She held out her hand, but before he could 
 reach her she stopped short, overcome by her emotions, and burst into tears- An 
 old lady was seated in an arm chair weeping bitterly. ^ 
 
 '« Pray be composed," said Claude. " Accept such consolation as one who 
 feels deeply for you, can offer. Remember, ladies, that we are all upon the 
 shore of that unknown sea which washes the haven of mimortality, and that the 
 time will come when bright eyes that we loved upon earth will beam upon us for 
 ever, and the smiles of lips we loved to kiss will be eternal." 
 These words were uttered in tones of earnest and of feeling sympathy. The
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 509 
 
 ladies ceased their tears, and the old lawyer, as ho retreated to a window, 
 niutrered — 
 
 *' Yes — yes, he is indeed a gentleman/* 
 *' Oh, sir," said the old lady. •* How much we owe you." 
 " We can never be sufficiently grateful," said the young lady. " May God 
 bless and reward you, sir." 
 
 Claude bowed, and with a smile said— • 
 
 ♦' I am sufficiently rewarded by having the good fortune to come in time, here. 
 But I see you are about to take your coffee now. Allow me to feel myself quite 
 at home, and at once to assume all the privilegos of an old friend. Come, Miss 
 Evelyn, pray be seated, and you, madam, will perhaps, allow me to take a place 
 near to you." 
 
 "Ah I" sighed the old lawyor. " '.Vhat a th'.n^' it \^ in this world to meet 
 with a real right down gentleman." 
 
 It was yet some time before the old lady could recover her ordinary composure 
 so as to be able to speak to Claude, and when she did, her first words were — 
 '* Oh, sir, my poor John — my poor John." 
 
 *' Think upon some other subject, my dear madam," said Claude. 
 *' Alas ! while I live I can never think upon anything else. Belinda, my dear, 
 do you attend to the major, I am quite unequal to the task of doing so. God 
 bless you, sir— God bless you ; I do not so particularly say that because you came 
 to save us from ruin as be3ause you have been a friend to my poor John." 
 
 ** Mother — mother," said the young lady, '* say no more. Let us feel that, 
 though John h.\s gone from us, he is happier than if he were with us, and we 
 shall see him f.gain." 
 
 *' You are right. Miss Evelyn," said Claude. "Tiie more we bring our reason 
 to bear upon the subject the more we shall be reconciled to death. In the first 
 place, it is meritable and it is kind, but we leave some one behind to mourn for us. 
 Then again, it is the end of pain and sorrow, whereas life is the beginning." 
 
 "True enough,'* said the lawyer, "life is like a long lawsuit, and death like a 
 judgment in one's favour, which puts us into possession, without cavil or dispute 
 about title of the most splendid property in value— the limitless heaven 1" 
 
 The old lady looked from one to the other, and gradually she dried her tears. 
 Her reason was getting decidedly the ascendancy over any morbid feelings that 
 had previously occupied her brain, and from that time forth it was not likely she 
 would aga'n make her few remaining years, years of sorrow. Belinda, too, looked 
 mere happy, and by the time the cotfee had gone round twice, the little party 
 looked quite a different thing to what it had been. An old clock upon the chimney- 
 piece struck eleven, 
 
 "Oh!" said the lawyer. "Eleven o'clock. Why— our friends, I was going 
 to say, but I ought more properly to say our foes — the Wights, will be here soon, 
 no doubt ; but here is what will confound them.'' 
 
 As he spoke, he took a paper from his pocket, and handed it to Claude, who, 
 upon opening it, found it was the deed which he was supposed to have witnessed. 
 From the document he gathered the information that he was, for the time being, to 
 be Cornelius Young, a major in the Bombay cavalry. At this moment, a servant 
 came into the room and said— 
 
 ** If you please, madam, there are some people coming to the house. They are 
 talking very loud, and won't say what their business is." 
 
 " Let them come," said the lawyer, *' Take no notice of them." 
 The servant retired. 
 
 ** Now, my dear sir," added the lawyer to Claude, " there is a nice fire in the 
 next drawing-room, and by having the door of communication ajar, you will hear 
 what these people say, and so be able to form a correct judgment regarding them. 
 When I want you I will open the door^ and then you can walk in." ' 
 
 ** Certainly,'* said Claude. " Arrange the matter in any way you think proper, 
 sir. I am completely at your service." 
 
 Claude rose, and went into the next drawing-room, and he had not been there a
 
 510 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 moment when he heard the old grey-headed butler arrive in the apartment he had 
 left, and say — o 
 
 " Ma'am, there are five or six men coming here, they say." 
 
 "Let them come," said the lawyer. " Let them come, Mr. Green. We are 
 quite ready to receive them." 
 
 There was a bustle of feet, and then the drawing-room door was roughly thrown 
 opei, and six persons entered. The foremost was a thick-set, bald-headed man, 
 with a white face, and a most sinister expression about the eyes. He was followed 
 by a much younger man, who seemed a little frightened, for he kept in the rear 
 of the older one. These were Wight, the money lender, and his son, the attorney. 
 They were followed by four rather seedy-looking individuals, of the class that are 
 to be seen any day hanging about the inns of court. Old Wight advanced to the 
 middle of the room, and said-« 
 
 " Well, ladies, you see I am a little before my time. Better that than too late." 
 
 " He ! — he ! — he !" chuckled the son, as he stole a furtive glance around him 
 at the superb appointments of the room. 
 
 '* Well, sir ?" said the lawyer. 
 
 *' And well, sir," cried Wight, swelling himself out like a turkey-cock. 'J Pray, 
 sir, what have you got to say ?" 
 
 " It is natural, as you have come here, that we should ask you what you have to 
 j| say. What is your business here, Mr. Wight, as I believe your name is ?*' 
 
 *'0h, very well— very well. My business here, then, is to take possession of 
 this property, which you and the ladies have agreed I might do, if your witness 
 to the deed of gift did not make his appearance before twelve to-night, and as we 
 feel tolerably sure the person named died at St. Helena, we think of sleeping here 
 to-night. You will, sir, provide yourself with a lodging ; I have no objection to 
 the ladles sleeping here to-night, but in the morning they must tramp, bag and 
 baggage. At least, when I say baggage, I shall take good care they move nothing 
 belonging to the house, at all." 
 
 ♦' He! he ! he ! father's a sharp 'un," said the son. --' 
 
 «' But recollect, Mr. Wight, we might go to law to prove the deed by getting 
 witnesses from India, on oath, to prove the major's signature, and Mr. John 
 Evelyn's to the deed, you know." 
 
 *' Then ITI throw the whole affair into Chancery, and there will be a receiver 
 appointed to the estate, and you will all be dead and rotten before it's settled." 
 
 " Ah, dear me, yes. Well, if the major don't come to depose to the deed, 1 
 suppose you will, if we give up quiet possession, allow the ladies five hundred a- 
 year, as a maintenance, Mr. Wight. Recollect the income you lay claim to is 
 somewhere about five thousand pounds per annum, independent of this 
 estate." 
 
 " Pho, pho ! Don't tell me, sir, let 'em get a living as they can, I don't keep pau- 
 pers. There's the parish for everybody ; I'll tell you what I'll do, Til forgive what 
 they have spent since John Evelyn's death, if they go quietly, but if they will go 
 to law, I'll arrest them for that, and I dare say it coraes to something. You 
 know I can claim it." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; certainly. If you can claim the estate, you can claim arrears." 
 
 " Exactly, so you see we know all about it." ^ 
 
 " He ! he ! he !" laughed the son. 
 
 *' Well then," said the old lawyer, "since you have no feeling in this subject 
 but for your own interests, and since it becomes absolutely necessary that these 
 ladies should protect themselves, I have no resource but|to introduce to your 
 attention Major Young.'' 0^ 
 
 As he spoke, the lawyer moved to the door of the room, and opening it, Claude 
 stepped forward at once, and confronted the party. The consternation excited 
 byhisappearance wasasgreatas if a bomb-shell had fallen into the room. 
 Claude had upon his face a stern look as he advanced upon the Wights. The 
 son got fairly behind the father, and Claude coming to within two paces of the 
 latter, said —
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 511 
 
 " Well, sir, what would you with me ?" 
 
 Old Wight stepped back until he trod upon his son's toes ;®but he made no 
 answer for about hal f a minute, then, however, he contrived to stammer out — 
 
 *' Are you Major Young, really ; and not dead V 
 
 "Ask your own eyes, sir, for the latter part of your question, and this gentle- 
 man," indicating the lawyer, "for the former." 
 
 *' The devil !'* 
 
 The son groaned. 
 
 ** Thomas 1" roared the old lawyer, and a servant appeared. 
 
 «♦ Go and fetch a constable to turn these people out of your mistress's house 
 directly." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 *< Curse you all," said Old Wight, as he buttoned his coat up to his chin — 
 "curse you all, I— I— d — n ii, I should like to see you all roasting, I should, I— I 
 —Come along.*' 
 
 The son, as he left the drawing-room managed to lay hold of a small bronze and 
 gold inkstand, but Claude saw him, and with two strides he came up to him, and 
 took him by the collar, at the same time saluting him with a hearty kick. 
 
 •* Stop thief;." said Claude. 
 
 *' Oh, oh, murder !" 
 
 Down dropped the inkstand, and old Wight, turning to Claude, said, as he 
 shook his fist at him — 
 
 *♦ That's an assault ; if I don't have you up for it at the quarter sessions my 
 name ain't Wight, that's all." 
 
 ♦* Not quite all," said Claude. 
 
 « What more then ?" 
 
 ** Why at the same quarter sessions I'll charge your son with robbing in a dwell- 
 ing -house." 
 
 *' Oh, come away, father— come away. Don't mind him — come away !" 
 
 *' Jack !" cried Claude ; " Jack, bring me my horsewhip directly." 
 
 With this,' the father and son, and the four doubtful-looking characters they had 
 Wought with them, made a wild sort of rush from the drawing-room and down 
 the grand staircase as though they had been mad. They did not stop until they 
 had got fairly out of the house, nor did they think themselves safe /n the grounds, 
 for they heard, as they passed through the hall, one of the servants- say something 
 about tossing them in a blanket. ' 
 
 " Well," said Claude with a smile, " you have got rid of your enemies." 
 
 " Thanks to you," said Miss Evelyn. 
 
 " Oh no, I have but done my duty, and 1 assure you I have not enjoyed anything 
 so much for a long time, as the discomfiture of those Wights." 
 
 " Nor I," said the lawyer. " Now, ladies, do not let this gentleman and I keep 
 you up. Gro to bed, and we will have a bottle of wine together and then retire. 
 In .the morning we can talk over affairs more iully." 
 
 The ladies upon this rose, and old Mrs. Evelyn would kiss Claude^ upon which 
 Claude tenderly but respectfully kissed Belinda ; and when they had left the room 
 the old lawyer looked hard at Claude, and said— 
 
 '* You are a single man ?" "ii^ 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ah — humph ! Whoever marries Belinda Evelyn, will get a treasure, for she is 
 one of the best of creatures. Bless her, the more one sees of her the more one 
 loves her. She is a real, honest, good English girl."
 
 13 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 CHAPTER CXVII. 
 
 T li E W B S T*li II N 11 A D. 
 
 The comforts of Jack were not forgotten in tlie progress of this extraordinary 
 adventure, and Claude with the lawyer Pat up until one o'clock iu the morning, 
 disposing of a bottle of wine. They then, with mutual expressions of esteem, re- 
 tired for the night, and Claude slept like a prince in Oakley Lodge that night. 
 It had several times occurred to hlin to make a confidant of the lawyer, and to dis- 
 close to him the whole particulars of the mistake that been made at the lodge 
 gate, in his identity. But upon second thoughts, he considered that it was as well 
 to leave well alone, so he kept the secret locked up in his own breast. To be sure 
 he had to parry some rather home questions concerning the late John Evelyn, but 
 he managed lo do so, and the lawyer had no more suspicion that Claude wag not 
 Major Young, than he had of his own identity. The blight sun was shining into 
 Claude's bed-room when he awoke in the morning, and Claude 'lay looking about 
 him in that half dreamy state, between sleeping and waking, whicn some persons 
 declare to be the most delightful period of existence. No wonder that Claude fell 
 into n train of reflections ; and no wonder, considering all things, that some portion 
 of those reflections were painful. His thoughts flew back to the time when he was 
 atfhis father's humble, but once happy home at Harapstead; and he could, by closing 
 his eyes, fancy that he saw the cottage porch, with its clustering climatis inter- 
 mingled with the sweet woodbine, and the great chesnut tree]that was some paces 
 before the door, and the little stream, too, that ran bubbling by, singing its pebbly 
 song as though elate with idleness. And then in the strange dioramic view of the 
 past, that imagination was presenting to him, came some darker passages in his 
 career. His first robbing— his first— no, he would not, he could not call the 
 death of Sir Lionel Faversham by his father's gibbet, a murder — it was to all intents 
 and purposes, an execution. 
 
 " No, no," he said, ** if ever there' was an act which might be defended before 
 the bar of Heaven, it surely was that of the eon taking the life of him, who by the 
 basest treachery had sacrificed his father." After this Claude's recollections went 
 to Jack, and the gallant appearance that he had made when he, Claude, first saw 
 him in the Hampstead road in the waggon, which was a shelter at once for both 
 man and horse. Alas ! what a change had come over poor Jack ! And as to the 
 future, how dim and dreary it looked lo Claude. He felt like some wrecked 
 mariner deprived of his all, and cast upon the shores of a sea across which he was 
 never again to wend his way. What was to become of him ? What was he now 
 to hope for ? Was he to die in some ignoble scuffle on the road, or at- last to be 
 fnirly taken and made a spectacle of, to gaping thousands upon the gallows ? 
 Tap ! tap ! came upon Claude's door. He started up in bed, and mechanically 
 thrust his hand under his pillow, where he had placed his pistols over night. For 
 many a long night Claude had not slept without these weapons close to his 
 reach. 
 
 "Who knocks?" he criel 
 
 *' I." said Jack. " 
 
 Claude knew the voico, and at once sa'd — 
 
 *' Come in, Jack — it is you, I think?" 
 
 •'Yes, Claude." 
 
 The door was opened, and Claude placed his finger upon his lips, as he said — 
 
 ** Hush, hush. Jack. Do not give utterance to that name. Remember who 
 and what I am supposed to be here." 
 
 *' It was a slip of the tongue," said Jack. 
 
 " Yes, and might bo full of dangerous consequences. But have you any 
 news ?' 
 
 '♦ None, but that, in the first place, it is time to get up, and in the next it is 
 time to determine thoroughly what we mean to do."
 
 GENTLEMA.N JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 513 
 
 " Yes, Jack, yes." 
 
 Claude began hastily dressing himself, and in a very short time had completed 
 that operation. 
 
 *' Novr, Jack/* he said, "the horses." 
 '<OfF:iidaway!" 
 
 CLAUDE, AS MAJOR YOUNG, DOES A BENEVOLENT ACT AT OAKLEY HALL. 
 
 *' Yes, as soon as coftsisLont with common civility I can get away from these 
 people ; I only sincerely hope, much as I admire Ihem, that I may never look upon 
 their faces again." ' 
 
 "Why, what have they done to you, Claucle ?" 
 
 '* Nothing, nothing ; but I have by the merest accident in the world been able 
 to do them a service, and 1 would not tbat they should even know me in any other 
 character than that I was so stri3,ngely induced to assume, for worlds."
 
 514 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** I can understand that, Claude." 
 
 *' I knew you would. Jack ; so get all ready as soon after we hare breakfasted 
 as possible, for 1 know, of course, that they will not let us go before." 
 
 *'Not likely, Claude. I will see to the horBCs, and you will fipd me close at 
 hand at any moment that you please.*' 
 
 Jpck left Claude's chamber, and he had not been gone long when one of the 
 servants of the house came to tender his services as valet to Claude : but there 
 was no occasion for such service, since Claude was all but ready to go down stairs. 
 He enquired if any of the family were stirring, and was informed that at nine 
 o'clock the whole of them would be assembled in the breakfast-room. Claude, 
 upon consulting his watch, found that it was then a quarter to eight only, and an 
 idea struck him which he immediately resolved to put into practice. 
 
 " I have just time, I find," he said, "for half an hoHr's ride before dressing for 
 breakfast with the ladies. Will you be so good as to order my horse,^ and tell my 
 man to be ready to accompany me from the lodge." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The servant evidently considered that there was nothiig at all extraordinary in 
 this, and he went at once to give the necessary orders. Claude followed him down 
 stairs, and as he walked through the magnificent drawing-room, he could not but 
 give a sigh to the thought that he, had fortune prompteo him, might really have 
 been the possessor of so much substantial wealth. He could not but feel, how- 
 ever, how dangerous such thoughts were to his tranquillity, and he crushed them in 
 the bud. It did certainly occur to him to write a brief note, saying that he was 
 compelled to leave without the formality of a leave-taking ; but then again, he 
 shrunk from signing the fictitious name to it, which would be absolutely necessary, 
 and he preferred, after all, leaving without any such ceremony. The servant lost 
 no time in giving the orders with which Claude had entrusted him, and the horses, 
 with Jack, were soon at the hall door. Jack understood at once, from the message 
 that had been brought him, what Ciaude meant, and consequently he had packed 
 the vallaise containing their disguises upon the back of his o\yn steed, therefore 
 all was ready, Claude sprang into the saddle, and without a word, turned his 
 fcack upon the house, to the inhabitants of which he had been enabled to give so 
 much satisfaction. They had proceeded about half way to the lodge, when Jack, 
 riding closer to Claude, said— 
 
 "Have you left a note or message?" 
 
 " No, Jack." 
 
 ** And yet you really mean to be off?** 
 
 " I do." 
 
 '• Then the result will be that, missing us without a word of explanation, the 
 good folks at the house here will spare neither time, trouble^ nor expense to find 
 out what has become of us. They will wait breakfast until God knows when, and 
 then, upon finding we don't come back, they will fancy that we have become the 
 victims of some foul play, and gratitude to you will induce them to raise the whole 
 ceuntry upon the subject. You can probably, better than I, Claude, estimate what 
 evils are likely to arise from such a state of things." 
 
 " Upon my word. Jack," said Claude, ** all that is yery t^ue.'' 
 
 « You see it, Claude?" 
 
 *' Oh, perfectly ; and I find, and admit at once, ths^ I have been precipi- 
 tate." 
 
 ** Will you go back ?" 
 
 " Ob, no — ^no. And I do not like to write. But I will leave at the lodge such 
 a verbal message as, at all events, will have the effect of preventing any such 
 surmises as those you have mentioned occurring concerning, us ; and, whatever 
 may be the amount of astonishment and regret occasioned by my taking so un- 
 ceremonious a leave, there will be no hue and cry after me." 
 
 *' Good," said Jack. *' That will do." 
 
 By the time this little conversation had come to an end, they had turned a 
 corner in the avenue of trees, and were within sight of the lodge entrance, at
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 515 
 
 which they had in the first instance been so strangely welcomed. Jack fell back 
 to a proper distance from Claude, aod the latter, slightly increasing the pace of 
 his horse, soon reached the pair of handsome gates that formed the entrance to 
 the mansion. The gate-keeper saw him coming, and respectfully opened the 
 gates, and three men stood holding one of them back. 
 
 '* Tell the ladies, your kind and good mistresses/' said Claade, " that it is only 
 from a feeling that it would pain me too much to bid them formally good bye, 
 that I leave their home without doing so. Say that, if we nerer meet again, that 
 I can never forget the few happy hours I have spent here." 
 
 "And are you really, sir, not coming back?" 
 
 *' I am not. Good morning.*' 
 
 The man looked both grieved and bewildered, but he made no other remark ; 
 and Claude, with Jack so close to him as to preclude the possibility of any re- 
 mark being made to him upon the subject, passed through the gate. 
 
 " It is done," said Claude, with a sigh. 
 
 *' And very well done, too," said Jack. " It is a good job over, Claude ; and 
 now, here we are, with all the world before us, where to choose," 
 
 " What is your opinion. Jack, regarding Matthew, at the Antlers? Will he 
 pocket the usage he g^-from me quietly, or will he raise an alarm that I am in 
 this neighbourhood, think you ?"| 
 
 " He will secretly, and without for one moment allowing himself to be seeh in 
 the matter, let the authorities know that you are hereabouts." 
 
 ** That, upon consideration, was my own opinion ; so, Jack, if you see nothing 
 to the contrary, suppose we strike across the country to the Western Road ?" 
 
 ** Agreed." 
 
 ** Which will be the best way?" 
 
 ** Right across the Heath, Claude, and so on through the lanes to the Edgeware 
 Road, and then we can gef by Kilburn and Willesden, to the Western Road." 
 
 *• Yes, that will be the best route. Come on, Jack." 
 
 The horses had had a good night's rest in an excellent stable, so that they 
 were as fresh as the morning, and when put to a canter, got over the ground in 
 famous style. The only drawback upon the ride was the fact, that both Claude 
 and Jack were doing it upon empty stomachs. But this was a drawback which 
 they fully meant to remedy upon the first opportunity that occurred so to do. 
 Still they had to ride a considerable distance before they came to any house of 
 entertainment ; and they had skirted the little village of West End, and got into 
 the immediate vicinity of the Edgeware Road, before they saw the swinging sign 
 of a little inn called " The White Horse." 
 
 '•Will this do?'' said Jack. 
 
 " Yes," replied Claude, " one place is about as good as another to us. Jack, 
 provided we have no positive means of predicting danger in it, so let us alight and 
 go in at once ; I must^own that life on the road without one's breakfast is but 
 dreary sort of thing." 
 
 Jack smiled in that mournful manner that of late he smiled in, but he said to 
 Claude— 
 
 " It will still be the safest course for us to pursue to keep up the distinction of 
 master and man, for in that case you find out all that is going on in one part of 
 the house, while I can keep a good look-out about the stables, and see all who 
 come." 
 
 *' True, true. But don't neglect your breakfast. Let it be of the best the 
 house affords." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 They drew rein at the door of the little inn, and the ostler canoe to take charge 
 of their horses. .. :..i, , 
 
 " Feed 'em, sir ?"" 
 
 " No. Only hay and water," said Claude. 
 
 He dismounted and walked into the house. The landlady met him with a 
 curtsey in the passage.
 
 516 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Up stairs, sir, if you please." 
 
 " Can I liave breakfast, madam ?" 
 
 ** Oh dear, yes, sir. Certainly, anything you please, sir. There's a room 
 up staks. Indeed, there's a nice room below, but Mr. JoliflFe is there." 
 
 "AVho is he?" said Claude, as he followed the landlady up the stairs. 
 
 " Why, sir, he is the coustable, and as they say Claude Duval is about 
 Hampstead, they are going to swear in some men." 
 
 •* Really," said Claude, as the landlady threw open a door, and ushered 
 him into a neat bow-windowed roomlookiag to the front of the house. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but I don't believe it." 
 
 *' Indeed." 
 
 '*No, s"r; for the person who says it, between you and me and the post, I 
 wouldn't believe him on his oath." 
 
 ♦' And who is that ?" 
 
 " Old Matthew, who keeps the Antlers." 
 
 '•His own antlers?" 
 
 " Dear me, what a gentleman you are to catch up one. The Antlers inn, I 
 mean, which, though I say it, perhaps, who should not, is no more to be compareci 
 to the White Horse, than chalk is to old cheese." 
 
 '* And so he actually says that Claude Duval is in the neighbourhood ?'* 
 
 "Why, sir ; when I say he says it, perhaps after all I ought not, for he don't 
 want anybody to know as much, but I heard Mr. JolifFe say that he got a letter, 
 what he called a — a — synonymous letter, I think." 
 
 ** Anonymous, I presume ?" 
 
 " Very likel}', sir. It was something of that sort at all events"; he says that 
 Claude Duval, the famous hghwayman, was in the neighbourhood, and he soon 
 found out it came from Matthew, and then they do say that the York mail has 
 been stopped. But I am gossiping without attending to what you want, sir. Pray 
 what may I bring you ?" 
 
 " As good a breakfast as you can. I will leave it entirely to you.''|j 
 
 «< Very well, sir.'' 
 
 CHAPTER CXIX. 
 
 THE ATTACK AND AN ALARM. 
 
 The landlady mad? an exit, and when she was gone, Claude examined the 
 priming of his pistols, as he said to himself — 
 
 *' So Master Matthew pants for revenge, does he, and has fairly taken the field 
 against me? Well, it is quite natural, after what has happened, that he should 
 do so; and he need not be half so much afraid of me as before. Then I had trusted 
 him, and he betrayed me. For that I have taken my revenge. Now I have not 
 trusted him at all; therefore it is all fair, and he comes against me like any 
 ordinary opponent." 
 
 Having thoroughly satisfied himself that his pistols were in good working condi- 
 tion, Claude became rather anxious that Jack should be made aware of the state of 
 affairs at the " White Hor^e." He thought the best way to do this would be 
 boldly to ring the bell, and order Jack to be shown up to him. He did so, and ia 
 answer to the summons, rather a lout of a lad made his appearance, and when 
 Claude said *' Show my servant this room, and tell him I want him," he looked as 
 though he were too stupid to understand even so simple an affair. He, however, 
 growled out a sort of assent to the proposition, and left the room. 
 
 " I won't go without my breakfast if f can help it," said Claude. 
 
 At this moment he heard a great noise of footsteps upon the stairs, and the idea 
 that danger was approaching came naturally *to his mind. He sprang to his feet.
 
 ■'-m^ LIFE ON THE ROAD. 517 
 
 and stood with a pistol ia each hand. In another moment he heard the voice of the 
 landlady saying — 
 
 " The back room, Mr. Joliffe, if you please. There's a gentleman in the 
 front." 
 
 " Oh, very well/* said a voice. ** Now, my lads, come along, and I will give 
 you your instructions how to act in this matter," 
 
 The clatter of feet died away in the room adjoining to that in which Claude 
 was, and then, before he could decide upon any particular course of action, the 
 landlady herself came in to lay the cloth for his breakfast. She was followed 
 closely by Jack, to whom, it appeared, the waiter had duly delivered Claude's 
 message. 
 
 *' I hope, sir," said the landlady, **you will excuse the house not being quite so 
 quiet as it is usually, but Mr. Joliffe finds that the public room down stairs, of 
 course, can't be kept all to himself, so he has come to the back room on this floor ; 
 but the constables will soon be all gone, and thiin there will be no noise at all.* * 
 
 " Thank you. And are they going after Claude Duval ?" 
 
 *' Yes, sir. I'm sure I don't know whether to hope they will catch him or not. 
 Tliey do say he is a polite man to the ladies," 
 
 " So I have heard, madam." 
 
 " Oh dear, yes. Bless you, sir, there are no end of stories told of him. Ah— 
 poor fellow! who shall say what drove him to be what he is ?'* 
 
 " Who indeed." 
 
 *' Ah ! well — well : perhaps, after all, they may burn their fingers by meddling 
 with him at all, poor fellow, and so I have told Mr. Joliffe, though he did only 
 laugh and say he wouldn't mind a slight scorch to lay hold of Duval." 
 
 **This Mr. Joliffe, you say, is a constable?" 
 
 •' Why, yes, sir ; and he is a sort of clerk to the magistrates hereabouts, and all 
 that sort of thing. You see, sir, he is going to stay here all day, and send people 
 nut to catch Duval, and to hear \f hat reports they can bring him, and then, I dare 
 say, we shall have Sir Lionel Faversham too, in the course of the day, here. That 
 is the son of the old baronet who was killed on the heath, they do say, by Claude 
 Duval, long ago. But one must not believe all one hears," 
 
 *' Certainly not, madam." 
 
 The boy now made his appearance with a tray, upon which was, certainly, a 
 breakfast that Claude felt strongly inclined to do justice to, notwithstanding that 
 his position was getting each moment more critical. There were eggs in abun- 
 dance — grilled ham— salt fish— and coffee and hot rolls — a breakfast pec< liarly in- 
 viting to one who had ridden six miles on an empty stomach. Jack said not a 
 word while the landlady was thus speaking, but when, after asking Claude if there 
 was anything more he wanted, and receiving an answer in the negative had left 
 the room, he said— 
 
 *• Claude—Claude." 
 
 "Hush, Jack ! Do you forget that in the next room there is danger ?" 
 
 « No — no. I heard all — I know all ; but my voice was not sufficiently loud to 
 reach any ears but yours. — What will you do ?" 
 
 •' Eat my breakfast, Jack." 
 
 " What! — Can you sit down to breakfast while those who would destroy you 
 are only divided from you by a thin partition ?" 
 
 ** And why not. Jack ? With my breakfast, I assure you that I shall feel much 
 more ready to combat with them than without it. And now that we are here, sit 
 down, and as rapidly as may be, refresh yourself. We may have woik before us 
 that possibly will interfere with our dinner." 
 
 Jack was truly astonished at the coolness of Claude, and before he could prevail 
 upon himself to sit down at the table, he would first go to the door, in order to be 
 fully satisfied that there was no listener there. Finding, however, the ^taircase 
 and landing quite clear, he returned, and did partake of some of the breakfast, 
 while Claude did the same, and said to him in a low voice — 
 
 "What have you heard below, Jack ?"
 
 518 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 "Only that the whole country will soon be up in arms against us,'* 
 
 " Is that all ?" 
 
 ** Yes — with a few trifling details." 
 
 *' And do you know to whom we are indebted for all this 1" 
 
 " No." 
 
 ** Then T can tell you ; it is to Matthew. Nay, Jack, we ought to have expected 
 it. He is now a fair and open foe, and so I do not fear him. But tell me, do you 
 think that there is the smallest suspicion below of who we are ?'* 
 
 . *' I do not, Claude : and yet a man did come and look curiously at the horses, 
 I did not know him, nor did he look like an officer, or one who would be likely to 
 know US; and so many persons affect to look curiously at horses, upon the affecta- 
 tion of being great judges of them, when their information extends not much 
 further than knowing the head from the tail, that I did not take much notice of 
 that circumstance." 
 
 " Humph ! Eat away, Jack,* 
 
 *• I am satisfied,'' 
 
 ** Very well — so am I. Now go, and boldly get the horses to the door. There 
 is no one there, I think," 
 
 As he spoke Claude rose and went to the window, which commanded a good 
 view of the front of the inn, and a road that led from it to Hampstead, After a 
 moment he turned and beckoned to Jack. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Jack, 
 
 "Come and look. Do you know that man in the rough great coat, coming 
 down the road?" 
 
 *t Yes— yes. It is Matthew.'* 
 
 " To be sure it is. He is coming here to consult with the Mr, joliffc who is 
 in the next room, and a most fortunate circumstance it is too." 
 . **. Fortunate ?" 
 
 <* Yes, Jack, for as true as I stand here, I will frighten that Mr. Joliffe, and old 
 Matthew, into letting us go as quietly as they ever mean to go themselves from 
 this inn.' 
 
 " Claude, you do things that nobody else can do, or ever thought of doing ; I 
 will keep out of the way of Matthew, for he would know me at once, and seeing 
 me, he would guess that you were not far off." 
 
 " Wait until he comes up.'* 
 
 Jack did wait, and in the course of about five minutes, the greater portion of 
 which were consumed by Mr, Matthew in rousing his spirits down stairs at the bar 
 of the *' White Horse'* with something strong, he was heard slowly coming up 
 to speak to Joliffe. Claude thought it just possible he might open the wrong door, 
 and as he did not at that juncture want an interview with Matthew, he approacned 
 it, and held the lock. His suspicions were correct, for Matthew did try that 
 room. 
 
 **Mr. Joliffe," he said, " it's only me." 
 
 Joliffe heard him, and called from the back room to him. " This way, Matthew 
 —this way — I am in the back room." 
 
 ** Oh, very well, sir," said Matthew. " Thank you, sir," 
 
 The door of the back room was opened, and closed again upon Mr. Matthew ; 
 after which, Claude, in a whisper to Jack, said — 
 
 " Well, what do you think of our affair now, Jack, Are we not in a prosperous 
 condition ?'* 
 
 " Very ; but hark ! Some one else is coming up stairs. Hold the door still, 
 Claude.*' ;-^^ 
 
 «« I am. Ah, tlds visiter of Mr. Jolifle's knows the way, for he has gone direct 
 into the room. I feel a great desire to know what he says. Jack, you turn all 
 your attention to listening for the approach of any one from below, while I do 
 these gentry in the next room the honour of listening to what they may be talk- 
 ing about," ^ 
 
 This was hazardous, but it was, perhaps, the only way in which Claude could
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 619 
 
 ascertain the amount of his danger, and he was determined to adopt it. While 
 Jack, therefore, with his body bent over the balustrades of the staircase, listened 
 for any sound that might come from below, Claude placed his ear to the keyhole 
 of the next upartment. 
 
 •* Are you sure?" he heard some one say.'* 
 
 *' If they are not the horses of Claude Duval, and the man who goes about with 
 him, I will consent to be hung,'* said another. 
 
 ** There, you be off, and get what armed assistance you can from Hampstead," 
 said Joliffe, " while 1 and Matthew remain here. You need not be gone above 
 an hour at the outside ; and, for the love of Heaven, I beg that you will make no 
 alarm here, for if you do^ I won't take upon myself to say what might be the 
 consequencei." 
 
 " Nor I — nor I," said Matthew, whose voice betrayed the pitiable state of alarm 
 in which he was. *' Oh, how I do wish I had never meddled with the aflFair." 
 
 "Ph«! Pho!" said Joliffe. **You be off, Simson." 
 
 Claude had enough. With rapidity he got back to his room again with Jack, 
 and then he closed the door carefully. In another moment, he heard the man who 
 was named Simsonj and who had brought the report about the horses, go down 
 stairs at great speed. 
 
 " What will you do, Claude V* again interposed Jack. 
 
 '* Hark yon. Jack— we must get away. You go down stairs and get the horses 
 to the door, and trust me for coming after you." 
 
 ** No — no, Claude, you are risking too much. If you are really going to face 
 those men, let me be with you. I would live or die with you, Claude. You are 
 fcy far too adventurous, and too generous to face such men alone, whereas with me 
 in your company you are better protected against any danger." 
 
 ** Believe me, my dear Jack, there is very little danger in this whole affair, and 
 none at all against which I cannot be fully prepared. Go, if you really regard me, 
 and get the horses to the door. Pay the landlady and the ostler.' 
 
 '• Yes,'* replied Jack. 
 
 Without another word Jack left the room, and then Claude began to make his 
 preparations for the interview he was determined to have with Joliffe, and Mat- 
 thew, the landlord of the Antlers. He found in a drawer of the room some corks, 
 and providing himself with two of the largest, he put them in his pocket, and then 
 with a double barrelled pistol in his right hand — a small but admirable weapon, 
 which he knew he could depend upon — he coolly walked across the landing, and 
 with a sudden movement opened at once the door of the back room, in which 
 were his two foes. 
 
 CHAPTER CXX. 
 
 THE CHASfi AND THE CAPTURE. 
 
 Joliffe had a bottle of wine before him, and upon the table, likewise, was a plate 
 with some nuts in it, so that it was quite clear he had no idea, while engaged in 
 endeavouring to capture Claude Duval, and bring him to what he called justice, 
 any intention of mortifying his inward man. Matthew was facing the door, as 
 well as Joliffe, so that they both had the full advantage, such as it was, of seeing 
 Claude the moment he came into the room ; and stare they did with all the power 
 they were capable of. Claude closed the door behind him immediately, and said, 
 in quite a composed and confidential sort of voice— 
 
 "Gentlemen, have you any real business with me ?* 
 
 ** Oh, good gracious !'* cried Matthew. ♦ 
 
 "Who are you?'* said Joliffe, rising. 
 
 '* Sit still, sir. I am Claude Duval." 
 
 Joliffe sunk into his seat again, and turned as white as a sheet, while Matthew's
 
 520 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 teeth palpably chattered in his head, and his knees smote.each other under the 
 table. 
 
 "Sir/' added Claudei looking hard at Joliffe, "have you any business 
 with me?" 
 
 "No — no — I — I only— I arrest — you in the king's— name." 
 
 «' Pray say that again." 
 
 Claude held his pistol in a direct line with Joliffe's eyes, and Matthew, in a tone 
 of agony, said — 
 
 " He'll do -it— lie'll do it, Mr. Joliffe— he— he don't mind what he does. I 
 shall never recover the full use of my back, through the dreadful chimney 
 business." 
 
 " I— I don't want you, sir," said Joliffe. ** This unexpected meeting is rather 
 — rather in a mauner of speaking " 
 
 " Too great a pleasure," put in Matthew. " I'll go home, if you please, Mr. 
 Duval." 
 
 ♦* Not yet," said Claude. " Mr. Joliffe, I was led to believe that you wished 
 nothing mjre than to apprehend me, and that, of course, by coming into your 
 society in this way, I should be giving you the desired opportunity. Come, sir, 
 you are armed. Here am I, the notorious Claude Duval. Why don't you im- 
 mortalize yourself by taking me at once?" 
 
 " Here goes then," said Joliffe, suddenly pulling his hand from under the table. 
 " Here goes for a try at it." 
 
 A pistol was in his grasp, but Matthew caught him by the arm, exclaiming — 
 
 " No, no, Joliffe. Mr. Joliffe, don't try ir. You might as well try to shoot 
 the devil himself, as Claude Duval. Lots have heard it. I tell you, sir, he is 
 ihot proof. Don't attempt it. You will fail, and then we are dead men.*' 
 
 Claude did not give Joliffe much time to contest the matter with Matthew, but 
 leaning over the table, he wrested the pistol from him in a moment, and laid it 
 out of reach, saying a$ he did so — 
 
 '* Well, sir, hav§ you done what you intend, or have you any other snug little 
 chance ready, by which you think you may catch me V* 
 
 *' Have mercy upon me !" 
 
 " Stuff— stuff." 
 
 "Oh, yes," added Matthew. <'Have mercy upon us, Claude Duval." 
 
 " Mercy ! — But what have you done to me, either of you, that you should 
 ca 1 upon roe for mercy? Mr. Joliffe, it is your promise to try and take me. It 
 is mine to elude your' attempt. I am not cruel nor revengeful. As for you, 
 Matthew, we were once friends, at least, I thought so, and I trusted you. You 
 betrayed me, and lor that I owed you a grudge, which I paid off, so that in he 
 present affair, except that you really have no business to interfere at all in the 
 matter, I have nothing very particular to reproach you with." 
 
 " Then you don't mean," whined Matthew, *' to do me any hurt V* 
 
 " None, whatever/' 
 
 *' Nor me ?" said Joliffe. 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 *' Then, Claude Duval, you are one of the most generous of men, for any one 
 but yourself would take my life for that pistol business ; and to show you that I 
 appreciate your generosity, there is the fellow to the pistol you have already taken 
 from me." 
 
 As he said this, Joliffe took another pistol from his pocket, and laid it upon the 
 table^ before Claude, who removed it more for the sake of keeping it out of 
 Matthew's way than Joliffe's, for of the latter he had now no suspicions, but of 
 the former he had abundance. 
 
 ♦' Now, Mr. Joliffe," said Claude, " while I am here, you are acting under 
 durance, but the moment my back is turned it will be your duty to give an alarm." 
 
 <« Nay,» said Joliffe, '« I '* 
 
 " Now, hear me out. I say you must give an alarm. Your duty calls upon 
 you to do so, and if you do not, you will be very properly subjected to the severest
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR , LIFE ON THE ROAD. 521 
 
 reproaches, and in all probability sacrifice your livelihood. As for Matthew, true, 
 it IS quite another affair. No positive duty, on account of his position, calls upon 
 him to give any alarm, or to raise any hue and cry after me." 
 " Oh, dear no," said Matthew. *' How true that is.'* 
 "But," continued Claude, '• he will do so as a matter of choice." 
 
 CLAUDE AND JACK DISGUISES ONE OF THEIR PUKSUERS, AND GIVE HIM INTO CUSTODY. 
 
 Matthew groaned. ' 
 
 * " Yes. He will do so from choice, arising from a deep and enduring hatred 
 towards me, founded upon revenge." 
 
 Joliffe said nothing, but he felt the full force of what Claude said, and when the 
 latter added— 
 
 " Therefore, Mr. Joliffe, I must prevent you, by gagging and bindings fro«»
 
 622 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, -, •' :,. 
 
 — - ' ' "J^ — ^SwLi 
 
 giving the alarm I speak of, because it is your duty to give it, and I must gag 
 and bind you still more firmly, because itisTsyour inclination to do it, Matthew." 
 
 Matthew merely nodded. 
 
 Claude began upon Matthew. First he securely tied his ^hands behind him 
 with his own cravat, and then he propped open his mouth with the largest of the 
 corks, and tied one of his braces round his mouth in such a way as effectually 
 to secure the cork in its position. 
 
 " Now, friend Matthew," he said, " I will give you leave to call out if you can, 
 until some one comes to relieve you." 
 
 " And don't drum upon the floor with your feet," said Joliffe. 
 
 " A good hint," thought Claude, and he tied Mr. Matthew's legs to the chair, in 
 such a way that if he attempted to move much, he would in all probability get a 
 very awkward fall, chair and all. There was no doubt in Claude's mind but that he 
 had awakened in the mind of JolifFe a kind of grateful feeling for sparing his life 
 after the pistol had been produced, and that Joliffe had purposely given him the 
 hint about the possibility of Matthew giving an alarm by drumming with bis 
 feet upon the floor. Acting, therefore, upon this supposition, Claude, although he 
 weat through the same process of pinioning with Mr. Joliffe, he took good care that 
 it should by no means materially incommode him. 
 
 ** Now, gentlemen," said Chude. "I shall take my leave of you." 
 
 Neither of them could answer him, so he went off at once to the door, and left 
 the room. Without, then, waiting one moment longer, he went down stairs, and 
 passing rapidly along the passage, emerged at the front door, where, to his great 
 joy, he found Jack waiting with the horses. Jack was mounted upon his own, 
 and holding Claude's by the bridle. 
 
 " Is everything settled, Jack?'* 
 
 «'Yc8, yes! Mount." 
 I Claude did so. The landlady appeared at the door to make her best curtseyr 
 and in another moment Claude was off. 
 
 *• Hurrah !" said Jack. " You got the better of them." 
 
 *' Easily, Jack. Matthew was the only real enemy I had there, and I have 
 secured him sujfficiently effectually, I think, to prevent him from giving any alarm 
 until we are some distance off. Let us push on." 
 
 They put their steeds to a sharp trot, and were soon half a mile from the public- 
 house, and rapidly approaching the Edgeware Road, when they heard the sound 
 of a horse's steps coming at full gallop towards them. They both drew aside, in 
 order to observe who it was, Mad to allow him to pass if desirable. A few moments 
 sufficed to bring the horseman close at hand. 
 
 " Claude," said Jack, " it is the man who was looking at the horses in the inn 
 yard." 
 
 The man impulsively pulled up, and his horse almost fell upon its haunches as 
 he did so, so sudden was the check which it received. Claude dashed forward, 
 and caught him by one arm, exclaiming as he did so — . .,lijs^ 
 
 •< Any opposition, and you are a dead man !" 
 
 «* Not exactly !" said the fellow, as he with his disengaged hand drew a pistol 
 from the side of his saddle, and presented it at ClauJe. The latter had just 
 time to throw his head on one side, and so escape a couple of bullets with which 
 it was loaded. 
 
 " Good !" said Claude. '* Now my friend, take that—" 
 
 «' Spare me," said the man, '<! yield to you. Make your escape. There is a 
 strong party of twelve armed men, half a mile off only." 
 
 Claude had not intended to fire at him, but he certainly had meant to knock 
 him off his horse with the stock of his pistol, but when the man asked for mercy 
 he suspended the blow, and said — 
 
 " You deserve it, but I have let so many off, 'ihat I don't see why I should make 
 a special sacrifice of you. Are they officers who are coming ?" 
 
 "No, no! You are, I suppose — — •" 
 
 <* Claude Duval r i^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 623 
 
 " Yes. Nobody but he would have escaped my shot, and then spared me 
 from the consequence of missing him.'' 
 
 Claude was in thought for a moment, and then he said — 
 
 " Jack, dismount, I want you to hold this man a moment or two. Take off his 
 horse's girth too, und open the vallaise. Quick, Jack ; J think I hear the party he 
 speaks of coming." 
 
 Jack could not conceive what Cauda meant to do, but he rapidly obeyed the 
 order given to him for all that. Claude dragged the man off the horse, and handed 
 him then to Jack, One cut with a horsewhip sent the horse off at full gallop, so 
 that that encumbrance was got effectually rid of. Claude then took from the 
 vallaise an old scarlet coat that he had be'en in the habit of wearing sometimes, 
 and a cravat with, long lace ends. Both of them, with the assistance of Jack, he 
 put upon the man, and then with some prepared gum that they always carried 
 with them in the vallaise, Claude fastened upon his face a pair of false moustache 
 and whiskers. The next thing was to gag him, which was soon done with a piece 
 of wood cut from the hedge, and notched at each end so as to fit into his teeth, and 
 aft his mouth was thus opened as far as it would go, he could not by any effort 
 release himself. With the girth of the horse then, which Jack had all ready, they 
 bound his hands securely. 
 
 *' Ah!" said Jack, " i guess now." 
 
 *' Yes," said Claude, as he pointed to the man. " This shall be ^Claude Duval 
 to those who are coming. Do you think they will know him ?" 
 
 "Egad !" said Jack, "his own mother would not know him." 
 
 " Good. Now, my friend, come along." 
 
 When the man found the trick that was being played him, and that he was 
 not in a state to say one word to save himself, he got perfectly frantic with rage. 
 He tried all he could to release himself from the gag, but tbat was not possible 
 without assistance to incline it on one side. Then, by dint of the most extravagant 
 facial grimaces, he tried to get rid of the false moustache, but in that he was 
 equally unsuccessful, for Claude had intended them for himself^ and had taken 
 care thai they should be securely stuck on. As a last, and a very foolish resource, 
 he took to kicking, and gave Jack rather a severe contusion on the shin. 
 
 " Oh," said Jack, " that's the ga^e, is it ? Well, my friend, as your hands are 
 tied, it would be a shame to hit you, so here goes." 
 
 Jack saluted him with some tremendous kicks on a dishonourable portion of 
 his anatomy, and after that process the man evidently thought that kicking uras a 
 •ort of thing that could be repaid with so much interest, that for him it was a 
 frightfully bad investment. 
 
 " Look, Claude, they are coming," said Jack. 
 
 *' Yes ; I see them." 
 
 A body of well-mounted men turned, at this moment, an angle in the road, and 
 when he saw them, Claude laid hold of his prisoner by the collar of the red coat, 
 and appeared to be hauUng him along. When the mounted men saw this spectacle 
 they halted ; but Claude called out in a loud voice — 
 
 " Police ! — police ! — Constables ! Are there any constables among you ?' 
 
 Upon this the mounted party came dashing on, and one cried out — 
 
 '* Yes — yes ; I am a parish constable. What is the matter ? — What is all this 
 about? — Who have vou got there, eh 1" 
 
 •* Claude Duval !" ' 
 
 CHAPTER CXXI. 
 
 A FIFTY-POUND NOTE EASILY EARNED. 
 
 At the sound of this name the horsemen all paused, and the one who had an- 
 nounced himself as a parish constable showed anything but anincHnation to come 
 any further forward. One well-dressed but severe -looking individual rode a few 
 paces up to Claude, and said —
 
 524 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 '* Do you really mean to say, sir, that you have captured Claude Duval, the 
 notorious highwayman ?" 
 
 " Here he is." 
 
 **Dear me— dear me ! And who are you, sir ?'* 
 
 "I am Major Smith," said Clause, ** and was riding along, followed by my 
 ■errant, when this fellow called upon me to stand and be robbed ; but as that was 
 a thing very far from ray disposition to comply with, 1 resisted. He fired at me 
 and missed me, and then announced himself as Claude Duval — so I took him, as 
 you see.'* 
 
 *' Whv, good God, air, you have done more than all the London police have been 
 able to do!" 
 
 "Havel?— What's that?" 
 
 *' Wly, by capturin? this man. Are you aware that you will be entitled to about 
 three thousand pounds for this important capture ?" 
 
 ** Really — no." 
 
 ** I tell you, sir, it is so. I am a solicitor residing in this neighbonrheod, and 
 can assure you of the fact. I only hope you have him secure.'* 
 
 Here the sham Claude made rather a violent demonstration with his feet, at the 
 same time that he produced an unearthly sort of noise in his throat, which he, no 
 doubt, intended should be a protest against the whole proceeding. 
 
 " Hold him fast ! hold him fast !" said the attorney, " He's a most desperate 
 fellow. Hold him fast, I beg of you, sir." 
 
 •* Will you be quiet ?" said Claude, at the same time he saluted the fellow with 
 another kick behind. 
 
 How all the horsemen laughed, to be sure, to see, as they thought, the redoubt- 
 able Claude Duval, who had filled them all full of fears, had,met with his master at 
 last. The fattest man. of the party was particularly delighted, because, only that 
 morning, his wife had said that she only wished Claude Duval would stop her 
 upon the Heatbj as she would not mind being robbed by a highwayman, who she 
 had heard was so very polite and kind to the ladies. 
 
 " Upon my word," gaid the attorney, "this is a most admirable piece of busi- 
 ness. You had better take him." 
 
 The parish constable, who rejoiced in the name of Ploddy, looked as white as a 
 sheet, as he replied — 
 
 « I— I-_yes. That is, if the gallant major will be so good as to lodge him 
 in the«age at Hampstead, while I go to Newgate to get some of the regular hands 
 there to come for him. Would not that be best, sir ?'* 
 
 «' Cage ?'* said the attorney. *' Pho I pho !'* 
 
 <'0h dear, no," said the fat man ; " no cage. He would be out of that, and 
 robbing and smiling at somebody's wife before you could say Jack Robinson. Oh, 
 no, you must not lose sight of him, Ploddy,'* 
 
 '* Yes, yes," said everybody, " Ploddy must take him.*' 
 
 Upon this, the constable looked about as rueful as anybody very well could, and 
 sideling along, till he came near to the meek highwayman, he held up his little 
 gilt staff, which, by the bye, shook in his hand, and said— 
 
 *' Come, come, sir. Look at that, and tremble.'' 
 
 Everybody laughed except the attorney, who was naturally one of those savage 
 and saturnine characters, who never laugh at a joke. j^ 
 
 " This is trilling," he said. 
 
 The constable seemed to be in some fear of this attorney, so he approached a 
 step nearer to the prisoner, and said— 
 
 •< I will take him, sir, of course; but this gentleman had belter go with me, as 
 he is entitled to the reward.'* 
 
 *• Ob, nonsense.'* said Claude ; " I don't want any reward." 
 
 ** Not want it 1" said everybody, 
 
 " No, gentlemen, I don't want a reward for collaring a highwayman, who stops 
 mc to rob me. To be sure, my servant here assisted me ; and if anything is to be 
 had, hie will, perhaps, put in his claim."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 635 
 
 The constable gave a groan. From the disinterestedness of Claude, he had 
 begun to hope that the i)3,000 might find its way to him ; but that the groom 
 should rewaive his claim in such a manner, was a thing beyond possibility. 
 
 " Jack/' said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Jack. 
 
 '• They say there ia a reward for catching this fellow. How much do you ex- 
 pect of it, for hoping me to get the better of him ? Speak freely." 
 
 '* Anything you like, sir." 
 
 " Oh, but I have nothing to do with it at all. I think — but I advance that 
 merely as an opinion — that these affairs are always best left in the hands of the 
 
 Solice, so perhaps this officer will satisfy you, and take the prisoner wholly to 
 limself." 
 The constable whispered something to the attorney, who then said aloud — 
 "Very well. That may be dene. If I understand you rightly, major — 
 
 " Smith.* 
 
 " Yea ; thank you, Major Smith. If I understand you rightly, you renounce 
 all claim to any portion of the reward or rewards offered for the apprehension of 
 the notorious Claude Duval ?'* 
 
 " Certainly, sir. But my man here——'* ^' ''* 
 
 " I am coming to that. In a word, will he accept of fifty pounds, and give up 
 his prisoner to this constable, at once moving ail further claim V 
 
 " Take, it Jack," said Claude. 
 
 " Very well, gentlemen," said Jack, *' Whatever my master sayg is right 
 I will do. I know he is a ^ood master to me, and lets me want Tor nothing." 
 
 The attorney looked gratified, for he had a private understanding w ith the con- 
 stable to go halves. Taking his pocket-book, then, from his pocket, he produced 
 a fifty pound note, and handing it to Jack, said — 
 
 " All these gentlemen are witnesses to these transactions, and I s^ive you this 
 fifty pounds in lieu of your claim for reward in taking Claude Duval." 
 
 ** Oh, yes, it's all right," said Jack, as he coolly put the note in his pocket, 
 
 «• Now. Take him," said Claude. 
 
 " Take him!" cried the lawyer. 
 
 The constable, in the most careful manner in the world, laid his hands upon 
 the shoulder of the prisoner, saying as he did so — 
 
 *' Gentlemen all, will you come with me to the lock-up ? Wc can easily get a 
 couple of men to stay with him until I return from Newgate with the officers who 
 are used to tackle such customers as this.'* 
 
 " 1 will ride with you," said the attorney, '* of course ; and I dare say you 
 will all, gentlemen, accompany the constable." 
 
 *• Yes," muttered one ; *' and I will have my share of the reward, too, in spite 
 of all the bargains between all the lawyers and all the constables in the world. I 
 see how it is." 
 
 ** And I,'* said another. 
 
 The attorney did not hear these demonstrations of hostility, he was so very 
 busy in taking further precautions against the prisoner. These precautions con- 
 sisted in tying a rope, which the constable had with him, round the neck of the 
 unfortunate individual who, for the time being, personated our old friend Claude, 
 and then, holding the other end of the ropo. W P'oceeded in triumph. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he said, "it is quite a gta..!, i; tiii.ij to t't-'> v such a windfall 
 as this into the hands of our friend Ploddy, who is a most active and zealous con- 
 stable, so we shall, I am sure, be pleased at his getting the reward.'' 
 
 The dissentients said nothing just then, for they were in too great anxiety to 
 see Claude properly secured in prison to risk his escape by any dispute among 
 themselves ; but to lhfMn«-Wes they entered a mental protest against the v^hole 
 proceedings. And nu.. ivi prisoner, when he found that he was going to be 
 dragged away, and that the real Claude Duval would indubitably escape, got quite 
 furious. He appeared to forget the kicks he had brought upon himself already,
 
 526 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 and in a frantic manner he assaulted with his feet any one he could get at. Poor 
 Mr. Ploddy got the worst of it, and actually howled again from the pain inflicted 
 upon his shins. It was in vain that the attorney pulled the rope that was round 
 the supposed culprit's neck — he kicked away. - 
 
 "Oh, you don't know how to manage him," said Claude. " Here, Jack." 
 
 '*Yes, lir." 
 
 " Just show the gentlemen how to make him sick of that." # 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Jack again inflicted, with the heavy horseman's boot he wore, such a half dozen 
 kicks upon the frantic prisoner that he paused from sheer exhaustion, and was as 
 quiet as a lamb. 
 
 *' That's the way, gentlemen," said Jack. 
 
 '* Dear me," said Ploddy, " I— -I should very much like to try it myself. Take 
 that — upon my life — and that — it's quite refreshing and delightful — and that— to 
 be kicking Claude Duval, the famous highwayman, in this way. Who would have 
 thought now that I, Ploddy, parish constable of St. John's, Hatnpstead, should, 
 after all, be the man to k'ck Claude Duval. I always thought he was a coward." 
 
 " Did you ?" said Claude. 
 
 '* Oh, yes indeed ; 1 know it." 
 
 " Then you don't kick him half hard enough ; if he be a coward, you should give 
 him such a one as that." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude saluted Mr. Ploddy with a kick that sent him sprawling 
 some half dozen yards off in the road. 
 
 "Murder — murder! Fire! Oh — oh. Goodness gracious ! Oh, murder!" 
 cried Ploddy, as he rolled over upon the road. 
 
 *' Well, really," said Claude, in a tone of commiseration, " I did not think 
 you were so tender, or I should not have touched you at all. Never mind, 
 though." 
 
 Claude mounted as he spoke, and the constable getting up and wiping the tears 
 from his eyes, said — 
 
 *' W«n't 1 have you up for this, Major what's your name, that's all. Won't I." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Claude, "I'll claim the re*vard if you do." 
 ' *' Oh, it's only a joke," put in the lawyer, who, the moment he heard any talk 
 of claiming the reward, got in a fright. '* It was only a joke." 
 
 "A joke," blubbered the constable, " a joke ! Only you try it, sir. I'm 
 
 d d if I don't have it out upon somebody. It's all along o' you, Claude 
 
 Duval. Take that, and that." "^ 
 
 Whil« Mr. Ploddy was revenging himself upon the aham Claude Duval, the 
 real one, with Jack at his heels, quietly travelled ofl'. They went on for a mile 
 without speaking, arid rhen Claude looked found at Jack and laughed. Jack 
 caught the infection and laughed likewise, and then he said — 
 
 *■ An easy way of earning a fifty-pound note, Claude." 
 
 '• Very, but the devil wont last long. Let us off and away. We will put up 
 on the Western Road, somewhere that we know to be safe, and then to-night I 
 will begin my operations upon Ealing Common, Now, mark me. Jack, the 
 * Times newspaper' will have an account of my capture to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, '* and they will write themselves a letter to say that it is all 
 owing to what they have said upon the subject, from time to time." 
 
 " Of course, Jack. It would be something like them, if they were to claim the 
 reward too?' 
 
 Jack laughed, and they both galloped on for another mile, when they suddenly 
 came out into the Edgeware Road. Crossing that well-known thoroughfare, they 
 went about half a mile to the north, and then turned down a beautiful green lane 
 on their left, that led to Willesden and to Neasdon, two of the prettiest villages 
 round London. At that time, the few villa residences that now dot the green 
 lanes leading to those places were not in existence, and the place had a tho- 
 roughly rural aspect indeed. The only sounds that came upon their ears con- 
 sisted of the lowing of cattle in the extensive meadows on either side of the lane.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 627 
 
 aad the tinkle of sheep bells. A little stream, too, kept up a soft and pretty 
 murmuring as it ran under the roots of the elms and the ivy to their left. Occa- 
 sionally, too, the soft sweet note (>f some bird, calling to its mate, would strike 
 upon the ear ia a gush of melody, 
 
 '♦ This is beautiful !" said Claude. 
 
 " It is," said Jack. *' Ah, if I could but, for the remainder of my existence, 
 creep away from the world into somefquiet spot, far away in the country, and only 
 hear such sounds, and only see such sights as these—' 
 
 •* You would be happy, Jack." 
 
 " As happy as I could hope to be." 
 
 *' Do it, then— do it — I will provide you with the means, Jack, and it will be a 
 place for me to retire to, occasionally." 
 
 " No—no, Claude, I cannot leave you — I canno*. — and I will not, so say no 
 more about it ; and here we are at Wi'llesden, with its pretty old Norpaan church. 
 "V^tftt a fajx scene this is, Claude." 
 
 CHAPTER CXXII 
 
 THE BOARDING SCHOOL. 
 
 As Jack spoke, they both emerged from a narrow lane intotue Heart of the 
 little village of Willesden, just within sight of the church. Claude paused to look 
 at it. 
 
 "Yes, Jack," he said. " It is a venerable structure indeed." • 
 
 ** I have often regarded it," continued Jack, " under very different feelings than 
 the present. Sometimes, in good truth, 1 hardly know myself, when 1 look back 
 upon the picture of what I once was, and contrast it with what I am now." 
 
 •'Retrospection, Jack," said Claude, *'is at the best but an unprofitable specula- 
 tion. Let it be for us to look forward. The past is too full of shadows for either 
 of us to get anything but the heart-ache to strive to pierce the gloom." 
 
 " True— true." 
 
 "And now, Jack, do you know the way to the Western Road ?'* 
 
 " Yes, perfectly. Here is a lane that w'ill lead to a little place called Harlesdon 
 Green, and from there we can easily get upon a high road that will bring us out 
 near Ealing Common.** 
 
 " Good. Let us push on, Jack." 
 
 They turned their horses' heads down the Jane Jack spoke of, and soon left 
 Willesden behind them, much to the chagrin of an innkeeper, who from his door 
 had been watching them, and hoping that they would make a halt at his house of 
 •' good entertainment for man and beast," as the sign signified. The lane vvas one: 
 of those pretty thoroughfares which are so abundant in the rural districts of England, 
 and which with their luxuriant hedge roses and large elm trees present so beautiful 
 a picture of verdant loveliness. They pursued it for some distance in silence. 
 Claude spoke at length— 
 
 *• Jack, how stands the Exchequer ?" 
 
 ** In other words, Claude, how much money have I ?" 
 
 <« Exactly." 
 
 " Then 1 ara sorry to say," said Jack, " my stock is getting very low." 
 
 *< Humph ! and my pocket is low. We must transact some business, Jacl^, for 
 it won't do to run short in so essential a particular." 
 
 «' Hold," said Jack, laughing. "Upon my word, I quite forgot our friend the 
 lawyer's fifty-pound note. That had slipped my memory, Claude. But it is 
 rather a cumbrous article here, in the country, to get changed." 
 
 " It is. What have we here V
 
 528 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 "A toll-bar, I think. Yes. It slops this lane, which otherwise would lead folki 
 into the Harrow Road toll-free." *. . j >x 
 
 *'I have an aversion to this species of impost," said Claude, "and don t 
 intend to pay. We shall, perhaps, have a little adventure here. Come on, Jack. 
 A man with a white apron made his appearance, and stood by the gate. 
 ** My friend," said Claude, "can you oblige us with change for a fifty-pound 
 note?"' , ., ,, 
 
 The man looked angry, for toll keepers, probably from a considerable 
 amount of jeering, and what h vulgarly called chaffing, whichthey have to 
 endure in the course of their vocation, are an irascible race. He muttered 
 something, in which the principal word was certainly " gammon," and then 
 roughly added— 
 
 *' Threepence a piece, and this here gate clears nothins' 
 " Really !" said Claude, ** How obliging you are." 
 
 The man slammed the gate shut with an air as though ^uldhave tald *< Get 
 patit that if you can !'* and then, thrusting his hands into two little pockets that 
 were in his apron, he whistled from sheer aggravation, and crouched into the 
 little sentry-box of a house, in which he defied the cold with a fire that occupied 
 a fourth of its area. 
 
 " The gate may clear nothing," said Claude. " But that is no reason, Jack, 
 why we should not clear the gate— so here goes." 
 
 One touch to his horse was sufficient, and over he went, clearing the obstruction 
 in gallant style. Jack was a good horseman, and followed upon the instant. The 
 toll-man just flew out in time to see that his gate was not quite high enough, and 
 our friends left him staring, and swearing, and exclaiming — 
 
 ** There's sixpence clean gone. Threepence for me and threepence for master, 
 as I always divides it, and there's only been a donkey through all this blessed 
 day." 
 
 The road now wound up a hill, and when they reached the summit they had a 
 very fine view of the surrounding country, and of Willesden and Neasdon, by turning 
 a glance in the direction from whence they had come. Ealing Common, then much 
 more of a wild and desolate place than at present, was distinctly visible in the disv 
 tance, and a tortuous looking road led to it, 
 *' You see the route V said Jack. 
 
 " Perfectly. Do you observe a carriage. Jack, coming along that road to the 
 left, there, among the trees V 
 
 "I do— I do. And a handsome turn-out it is." 
 
 ** Yes, but yet there is an air of mystery about it. Don't you see that the ser- 
 vants have no liveries, or they have coats oa them, with an evident design to hide 
 them. Let us watch where the coachman goes to." 
 
 The carriage drove up to the door of an inn that was about a quarter of a mile 
 from where Claude and Jack were, and the horses* heads were deliberately turned 
 in^the direction of the Western Road. 
 
 " Suppose we ride up," said Claude, " and take a look at those folks. They 
 may afford us some sport for all we know to the contrary, and if they are going in 
 our direction they may have some smaller change about them than we have, which 
 may come in handy just at the present juncture. Do you see anything against the 
 proposition. Jack 1" 
 
 *' Nothing. Business is business." 
 
 At a quiet trot they both made their way to the inn, where the carriage was in 
 waiting, and they were not many minutes in reaching it. The vehicle itself was 
 empty, and the footman and coachman were regaling themselves with something 
 warm in rather a hasty manner, as though they expected to be interrupted every 
 moment. Jack now assumed the character of Claude's servant, and held the 
 bridle while Claude alighted, and with a careless air strolled into the inn. 
 ** This way to the coffee-room, sir," said a waiter. 
 
 Claude followed him, and was led into a large room, at one of the windows of 
 which were two persons in deep and earnest conversation. One was a pale-faced
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 529 
 
 man with a peculiar obliquity of vision ; the other was taller, and his countenance 
 bespoke dissipation early and late. Claude ordered some brandy, and the two 
 men just glanced at him as he sat down at;a considerable distance from them. They 
 had a bottle of wine before them, and a couple of glasses. It was quite evident to 
 Claude that they lowered their tone after his entrance, because the manner of both 
 
 DEEDS, PETCHED BY A LAWYER, RESTORED TO THE OLD FARMER BY CLAUDE. 
 
 of them was constrained rather, and Claude, in order to put them at their ease, 
 took up a newspaper, with which he entirely covered hi? face from their observa- 
 tion, and which he affected to read. This seemed to give them more confidence, 
 and he heard one say, with tolerable distinctness — 
 
 *' Oh, it is only some traveller." 
 
 "Exactly, ray lord," said the otker; « and— and as your lordship was say- 
 ing "
 
 530 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ** As I was saying, nothing can be easier. You have the letter, and you cannot 
 possibly find any difficulty in getting her away from tho school." 
 
 **1 should think not, my lord." 
 
 '* The house is in a lonely situatipn upon the coB(irtibn» We can dine here, or 
 take a drive somewhere else until nightfall, and then, of course, I will take good 
 care that the carriage is close at hand." 
 
 " It shall all be done to your lordship's satisfaction." 
 
 " I am sure of that when you are entrusted with anything. I never saw a girl 
 in all my life that 1 was so anxious to take to the Yllla ; upon ray word, she is the 
 most charming piquant little creature that you can imagine.* 
 
 '* Yout lordship's taste is unquestionable, and I sincerely hope she will, for a 
 time, adorn your lordship's villa. Repton House, I think is the name ?" 
 
 " Yes, Repton House, atld the girl's name is Florence Darvel, so you can have 
 no sort of difficulty. Only, for the love of all that ia gracious, avoid that encum- 
 brance of mine, Jane Lee»" 
 
 "I will, my lord. It is a pity that yoUt lordship's illegitltaate daughter, Jane 
 Lee is at the same school/' 
 
 *•* A thousand pities : attd yet, it I had hot ealledonce there, to bfe sure that she 
 wa* alive — for I would not truit the mother's Word— t should ust have seen 
 Florence. I did hope to find that Jane was not ih existence, and then I should 
 have got out of the settlemedt i was silly enough to make Upon heir when the 
 mother was with me ; but wheft t did ^e her, the likeness to her mblHer was too 
 unmistakeable.'* 
 
 ** And to yout lordship ?'* 
 
 <f Well— well, she is like iae* Confound her.' ' 
 
 *' Does vour lofdship knowr ahything of the friends of Florence Darvel V* 
 
 " Friends ! llelatioas> I «uppo*e you mean, Clickney ?" 
 
 " He !-^hel Your lordship k 80--so sarcastic." 
 
 " Well^ ^vho, ift th* hatne of wonder and truth-tellirtgj fever heard of relations 
 being friends* I should like to know ? But, to answer your questions, I think — 
 that is, t know she is the daughter of some artist, or poor gentleman of some sort 
 or another* But that don't signify a bit. She is beautiful and attractive to me, 
 so I put in tny claim to her, and as I have money and influence, why I defy them. 
 Drink, Clickney.*' 
 
 " Exactly so.— *Tliank you, my lord* Sliall I have the honour of filling your 
 lordship's glass ? As I oft^o say, if your lordship, With your immense posses- 
 sions, and hereditary name and title, cannot enyoy yourself, it would be a hard case 
 indeed ; and if people in the middle. Or, I may say, the lower ranks of life, have, 
 by any charming accident, handsome daughterly they ought to feel that it is one of 
 the peculiar blessings of the British constitution that there is an aristocracy to spend 
 the taxes, and to take them off their hands.'' 
 
 There was a slight touch of irony in all this, but fe» Vfery slight that it might 
 have escaped the perceptions of one touch keener than the noble lord to whom the 
 words were addressed. 
 
 " You are a sensible fellow, Clickney," said his lordship, ** and I have always 
 said so. You suit me precisely. You have no vulgar scruples, and you are 
 amazingly discreet.*' 
 
 " Every man, my lord, in this world, has his price." 
 
 *' And your's ?" 
 
 " In your lordship's favour, and £800 per annum." 
 
 "Besides various little perquiejtes in the way of expenses, and so on, eh, 
 Clickney ?" 
 
 "Exactly, my lord.'* 
 
 *' Well, you earn your money, and I will say thit you do me good service for 
 it. But come, the horses are scarcely breathed. Suppose we take a drive of a 
 few miles in the country, and then dine somewhere quietly." 
 
 " I ana, of course, quite at yjur lordship's service. Shall I oz-der the carriage 
 to be got ready ?• )j!t^^^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROADJ 581 
 
 ** Yes— yes.'* 
 
 Clickney left the room, and Clause put down the paper from before his face. 
 Over one edge of it he had taken an accurate look at his unknown lordship and 
 Mr. Clickney, and he felt that he should know them both again under any circum- 
 stances. That he should hear anything more of importance by staying, he did 
 not at all expect, so he rose and left the room without taking the smallest notice of 
 his lordship ; and having paid for what he had had, he walked to the door, where 
 Jack was anxiously waiting for him, and mounted at once. 
 
 «* Any news ?" said Jack, 
 
 " A little." 
 
 ♦* Ah, I thought by the stay you were making that you was learning something 
 interesting to us. What is it, Claude ?" . 
 
 " Why, Jack, I rather think that there are materials for an adventure to -night 
 if we choose to carry it out. Listen to me, and I will tell you all that I over- 
 heard in the inn.'* 
 
 Claude then related to Jack the little significant dialogue that he had overheard 
 in the inn, between his unknown lordship and the gentleman who rejoiced in the 
 somewhat singular name of Clickney, and he concluded by saying — 
 
 *' What think you of all this. Jack ? Shall we allow all this projected evil to 
 take its course V 
 
 " No — no. It is the abduction of a young lady from boarding-school, by a 
 wretch who can have no such thing as human feeling in his composition." 
 
 " Well, we'iwill stop him, and make him pay likewise for the attempt. I think 
 I can give his lordship a lesson that will not be altogether thrown away upon him. 
 But now let us ride on until the shades of evening ; I dare say we shall find acme 
 friendly shelter." 
 
 CHAPTER CXXII. 
 
 A HEARTY WELCOME AND SNUG UETREAT. 
 
 Claude Duval was'too well known upon the Western Road to find any difficulty 
 in procuring shelter in some safe place until the hour should come when he might 
 think fit to sallv out upon an enterprise. It was not one of the least singular 
 features in the history of Claude, that, notwithstanding the really tempting rewards 
 that were offered for his apprehension by the government, so very few persons, 
 except those actually and absolutely engaged in the profession of the criminal 
 law, should have at all made any effoit for his capture. We must in reahty 
 attribute this fact to the romantic spirit which was discernible throughout all his 
 adventures, and the lavish liberality with which he rewarded all who did him any 
 service, and relieved any distress that was made known to him ; bat certain it is, 
 that a strong feeling in his favour existed in the minds of many persons, and there 
 were hundreds to whom the reward offered for him would have been quite a large 
 fortune, but who no more thought of acquiring the luxuries bf independence by 
 such means, than of flying. Everywhere that his generosity had been felt, there 
 was a place of lefuge for him, so that upon that road, in particular, Claude could 
 ride up to many a cottage, and find a most true and hearty welcome. So that, 
 what with those who had loved him, and those who feared him, there was, after all, 
 butja small class left who wouldfgo out of their way for the purpose of endeavouring 
 to give him up to justice. A small ride of about twenty minutes in duration, 
 now conducted both Claude and Jack to the verge of Ealing Common, and as the 
 day was yet young, they purposed at once looking fer some place of shelter. 
 
 " 1 think," said Claude, " that we shall.not compromise anyone by r,emaininga 
 few hours under a friendly roof, for I fancy now that all direct clue to our where- 
 abouts is lost.''
 
 532 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Certainly," said Jack, " we are not pursued, and when that is the case we are 
 about as safe as we can expect to be/* 
 
 '* Follow me, then ; I know a little farm house across the common, where my 
 appearance will not be the most unwelcome in the world." 
 
 Claude took the advance, and Jack followed him closely across the ancient 
 common. They went quickly, for their object was now to get securely housed for 
 the remainder of the hours of daylight, so that they rather avoided meeting any 
 one, than sought an encounter. The common once crossed, they came into a 
 thickly wooded lane, a very few paces down which was a gate, at wh ich Claude 
 paused, saying — 
 
 "This leads to the friendly abode I mentioned.*' 
 
 Jack had to dismount to unfasten the gate, and then they both rode through it 
 and took a path by the side of a meadow for some distance, until they came sud- 
 denly in view of an old farm-house with no end of thatch upon its roof. Early 
 roses were scrambling about its porch, and the scent of the climatis came freshly 
 and sweetly upon the breeze. 
 
 *' A charming spot," said Jack. 
 
 " Yes. But those who inhabit it were near being deprived of it by the rascality 
 of an attorney, who got possession of the deeds connected with the property, and 
 then joined with some one in an attempt to eject the family holding it. By mere 
 chance I stopped the rascal upon the Uxbridge Road, and took from him a large 
 pocket-book which contained the papers in question, and from some careful enqui- 
 ries I ascertained ho^^ valuable they were to the real owners of them, so one night, 
 when there was such a storm upon the common that a house could scarcely stand 
 pgainst it, I sought this place." 
 
 " Did you tell them who you were?" 
 
 " Yes. I, after much difficulty, made myself heard amid the howling of the 
 tempest, and an old man^with white hair, and his spectacles in his hand, came 
 to yon porch door." 
 
 *' 1 suppose, sir, he said, you want shelter from the storm. Pray walk in and 
 take the best we can afford you." 
 
 "No," said I. **But there are storms worse than the wind and rain create 
 in this world. 1 have brought you a little present, and if any one asks you how 
 you came by it, say boldly, that upon this night, at this hour, Claude Duval^came 
 to the dcor end handed to you these papers." 
 
 " Claude Duval !" cried the old man. 
 
 " i slipped the papers into his hands and left him standing bsneath the porch, 
 looking the picture of astonishment." 
 
 "And what was the result, Claude 1" 
 
 ♦'Why, when the cause came into court, the papers that proved the claim of 
 the old man and his family were produced, and the story of their recovery was 
 fairly told. The judge decided in favour of the occupants of the farm, and the 
 attorney was by the Lord Chancellor struck off the rolls, for he had asserted that 
 no such deeds existed, when all the while it was quite clear that he had them in 
 his pocket book when I robbed him * 
 
 " And have you bsen here since ?" 
 
 "Once only, when hard pressed, and then they hid me, and saved me from a 
 hot pursuit, to escape from which I should have had to take many lives." 
 
 By the time Claude had related this little circumstance to Jack, they came so 
 near to the house that a young child, who was playing close to the porch, saw 
 them, and ran in to give the news that some one was coming. In the course of 
 a few moments a young man came out, and immediately after him just such a 
 white-headed dd man as Claude had mentioned. Claude smiled as he called out 
 to them — 
 
 *' Wei!, here I am again, you see, come back to you like a bad penny." 
 
 They both ran up to him, and seizing him by the hands, each tried how much 
 he could say in the way of a kindly welcome to him. 
 . '* You don't know,' said the young man, " how glad we are to see you.'*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD; 533 
 
 " And he never Avill know," said the old man, *' for you know, Jolin, that we 
 can't find words to tell hina." 
 
 " No, father, that we can't."' 
 
 *• Will you give me a few hours' shelter?" said Claude. 
 
 " Weeks, months, years, if you will stay with us/' said the young man. 
 Don't we owe all we have to you? To be sure we do. Don't we, father?" 
 
 " Yes, John, of course we do. Where would have been tne pretty little home- 
 stead in which you wers born, John, if it had not have been for this kind 
 friend ?" 
 
 " You see," said Claude, " I have somebody with me. He is a dear friend of 
 mine." 
 
 " Then he shall be, and indeed is, from this moment, a dear friend of ours," 
 said the son. 
 
 *' Yes, John," cried the old man. " Yes, take the horses, while I bring our 
 guesis in. This way ; don't mind about going round to the path. You can't 
 come by too near a way to this house." 
 
 There was something so kind and unsophisticated about the welcome of these 
 people, that both Claude and Jacli. were quite affected by it, and the latter, as he 
 looked around, said with a sigh — 
 
 " Ah, this is the sort of place 1 have always pictured to myself, I should like 
 to pass the remainder of my life in." 
 
 "My dear, sir," said the old man, *' you shall— shall he not, John ?" 
 
 " Certainly, father." 
 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 '*! only wish I dared," he said. *' But we will say no more upon that head 
 just at present," 
 
 Before they could enter the house they were met by a young woman with an 
 infant in her arms, and two young children close to her skirts. She was the wife 
 of the young farmer, and wejl she knew how much she and all whom she loved 
 were indebted to the visitor who approached. Claude spoke to her with the ease' 
 and grace so familiar and so incidental to him, and he introduced Jack to her. 
 In a few moments more they were all in the house, aud the young man having 
 returned from putting up the horses, took Claude aside, and said— 
 
 ** Is there any present danger V 
 
 '' No. None that I arn at all aware of. I only want to stay here until sunset 
 that is all." 
 
 *' And— and is there no hope " 
 
 "Hope of what?" 
 
 " That you will be able to leave this life, so full of risks, and embrace one which 
 will be more congenial to your nature." 
 
 Claude shook his head mournfully. 
 
 ''Alas!" he said, "you do not know all. If you did, even you would—but 
 no matter. I can almost say with the man in the play— 
 
 " That way madness lies !" 
 
 So let us talk of anything else in all the world, but what I am and what I might 
 have been, or what I still may be." 
 
 It was quite evident, by Claude's manner, that a more painful theme than his 
 own position in life could not possibly be started ; so it was at once dropped, and 
 to note the kindness and the scrupulous attention with which he was treated by 
 those people to whom he had been such a guardian angel, one would have thought 
 him surely one of the most important personages eociety ever saw or was likely 
 to see. All this was very pleasing to Jack, for such was his affection for Claude, 
 that he would much rather any one said a kind thing to him, or did a kind actiou 
 to him, than to himself. No wonder, then, that the hours passed off pleasantly 
 enough at that beautiful rural abode. Alas ! what is called improvement aiad 
 speculation, has swept away from the immediate neighbourhood of the metropolis 
 many of these sweet retreats, where genius as well as simplicity might find a
 
 534 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 congenial home ; and the lover of the picturesque and the beautiful must now 
 travel muck further from the giant city, before he can be said to have left behind 
 him those things which are of man's creation, to look upon those things which are 
 God's! The sun at length slowly dipped into the western horizon, and the soft 
 beautiful shadows of CTening crept over hill and tree, dell and flower. The 
 songs of numberless birds filled the air with a sweet melody; and Claude, as he 
 leant against an aged elm, with the family around him that he had snatched from 
 destruction, could not help giving audible expression to the thought of — 
 ** How many more of such sunsets as this am 1 doomed to see ?" 
 Jack was close to him, and whispered in his ear — 
 " The young girl at the boarding.school. The villain — the road !*' 
 "Right. I have duties. To horse, Jack— to horse, again. If is still for Claude 
 Duval. Life on the road ! It was written upon the page, in life's great volume, 
 directed to me, when I came into this world of sadness and of beauty. My 
 horse — my horse, Jack.*' 
 
 CHAPTER CXXIII. 
 
 A NOBLE LORD IN A HOBBLE, 
 
 It was upon one of those strange misty, mysterious-looking evenings, incidental 
 to the English climate at all periods of the year, but much more particularly in 
 the spring and the autumn, that Claude and Jack issued forth from beneath the 
 friendly roof where they had been so hospitably entertained. In the air there was 
 a dewy freshness, which, while it obscured the locality, was grateful enough to 
 the feelings ; and as Claude looked through the mist, he said to Jack — 
 
 ** We must not wander far, or we shall lose those of whom we are in search." 
 
 Before Jack could reply, a voice cried — 
 
 *' Thank God! It's all right." 
 
 *' Who spoke r' said Claude. 
 
 *' Only me, sir, whoever you are. It's only me. Nicodemus Clarke." 
 
 Claude and Jack looked at each other with surprise, as well they might, for the 
 'name of Nicodemus Clarke was as new to them as anything could very well be. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen," continued the voice, ** I hid in this hedge till I heard you 
 were in search of some one, and then, of course, I knew that you must be on the 
 same errand as 1.'' 
 
 " And what may that be?" said Claude, as a small stout man, after a struggle, 
 succeeded in gettin*; out of a hedge close at hand, and made his way up to them. 
 
 " Why, sir," he said, "Ruben Halleybut and I were coming across the com- 
 mon, and we met a man selhng brooms, who said to us, * If you want to make a 
 good evening's work, you will wait about here, and nab the celebrated Claude 
 Duval.' Well, of course, I thought it odd, and so did Ruben, for you know, sir, 
 no doubt, of the great rewards offered for Claude Duval, and we thought it a 
 strange thing that a man who only sold brooms should give us such a chance, 
 when°he might get it himself; but, howsomedever, Ruben said tome-«.*You 
 stay here, Nicodemus, while I go to Hanwell, and rouse up the constabulary j' 
 so you see, that's where he has gene, and here am I." 
 
 «' Indeed !" said Claude. •• Well, it's lucky you met me." 
 
 " That's just ray idea. I thought to myself— Nicodemus, it's a lucky thing you 
 have met with some one respectable, for Ruben is a deuce of a while— excuse me, 
 sir, for naming the deuce in your company." 
 
 *• Ob, don't think anything of that." 
 
 *' Well, sir, perhaps you won't object to stay till Reuben and the constabulary 
 come back, sir, will you ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, Mr. Nicodemus, but I aupin possession of valuable information 
 regarding Claude Duval, do you know."
 
 LIFE UN THE ROAD. 535 
 
 "Areyou, really, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, and it is solely tijion his account that I and my friend are upcn the com- 
 mon to-night." 
 
 "You don't say so?'* 
 
 " Yes, your information, let it come from where it might, regarding Claude Duval, 
 is correct." 
 «' Really." 
 
 "It is so, you may depend. But I happen to know that be will be here dis- 
 guised, and for a particular object, too. It will not be long before a plain carriage 
 will draw up on the heath, and in that carriage will be Claude Duval.*' 
 Mr. Nicodemus shook a little. 
 
 " So you have only to open the door," added Claude, " and seize him by the 
 collar and make him your prisoner at once." 
 " Me, sir— me ?" 
 "Certainly, you. Why not V 
 
 " Lord bless you, sir, I wouldn't for all the world. Do I look like the sort of 
 man to lay hold of a highwayman by the collar and say, * Come along with me, if you 
 please, and if you don't please, I'll make you.' " 
 
 Clade could hardly forbear a smile, for certainly the person talking with him was, 
 to all appearance, as unlikely a person to do such a feat as he ever saw. 
 
 " Well then," «aid Claude, " I suppose your best and only plan will be to wait 
 until the force you expect comes from Hanwell." 
 
 "Oh, sir, that's quite another thing, and if you and your servant will only stay 
 with me in case of accidents, all may be well, sir. I am the beadle of Ealing 
 Church." 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and have been so now getting on for nine years ; and though I say 
 it myself, perhaps that should'nt, I will say that a more efficient beadle never put 
 CD coat or hat." 
 
 " There can be no doubt of that," said Claude. " Your discretion is evidently 
 something immense." 
 
 " I believe you, sir. But you were saying something about this fellow, Claude 
 Duval." 
 
 '• I was. The fact is, I happen t^ know that he has come down here upon a 
 very particular errand, and if he can ever be caught at all, it will be to-night, 
 when he is rather off his guard. Since you wish it, I will stay with you until your 
 friends come from the village of Hanwell, and then I will poiiit out to you and to 
 them how you may best take Claude Duval prisoner without danger; for what 
 earthly good can come of risking valuable life or valuable limb in a contest with 8uch 
 a person. If taken, it ought to be with as much safety to all concerned as possible." 
 •* My dear sir, I never in all my life heard a more true and better sent'raent than 
 that — ill all my life." 
 
 " And particularly," added Claude, " I think persons in authority in parishes 
 ought to be careful of themselves ; for who knows what confusion and inconve- 
 nience might result from the death of any one of them?" 
 
 These sentiments came so home to the heart of Mr. Nicodemus, that he actually 
 
 wiped a tear from his left eye, and speke in a voice husky from emotion, saying— 
 
 " LTpon my life, sir, you are a gentleman, you are indeed ; and you speak for all 
 
 the world, sir, like a printed book, you do. As you truly say, sir^ authorities are 
 
 the people that ought to be looked to." 
 
 *» I always thought so," added Claude, drily. 
 '* Ah, sir, if all the world was only Hke you." 
 
 " The world then would never get on," laughed Claude. *' But my sincere advice 
 to you and to your friends ig, that when you find the carriage I spoke of to you, 
 and feel convinced that it contains no other than the man you seek, you will fasten 
 up the two doors of it, and drive it to 'Newgate." 
 
 "What an idea, «ir. But — but — the coachman — is there a coachman V 
 
 " Yesj and a footman too, for Claude Duval wishes to disguise himself well ; so
 
 ■^^' 
 
 530 GENTLEMAN JAClt. 
 
 I think you must pull the coachman off his box, and take him to the Hanwel 
 lock-up, and the footman with him to keep him company." 
 
 '* That's good," said Mr. Nicodemus. *' It's Claude Duval wc want, and not 
 footmen or coachmen." 
 
 " Certainly, But you will remember and put your friends upon their guard like; 
 wise, concerning the fact that this coachman and footman we talk of are assocaites 
 and accomplices of Claude Duval, not his dupes, and therefore they will say any- 
 thing in the world, and lie in the most extraordinary manner, to try to get him off.'' 
 
 *' In course, sir. In course." 
 
 '■ They will, no doubt, try to frighten you, and impose upon your credulity by 
 telling you that you have made a mistake, and that it is some lord that you have 
 taken." 
 
 '* A lord ! Ha ! ha ! A lord. The lord will be made to dance upon nothing at 
 Tyburn, I rather think." 
 
 *' Not a doubt of it." 
 
 " Ohj dear yes, and I'll go and see him turned off*, and then at the last moment 
 ril cry—* Good bye, ray lord ! — ha! ha! Good bye. my lord.' " 
 
 Mr. Nicodemus thought this a joke of such an exquisite character that he laughed 
 and coughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks, and Jack, who had dismounted, 
 and kept close to him, was forced to give him two or three tremendous slaps upon 
 the back to aid him in his recovery from a state of incipient strangulation. 
 
 " Don't — don't! Oh, I am belter now. — You'll knock all the blessed breath out 
 of my body, that you will, if you hit eo hard as that. Oh, dear — oh, dear !" 
 
 *' Friendly blows," said Jack. 
 
 *' Devilish friendly.^ 
 
 "Well, well," said Claude. <* Let us lose no time, for I rather think the car- 
 riage will be here presently. " 
 
 At this intimation Mr. Nicodemus kept as close as he possibly could to Claude, 
 for notwithstanding all that had been^ said, he thought there might be some 
 danger which it would be quite as well'to avoid, or at all events to be sure, by 
 keeping in the immediate company of one who had professed such a reverence for 
 parochial authorities in general, and beadles in particular. 
 
 " If you think you will be any safer," said Claude, " you can get up behind 
 me. There is room." 
 
 ** Humph !" said Mr. Nicodemus, •' I don't thiak I was ever outside a horse in 
 my life." 
 
 « Indeed." 
 
 "No, sir. So you see, not knowing much about it, I don't seem to like the idea 
 exactly of getting up behind." 
 
 "But you forget that you will not be called upon to take any part in the 
 management of the horse. All you will have to do is to hold fast by me, and as 
 1 will take care not to fall off, I don't very well see how you are to do so." 
 
 " Hark !" cried Jack. 
 
 *' What is it ?" said Claude. 
 
 *' I hear the sound of wheels. He whom we seek comes !" 
 
 Claude listened, and Mr. Nicodemus turned as pale as death, and struggled on 
 to Claude's horse. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXIV. 
 
 ■^ CAPTURE OF THE SBCBKTARY. 
 
 Jack was right. The sound of wheels upon a good gravelled road which inter- 
 sected the common came in the course of half a minute quite plainly upon his ears. 
 The beadle had managed, with some assistance from Claude, to scramble on to the 
 back of his horse, and then he held fast as well as he was able.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OK, LTEE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 637 
 
 '* Bless us and save us, what an adventure this will be to talk of at the " Pig 
 and Tweezers," of a Saturday night ; 1 think I see anybody holding up his hands 
 and opening his eyes when 1 tell him how I sprung upon the horse.'* 
 
 •* Not a doubt of it," said Claude. '* Ah, I hear the tramp of horses' feet, I think. 
 Listen," 
 
 CAPTURE OF THE SECRETARY BY SIXTEEN STRING JACK — ALARM OF THE BEADLE. 
 
 " Yes." said Jack, " and from the west too." 
 
 "Then it's the folks from Hanwell," said Nicoderaus. " They ought to have 
 been here before this. But better late than never^ says I. Oh, I can hear them 
 myself now. Well, suppose, sir, we go on and meet them ?'* ' 
 
 "That will do," said Claude, "and you can introduce me." 
 
 " With pleasure, sir— with pleasure. Only I haven't the happiness, sir, to know 
 who you are.'* 
 
 Vo, 68,
 
 538 GENTLEJilAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Oh, I'm Colonel Doo." 
 *' Colonel Doo >" 
 
 *' Yes. That's easily recollected, ain't it. D double 0, Doo." 
 " Dear me ! — Yes, sir, it's easily recollected, only you see, sir, it's rather an 
 odd name. To be be sure, we have a parishioner of the name of Done." 
 
 " I hope he will be of the party now coming to our assistance," said Claude. 
 As he uttered these words, Claude Duval just gave his horse a slight touch with 
 his heel, and it made a bound forward that very nearly cast Mr. Nicodemus to the 
 earth, and it did make him rise up so high and come down with such a bump upon 
 the back of the saddle that he groaned again. 
 " Oh, gracious !" 
 " What's the matter V 
 
 " Don't let him do that again, colonel, if you can possibly help it. I begin to 
 find that I don't much like riding, do yon know. Is he all right, sir ?" 
 " All right ? Yes, to be sure. That was only a little bit of play." 
 *• Play, was it ? Lor ! I wonder what he'd have done if he'd thought of treating 
 us to a jump in earnest ?" 
 
 Claude had cantered off in the direction of the road to Hanwell, and in the 
 course of a few minutes a loud voice cried— 
 *' Stand!* 
 
 " Ah, that's Squadds, the butcher," said Nicodemus. ** It's all right, Mr. 
 Squadds. It's me and Colonel Doo." 
 " Ah ! Nicodemus, is that you ?" 
 
 ** Yes. Come on. We shall nab him, lads. A-hem! It's all right now. Me 
 and the colonel have laid our plans, and he's as good as catched, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 An irregular assemblage of some fifteen or sixteen horse men now surrounded 
 Claude and Jack, and by the dim nigfat light (for twilight had fairly bidden good- 
 bye to the common) Claude could see that some of t he party had fowling-pieces 
 and some old rusty blunderbusses, while one carried in as military a fashion as he 
 could, a huge sword that had belonged to a trooper in some cavalry regiment,, 
 heaven only knows how long a^o. 
 
 " Friends, all," said the beadl«, **the thing is as good as done. I met the 
 colonel and his servant on the common, and he say* he will lend us a hand," 
 *' Bravo !--Burrah!'' 
 
 ** Hush !" said Claude. ** Hush ! It is ^rictly true that, having encountered 
 Mr. Nicodemus tipon the common, and hearing from him that he was upon an 
 expedition for the capture of Claude Duval, I did say that, for so laudible a public 
 object, I would lend my aid." 
 
 *'Hear! — ^hear!" said a stout-looking personage, who was churchwarden of 
 Hanwell, and accustomed to contribute just that much of oratory to the parish 
 meetings. ** Hear !— hear !" 
 
 "And mere particularly," added Claude, ''as I was in possession of, I believe, 
 exclusive ii-formation upon the subject. I can inform you, gentlemen, that Claude 
 Duval will be upon the common to-night." 
 ** Hear I" said the churchwarden, faintly. 
 
 His friends and compatriots thought. he said "here" instead of *'hear," and 
 they all gave a prodigious startJ' 
 
 " Murder 1" cried the beadle. Some of the troop tried to escape, and for a 
 few moments a degree of confusion prevailed, which was only quelled by Claude 
 saying— 
 
 ** For your own safety sakes, gentlemen, I hope you will be quiet. Any alarm 
 may bring destruction upon some half dozen of you, at the very least." 
 
 "This waa an intimation that had quite a magical effect. They were all instantly 
 as still as the grave, and Claude continued — 
 
 " I have a plan by which he may be captured without any loss of life among 
 the highly-respectable company by which I hare the honour to be surrounded." 
 ** Hear I hear I" said the churchwarden, gathering courage.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 639 
 
 *' Yes, gentlemen, if you will all place yourselves under ray guidance, and*follow 
 me, all will be well." 
 
 « We will ! We will ! Hear ! Hear 1" 
 
 "Hush!" -^m 
 
 All was still again, and then Claude turned his horse's head in the direction 
 where he knew the carriage of his lordship would be waiting the issue of the 
 abominable scheme forgetting the young lady from the boarding-school. It was 
 as ardent a wish of Claude's to get hold of the secretary, as it was to punish his 
 lordship for the plan of abduction^ for well Claude knew that such men as he, who 
 paid for the proceedings which were, if successful, to bring disgrace and affliction 
 of the bitterest character upon unoffending persons, would be tolerably harmless 
 if they could not find tools base enough for money to join them in the accomplish- 
 ment of their bad ends. The whole of the troop of horsemen from Hanwell 
 followed Claude and Jack as softly as they could make their horses step upon the 
 verdant sod of the common, and in the course of a tew minutes they saw the dim 
 outline of a carriage. At the same moment Claude, who, from being so much 
 "out o' night," was quite Indian-like in his sagacity when the sun was gone, 
 saw a man creeping along close to a hedge. 
 
 "Jack?'' said Claude." 
 
 " Here, sir." 
 
 " Catch that fellow." 
 
 " Ah, I had my eye upon him," said Jack, as he dashed forward, and with a 
 vigorous push captured the secretary of my lord. 
 
 " Help ! Help ! What's this }" 
 
 " Another word above your breath and you are a dead man,'' said Claude, as 
 Jack brought his prisoner before him. 
 
 "But— but " 
 
 " Silence ! Gentlemen, this is an important capture. This fellow it is who 
 plays the part of Jackall to him whom we seek. Tie him up. Jack." 
 
 " One of the party held Jack's horse while he tied the secretary's hands and feet, 
 so that, as regards the latter, he was neatly helpless, and as regards the former, he 
 was entirely so." 
 
 " Mercy !" said the fellow, "are you going to murder me ?" 
 
 "No," said Claude, *' although you deserve it. Throw him into the green 
 pond, Jack. You know it." 
 
 " Well, sir, I will soon pitch him in." 
 
 " But I shall be drowned. Oh, spare my life. If it is only six inches deep I 
 shall be drowned— oh ;— oh ! have mercy upon a poor man with a large family. 
 Mercy for my family." 
 
 " Any daughters ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Yes. Oh ! yes." * 
 
 " Do they go to boarding school ?" 
 
 This one simple question was sufficient to let the villanous secretary know at 
 once the infamous scheme of himself and his master was known. He gave a 
 hideous groan and would have fallen upon his knees to pray for that mercy to him- 
 self that he never had shown to anything human; but the cord, by the aid of which 
 Jack had tied him, prevented him, and he could only speak. 
 
 "" Do not take my life," he said. " Anything but my life.'' 
 
 ''You hear this rascal, gentlemen?" said Claude. *' Anything, he thinks, his 
 villanies entitle him to but death.'' 
 
 *' Oh, the rapscallion," said Nicodemus ; " but we shall soon have his master 
 now." 
 
 " Yes," said Claude. *' But we must secure this fellow. Look out for a small 
 tree. Jack, and tie him to it, so that we shall find him when we come back. His 
 face to the tree. Jack." 
 
 Jack nodded, and at once dragged off the secretary, who was in such a 'horrible 
 fright lest he should lose his life, that anything short of tliat was, by comparison, 
 delightful.
 
 540 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CXXV: K : f:::i- 
 
 NEWGATE PORCH, 
 
 " New, gentlemen," said Claude. Come on. Follow rae." 
 
 It was quite clear that the reinforcement which the beadle had sent for to Han- 
 well looked upon Claude as quite a redoubtable personage now, and were quite 
 willing that he should, at all events, take the lead in the attack that they supposed 
 was about to be made upon the formidable highwayman. 
 
 *' Yes, sir," said one ; — " and that, by the bye, was the one who, by his 
 frequently looking behind him, showed the greatest inclination to run avvay. Yes, 
 sir, you follow — that is, I mean, you lead and we will follow, if you please, sir. I 
 only hope we may catch him." 
 
 " There can be no doubt of it." 
 
 "You — you really think so, sir," stammered the churchwarden." 
 
 " Certainly, I do." 
 
 " Then I — I am almost afraid, do you know, that I am wanted at home. You 
 must know, sir, that my wife is in a delicate situation, and if anything was to 
 happen while 1 am away, you know, sir, there's no saymg how one might blame 
 oneself afterwards." 
 
 *' Don't go,'' said Claude. " We may need your valuable assistance." 
 
 " Don't be afraid," said another. 
 
 This word ''afraid" stuck in the throat of the churchwarden like the celebrated 
 **Amen" of Macbeth, and fearing that he should never hear the last of his 
 pusillanimity from his neighbours and kind friends, if he now made a precipitate 
 retreat, he resigned himself to the glories and the chances of an enterprise, which 
 he began to think he had commenced in an over hasty and unadvised manner. 
 Both Claude and Jack were anxious to bring this affair to a speedy conclusion, 
 therefore they went on quickly, peering into the darkness to diseover the carriage 
 of his lordship. Presently, in the obscurity doubly obscure cast by some trees 
 along a portion of the coratnon, they could just see the object they sought, and 
 Claude turning to those who were following him, said— 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, look for yourselves. What do you see yonder ?" 
 
 ** A carriage.*' 
 
 «* Well, in that carriage is your man," 
 
 A sudden retrograde movement sufficiently notified to the fact that this was in 
 truth anything but pleasant intelligence, but Claude continued— 
 
 "The only way to capture him, without bloodshed, Will be to fasten up the 
 doors of the carnage, and then drive it to London," 
 
 •< But how can that be done ?" 
 
 '♦ I and my servant will charge ourselres with that part of the affair, and if 
 we deliver into your hands the carriage and its occupant, will you undertake to 
 drive it to Newgate?" 
 
 •' Yes — yes — yes." 
 
 *' Wait a few moments^ then,— Jack ?" 
 
 •' Yes, sir." 
 
 *' Come with me," 
 
 Jack followed Claude ; and when they got out of ear-shot of the good folks of 
 Hanwell, Claude said to him — 
 
 " There will be no difficulty in fastening the carriage doors ?* 
 
 *' I can tie them," said Jack, " and they will then resist any ordinary attempt 
 to open them from the inside, and the more so that the noble lord will not be aware 
 of the nature of the obstruction to his egress." 
 
 " Very well. Come and do one door, while I hold a little parley with him at 
 I ihe other," ' 
 
 11 Claude dashed up to the carriage, and appearing at one of the windows so 
 
 . 7 —1 . .ll ^ o -ilT i ifomr. i - . Ma . Tir iii^.'— ^ i ■ ■ i i. . i wr. i . li -| i l l i l '! ' i t l " ■ ■ i i i j
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 541 
 
 suddenly, that, to the perceptions of the occupants of tht vehicle, he seemed more 
 like some apparition than a liying man, he said — 
 
 " A word with you, sir." 
 
 '•Who are you? Help!" 
 
 *• Silence, or you are a dead man, I will shoot you with as little feeling foi the 
 consequences or compunctious visitation?, as I would a mad dog. Your only chance 
 of safety lies in being silent and submissive,'' 
 
 *• Submissive to what ?" 
 
 ** To your fate." 
 
 «' That is rather a — a— wide explanation," said his lordship, faintly, *< Who 
 are you?" 
 
 "That is of no consequence. But we know who you are." 
 
 " Done !'* said Jack, to intimate that he had fastened one of the doors of the 
 carriage; and then Claude, while he did the other, added — 
 
 " You are the great highwayman, Claude Duval ?" 
 
 *' I !~I Claude Duval?" 
 
 ** You don't deny it. There's a large reward offered for you, alive or dead, but 
 we would rather take you alive." 
 
 ** This is folly or madness. I am n-Jt '' 
 
 " Hush ! if you deny your identity, we shall take that as a positive proof that 
 you mean to make some desperate attempt to escape, and then it will be our duty 
 to shoot you, and take you in dead." 
 
 ** This comes of leaving my servants at the inn. Confound that secretary, 
 where is he ? I tell you, my good sir, I am not Claude Duval, You are most 
 seriously mistaken, I assure you.'* 
 
 Claude put his arm into the carriage and pressed the muzzle of a pistol to his 
 lordship's cheek, as he said — 
 
 *' Repeat that, and you are a dead man." 
 
 "Done," said Jack, as he completed the fastening of the other door. 
 
 ** Forward, friends,'* said Claude to the party of horsemen, who had kept care- 
 fully aloof during the brief parley. "Forward. He surrenders, and will allow 
 us to carry him in safety and peace to Newgate." 
 
 At this gratifying intelligence, the horsemen advanced ', and Claude, again clap- 
 ping the pistol to the face of his lordship, said— 
 
 ** If you do not, in a sufHeiently loud voice to reach the ears of all present, 
 acknowledge yourself to be what you are— namely, Claude Duval, the only thing 
 I can do is to pull the trigger." 
 
 There was a something m Claude*s tones, that were fearfully convincing, and in 
 a voice, in which fear and rage struggled together, the noble occupant of the 
 carriage said— 
 
 " I— I am Claude Duval.'* 
 
 " You hear him, gentlemen ?" said Claude, 
 
 " Yes — yes. Oh, yes. All's right." 
 
 *'Very well; now I advise that you blow his brains out at once, if he should 
 give you the smallest trouble as you go along. If he remains quiet, I am certainly 
 of opinion that it will be better to lodge him in the hands of the authorities 
 alive." 
 
 Everybody, with loud demonstrations of satisfaction, concurred in this senti- 
 ment ; and then, as they all could not but feel that there might be some danger 
 in carrying the shooting of the supposed highwayman into effect, they were terribly 
 anxious to impress upon his mind the propriety of perfect submission, and that 
 could only be done by large talking of the offhand and determined manner in which 
 they purposed putting him out of the world if he should exhibit a contrary dis- 
 position. No doubt his lordship thought himself surrounded by as rough despera- 
 does as the times could produce. One of the party mounted the coach-Kox, and 
 then Claude said — 
 
 *' Off with you. The cattle are good, and you will be at the gatQ of Newgate 
 in half an hour.'*
 
 542 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 Avray they all went, leaving Claude and Jack to undisturbed possession of 
 Ealing Common. 
 
 ♦* Well," said Jack, " tbis is ridiculous enough." 
 
 •'It is," replied Claude. "But now. Jack, we ought, I think,-to give them 
 some sort of warning at tlie boarding-school, that an attempt was to be made to 
 carry off one of the inmates." 
 
 " That is enaily enough done. Hush !'* 
 
 *< What is the matter. Jack ?" 
 
 ' I am listening. I thought I heard the sound of footsteps." 
 
 '* Ah ! and so do I. Just hold the bridle of my horse, Jack, and I will go and 
 reconnoitre." 
 
 " Be careful, Claude." 
 
 " I will — I will, you may be assured, Jack. Don't stir from this spot unless 
 you hear my voice, or the sound of fire-arms." 
 
 Claude dismounted and crept along in a stooping posture, until he came to a 
 stile which led into a preserve, and it was in that preserve that he could hear two 
 men conversing. While he, Claude, is carefully, so as not to allow himself to be 
 seen against the night sky, creeping through the lowest bars of the stile, we may 
 briefly notice the noble lord's reception at the great metropolitan prison in the 
 Old Bailey. His lordship's fears had been quite suflBciently awakened to induce 
 him to wish to see the end of this adventure as a living man, rather than as a 
 dead one ; so after the carriage started he said not a word for SQme quarter of 
 an hour or so. All that time, however, his rage was gatherins; strength, and 
 slowly getting the better of his prudence. 
 
 '* Is it to be, indeed," he thought, " that I, one of the Hereditary Legislator* 
 of England, born to wealth and honours, should be thwarted in such a little com- 
 mon place affair as running off with a pooi man's daughter? Why are the 
 daughters of common people sometimes pretty, if they are not to be made useful 
 in adorning the dignified leisure of a noble aristocracy, I should like to know V 
 
 This was quite a conclusive argument to his lordship's perceptions, and certainly 
 if uttered among his own class, or possibly of an afternoon in the House of Lords, 
 might have met with a " Hear! hear !" His lordship then tried one of the doors, 
 but Jack was too great an adept at the tying of knots to render it a very easy 
 matter to open one, and suddenly recollecting that at th j back of the carriage 
 there was one of those mysterious looking little windov.s, about the size of one's 
 hand, he knelt upon the seat and tried to look through that upon the dark road. 
 Then he tapped at it with a ring he had upon his finger, but the noise of the 
 carriage wheels drowned all sounds of that character, and his lordship, if he meant 
 to make himself heard, must manifestly think of some more affectaal means. By 
 feeling in his pockets he found a small penknife, and with that he broke the little 
 window at the back of the carriage, and cried — 
 
 "Hilloa! Hilloa!" 
 
 *'Once — twice," said somebody. Stand out of the way, Hoffendon, and don't 
 be a fool." 
 
 " The devil !" said his lordship as he slipped off his seat and lay at the bottom 
 of his carriage in an agony of fear. 
 
 " Thrice," said the voice, and then bang ! went a blunderbuss, and|half a dozen 
 shots flew in at the back of the carriage. His lordship escaped uninjured, but 
 the individual who had taken the coachman's seat vvas not so lucky, for one of 
 the bullets with which the blunderbuss had been loaded, after penetrating the back 
 of the carriage, and passing harmlessly over his lordship, went through one of the 
 front windows, and lodged about an inch deep in the hind portions of the amateur 
 coachman, who uttered a yell upon the occasion that might have been heard a 
 mile off. 
 
 ** Murder ! murder ! Oh, oh, oh !*' 
 
 « Never mind," said he who had fired the blunderbuss. '* It's only me." 
 
 ** Oh, curse you ! Why did you do that ?" 
 
 "I have hit him J"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 543 
 
 *' Yes, you have. How can I sit and drive now, I should like to know, booby. 
 What an idiot you are to be sure, Bailey." 
 
 The whole cavalcade now came to a stand, and Bailey, who was the individual 
 \\ ith the blunderbuss, explained that he had seen the prisoner making an attempt 
 to get out at the back of the coach, so without more ado, according to agreement 
 and understanding, he had fired at him. 
 
 « And killed him ?'* 
 
 " Well," said Bailey, *' I heard say there was six slugs in the blunderbuss." 
 
 ** And I've got one of 'em,** groaned the driver. 
 
 " Well, you needn't mind it," said Bailey. '* You know it wasn't meant for 
 you. God bless nie, who are you, I wonder, that's so mighty particular about 
 trifles?" 
 
 "Trifles, you scoundrel." 
 
 " Now, now, gentlemen,* said the beadle, ''don't quarrel. Let us go on. I 
 dare say Claude Duval is dead now, and the best thing we can do, is to leave our 
 friend Griggs at the first public house we come to, and get on to Newgate as fast 
 as we can.'* 
 
 **0h, curse you, Bailey," said the wounded man ; " won't I serve you out for 
 this some day. Oh dear, oh dear, I do think 1 shall faint clean away." 
 
 CHAPTER CXXVI. 
 
 A LITTLE MISTAKE* 
 
 Another of the party who possessed sufficient skill to guide the carriage to 
 town, mounted the box by the side of the wounded man, and then, without think* 
 ing it to be at all necessary to look at the condition of the supposed highwayman 
 occupying the interior of the vehicle, they started again. The little bit of ex- 
 perience of the aptitude of blunderbusses to do mischief, and not at all to respect 
 the rights of an hereditary aristocracy, was not lost upon the noble lord in the 
 carriage, and thinking that he was in a very safe place upon the carpet at the 
 bottom of the vehicle, there he remained. A public house upon the Western 
 Road was not such a rarity, even then, but that one was soon reached, and at the 
 door of it the wourded Griggs was put down, with a promise that, notwithstanding 
 his not actually going to Newgate with the prisoner, he should have his equal 
 share of the large reward that would be distributed amongst them all. On went 
 the carriage again, and at Tyburn Gate, he who now drove could not help, in the 
 pride of his heart, saying to the toll-taker — 
 
 " We have got Claude Duval here." 
 
 « Claude Duval ?" 
 
 ** Yes. He's settled at last." 
 
 *' Killed ?" 
 
 " Yes. We had to do it. He wouldn't be quiet.'* 
 
 A look of deep concern crossed the man's face, as he said — 
 
 " You might have told me something else that would have pleased me better. 
 Did he ever take anything from you ?" 
 
 *' No ; but only consider the reward." 
 
 " Oh ! ah I the reward. Well, every guinea of it to me would look the colour 
 of blood. Go on ; I won't take the toll of you. Nothing that ever belonged to 
 a man that would kill for hire in such a way shall find a place in my hands." 
 
 The escort of the carriage said nothing, but passed on, and as they went down 
 Oxford Street several of them spoke to each other in whispers, and one «aid — 
 
 ** 1 like the idea of the money, but I don't half fancy being pointed at,' as we all 
 shall be^ as the fellows that killed Claude Duval for the reward! That ain't 
 pleasant, is it?*'
 
 54:4: GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ** Not tery ; and—aud I say, what a sight there may be in the court when we 
 get to Newgate." 
 "A sight?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, all blood and squash, you know. Fau*h ! there's no saying 
 how he may be mangled by the bullets from Bailey's confounded blunderbuss." 
 
 By degrees they all got talking in this strain, so that by the time thev turned 
 out of Snow Hill into the Old Bailey, they felt about as thoroughly uncomfortable 
 as any dozen men could. Upon the principle, however, of post-boys coming into 
 a town, they went up to the gate of Newgate with a dash, and ont rung tiolently 
 at the bell by the debtors' door. 
 
 " What now ?" said a gruff voice through a grating. 
 " We have brought you a customer," 
 " Come, no nonsense. What is it?" 
 "Claude Duval!" 
 
 " What ! another take in !— ha !— ha I Dead or alive V* 
 •*Dead.- 
 
 " Humph ! Well, I won't say exactly that that's a do. A bullet will settle 
 him as well as any one else, and the greatest fool in the world may send it on 
 its errand. Did you do it ?" 
 
 This was not very complimentary, but that was no time for anything in the 
 shape of private quarrels to take place. The whole Hanwell party were agitated, 
 and had dismounted from their horses. The wicket-gate of the ©Id jail was opened, 
 and four or five officers descended the steps. One tried to open the carriage door. 
 *' What the deuce," he said, " if he is dead, have you tied him in for V 
 " Oh, never mind that. You take him out, and give us a receipt for him, that's 
 all. Hadn't you better get a sheet?" 
 "A what?" 
 
 " A sheet ; cos, you see, we rather think he is all in bits." 
 A frightful groan, with something of a howl mixed with it, now came from the 
 carriage, and the officers themselves retreated a step or two, while the whole of 
 the Hanwell party rushed into the vestibule of the prison in the greatest fright 
 imaginable. 
 
 *• What, in the name of all that's troublesome," said one of the officers, "is the 
 meaningof all this 1" 
 
 " He ain't quite dead, that's all," faltered the beadle of Ealing. " He ain't dead, 
 gentlemen. Take care of yourselves ; he'll cojme ont with a bounce." 
 « Stuff-stuff." 
 
 " Well, my good sir, you open the door. 1 think, when we bring him to the 
 gate of Newgate, and give him up, carriage and all, to the officers, we have done 
 all that ought to be expected of decent men," 
 
 *' Yes, yes," cried all the others. ** We give him up." 
 
 *' What is the meaning of all this, Jones ?" said one of the officers to another. 
 •* Lend me your knife to ci*t this string thit ties the door fast. It was no fool that 
 put it on." 
 
 " It's fast enough." 
 
 " Yes. But there it goes. Stand out of the way, and I'll fling open the door at 
 once. If aaybody comes out quick, pounce upon hina and hold on. We will soon 
 clap the darbies on him," 
 •'All's right." 
 
 The moment was now one of intense excitement and curiosity to all present. 
 The officers so dispersed themselves that it would have been next thing to imgos- 
 iible for any one to escape from the carriage by a sudden rush, while the Han- 
 well party, looking over their heads fnttm the porch of Newgate, betrayed, by their 
 looks of fiendish anxiety, how deeply they felt the awful character of the whole 
 proceeding. Added to all this, the governor ef the prison, who had been roused 
 with the information that Claude Duval was brought dead to the gate, had just 
 reached the vestibule with a night-lamp in his hand, and with eager eyes was 
 watching the whole of the mysterious proceedings.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON T[iE ROAD. 
 
 545 
 
 *' Now — now," said one. 
 
 •* Hush !" said another. 
 
 *'Make way/' said a third. 
 
 " What in the name of fate," said the governor, «' is the meaning of all this ?' 
 
 " It's Claude Duval, sir," cried half a-dozen voices. 
 
 «' And all in pieces," added the beadle of Ealing, 
 
 MISS HOLLOWAY AIDS CLAUDE AND CICELY IN ESCAPING PfiOM THE BOARDINO SCHOOL. 
 
 "All in what?" 
 
 *' In pieces, sir ; it was Bailey's blunderbuss as did it. ' 
 
 ** Out with him," cried the governor. " Don't let us have any more of' this 
 nonsense. Out with him, my men, directly.*' 
 
 Thus urged, delay became insubordination, and the officers dragged the door of 
 the carriage open, when, to their astonishment, there appeared upon the step, in 
 
 No. 69.
 
 H6 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 the act of getting out, a personage of an appearance as widely different from Claude 
 Duval as anything could well be from another. Dismay, ming led with astonish- 
 ment, sat upon every countenance. The governor dropped th e light he carried, 
 and the beadU of Ealing dropped his staff, letting the little gilt crown at the top 
 of it come with an enormous dab upon the pavement. 
 
 *' Police !" said his lordship. Is there a constable here V 
 
 ** A constable ?" cried a dozen voice*. 
 
 " Yes, for 1 have some men to give into custody who have attempted my life, as 
 well as forcing me with them to this place, wherever it is." 
 
 He looked about him as he ipoke, and then the governor coming forward 
 said — 
 
 " Ah, this is another of Claude Duval's tricks. Pray, sir, who are you V 
 
 •« A peer of the realm." 
 
 Thi governor gave his head a slight jerk as he added— ' 
 
 *' Here's a pretty affair. Why, good God, how could you all be so stupid as to 
 bring this gentleman here, mistaking him for Claude Duyal?" 
 
 " We — we were told," stammered the beadle of Ealing. 
 
 "Told, by whom ?'^' 
 
 •' A very nice gentleman indeed, on Ealing Common, to Id us this was Claude 
 Duval in the carriage, and helped to fasten it up, so we came right on to town with 
 it." 
 
 " Oh, you dolts, I'd take my oath ffcu-t that nice gentlemati upon Ealing Common 
 was no other than Claude Duval himself.*' 
 
 The Hanwell party uttered a simultancon* groan, and then Bailey whispered to 
 anothef — 
 
 '* I say, the best thing for us all to do is to be off at once, before they have seen 
 eaongfh of us here to identify us. The officers are looking at us all as if they had 
 made up their minds to know us again if it were one hundred years hence.*' 
 
 They all found that they had made some egregious blunder, and the whispered 
 advice to be off went from mouth to mouth, and then, as with one word, they 
 turned their horses' heads from the door of the prison, and off they went as though 
 there was some handsome premium for him who would be first out of sight of its 
 old grey walls . 
 
 ******* 
 
 And now that we have disposed of his lordship and his captors, we are enabled 
 to return again to Claude, who it will be reeollected had dismounted and left his 
 horse in the care of Jack while he crossed a stile into a plantation verging upon 
 the common, to listen to some whispered conversation that was going on between 
 two men there. A feeling, which to hu^iseif he could not translate, seemed upon 
 this occasion to impel Claude forward for the express purpose of listening to the 
 conversation ol these two men, and carefully treading upon the grass and pushing 
 aside the thick growth of underwood from his path as he went, he soon gained a 
 convenient spot in the deep shadow of an alder tree> from which he could eatch every 
 word that was uttered by them. It would appear that one of the me.i was arguing 
 with the oilier respecting some circumstance which he felt much more confident 
 concerning, than did his companion. 
 
 ** You were always a timid slinking genius,*' said the one iri a tone of mingled 
 threatening and irony. *' Upon my word, I wondei- how I have continued lo keep 
 you about me so long." 
 
 ' •' Why, Mr. Sachory, I rather think," said the other, " I have been it times a 
 little useful to you." 
 
 " It is well you said a little,'" responded the other. 
 
 " Ah, well— well, we can't all expect to be so clever er so bold as yotf, yofl 
 know, sir." • 
 
 - Bah !" 
 
 ** Yes. Ball! sounds very well, but it don't alter the case a bit. I do think 
 I am at raid, and that's the fact— 1 can't help it. Perhaps it's foolish, perhaps it 
 ain't, but afraid I am."||.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 5i7 
 
 " And always will le," 
 
 " No, sir, not always. You know very well that in any quiet bit of roguery, 
 that only wanted lying, and a good face on the matter, and in which there was 
 no danger to life or limb, you have always been able to depend upon Sam Midge." 
 
 The other uttered an exclamation of contempt. 
 
 " But in this affliir," continued Sam, " I must confess I am rather out of 
 my element. Every man can do some things, but he can't do all things. Did 
 I ever scruple about an oath or any little piece of perjury, in the way of the pro- 
 fession ?" 
 
 "No— no." 
 
 " Well, then, don't get into a bluster, and be saying ' bah !' because I can't like 
 this sort of thing, which I say again is out of my line." 
 
 " But consider the reward. 1 have promised you no less a sum than £500 for 
 yourself." 
 
 " I have considered it. What do you suppose, sir, brings me here if I had not, 
 I should like to know ? He ! he ! he !" 
 
 Sam chuckled, as if he thought he had said ratlier a clever thing ; and after 
 the pause of about half a minute, the other added in^ a calmer and more friendly 
 voice — 
 
 " Well, Sam, we ought not to expect impossibilities. You are rather a fool, I 
 admit ; but yet you can do something well enough, and this, perhaps, as you 
 say, is rather out of your line." 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " Well, well. The reward makes it well worth trying, you know. I wonder 
 where the deuce the chaise is?" 
 
 "Ah, that Bob is always behind." 
 
 " Confound him. Now, Sam, I do hope that you will have face enough for this 
 business." 
 
 " Face enough ! Oh, if it's only that, sir, that's wanted, I shall be able to go 
 through with it famously, I can assure you. All I'm afraid of, is the consequence 
 if that highwayman fellow should ficd it all out, yon see." 
 
 *'Pho!— pho! How can he? You know that there would be no end of 
 squabbling about the reward, if more than ourselves were to be engaged in his 
 death.'' 
 
 " Yes, his death. Put him out of his troubles, sir, and then I shall be out of 
 mine, but not before.'' 
 
 **He shall die, you may depend. Fortunately, the reward is payable whether 
 he be taken to the authorities alive or d3ad, and as such is the case, I certainly 
 prefer taking him dead." 
 
 " So do I, sir — so do I." . 
 
 " Well, then, Sam, all you have to do is to take the letter to the house, and 
 get the young woman off mto the coach, and then we will send for him, and if 
 she can but be got to write to him, come he will." 
 
 "Good." 
 
 " And then he shall not be five minutes in the house before a bullet finds a 
 place in his skull." v ^. 
 
 " Good again," said Sam; *' and then my £500 is certain." 
 
 " Certain as if you had the amount in your pocket. Ah, Sam, I suppose you, 
 will leave your old master then J" 
 
 "Rather," said Sam. 
 
 " What on earth, thought Claude, '* can these two rascals be talking about ?" 
 
 " Weil," continued he who was the employer of the other, " well, if I don't 
 break that boy's head for not bringing the chaise sooner. You know the school well, 
 I suppose, Sam?" . c^m^ 
 
 " Oh, yes. There's no dog." 
 
 " Ah !" thought Claude, " it is another atterapt upon the school, is it?— What 
 on earth can these rascals be planning and plotting now, I wonder? Confound 
 them, I will thwart them yet." ^
 
 548 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 He considered for a few momenta as to what would be the best plan of pro- 
 cedure ; and then he thought that he could not do better than actually go to the 
 school at once, and boldly ask to see its proprietress, and put her upon her guard 
 regarding the danger that threatened her establishment, for although he had not 
 heard anything sufficiently explicit from the two men to know which young lady 
 was threatened, yet, of course, that could not materially matter, since the care of 
 the mistress of the establishment could be directed to all. He lingered yet a little 
 longer, with the faint hope of getting more accurate intelligence from the men ; 
 but they continued conversing in the same style, so that it would have been useless 
 for him to wait longer, and as for anything in the shape of retribution upon them 
 for their projected villany, he felt that that could easily be accomplished after he 
 had taken steps to warn the schoolmistress of the nature of the danger upon her 
 establishment, and cautioned her to take such steps as she might to guard those in 
 her care. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXVII. 
 
 THE YOUNG LADIKs' ACADEMI?. 
 
 There was one thing, however, that did puzzle Claude amazingly, and that wa», 
 how his capture could be in any possible way contingent upon the success of those 
 two men in getting a young lady from the school ; and yet they both spoke as if 
 that was a consequence necessarily arising from it, and by no means an extraor- 
 dinary accident. As he, Claude, went back to wl^ere he had left Jack with the 
 horses, he turned this part of the affair over in his mind, but without being able 
 to come to any conclusion concerning it. He was roused from the kind of reverie 
 into which that puzzle plunged him, by Jack calling in a menacing voice— 
 
 *f Who goes there ?" 
 
 " 'Tis I, Jack," said Claude. *' 'Tis I. I thought you knew my footstep." 
 
 *' It sounded Strang* to me. You were walking mueh slower than usual.'* 
 
 " I was in deep thought." 
 
 " Anything amiss, Claude?" asked Jack, in a tone of anxiety. 
 
 " I will tell you all I have heard, and you can draw your own conclusion,** 
 
 Claude then related to Jack the substance of the conversation that he had over- 
 heard between the two men, and when he had concluded he added — 
 
 *' Now, Jack, there is some mystery here, which I confess my utter inability to 
 unravel." 
 
 " It is a mystery indeed, Claude, which transcends my imagination. But what 
 do you intend doing ?" 
 
 *'In the first place, the proprietress of the school ought to be fully warned, upon 
 no pretence to part with one of her charges." 
 
 : " Yes, Claude. But there may be much danger to you, looking around this spot, 
 much more than either of us suspect. I would strongly advise that you ride off 
 at once, and house yourself at your friend's fa:m again, while I stay to finish this 
 adventure.'* 
 
 " No, Jack. No.* ' 
 
 ** Nay, the danger to you is a hundred-fold more than what it is to me !" 
 
 "Yes, Jack, that is true, but I cannot help feeling a something, which you may 
 call folly, or superstition, as you please, which urges me to pursue this adventure 
 personally ; I know not how it is, but a strange feeling of satisfaction is at my 
 heart to-night. T feel as though some great joy was impending over me ; and as 
 though Heaven, in its great goodness towards one, even so erring as I am, had 
 looked to my happiness especially.'* 
 
 ** You do surprise me, Claude." 
 
 " Not more than I surprise rnyself. But to you, Jack, I have no concealment, 
 and as I|have hesitated not to reflect upon you much of my repinings and melan- 
 
 — ^^' - ■ " = g.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD: 549 
 
 choly feelings, I feel that I ought to tell you when the light of a new beam of joy 
 irradiates my heart." 
 
 " You are right, Claude." 
 
 " I was sure you would say so. But now let us both come to the school, and 
 we will, at all events, put those whose duty it is to be careful of the trust reposed 
 in them, upon their guard. They must take care of their Igmbs, for wolves are 
 abroad." 
 
 Claude had mounted his horse, and now both be and Jack made their way to the 
 boarding school. This school, which, during the occurrences of that night occu- 
 pied so prominent a place in the thoughts and speculations ©f every one, was held in 
 what had once been a mansion of great splendour for its pei ioJ, but which, having 
 become unfashionable, had left the hands of the family that owned it, and was 
 taken for, perhaps, the only commercial purpose it was at all adapted for, namely, 
 a school. There were a pair of massive iron gates at its entrance, and the old 
 sculptured ones of the family, originally owning the place, still were to be seen in 
 bold relief upon the pediments. Beyond the gates was a carriage drive, which, 
 pursued either to the right or to the left, alike would lead to the house, which itself 
 was one of those old red-brick buildings of which some of the still remaining 
 mansions of the nobility in and about Londo i are tolerably fair specimens. The 
 heavy iron handle of a bell, which was at the top of the gates, hung on the right of 
 them, and it was to this that Claude appealed when he and Jack reached the 
 place. The peil was not a very loud one, for Claude did not wish that any one 
 but the inmates of the house should hear it, and he began to think that the reason 
 it was paid no attention to, was, that he had not rung loud enough, but Jack was 
 of a different opinion. 
 
 " We are apt to forget one thing," he said, " which in this case especially 
 ought to be taken into account." 
 
 "What is that, Jack?" 
 
 " The hour, Claude. To us, all hours of the night are alike, and we are so accus- 
 tomed to travelling on business by the light of the stars, that we are apt to forget 
 the babii3 and the predilections of what are called the regular portion of the com- 
 munity." 
 
 " That is true. What is the time, Jack V* 
 
 *« About two." 
 
 " No wonder, then, that we are denied admittance to a young ladies' boarding, 
 school. What shall we do ?'* 
 
 " It is absolutely necessary that we get admittance here. And I think it an 
 equally clear conclusion, that we sha'l never accomplish that by ringing. Now, 
 I will open the gate if you have no objection, and we will close it behind us 
 again." 
 
 " Do you think you can ?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes ; easily. These large locks offer no difficulties whatever. I shall 
 manage this one, no doubt, easily." 
 
 •'Do it then, Jack." 
 
 Jack dismounted, and while Claude held his horse by the bridle, he took from 
 his pocket a picklock, and in the course of a few moments forced back the bolt of 
 the gate lock. 
 
 •* Done," he said, as the ponderous gate yielded to a touch ; "come on, Claude. 
 We will find some convenient place to shelter our horses, and then we can go on 
 foot to the house, or, if you like it better, 1 will wait under these chesnut trees in 
 charge of the cattle." 
 
 " I think. Jack, that will be better.'* 
 
 ** Very well, only be as short a time gone as you can, Claude, lor after a little, 
 when I am not with you, I get full of all sorts of foolish fears, and so weak upon 
 my own imagination, that I am as wretched until I see you, as though there was 
 a strong probability that I should never do so again." , 
 
 « Be calm and confident, Jack, I will come back directly I have performed my 
 mission, and you know I cannot come to much risk among the young ladies.''
 
 650 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR 
 
 " I don't know anything of the sort,'* said Jack, with a faint laugh. *' Young 
 ladies are very dangerous personages." 
 
 Claude had dismounted, and smiling at Jack's fears, he made his way up the 
 well gravelled carriage road towards the house. The distance was short, but 
 when he reached the house he did not appear to be much nearer his object thaa 
 before, for the outer-door was firmly cios-d, and only a faint liglit was to be seen 
 along the second floor in what he supposed was the dormitory of the young ladies. 
 Claude was rather puzzled to know what to do. After some consideration, how- 
 ever, he said to himself— 
 
 " The absolute necessity of the case authorises me to dispense with ceremony. 
 The mistress of the establishment and her servants must be made aware of the 
 danger that is at hand, and which is none the less dangerous, that it is to be a piece 
 of craft, instead of violenc^. I will and must ring them up." 
 
 With this determination, Claude looked about for a bell, and finally found one. 
 There was an old fashioned knocker, too, upon the door, and for a moment or 
 two he hesitated whether he should not knock instead of ring, but he finally 
 determined upon the bell. 
 
 *' The sound of a knocker," he said, "is very alarminsc in the night, and as I 
 wish to perform ray mission as quietly as possible, the bell shall be the medium 
 of my communication with the inmates of this house." 
 
 Claude rung and rung, gently too, — for, after all, intractable a thing as a 
 bell may seem to be, yet a gentle and friendly ring may be given as well as a 
 gentle and fiiendly knock at a door. He then waited for about five minutes, but 
 net the slightest notice was taken of his application for admission, and he began 
 to fear that it was '* no use knocking at the door," and it was equally as inefllica- 
 cious toring at all. 
 
 " I must not be baulked by a trifling diflficulty,'* saidjClaude ; so he rang again, 
 louder than before. 
 
 This time the application was not quite so ineffectual, for a quantity of cold 
 water came down from aa upper window, and would have completely drenched 
 Claude, had he not adroitly escaped by jamming himself close up against the outer 
 door. A female voice then said — 
 
 *• Who's there, and what do you want ?* 
 
 " To reply to the last question first," said Claude, "and negatively — I do not 
 want a shower bath." 
 
 «' Who are you 1" 
 
 '* One about as much sinned against as sinning. It matters little who I am 
 or what the worM calls me. Let it suffice that I came here as a friend." 
 
 " We have no friends," said the voice ; — down went the window. 
 
 <' A strange notion," thought Claude. " 1 will ring again." 
 
 Tingle! tinje! went the bell; and then he heard from some back window a 
 watchman's rattle spring. 
 
 *' How fool sh," he said, "that they will not come and see what I want. I 
 must and will arouse them in some way.'' 
 
 He retired from the door, and looked up at the window, and it was well he did 
 so, for suddenly some large firearm was discharged through the door from the 
 inner side, and would undoubtedly have killed Claude if he had been in the way 
 of the bullets that came crashing through the panels of the door. 
 
 ••Take that," said a voice. 
 
 Then a chorus of screams came from the second floor, where Claude had seen the 
 faint light, and where he had no doubt the young ladies, who were so guarded by 
 cold water, rattles, and fire-arms, slept. 
 
 '* I will be quiet," thought Claude. " They will then fancy they have killed 
 some one, and probably come out." 
 
 He kept out of the way of the door, for he did not know what feeling might 
 possibly prompt a second discharge of the gun; but he was not so far off as to 
 hear a little dialogue that took place in the passage. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lee !" said a voice, " how could you ?" 
 
 SEI^Z
 
 LIFE ON T HE ROAD 661 
 
 " Mercy me ! I don't know. But I didn't think it would go off at that 
 end." 
 
 " But that is the thin end, and you know Mr, Delancey, the dancing master, 
 always said the thin end." 
 
 *' Oh — oh ! I thought he said the thick. Indeed I did. What a noise it did 
 make, to be sure. Oh, my nerves — my nerves." 
 
 *' But what — suppose somebody's killed ?" 
 
 " 1 can't help it. Indeed I can't help it. Miss Bundlecumup, if there be." 
 
 ** But a fellow creature ?" 
 
 *' No, mum ; don't call a fellow creature some housebreaker. An individual, if 
 you please, mum." 
 
 •♦ Well — but what shall we do ?" 
 
 ** Nothing, mum. There's a Providence above us, and we had much better leave 
 whoever is outside to it. Providence, you know, mum, is up at all hours, and it 
 will look after whoever is outside, if he sliould be shot." 
 
 This was rather a cold-blooded philosophy, and Claude resolved that he would 
 see how far ;t would go, so he uttered so horrid a groan that it reached the ears 
 of ail in the passage. It was echoed by a cry of surprise, and then some one 
 said — 
 
 " Oh, I shall faint away dead 1 What was that ?'' 
 
 " Nothing, mum, nothing. Only the night wind." 
 
 Claude groaned again, and then he heard something that made a clatter upon 
 the stone flooring of the hall thrown down, which he had no doubt was the gun, 
 and a scuffling of feet proclaimed that the whole party that had been there 
 assembled had taken to flight. 
 
 '* Confound their fears, muttered Claude : " what shall I do V 
 
 He took another long survey of the building, and then he thought he would 
 examine the back of it ; and he accordingly made his way through the garden 
 until he reached what was by far the most inviting aspect of the house, inasmuch 
 as it looked into a garden full of fruits and flowers. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXVIII. 
 
 Claude's adventure in the school. 
 
 A YOUNa moon was just peeping up from the horizon, and cast a pale mellow 
 light upon the beautiful vegetation of the garden and upon the windows of the 
 old house. Some tail trees were rendered beautiful as though their foliage was 
 of silver tissue, and the deep black saadows cast into some of the hollows of the 
 building, gave the whole place a much more picturesque appearance than it could 
 pretend to under the flaunting eye of day. 
 
 " A pleasant spot, truly," said Claude. 
 
 Not for long, however, did he continue to gaze upon the beauties of the garden 
 and of the building. He was upon other thoughts intent, the principal of which 
 was to find some mode of getting into the building, and so forcing its inmates to 
 feel and to recognise that he came upon a friendly errand. After a time he observed 
 a tree, the branches of which grew so close to some of the windows of the house, 
 that he considered he might easily effect an entrance by ics aid. , -^ 
 
 " I will try," he said. " Any farther eflforts on my part to procure an admit- 
 tance by the ordinary modes of ingress might ead m my death, for they are not 
 exceedingly scrupulous in the use of fire-arms, so, as in I must and will get, I can 
 only avail myself of the means placed at my disposal." 
 
 The tree had branches very low to the ground, so that the climbing part of the 
 affair was by no means difiicult, and in the course of a few moments, Claude 
 stood upon one of the window-sills at the back of the house. A touch sufficed to
 
 552 . GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 convince him that this window was open, or rather that it was not fastened. He 
 raised it, and sprang lightly into the room, to which it communicated. All was 
 pitch dark within, and for some few moments Claude was in considerable doubt 
 as to what sort of room he had thus got into. By degrees, however, his eyes be- 
 came more accustomed to the darkness, and he could see dimly about him. He 
 found that he was in a long narrow room in which there was a miscellaneous 
 assortment of goods of all descriptions, that made it look more like some second 
 or third rate broker's shop than anything else, and from which he could 
 deduce that he was in the spare or lumber room of the establishment. Of course, 
 it would not suit his views to remain in such a place as that, and, accordingly, after 
 cautiously walking about it, and ascertaining that there was but one door to it, he 
 emerged into a narrow passage. In this passage, where Claude Duval now found 
 himself, a number of cloaks and bonnets were hung, and there were some rout 
 seats along one of the walls. What could be the object of those seats, or where 
 the passage might lead to, was to him matters of mystery, but he slowly and care- 
 fully pursued it, treading as gently as foot could fall in his progress. After going 
 about thirty feet, he found that the passage terminated in a baize door, which was 
 quite destitute of lock, latch, or other fastening. It merely had a small handle by 
 which it might be opened. Claude hesitated, and listened, as well he might, for 
 he could not have the smallest idea as to where this door might lead him, but when 
 he came to consider that his motive for thus invading the privacy of that house 
 was a good one, he felt a degree of boldness that enabled him to proceed. When 
 we speak of boldness, as connected with Claude Duval, we do not, by any means, 
 allude to that physical courage which enabled him to dare all obstacles, and to 
 overcome them in the remarkable manner which we have often seen to be the case 
 during the progress of this narrative of his achievements, hut that moral courage 
 which enables a man to do what he feels would be unjustifiable were it not that 
 he had some reason, which, in its nature pietty sufficiently upheld him in the 
 action. In this instance, Claude was upon no marauding expedition— he aimed 
 at no man's^purs?, nor any maiden's^fears ; what he came foi was, to give warning 
 of danger, and those persons who had in the front of the house received him in so 
 uncourteous a fashion had to thank the indomitable resolution, that in the pursuit 
 of good or of evil, would not be turned aside by difficuliies, that he, Claude, did 
 not leave the boarding school to its fate. Gently he pulled back the baize-covered 
 door. It made not the slightest sound upon its hinges, but to his surprise, in- 
 stead of finding that it opened into a room, he saw, only two yards from it, another 
 door, the upper part of which was wholly of glass, and through which gleamed 
 a pale light. To pause, and hold his very breath for a moment, lest he should 
 give any alarm, where he would not wish to do so, was to Claude the wish and 
 will of a moment. All was still, and then, just as he was about to move a 
 step forward, he looked through the glass door, and he heard a voice say — 
 
 •* Oh, but Emma, what was it?" 
 
 *' I don't know. Let's all go to sleep," said another. " Perhaps it was Miss 
 Juker's beau that she met on the common.'' 
 
 ** Indeed, Miss Frimling, you are quite wrong," cried another, "you know you 
 would be very glad to have a beau yourself." 
 
 "I? I?" 
 
 *' Yes you ; and as for that, didn't you say the postman was good-looking." 
 
 ** Oh, gracious !" cried half a dozen voices at once. 
 
 Claude advanced a step, and peeped through the glass door, and he found as he 
 had begun to suspect, that he was an unobserved spectator of the dormitory of the 
 establishment. The room was a spacious one, and upon the chimney-piece a 
 night light was burning, which just cast sufficient illumination around it to prevent 
 the apartment being m positive darkness. The young ladies had of course been 
 alarmed by the noise of the discharge of the gun, and were busy forming con- 
 jectures as to the cause of it. 
 
 "I know it was Miss Williams," said one, <* that fired the gun. You know, 
 all of you, that she is very ill-tempered."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 553 
 
 '' Oh, very, very !" 
 
 r. w\i^ /"'°^' *'^^^ ^^^" ^°^^ "^^" coming to rob the house," said another. 
 .. J^ ' ,,^ ^'HPPose It wasn't, but only somebody coming to serenade us." 
 " Oh my," cried the whole in chorus. 
 *' Some Captain of the Guards," continued the young lady who had so success. 
 
 fully started the idea of the Serenade, *'and who has seen us all walking on 'the 
 common, and fallen desperately in love with all of us." 
 
 " Very likely. Nothing more likely I" cried all the others. *' He could not do 
 otherwise, and oh, if he be good-looking ?" 
 
 " Witii loves of mustachoes," added another. 
 
 "And curly hair.'*
 
 654 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " And such whiskers !" 
 
 "This won't do," thought Claude, "it's only a waste of time, besides a very 
 unfair thing for me to remain here.** 
 
 " Oh, what," said one, " if it were Claude Duval." 
 
 A general scream came from the whole.lot, and then they all eaid how terrified 
 they should be, anel yet how delighted. 
 
 " I have hpard," said one, '* that he always dances a minuet with any young 
 lady he meets, and kisses her three times." 
 
 *• Oh gracious, I should tell him to don't. But don't I wish he'd come in, and 
 frighten Miss Briggs, the old fright." 
 
 ••Ha, ha, ha! -ha, ha, ha !'• 
 
 *' So, ladies, said a harsh female voice, suddenly, as a door slamme^, '^ this 
 is the way you amuse yourselves, instead of goin^: to sleep as you ought to do ?" 
 
 Silence now reigned in the dormitory, unbroken save by the half suppressed 
 titters of some of the younger pupils ; and Miss Briggs, for it was none pther than 
 that lady herself, continued — 
 
 *' Really, young ladies, I am exceedingly obliged at finding that I ain so far 
 honoured as to be made a subject of your humprous remarks in my absetice. is 
 that you laughing, Miss Tomlins ?" 
 
 '• No, madam— He ! he I" 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Tppmlins, four of Witt's hymns learnt by heart to-mp^rrow 
 before dinner wiU pot be quite sq ^fi^itghable a matter as the occurrences of to- 
 night." 
 
 '•Oh, dear!" 
 
 " What did you say, l^m. LucQiiife^ t" 
 
 " Nothing, raa4ana.'* 
 
 " Very well, Mis^ Jiucpnube, ypvi will he so goo,^, ^r^^pfiQi;?, to learn a p|i|fe pf 
 Dr. Johnson's Dictionary by he{^r$, t^n^ repeat i\ wi^h yp\tF feet in the stocks a^d 
 the hackboard pn your sbpulders.*^ 
 
 This sentence struck disinay into the h^vla pf the culprits, and not one made 
 the ghost of a reiiiiarl?. They found that Miss Briggs had a frightful facility in 
 pitching upon any pffender, ^nd that her punj^l^ipents certainly inpieased in in- 
 tensity as she wept on, withoi^t regard to the f%^i qf wh^tfeer \%& pffences were 
 greater or smaller, .^^^^ 
 
 " Bother the old wpn^au l" said Claude to himself. 
 
 Miss Briggs having thus pitched right down ^poa tw^ pf the culprits in a 
 metaphorical point of view, waited until she found by the stillness in the dormitory 
 that she had struck terror into the whole flock, and thep i^ a stately inanner 
 she moved off, but before she left the room, she said— 
 
 * And, young ladies, as you hayc all been very seriously to blame — for ftp you^ig 
 lady, who is a real young lady, pould possibly be awake at this timfi of the 
 night — I shall give you all nothing hai bre?^d and treacle for dinner to-naorrow.'* 
 
 An unusual groan cao^e from t^e dorn^i^ory, under coveir P^ which Mis^ 9nggs 
 made her exit. 
 
 " Mieu !" said Claude, e:^ecutm^ a capital imitatioo of the ^y pf a cat. 
 
 The young ladies all burst into a peal of laughter, 
 
 ** It's the cat," said on?. "Puss! puss! pussl" 
 
 " Mieu !" said Claude again. *• Listen to me. Mieu !'^ 
 
 At the idea of the cat suddenly saying ''Listen to me !" the young U4i^4l were 
 petrified with astonibhrnent, and some of them uttered little sho^t |Qr^B|% of 
 dismay. 
 
 *' Listen to me," said Claude again in a curious squeaking voice. " Mieu ! you 
 shan't have bread and treacle. I'll speak to Miss Briggs and get you all oflF, that 
 I will. Good night, dears. Bless you all. Go to sleep." 
 
 Astonishment kept all the young ladies silent, and then an unknown dread took 
 possession of them all, and every head was popped under the bedclothes, while 
 Claude stepped gently away, and finding near at hand a staircase, descended it with 
 the hope of meeting with Miss Briggs, or some other authority of the seminary.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 555 
 
 At the foot of the staircase, Claiade found that there was the identical room from 
 which the gun had been fired that had produced such an amount of consternation 
 among the young ladies of the establishment. A hastily lighted candle was upon 
 a sideboard in this hall, and likewise from a doorway, which was partially open, 
 there streamed a light, and the sound of voices came upon Claude's attentive ear. 
 
 " Yes," he heard some olie say, "I will do it. I could not. Miss Briggs, go to 
 rest again to-night with the thought upon my mind that a human being might be 
 lying upon the very threshold of the house, wounded, and in want of help." 
 
 " But it may be a robber." 
 
 '• Robber or no robber, God made him, and we have sacred duties to perform." 
 
 "Well, Miss Holloway." said Miss Briggs, "I must say, that for a junior 
 governess, which you will be so good as to recollect you are, you certainly have 
 some very strange notions.'* 
 
 " I am quite aware, madam," said Miss Holloway, " that a junior teacher in this 
 establishment ought to be a mere machine, without feeling or sensation, beyond 
 what is just siitKcient to enable her to perform her duties." 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Holloway." 
 
 ** Yes, madam, but not having a'tained tb thai pitch of philosophy, I shall open 
 the front door, and see if any one be hurt." 
 
 *' And so we may have all our throats cut through you. I declare, if a man were 
 to cross the threshold of this house at this time of night, I would not give a pin for 
 my life. I should just at once say to him " 
 
 " What, madam V said Claude, stepping iiito the room ; " i*hat would you 
 say to him ? Pray go on, 1 will hear it at once, to save you the troilble of repeti- 
 tion." 
 
 Miss Briggs fell off her chair to the floor, where she sat in a State of incipient 
 hysterics. Miss Holloway looked very pale, but she spoke with tolerable firm- 
 ness, as she said — 
 
 " What is the meaning of this intrusion ? What want you here ?" 
 
 " Not to create the least alarm," said Claude. " I come upon an errand which, 
 when explained, will, I think, warrant, or at all events, excuse my presence." 
 
 These words were spoken in so gentle a tone of voice, and with such a suavity 
 of manner, that even Miss Briggs, alter clutching her throat several times con- 
 vulsively, partially recovered. 
 
 " Who are you ?" she said. 
 
 " A gentleman, madam, I hope.* 
 
 '• I am sure of it," said Miss Holloway. '* Speak, sir.'* 
 
 *' I come to warn you that an attempt will be made, by means of a forged letter 
 to get some young lady from this establishment to-night. I regret that m my 
 anxiety tb bring this news my motives were mistaken," 
 
 *' Mistaken !" cried Miss Briggs. 
 
 *' Yes, madam. Surely the discharge of a gun at me through the street door 
 before I was permitted to explain myself, was rather a serious and a hasty 
 mistake." 
 
 "But you are not hurt V said Mis<j Holloway. 
 
 'f No," said Claude, smiling, " 1 am rather lucky under such circumstances, 
 aud certainly have escaped without injury." 
 
 •'* Thank Heaven ! Oh, Miss Briggs, you see now what might have happened 
 from precipitancy." 
 
 '* I don't know that,'* laid Miss Briggs, gathering herself up from the floor ; 
 *' I don't know that." 
 
 " But you shall know it, my dear madam," said Claude, " before we part. It 
 will be my duty to convince you." 
 
 " But how can I be convinced ? In the first place, how did you get, into the 
 house?" 
 
 " Permit me, madam, to keep that little secret to myself for the pre^JeDt, as J 
 don't think you would exactly, like to take the same method, so it must be a matter 
 of but little interest to you."
 
 556 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Murder! Murder!" cried an elderly lady, ia a flannel dressing gown* 
 at this moment bursting into the room. ''What's it all about? Murder! 
 Murder !" 
 
 " It can't be worse, madam, than murder," said Claude. ** Allow me to hand 
 you a seat." 
 
 '* Who are you? who are you ?" cried the old lady. 
 
 " Hush !' said Claude. 
 
 A smart ring at the bell by the outer door came plainly upon the ear.s of the 
 whole party, end before any one could speak, it was sharply repeated. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXIX. 
 
 RETRIBUTION UPON EVIL DOERS. 
 
 " You hear," said Claude. 
 
 The whole party was as silent as the grave. 
 
 /' You hear," repeated Claude. 
 
 " Gracious ! what is it ?" 
 
 " Just what I tell you. A villain has some object — a base one, no doubt — in 
 getting from the protection of your roof one of the young ladies who reside here. 
 I am here to prevent him. Doubtless after this little explanation, I shall, at least, 
 have the privilege of being considered for the time as being a friend," 
 
 " But how do we know ?'* said the old lady. 
 
 *' Nay, madam, you will know. Hal" 
 
 The bell was rung again smartly. 
 
 " This must be attended to," said Miss Holloway. " If this gentleman will so far 
 oblige as to go to the door." 
 
 ** Dear me," said Miss Briggs, *•' some folks find out who is a gentleman, I 
 think, mighty quick." 
 
 " Yes, madam," said Claude. " It requires a lady to make that discovery with 
 any degree of certainty and despatch.*' 
 
 He slightly bowed to Miss Holloway to give point to the compliment, and Migs 
 Briggs, with a toss of her head, sailed into the passage, as though she fully in- 
 tended to answer the bell, but her courage failed her, and she came back again, 
 saying — 
 
 " I don't see why the servants should not open the door in preference to a 
 stranger doing so." 
 
 *' That is quite optional with you, ladies all," said Claude. ** But I make the 
 offer to do so, if you will permit me. If you, miss— (turning to Miss Holloway)— 
 and this other lady— (turning to the oU lady)— whose face much reminds me of 
 the celebrated Court beauty, the Countess of Salisbury, will permit me, 1 will 
 answer the door." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Miss Holloway. ^ ^ 
 
 *' And with all mine," said the old lady ; and then she added to Miss Holloway 
 — ** I think he's the handsomest and politest man 1 ever saw in all my life." 
 
 Miss Briggs, thus finding herself in a minority of one, said nothing, and Claude 
 at once left the room, and reached the street door just as the bell was rung again. 
 It was well secured, but as there was a light in the hall, he found no difficulty in 
 drawing back all the bolts, and removing the chains. It would appear as though 
 the person without heard this process going on, for no more ringing took place, 
 and when finally Claude opened the door wiue, keeping behind it himself, a voice 
 said — 
 
 «' Is this the school?'* 
 
 « Yes, sir," said Claude, capitally imitating a female voice. 
 
 <' Oh, very well." 
 
 A man immediately stepped into the passage, and as soon as he was far enough
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 557 
 
 in to permit its being done, Claude closed the door again, and commenced delibe- 
 rately doing up all the fastenings as they had been done before. This was a pro- 
 ceeding, particularly as it was accompanieJ by the sight of a man instead of a 
 woman, which gave some sort of a shock to the visitor, and he said quickly— 
 
 " Oh, I am not going to stay." 
 
 " Very likely," said Claude, ** but we always shut up." 
 
 "Oh— ah ! It's a mere custom." 
 
 " Exactly. It is not very likely we are going to keep you in a young lidies' 
 seminary. Walk in. This way." 
 
 The man, who was respectably enough attired, and who no doubt was the 
 attorney who had had so interesting a conversation with his clerk in the planta- 
 tion, followed Claude with some degree of trepidation in his countenance into the 
 parlour. The three ladies — we must in common courtesy call Miss Briggs a 
 lady — looked surprised, and Claude, as he closed the door, said in a clear voice — 
 
 " This gentleman has some business with you, ladies ; I think he is a lawyer by 
 h's looks.'* 
 
 The attorney started. 
 
 "Now, sir/' added Claude, " be as explanatory as you can, if you please, and 
 as brief as possible, for at this hour we are none of us mclined to occupy too much 
 time.'* 
 
 A faint suspicion that all was not right seemed to come over the mind of the 
 attorney, and yet when he took a second thought, he asked himself how it was 
 possible that any one could by any human possibility have found out his inten- 
 tions, and he spoke with some degree of boldness, as he said — 
 
 " A sick young lady is staying here," 
 
 '* Well, sir," said the old lady who had been so flattered by Claude telling her 
 she was like the countess. Well sir?" 
 
 *' Perhaps,'* said Miss HoUoway, *' perhaps you will mention the young lady by 
 name, of whom you come in quest V 
 
 " Oh, certainly,*' he said, *' the young lady is named Macquecn, and is a re- 
 lation to my old friend. Dr. Macqueen, in whose behalf I came here." 
 
 " Is that correct V said Claude. 
 
 "It is," replied Miss HoUoway. *'It is so far correct, but it is very strange 
 that Dr. Macquean should send a message to his niece, as we belie Ye the young 
 lady to be, at such a time of the night as this." 
 
 "He is very ill,** said the attorney. 
 
 *' Indeed ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and has been for some days." 
 
 "How strange, then, that he should write to us yesterday to ask if 'the young 
 lady wanted anything, and to let him know of her state of health from day to 
 day." 
 
 "Ah, how like him,'* said the attorney. 
 
 '* Like him, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, he is the last man to confess indisposition 'until it really becomes too 
 serious to conceal, and now that he is himself fully impressed with a belief that he 
 is dying, he of course at almost the last moment wishes to see his niece, to whom 
 he is most tenderly attached." 
 
 "And where does he reside?" said Claude. 
 
 *' At Winchester.'* 
 
 Claude staggered back, and had to hold by a chain for support, as that name 
 Winchester rung in his ears like a death knell. What a host of painful recol- 
 lections did it not bring to his mind. How gaunt and terrible arose that old 
 cathedral before his imagination, with all the scene of blood that had therein been 
 created to the detriment of his happiness in all time to come." ^ 
 
 " Horror ! horror !'* he gasped. 
 
 ♦• You are ill,'* said Miss HoUoway. 
 
 •'Gracious Heavens ! What's the matter with the politest man in the world,*', 
 said the old lady.
 
 558 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 "Ahem !" said Miss Briggs, "of course it means something." 
 
 " Yes, madam," said Claude, '* ir, means that although you are destitute bf 
 feeling, all are not in such a condition. This was but a passing pang, ladies, which 
 I could not wholly repress. It has gohe noW, and its 1 was before, I diii your 
 humble servant,'' 
 
 " Humph !" said the lawyer. 
 
 *'Well, sir," said Miss Holloway, to the altbrney, as she now and thed cast a 
 compassionate look at Claude, who she saw rtras suffering, although she knew not 
 from what cause. Well sir, and admitting that Miss Macqueed is here, what do 
 you wish to say to her. I may just incidentally mention, that in hfer state of health 
 this is a very io^proper hour at which to disturb her.'* 
 
 " Nothing," said the attorney, " but the extreme urgfency of the casfe would 
 jtistify it." 
 
 '« Then what dd you propose V* 
 
 " That this letter from her uncle should be handed to her, and then, of course, 
 I will wait her answer. If it be what I expect it will be, she will accoaipahy me 
 without delay, in a chaise that I have near at hand, until the Winchester mail 
 passes, in which we can proceed.'* 
 
 ** Impossible, sir." 
 
 " Why so, madam ?" . 
 
 "Such a journey, in the youiig lady's state 6F Hi^Jllthj Would be tiiil lb heir." 
 
 " Perhaps you will allow me lo dSbide, itidda'm 1" 
 
 *« Give me the letter." 
 
 The letter was with the m'd^ polite air in the world handed to Miss Holloway, 
 who. the moment she cast here)es upon it, said — 
 
 "This is not Dr. Macqueens's handwriting." . 
 
 " No, poor gentleman. Paralysis prevents him from moving his right hand. 1 
 wrote that at his dictation. Alas ! that so truly great and good a mau should not 
 be long for this world.** 
 
 •' Alas, indeed. Well, sir, Miss Marqueen, who is scarcely able to walk with- 
 out assisiance, shall see the letter, and it will be for heir own judgment, to decide 
 in this painful emergency, as to what is best to be done.** 
 
 **And I will wait outside—'* 
 
 '•No," said Claude, "inside, if you pleasfe." 
 
 " But— but— " 
 
 " I will take no denii.l, sir. Do you think, now, for die moment, that these 
 ladies would allow so dear a fiiend of their dear friend. Dr. Macqueen, to remain 
 outside V 
 
 The attorney bit his lips. 
 
 *'As you please,'* he said. **I am far— very far— from being insensible to 
 these little kind attentions, believe me, ladies ; and although your tame tiger here, 
 who, I suppose, is a footman in disguise, inay not have exactly the manners of 
 genteel society, yet if he serve you well, I miay well forgive him.*' 
 
 " How kind," said Claude. '* Mutual forgiveness, I think, sii", would be the 
 most agreeable thing in this case to you." 
 
 " What do you meani" 
 
 " Oh, nothing in the world that I will not stand to, belifeve rae.*' 
 
 Miss Holloway had left the room with the letter to Miss Macqueen,' the sick 
 young lady, and during her aosence Miss Briggs was anxious to do what her small 
 malice might be able to suggest to annoy Claude. Handing a seat to the attorneys 
 shesaid-^ 
 
 •* Pray be seated, sir. I do hot like to see A gentleman not treated coufteotisly." 
 
 "Thank you, madam." 
 
 " As for common people"— here she darted a killing look at Claude, wlio ohly 
 laughed — " as for common people, they are of no consequence, and can be lefi 
 standing." 
 
 ''You could not possibly utter a more true sentiment, madam." iaid Claudcj 
 *' and that is the reason why I have not oflfered you a seat before.*'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 659 
 
 Miss Briggs looked pins and needles, but before tin's small mass of words could 
 proceed any further, Miss Holloway came back, looking very pale, end with the 
 open letter in her hand which she had taken to the sick Miss Macqucen. The 
 attorney started from the seat with which he had been accommodated by the 
 despicable affected courtesy of Miss Briggs, and looked anxiously at Miss Hollo- 
 way, who said in a voice of emotion — 
 
 " She will attend you, sir." 
 
 The attorney looked triumphant, but Claude stepped forward, and ip a deep im- 
 passioned voice, said — 
 
 " No. This must not be. I have the very strongest and best of reasons to 
 believe that there is some gross deception in this matter, although what it exactly 
 is, I confess I am, up to the present time, rather puzzled to know/' 
 
 The attorney would have interrupted him, but Claude, in a voice that echoed 
 through the room, said — 
 
 *' Peace, sir! If you would consult your own safely you will be pleased lo 
 hear me out. Be warned in time, or the footman in disguise, as you were pleased 
 to call me, will read you a lesson that you will not forget to your dying day," 
 
 The attorney shrunk back aghast, 
 
 *• Call a constable," said Miss Briggs. 
 
 *' Presently, madam," said Claude. " There is time enough. I will take care 
 of all that. I say I have reason to suspect that some foul plot is in progress, and 
 I have come into this house for the protection of its inmates, and please God I 
 will protect them." 
 
 *'Sir, will it please you,*' said Miss Holloway, "'to— to read — this letter, and 
 yet, I hardly know " 
 
 " You feel that you are probably taking an unadvised step by asking me to 
 do so." 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then do not hand it to me, I pray you. I will try by some other means to 
 unmask villany." 
 
 ** Nay, then you shall read it, sir. As the friend of Miss Macqueen, 1 throw 
 myself upon your honour." 
 
 She handed the open letter to Claude, whose face as he read it became of an 
 ashy paleness. His limbs trembled — his hands convulsively clutched the paper, 
 and when he had concluded it, he uttered the exclamation of — 
 
 '' Great God !" 
 
 The letter which had produced such unwonted efifects upon Claude Duval, ran 
 as follows — 
 
 Winchester, 
 
 ** Mv Dear Madam.— Pray resign yourself for awhile to the protection of the 
 gentleman who will be the bearer of this letter. I am very ill indeed, and much 
 wish to see you before I die. I hope you are better, as my most ardent wish now, 
 from all that I have heard, is to place you once again in the hands of Claude Duval, 
 your husband. — Believe me t® be, my dear madam, vours faithfully, 
 
 John Macqueen." 
 
 Claude might well exhibit the strange symptoms he did, upon reading this to 
 him most extraordinary and incomprehensible epistle. He staggered towards the 
 do»r, and held by the back of a chair as in choking accents he spoke — 
 
 *' For the love of all that is good and merciful, tell me — »— " 
 
 He could proceed no further, and Miss Holloway coming up to him with 
 clasped hands, said — 
 
 " Oh, sir, say no more, I know all, and from that letter so do you ; but remember 
 that I confided to your honour." 
 
 " God bless you I" cried Claude, " where— where is-~is she ?" 
 
 ** You will not — you do not wish to see her?* 
 
 Claude sunk upon the chair close to which he was, and burst into teats. 
 
 *' Cicely — Cicely I* he gasped, ** my Cicely.'* 
 . , "Your — your — Cicely !" cried Miss Holloway. 
 
 *" ■ — • — ■ '■-a. -"■ ' «; " i j i T.mwnw». > l ujj a w I 11 ■ ^ ii m ^ — ' ' f*a >< • '— "• ~~
 
 560 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ** Your Cicely !" echoed the attorney. 
 
 ** Yea I" cried Claude, springing to his feet, " yes, my Cicely. Oh, joy ! Oh, 
 God, I would not give this raoaient to be made the emperor of the world, for now 
 I am assured that by some miracle she yet lives." 
 ^ " And— and you V* said Miss Holloway. ' '^ 
 
 ^ "I," he cried in a voice of thunder. *« Who should I be, but Claude Duval V 
 
 CHAPTER CXXX. 
 
 A MOMENT OP JOY. 
 
 The mention of that well-known and much dreaded name had very different 
 effects upon the persons present. The old lady looked as though she would faint. 
 Miss Holloway quietly sat down and sobbed ; and Miss Briggs, after finding she 
 could not get out of the room without passing in what she considered too close 
 proximity to Claude, made a futile attempt to get up the chimney, which only 
 resulted in her getting her head and face all over soot : the attorney looked like 
 a corpse ; and when Miss Briggs. upon retiring from the chimney, flung herself 
 upon him, and cried, " Oh, protect me," and covered his face with soot likewise, 
 they looked a remarkably fine pair. 
 
 *' Yes," added Claude, " I am Claude Duval." 
 
 " Fly— fly !*' said Miss Holloway. 
 
 " But not alone— where is she? — where — oh where ? I now begin to understand 
 it all. She lives ! — she lives ! Take me to her. Tell me where once again I may 
 look into those eyes, the brightness of which I thought quenched for ever. Where 
 is she — my Cicely — my heart's best treasure ?'* 
 
 No one seemed able to move to help him, and he made towards the door and 
 flinging it open rushed up the staircase, calling aloud as he went — 
 
 "Cicely— Cicely ! 'Tis I— 'tis I, Claude. Your own Claude. Speak 
 tome. I would barter life for the joy of once again hearing you pronounce my 
 name." 
 
 He reached a door which opposed his progress, to open it was the work of a 
 moment. Then another came in his way, and that too was opened, when, with- 
 out heeding where he was going to, he rushed at once into the young ladies' sleeping 
 room, calling loudly — 
 
 " My love ! my life ! Come to these arms !" 
 
 Now there were just twenty-two young ladies in that large dormitory, and as 
 they uttered two-and-twenty shrieks, the reader may imagine there was a tolerable 
 uproar. Then all the twenty-two heads were put under the bed-elothes, but as 
 curiosity to know what was going to happen next, could not be gratified by a 
 countenance of that state of things, the twenty-two heads popped out again, as if 
 by some species of machinery. Of course, the most interesting problem in the 
 world was, regarding who the ** Love" and the *' Life" was. 
 
 ♦' Where is she?" cried Claude, looking about him. 
 
 *• Not me," said one. 
 
 Twenty-two additional shrieks were raised, as they all thought that the intruder 
 was only looking about him for a few moments to see which of the lot he would 
 pounce upon, and declare to be the fair enslaver of his affections. Whether hopes 
 or fears were most predominant, we cannot take upon ourselves to say, but the 
 affair as regarded any personal consequences, was in a very few moments put an 
 end to, and the young ladies were witnesses to a scene that opened their eyes con- 
 siderably. It happened that at the further end of the domitory there was a little 
 door leading into a little chamber, that, by the kindness of Miss Holloway, had 
 been given up to Cicely, for Cicely it was, who was at the school to all intents
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 5G1 
 
 and purposes. How she came there will shortly be explained. The little door 
 was suddenly flung open, and certainly with far less show of weakness than might 
 have been expected. It was excitement lent her stricngth. Cicely came forth to 
 meet Claude Duval. She had heard his voice. In an instant she was in his 
 arms. 
 
 f« Claude! Claude!" 
 
 THE HALT AT THE FARM-HOUSE. 
 
 "Cicely! My Cicely!" 
 
 This was all that they for some time could say to each other, but the language 
 of love was eloquence itself, as Claude pressed numberless kirses on her lip u 
 
 <' Oh, Cicely," he at length found breath and heart to say. '* Tell me, Nearest 
 jind best, if this be a dream or reality V 
 
 fReal All real, Claude." 
 
 No, fh
 
 f 562 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " And you are well— quite well?" 
 
 " Ah, no. I am faint and weak. The wound is slow in healing, but this joyful 
 meeting will do more than all surgeons, ay, more than time itself, to restore me 
 to what T was again." 
 
 "Blessings on this joyous chance. Oh, how have I deserved such happiness ?" 
 
 ** And you are well, Claude ?" 
 
 " Well and happy. My Cicely, your eyes sparkle as of old, and there is a 
 something too of the old colour on your cheeks. Ah, dear one, if some angel, 
 but one short hour since, had told me I should see this sight, I might well have 
 been pardoned for doubting the messenger from Heaven !" 
 
 Again he kissed her lips, and one of the boarders,' who was in a distant corneri 
 ejaculated— 
 
 ** How nice !" 
 
 In an instant the twenty-two heads, with twenty-two faint screams, were hidden 
 under the leed-clothes, from which same retreat about half-a-dozen voices declared 
 how ashamed they were of a Miss Brcwn, such being the name of the young 
 lady who had given utterance to the candid opinion about the niceness. Claude 
 and Cicely, who, in the excess of their own joy had to tell, the truth, quite for- . 
 gotten that there were any spectators present, now looked around them, and Cicely 
 teeling that some explanation was required, said — 
 
 "Ladies, this is ray husband." 
 
 *'Lor, Miss Macqueen," said one, "you don't say so ?" 
 
 " Good looking, too," said another. 
 
 " Come away, Claude,'* said Cicely ; " we will net part rgain. These young 
 ladies have been all very — very kind to me since my residence here, the reasons 
 for which I will impart to you at greater leisure." 
 
 Claude advanced to the middle of the room, and with a smile upon his face, 
 he said, as he placed his hand gracefully upon his breast — 
 
 "Ladies, I wish I knew in what words to express to you the deep fe«ling of 
 gratitude that now swells my heart towards you all. God bless and preserve all 
 your pretty faces. I think I had better kiss you all round.*' 
 
 Twenty-two very faint screams indeed ensued upon this proposition being 
 made, and one young lady — it was that terrible Miss Brown— said— 
 
 " Tell us who you are ?" 
 
 *' I am afraid you will be shocked to hear," 
 
 f« No— no — no," cried all the twenty-two voices. 
 
 " Well, then, ladies,* added he, " I am Claude Duval, of whom you have'no 
 doubt heard, and if you choose to capture me, you will share a very handsome 
 reward among you.*' 
 
 At this moment Miss Briggs made her appearance in the room, with a counten- 
 ance looking like a newly opened cask of vinegar. 
 
 "Well, young ladies," she said, "if you are young ladies, which I begin very 
 much to doubt, I am truly astonished to see, and to hear you all, in your night- 
 dresses, and in bed too, speaking to a man. It's monstrous — monstrous !" 
 
 '* We couldn't help it," cried one. 
 
 " We are covered up," said another, " and most of our heads have been under 
 the clothes." 
 
 " He hasn't kissed us yet," said a third. 
 
 «' Besides,'' said Miss Brown, "he's very nice-looking.* 
 
 " Yes, yes," said all the twenty-two. 
 
 " And we can see him much better now you have brought your light. Miss 
 Briggs," added one, in a bantering tone. " What do you think of him, mem ?** 
 
 A shrill peal of laughter followed this sally, and Miss Briggs cried — 
 
 " If I only precisely knew the young lady who said that, I would drag her out 
 of bed at once and make a dreadful example of her. As it is, sir, you will be 
 pleased to walk out of this house at once ; and pray, do you knov? anything of 
 the key of the front door ? for the gentleman below can't wait any longer for Miss
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 5(53 
 
 Macqueen, and if she don't feel disposed to go with him, he is quite willing to go 
 without her." 
 
 " I have the key in my pocket,'' said Claude. 1 took care to see that the door 
 might be made fast in the inside, and suspectinp; a scoundrel, who is down stairs, 
 might wish to leave the house before be had my permission so to do, I took 
 the precaution of preventing him." 
 
 "But, sir " 
 
 *' Nay, madam, fee calm ; I will come down and speak to that person very 
 shortly. Cicely, do you think you could bear the fatigue of a ride on horse- 
 back for a few miles?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes. With you, Claude, anywhere." 
 
 "Upon my word," said Miss Briggs, "this is very pretty — very pretty 
 indeed, sir." 
 
 "If you allude to these young ladies, madam," said Claude, ^' I certainly 
 subscribe to your opinion. They are very pretty indeed, as you say ; I wish 
 that my regard for truth would permit me to pass the same compliment upon 
 you." 
 
 The twenty-two young ladies all laughed outright at this, so much did they 
 admire it; and Miss Brown actually sat up in bed. 
 
 *' I will now, Cicely, leave you. Get ready," whispered Claude, "and come 
 down stairs to the parlour as quickly as you possibly can ; Jack is in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of this place waiting for us.'' 
 
 " Yes, Claude, yes." 
 
 " Do not fret yourself by any undue haste. All is well." 
 
 He then turned to the young ladies, and said again — 
 
 " God bless you all. Good night; I shall never forget you all as long as I live, 
 and I hope, if you ever hear of me, that you will put the most gentle construction 
 upon all the sayings and doings of Claude Duual." 
 
 With this he moved to the door, which the terrified Briggs held open for him, 
 and made the best of his way dov/n the stairs to the parlour, where there were 
 waiting those who were not a little anxious, but from different motives, to know 
 what was going on above. When Claude reached the parlour he found it still 
 occupied by the attorney, Miss Holloway, and the old lady, whom he had succeeded 
 in prepossessing in his favour by a well-timed compliment. He at once addressed 
 himself to the attorney. 
 
 " Now, sir," he said, "explain yourself.'' 
 
 There was a something — an indescribable something, and yet a something to 
 be ftlt, seen, and trembled at about Claude's manner as he pronounced these words, 
 that made the lawyer tremble, and turn a shade paler than he was before. 
 
 " I am listening," added Claude. 
 
 " What — what do you mean, sir ?" 
 
 " I mean to ask yo'u what brought you here, I mean to give you one chance of 
 telling the truth. Do you understand me now ?" 
 
 It was as plain as the nose onhis face to the lawyer that Claude saw through the 
 whole transaction, and in this way wished him, the lawyer, to confess it. He 
 shook for a few moments, as one might suppose a prisoner at the bar to do t3efore 
 he says — "Guilty, my lord," anddou't very clearly know whether the fond confes- 
 sion will procure a mitigation of his sentence or not. j 
 
 *• Speak!" cried Claude, still more impatiently. " Speak !" \ 
 
 It was at this moment that a thundering knock came at the outer door of the j 
 house, and awakened echoes in every portion of the building by its tremendous and j 
 continued reverberations. i
 
 564 tJENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXT. 
 
 THE RACE THROUGH EALING. 
 
 This knock seemed as if it had fallen upon the heart of every one present. The 
 attorney sprang behind a chair. Miss Briggs gave a short scream. Miss Holloway 
 made two steps towards Claude, as though she would have said '' You can and will 
 protect me," while the old lady swooned outright. 
 
 Even Claude himself could not but start to hear that loud appeal to the knocker, 
 A feeling, however, that there might be personal danger — and, oh, how dear to 
 him LOW ^VN as personal safety ! now that he had once more found a tie to bind 
 him to life again — came over Claude ; and for all he knew, some imprudent domestic 
 might open the door to those without, and produce much mischief. With this 
 feeling strong upon him, he flew to the hall, and there found that he was only just 
 in time to prevent a tall scraggy servant from attempting the fastenings. Then 
 he recollected that he still had the key, without which the door could not be opened 
 safely, in his pocket, and he merely said — 
 
 " Begone. Touch the door at your peril." 
 
 The servant shrunk back dismayed, and the knock was at the moment repeated 
 with, if anything in the shape of a difference, more force than before. Claude 
 felt the necessity of coming to a parlej with those without, lest they should get 
 sufficiently impatient to adopt other means of entrance. He accordingly advanced 
 to the door and rapped at it with his knuckles on the inside panel, calling in a 
 loud voice — 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 " Open the door,'* said a voice, " or we will have it down in a few 
 moments." 
 
 ** But who are you V 
 
 *' That's no matter. Open the door." 
 
 ** My mistress says, that as this is a young ladies' school, she can't think of letting 
 the door be opened at this time of night. I'm llie gardener, you must know, and 
 am bound to protect the premises. Only tell me who you are, and what you want, 
 and I'll go and wake up missus and tell her at once, and if she says, then open 
 the door, Joseph, I'll open it."* 
 
 A whispered consultation now took place upon those outside, and at last another 
 voice than that which had previously spoken, said — 
 
 *• Tell your mistress that we are officers of the police, and that it is for the pro- 
 tection of her and Ler house that we come.'' 
 
 ** Oh, if that's it, gentlemen," said Claude, "Til go and have her woke up, 
 and tell her at once, that I will. Only you wait quiet a few moments — ril come 
 back as quick as I can. Is there thieves about, gentlemen ?" 
 
 <* Yes—yes.'* 
 
 ** Very well. Oh, what a twitter I am in to be sure.'* 
 
 <' Confound you — be quick, will youl'* 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen — yes." 
 
 Claude hoped that by all this delay he should have given Cicely time to get 
 ready to come down to the parlour and meet him, but she, poor thing, what with 
 the weakness she was still suffering from, and the agitation consequent upon 
 Claude's sudden and unexpected arrival at the school^ «as really unable to make 
 that expedition she would have wished, and she did not come down. Claude 
 made his way into the parlour again, where he found affairs just the same as when 
 he let. Turning to the lawyer, he said — 
 
 ' We shall meet again, sir, I have something much more important on hand just 
 now than the taking any revenge upon you for your share in to-night's transaction," 
 
 The attorney breathed more freely as he thought to himself — 
 " * If you catch me again in such a fix as this, I give vou leave to do what you 
 like.*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 565 
 
 Miss Holloway ventured an inquiry concerning the persons at the door, and 
 Claude said — 
 
 '* It is better that you should know as little of this night's proceedings as possible, 
 and that you should hold as little converse with me as may be. If I could get out 
 by the back of this house it would be well, but I do not ask you, miss, to com- 
 promise yourself by aiding me so to do." 
 
 These words were accompanied by a look, the t?anslation of which was — 
 '' Pray throw all the facilities you can in the way of my leaving by the back of the 
 house with Cicely, but do not seem to do so, for this lawyer is playing the spy 
 now with all the cunning in his power, and besides you will never hear the last 
 ofit from Miss Briggs, Miss Holloway quite understood this, and she said 
 coldly — 
 
 *' You have declared yourself to be Claude Duval, the well-known highwayman, 
 and therefore I cannot aid you." 
 
 She then left the room. Claude felt satisfied that he should now find every 
 facility for escape by the back of the house that Miss Holloway could throw in his 
 way, and he looked most anxiously for the appearance of Cicely, for he felt that 
 the patience of the officers at the door must very soon be completely exhausted. 
 While all this, then, was proceeding below, Cicely had rushed back into her little 
 chamber, and hastily opening a trunk that she had bean accommodated with, by the 
 kindness of Dr. Macqueen at Winchester, she took from it the male attire thai she 
 had worn upon the occasion of receiving her wound in the old cathedral. Her 
 idea was, that by dressing herself in that costume, she would make it much easier 
 for Claude to get away with her, and she accordingly began, in a very hurried 
 manner, to put on the various articles of clothing. No doubt she was much longer 
 thus attiring herself than she would have been in theapparelbelonging toher sex, 
 and which she was accustomed to, but at last she did succeed in completing roughly 
 her toilette, and then she ran hastily from the room into the young ladies* dormi- 
 tory, that being the only way by which she could readily reach the lower part of 
 the house. Now it at the moment, and in the excitement of all that had happen- 
 ed upon that eventful night, struck Cicely that the young ladies would not be at 
 all prepared to see her in male attire, and when a general scream saluted her as 
 she made her hurried appearance, she was perfectly astonished. Feeling, however, 
 that there was no time for any delays or explanations, she merely said — 
 
 ** Ladies, I thank you all for your kindness to me, and now bid you adieu — and 
 you. Miss Herbert, in particular, I " 
 
 " Murder !" cried Miss Herbert, as Cicely approached her bed. 
 
 " I will only give you one kiss, my dear girl, and then say farewell, perhaps for 
 ever, for you have been very kind to me." 
 
 *' No, I haven't," said Miss Herbert. "No, I haven't." 
 
 Cicely was in too great a state of agitation herself to notice particularly this 
 strange manner of Miss Herbert's, but rushing up to her, she clasped her in her 
 arms, and kissed her, adding — 
 
 *' God bless you — good bye all !' 
 
 She then opened the door, and made the best of her way down the staircase to 
 the parlour. 
 
 " Well, Miss Herbert," said one of the young ladies, ** so you have been 
 actually kissed?" 
 
 "And in bea, too," said another, 
 
 " But that handsome fellow that eame in here before,* said a third, " said he 
 would kiss us all round, but he didn't." 
 
 *• Oh, for shame, Miss Walker !" 
 
 " Well, but " 
 
 A general storm of indignation at Miss Walker now saved poor Miss Herbert 
 from the consequences of any further remarks upon the kissing she was obliged to 
 put up with, and we will leave the young ladies to settle their disputes as best they 
 can, while we again proceed to the parloar below. Claude's anxiety for th'e appear- 
 ance of Cicely was immense, and he was standing upon the threshold of the
 
 566 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 pfcrlour-door, wkick enabled him to command a view of the staircase at the 
 moment that she came hastily down. Before she could reach the hall, the officers 
 who had waited outside tbe door got beyond all ordinary patience, and knocked 
 again violently at the door. The sudden shock caused Cicely almost to fall; but 
 Claude, who knew her well in her disguise, flew forward and supported her in his 
 arms. 
 
 "Dearest and best !" he cried, " we must fly from here as quickly as possible. 
 Do you feel your strength equal to riding ?" 
 
 **0h! yes— yes, Clauds. But who is it that demands admittance here so 
 rudely ?*' 
 
 *' Eneiiies whom we will baffle yet." 
 *' Heaven protect us !" 
 
 "Amen I Come this way. Cicely. This leads to the back of the house, does 
 it not?" 
 " It does— it does, Claude !* 
 " One moment and I am with you.'* 
 
 He left Cicely an instant alone, while he went to the door of the parlour, and 
 extracting the key from the inside, he placed it in the lock on the outside, and in a 
 moment had locked in the attorney, Miss Briggs, and the old lady, who was still in 
 a state of syncope. 
 
 ** There," said Claude, " you are very good company for each other, and Id®n*t 
 think that the whole of you put together would have energy sufficient to break 
 down the door, so you will remaia prisoners until some one else does it for you." 
 
 He threw the key down in the hall in an obscure corner, and then clasping 
 Cicely round the waist with his left arm, he said — 
 ** Let those stop us who dare." 
 
 Bang! — bang!— bang! came heavy blows upon the front door, which the 
 officers now had made up their minds to burst open, and, strong as it was, it would 
 not probably be able to hold out long against men who would go so systematically 
 to work against it as they would. Claude and Cicely hurried along the hall, and 
 dashing open a pair of folding doors that divided it into two equal parts, they 
 came to that half of it that might be said to belong more particularly to the back 
 entrance, which was nearly as large and as available as the front. A slim female 
 figure darted from a side room, carrying a small hand lamp. 
 "Help," cn'ed Cicely, *' we are lost." 
 
 **No, no," said Claude, '* it is a friend. It is a young lady residing here, who 
 will befriend us." 
 
 *' Yes, it is I,'* said Miss HoUoway. " But is this really you, Cicely, as your 
 voice would have me to believe?" 
 
 " Oh yes, yes ; do not wondjer at this strange disguise. Imperious circumstances 
 forced it on me once before, and now it may aid us greatly. Can you, and will 
 you indeed aid us, dear Miss HoUoway ?" 
 
 "I will, ana I think I can. Did I not promise to do so, when shortly after you 
 came to this house you confided to me your sad story ?" 
 " Yes, oh yes, and from my heart I thanked you." 
 "This lady, then," said Claude, "knows all V 
 *• She does," 
 " And pities us ?" 
 
 *' From my soul I do," said Miss Holloway. " But do not mistake me, I pity .j 
 you for that you failed in leaving the mode of life that you have been so well gj 
 known in; I pity you that impediments so insurmountable were thrown in the way 
 of your leaving England ; but 1 have no morbid, and I think wicked sympathy, 
 with what you were, and I hope are not how — a highwayman." 
 
 " We will not quarrel, my dear young lady," said Claude, "about the manner 
 or the particular feelings with which you will do us a great kindness." 
 " God reward you," said Cicely. 
 •' This way," said Miss Holloway, *' this way. Forgive me, if even at such a
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 567 
 
 raomeni as this, for the sake ot' my own feelings, 1 vv^as forced to say what I have 
 said ; you will not find me the less a friend for my frankness." 
 
 "That I feel certain of," said Claude. 
 
 Miss Holloway had two keys in her hand, a large one and a small one ; with 
 the former she opened the house door that led into the large garden at the back, 
 and just as she did so, a loud clash at the front door proclainaed that the officers 
 had succeeded in breaking it open ; under cover of that crash. Miss Holloway 
 slammed shut the back-door. 
 
 "Take this key," she said to Claude, "quick—follow me!" 
 
 She fled on before them in the dim night light, for she had left the little lamp 
 she had been carrying in a niche in the hall, and Claude still more than half sup- 
 porting Cicely, rapidly pursued her. After traversing several garden paths, Miss 
 Holloway struck off to the left into one that led to a small door in the wall. There 
 she paused as she said — 
 
 *' The key you have fits it. Fly at once." 
 
 •* Oh, how can we thank you," said Cicely, while Claude was busy unlocking 
 the door. 
 
 *' By your immediate departure," replied Miss Holloway. 
 
 " I will not say thank you," said Claude, "for I could say no less for the most 
 trivial service. What you have done for us will sink deeply into both our hearts. 
 Adieu." 
 
 Miss Holloway moved her hand, and Claude and Cicely passed through a small 
 door iu the wall. At that moment there arose in the garden, quite close to the 
 house, a loud shouting of voices, and one above the rest cried — 
 
 •* This way, this way ; I know he has escaped at the back. Remember tke 
 reward. This way, men, this way." 
 
 "Ah 1" said Claude, *'so close are they on our track." 
 
 *'And we are lost," said Cicely. 
 
 *' Not so, dear one, not so. We are in danger, but far, I hope, from lost. Let 
 those who are weary of this world interrupt me now." 
 
 He carefully locked the door on the outside and placed the key in his pocket; 
 then taking a pistol in his right hand, while with his left he still supportea Cicely, 
 who was little able to endure fatigue, he walked slowly on. 
 
 *'If I could but find Jack," he said. 
 
 " Where is he, Claude ?" 
 
 "Close at hand. The discharge of a pistol would bring him to me. but it 
 would likewise act as a direction to our foes. We must look for him, the distance 
 is short." 
 
 *' Ha! ha I" cried a voice, " there he goes!" 
 
 Claude turned to where the voice came from, and there, perched upon the garden 
 wall, and tolerably plainly to be seen against rather a whitish patch of sky, vvas the 
 attorney who had been locked in the parlour. 
 
 •' There they go. Come on, come on. Recollect you get the reward if he is 
 taken alive or dead." 
 
 Claude levelled his pistol, there was a bright flash, and with a shriek the attorney 
 fell into the garden. 
 
 "There's your share of it, at all events," said Claude, "without any wording 
 or quarrelling about the amount. How do you like it .''* 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXIT. 
 
 A NEW FRIEND. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven, have you killed him ?" said Cicely. 
 ^* I should not wonder. A couple of slugs are rather hard of digestion, even to 
 a lawyer ; I should not have fired at him but for the latter part of his speech." 
 •*0h, God!" 
 "On, on, Cicely, there is no time for regrets. Recollect that these men would
 
 508 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 consider no death too cruel to put me lo^ for the sake of the gold that they would 
 divide as the price of my murder !" 
 
 " You are right, Claude, you are right. On their own heads be the consequences. 
 It was only my woman's nature that for a moment shrunk aghast at -death in any 
 shape, and inflicted by any one." 
 
 " Say no more, Cicely ; I kno w well, and can fully appreciate all that you must 
 feel. On, on." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, yes. Hush ! '* 
 
 •A whistle, clear, shrill, and distinct, came upon their ears. 
 
 " What is that ? * 
 
 " Jack. It is Jack's whistle." 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" 
 
 "Hold !" said a voice, and a man sprung upon Claude, and grappled him by 
 the throat. '• Whoever you are, you are my prisoner. Offer the least resistance, 
 and ]'ll soj)n put a stop to it." 
 
 '* Indeed," said Claude, *' who may you be ? Keep clear, Cicely, keep clear if 
 you lov e me and value my safety." 
 
 "Com e, come, ray friend, this won't do. I'll clap a pair of darbies on you in 
 a twinkling. I'm an officer." 
 
 " Really," said Claude. 
 
 *' Yes, my name is Foster." 
 
 *' Then, Mr. Foster, I siacerely advise you as a friend to take your hands off me, 
 for though 1 can say with Hamlet, that I am not splenetic or rash, yet I don't 
 approve of this sort of thing, or put up with it long. Be warned.*' 
 
 '• Oh, I dare say, you think you are a fine fallow." 
 
 The officer j-wiio had been placed at the back of the house as a kind of scout or 
 sentinel, actaually had not the smallest idea of who he had got hold of, but 
 commenced gra ppling with Claude to throw him. Upon this Claude seized him 
 with a grasp of iron, and after they had swayed to and fro for a few moments, 
 Claude flung him right over his shoulder on to his head. The officer lay without 
 sense or motion, and then a voice cried in friendly accents— 
 
 "Claude, Claude!" 
 
 *' Jack !"said Claude. " This way." 
 
 In another moment Jack with the two horses made his appearance, but when 
 he saw a third person he paused and said— 
 
 " A prisoner or a friend, Claude ?" 
 
 ** An old friend, Jack, it is Cicely.'' 
 
 "Cicely! Cicely!" 
 
 " Yes, Jack. The wounded, not the killed Cicely ; she is restored to me once 
 again. Oh, Jack, I am surrounded bv dangers, but I am so very — very happy." 
 
 " And I am bewildered," said Jack. " This is a dream !" 
 
 " No dieam, Jack. If it were, 1 for one should wish to awaken from it.' 
 
 " And 1 for another," said Jack. 
 
 " Now, Cicely," added Claude, "now, my Cicely, mount, and we will be off at 
 once. At least we will give our foes a gallop for it." 
 
 He easily lifted Cicely, and then sprung up behind her himself ; Jack mounted 
 at the same moment, but before they could stir from the spot, a rattling discharge 
 of pistols ensued, and Claude felt sensible that^ome bullets had passed in most 
 dangerous proximity to him and to Cicely. 
 
 "Speak— speak, dear one," said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, Claude, yes." 
 
 " Are you unhurt ?' 
 
 *' Perfectly." 
 
 " Jack, is all right ?" 
 
 " Right, Claude, right." 
 
 " Fire this from where the flashes came, and fire love.*' ' 
 
 Both Claude and Jack discharged a pistol in the direction he mentioned, and 
 then, before the officers— for nodoubt they who fired were oflice rs— had time to load
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 569 
 
 again, Claude and Jack were off and away over the heath. Jack kept very close 
 to Claude, so close that he could speak to him easily, and he now said with con- 
 siderable concern of manner«-- , .,. . J 
 
 "Have you a fixed destination, Claude, or are you merely riding on at random 
 to distance your pursuers ?" 
 
 TURPIN, CLAUDE, AND PARTY, SURROUNDED BY THEIR PURSUERS IN A FOREST DELL. 
 
 *'Not that Jack; I want to give them a good race, and then make a detour to 
 the left, and come upon the heath again. The safest place In the world now for 
 Cicely is that farm-house in which you and I have experienced so hospitable a 
 reception. Therefor a time, until her health is perfectly estabhshed. I know she 
 will be safe.'* , ^ 
 
 ♦* She will, Claude, if "
 
 570 . . GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 I — 
 
 I "If what, Jack?" 
 
 '* If she be a being of flesh and blood. '* 
 
 "Why, Jack, how can you doubt that. Is Cicely the first person in the world, 
 who, after a conflict, has been left for c^ead, and then only found out to be danger- 
 ously wounded, and eventually fully recovered? That, Jack, is the whole substan- 
 tial history of the case. Of course there are a thousand little minor details which 
 both you and 1 will be delighted to hear from the lips of Cicely, but that she is 
 here is a great fact. Jack, that I would not exchange for all ray hopes here and here- 
 after." 
 
 " lam satisfied," said Jack, "and well pleased too. Hark, Claude, do you hear 
 that ?" 
 
 " Yes, the sound of horses' feet upon the common. We shall be hotly pursued, 
 but our horses are fresh, and we are desperate, so come on. Jack. Woe to him 
 who shall have the fortune to come up with us in this race." 
 
 "There is much danger," said Cicely faintly. 
 
 *' Not so much to us as to our enemies. Cicely. Cheer up, dearest ; you speak 
 very low." 
 
 " Ah, Claude, I am not so strong as I would fain have made yoi and myself 
 believe. The wound was a very cruel one.*' 
 
 *< He who inflicted it has gone to his account,*' 
 
 "Alas ! alas! I fear that I shall be a clog upon your exar ions to escape those 
 enemies, that are even now pressing like blood-hounds on your track." 
 
 " No, Cicely, no. It is you who will give me strength, endurance, and that 
 species of desperatioji that regards all dangers as so many incentives to overcome 
 them. You are safe— quite safe.'* 
 
 He held Cicely round the waist with his left arm, while with the rigfht he grasped 
 the bridle and guided the horse. Jack now kept about twice a horse's length be- 
 hind, in order the better to listen to the foe, and to give Claude notice of his 
 progress, and so on they dashed to Ealing, The little common was soon traversed, 
 and they entered the village, then a much more rural spot than it is now. It 
 only consisted of a few cottages, and to the left of the road of a large white- 
 fronted house that had been a favourite residence of the Duchess of Marl- 
 borough, but which was burnt to the ground some years ago. At that time not a 
 soul was stirring in the little irregular street ol the village, and Claude dashed on 
 until he came to the junction of roads, one of which leads to Hanwell, and the 
 other right on through some straggling outskirts of the village to what is now called 
 Ealing Park. 
 
 " To the left !" cried Claude. '* To the left. Jack." 
 
 « Yes — yes. They are coming on, Claude. Ah! what is that V 
 
 "Starid!" cried a horseman, emerging from the Hanwell Road, followed by 
 some half dozen more well-mounted men. "Stand wheid you are or we fire." 
 
 "Fire away," said Claude. 
 
 As he spoke he suddenly wheeled his horse round, and toqlt a few steps in the 
 direction from which he had come. One pistol only was discharged at random. 
 Claude had still a loaded double-barrelled pistol handy, but he did not wish to fire 
 it at random. He had escaped the shot, but befQtc he could resume hia course 
 again, one of the horsemen quickly advanced and l*id hold of Cicely by \hfi arm. 
 
 "Surrender !" he said. *' You are overmatched, although you do r^de ^P^ble. 
 Surrender, I say." . ,,,,..,. 
 
 " Not yet," saiil Claude, as with a blow of the stock of the pistol he held m his 
 hand, he struck the man from his horse. « Forward, Jack, forward !" 
 *Claude's horse was a little alarmed at what was going on, and made a furious 
 plunge forward. If Claude had not been the aecomplished horseman he was, 
 that plunge would have unseated him, but as it was, it X)nly had the effect of 
 giving him a slight start of his foes, and at once allowing the horse a free rein, 
 off he went like the wind. Jack kept within a few pices of him. and what was 
 strange enough waa, that the horse of the man whom Claude had knocked down, 
 kept them company, rushing on by the side of Claude's horse as if it much enjoyed
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 571 
 
 the new societv into which it had got. The horsemen who had been pursuing 
 Claude across the heath, now effected a junction with those who had so inoppor- 
 tunely male their appearance from the Hanwell Road, and with a tacit under- 
 standing that they were all on the same errand, they joined in tiie chase with 
 abundance of good will. The superiority of both Claude's and Jack's steed?, 
 aided no doubt by a certain amount of tact in riding, which long practice and 
 abundant experience, under all conditions and circumstances, had given them, was 
 soon apparent, and if the chase had to be continued right on, without either party 
 having any help or aid with fresh cattle, no doubt could for a moment have been 
 entertained of the result — the pursuers, horses must hava broken down. Such, 
 however, was not the case, for in such a neighbourhood the probability was that 
 fresh parties would join the chase as it went on, so that Claude ran the risk of 
 finding new enemies in his path at intervals, without himself having any new 
 means of evading them, or of contesting with them. It was in this way that 
 some of the most celebrated knights of the road, notwiilistanding the manner in 
 which they were mounted, were run down, ai< it were. But it will be remembered 
 that Claude had no sort of intention of continuing an even race of such a descrip- 
 tion. His ohject was to turn to the left, and get back to the common as quickly 
 as possible, if he could but shake off his pursuers for a sufficient time to practise 
 the plan. Jack kept him steadily in view. He knew that Claude's acquaintance 
 with the neighbourhood was tolerably exact, and he was pleased to see him take 
 suddenly to a lane to the left, the umbrageous foliage of which rendered it quite 
 invisible to any one at that hour who had no previous knowledge of its existence, 
 
 *' Claude," said Jack. " One moment!" 
 
 *' What is it r 
 
 " Send the spare horse that is by your side, along the road. Who knows but 
 the clatter of his hoofs may deceive the enemy ?* 
 
 '* A good thought. Do it, Jack. I will breathe my horse a moment and wait 
 for you." 
 
 Jack led the steed of the fallen man a few paces up the road, and then giving it 
 a switch with his riding whip, he started off at a hard gallop. Inaualher moment 
 he was back to Claude. 
 
 *' Let us walk the horses u^ til we find we have occasion to put them to their 
 mettle again," said Claude. " If this succeeds, we can take our way leisurely 
 enough to Ealing Common." 
 
 The horses were now put to a fast walking pace, so that their feet made the 
 least possible noise upon the soft ground of the verdant lane they were traversing 
 beneath huge overhanging trees. 
 
 CHAPTER^CXXXin. 
 
 A STRAI^GE ADVENTVRE. 
 
 It would appear that, notwithstanding the great difference between the tread 
 of one horse and of three, the party in pursuit of Clr.ude and Jack was puzzled 
 when it reached the corner of the lane. A halt took place, and then, after some 
 conjectures and hypotheses had been started, one said — 
 
 '• I don't think there can be any difficulty about it. The fact is, we know 
 that Claude Duval had a companion, and they have separated, in order to 
 puzzle us." 
 
 " What shall we do, sir ?" 
 
 " Why the only thing we can do is to follow the example. One half of our 
 number must go down this lane, and the other half pursue the road, an4 don't 
 let us waste time about it." 
 
 This arrangement was quickly concluded. There was no choice in the matter, 
 for no one could have the smallest idea as to which of the routes the important
 
 572 • GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 personage they wished to capture had taken^ so they had equal chances. It did 
 5 1 so happen, however, that one of the boldest officers that the police of London 
 could boast of, headed the party that went down the lane. They had not pro- 
 ceeded far before Claude heard them, and he spoke to Jack at once — 
 
 *< They come. Jack. We must once more try the mettle of our steeds." 
 
 *' Do you think; Claude, if we were to draw up among the trees, there is any. 
 likelihood of their passing us ?" 
 
 " No, Jack, no. If they don't hear the horses' feet they will soon guess that 
 something of the sort is being tried on, and you may depend they would not come 
 down this lan3 at all if they did not feel pretty sure that one or both of us were 
 here." 
 
 ^ *' Come on then, Claude." 
 ^ '' Are your pistols ready ?'* 
 
 «* Quite, Claude, quite." 
 
 They at once dashed forward, and then the sound of their horses' feet came 
 clearly enough upon the ears of their pursuers, and acted as a powerful incentive 
 to their speed. 
 
 *' And all this,* said Cicely, *^is for me. Oh, Claude, I shall begin to think 
 that I am your evil genius." 
 
 *' Evil genius, Cicely. Oh, no. You are the only good genius I have ever met 
 with since I discarded the counsels of my poor sister, who did her utmost when 
 quite a girl to make me different from what I now am. Ah, 1 did not listen to 
 May then. Jack, keep in the middle of the lane. There is an ugly ditch on the 
 near side." 
 
 " Claude— Claude !" 
 
 «♦ What is it — what has happened ?" 
 
 "Who — who is that' character ?" 
 
 The voice of Jack it was that asked the question, but there wai so much dread 
 of a superstitious character mingled with it's tones that they were, in truth, hardly 
 recognisable. Claude was upon the point of asking him to what he alluded, when 
 to his astonishment, upon turning his eyes to the right, he saw within a few paces 
 of him, a mownted man galloping rather close under the trees, but keeping up 
 with him as easily as though the pace wferc nothing. Notwithstanding that the 
 night was by no means what might fairly be called a light one, yet, from having 
 been accustomed to it for some hours now, Claude could sec sufficiently well to 
 enable him to note with tolerable accuracy the stranger's appearance. He 
 was a plainly-dressed man, with a horseman's half-cloak on. His hat was pulled 
 rather close down over his forehead, and he wore high boots that shone in the dim 
 light as though some sort of metallic case was upon the tops of them. The horse 
 he lode was small and of great strength. It was, or by that light it looked to be, 
 coal black, and the action of the creature, although going at such great speed, was 
 so easy and so graceful, that hf d not Claude's situation induced him to keep a 
 wary eye upon this man, his whole attention would have devolved with delight 
 upon the steed. 
 
 " Claude ! Claude !" again cried Jack, •* for \he ove of Heaven, speak to 
 
 it." 
 
 " Hilloa !" said Claude. "You can pass on, sir." 
 
 The stranger made no reply, and Claude himself could not help at the moment 
 feeling, something akin to the superstitious terrors of Jack creeping over his mind 
 as he looked at that solemn man and horse ghding along by his side like the wind. 
 The hor«e, too, although the pace he went at was one that might have warranted as 
 much, did not make the smallest sound indicative of distress or of exertion ; but 
 like a thing of air, on it flew, keeping neck to neck with his own good steed, which 
 at times dashed the foam from its mouth. Jack had greatly contributed to this 
 strange feeling by calling the strange horseman ** it," as though he could come to 
 no other conclusion than that the appearance was something not mortal. But this 
 was a state of things that could not go on, and Claude, whatever might be hiy 
 momentary feelings or sensations, was notaman likely to yield beyond the passing
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 573 
 
 moment to any superstitious fears. He felt the necessity of forcing the stranger 
 to something like communication, and therefore, he said, iu a clear voice— 
 " If you are a friend, say so. If an enemy, I defy yon." 
 "Do you expect to find friends by the hedge-side, Claude DuVdl?'* said the 
 stranger, in a clear voice. 
 
 ** Ah, you know me !" 
 
 "Why, by report, but not at all personally. Hcpe we shall be better ac- 
 quainted though. They are hard upon your back.'* 
 
 "Your friends, I suppose?" 
 
 " Nonsense ; I never aspired to the luxury of having a frieni ; but you 
 certainly have Jack there. How are you. Jack V* 
 
 " Good God 1' groaned Jack. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Jack, you were one too many for the gallows, you were. May ^vo 
 all have such luck !" 
 
 "In plain language," cried Claude, passionately, " who the devil are you ? 
 You say you have known me well by report, and if you have, you have heard 
 among other trifles that I am not a man to be played with. Speak at once to the 
 purpose, and say who you are, and what, in the name of all that's abominable, do 
 you want with me ?" 
 
 " Humph !" said the stranger, with the most provoking indifference of tone 
 and manner. 
 
 This was much more than such flesh and blood as Claude Duval was capable 
 of bearing, and suddenly wheeling round his horses' head in the direction of the 
 stranger, he raised his hand, but ere he could grapple with the man who had so 
 angered him. He too wheeled his horse round, so that he was out of reach, and 
 he said — 
 
 " Is this the way to save yourself, Claude Duval? Is it wise to get into a 
 brawl with the first stranger you meet ?" 
 
 "The consequences be upon your own head !" cried Claude. 
 
 " Nay, they will fall upon yours — hush ! If you remain here, and count twenty 
 slowly, your pursuers will be upon you. Now, take my advice." 
 
 " Your advice ?" 
 
 " Yes, wiser folks have taken it before to-day. Don't be angry, but trot after 
 me until I tell you to stop. Then we can give them a volley when they ar< 
 within pistol-shot of us, which I think will discomfit them sufficiently to enable 
 me to show you how to elude them altogether." 
 
 "Dare I trust you?" 
 
 " That is a subject entirely for your own consideration, Claude Duval. If yoi; 
 say no, I am off again as silently as I came, and there is no harm done. If yoii 
 say yes, you cannot say it too soon." 
 
 " Yes," cried Claude. 
 
 "Follow, then." 
 
 At two bounds the stranger's horse placed some thirty feet of ground between 
 him and Claude, and then, at such a swift trot that lew steed* could have come 
 near it at a hand gallop, off they went. Claude had made up his m^ nd to trust to th c 
 mysterious stranger, an I Jack said not a word. Cicely, too, wag silent, and so 
 they pursued their way, while upon the night air came the furious beating of the 
 horses' hoois of those who pursued them. Suddenly the straog«r paused. 
 
 " Halt !" 
 
 Claude immediately drew rein. 
 
 •' The scoundrels want to kill you,*' he said to Claude, " but we will foil them 
 at that game. It shall be dangercdis to set a price upon any man's head in such a j 
 manner. Have you a pistol ready V \ 
 
 "Yet." ' "^ . I 
 
 "Then blaze away when I say < Fire !' and then, without any further troubling 
 yourself, follow me." 
 
 **Iwill." 
 "Fire!"
 
 57i: GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 Bang ! went the three pistols, 'or Jack fired likewise. A scene of con'usion en- 
 sued, during which Claude and Jack followed their new friend through agate into 
 a farm. yard. The gate was closed again on the moment by soine unieeii agency, 
 and the i tht ttrahger, in a low voice, said — 
 
 •' Hush : Not a word, as you value your lives. Leave another to speak for you 
 now." 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXIV. 
 
 A CURIOUS REVBtiATION. 
 
 Both Claude and Jack found themselyes not a little puzzled by the whole of this 
 procedure. It was so entirely out of the common way, that they could form no 
 rational conjecture concerning it. Cicely, no d«ubt, was not the least surprised 
 of the party. No doubt she was the most alarmed, not for her own sake, but for 
 the Sike of those who were so dear to her. Wc »ay those, because we feel that by 
 this time no one could appreciate more fully than she (Cicely) did tke noble devo- 
 tion of Jack to Claude, and the value of those services which were partly the ser- 
 vices of honest affection. 
 
 "Claude," she whispered, "what will be the e«d of all this?'*| 
 
 " No matter, Cicely," he replied, ** so that in its progress there is so much joy." 
 
 "Joy ?" 
 
 *' Yes. Are you not with me ?" 
 
 A silent pressure of the hand was the only reply that Cicely could give to this 
 sentiment, uttered at a moment of such great danger, that it sufficiently showed 
 how very dear she was to him. It would appear that the unknown friend who 
 had brought them into the farm-yard overheard them talking, for he admonished 
 them to si ence by a startling — 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 They were immediately profoundly still, far they felt how little, il ar^y right 
 they now had, after accepting of his guidance, to endanger probably his safety, by 
 disputing his wishes in any particular. 
 
 it was soon manifest that, notwithstanding the rather uncomfortable repulse 
 that the officers had met witli, they did not intend to relinquish the pursuit easily. 
 The sound of their horses' feet sounded sharply on the road. 
 
 ♦* Follow !'' said Claude's new friend. 
 
 By the dim light they saw him make for a large barn, a little to the right of 
 the entrance to the farm-yard. By the fluster of garments of some one who stood 
 there, they could see that some female was lending as muqh assistance as she 
 could to the party. This female, whoever she wae, opened the barn door, and in 
 another moment they all rode in, and the door was closed. The darkness now 
 in the barn was most intense. Indeed, it was that kind of darkness that novelists 
 declare may be felt ; but as we never found any place quite so dark as that, and 
 as we are writing a veracious history, and not a novel, we can only say that 
 the darkness in the barn was such that you could not see your hand before your 
 face. 
 
 **Do not any of you speak again,", said their new friend. ♦* Leave all to me, 
 and the best that can be done shall be done," 
 
 •* We have faith," said Claude. 
 
 The barn-door was opened a short distance and then rapidly closed again. This 
 was merely done for the purpose of allowing the stranger to pass otit. Claude and 
 his party were, however, so near the high-road, that, if anything in the shape of a 
 parley should take place, they could not fail of hearing every word of it. The 
 situation was decidedly an uncomfortable one. They heard the sound of horses' 
 feet suddenly cease, and then a voice cried in imperative accents— 
 
 "Halt! Hilloal House here."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 675 
 
 •* Hes,** said some one, ■' what wur it ?" 
 
 *• Have you seen anybody pass here, my friend ?" said the same voice that had 
 had cried "halt !'* 
 
 *' Ees," replied the other, " three men on 'osses. They went on fast enow, an;l 
 nearly rode over me, 'cos, you see, I went to see what kind o' night it was." 
 
 " And they went on?'* 
 
 " Ees." 
 
 ** Thank you— -Come on, comrades, we shall soon have them. They can't bo far 
 a head of us, now. How do you get on with your wound, Daviea — can you ride 
 farther?" 
 
 *' Oh yes — yes." 
 
 Away they went as hard as they could tear, helter skelter, and Claude began to 
 think the danger was past, but in this he was soon undeceived, for a loud strange 
 voice cried suddenly — 
 
 *' What is all this about? I heard somebody — padlock the gate, boy, and this 
 'un ; andcal/ Gregory ; Tm sure some one is on the farm. Fetch me my gun — Stay, 
 no. — Call Gregory, I'll get the gun !" 
 
 Thsre was a scuffling of feet, and then the barn-door was opened again and 
 Claude's new friend popped in his head, saying — 
 
 *'„The officers have passed now." 
 
 •* Then," said Claude, " I suppose we had better be off?" 
 
 " No.— No." 
 
 " Think you not ?" 
 
 " No. The officers upon not finding you, or any traces of you, a little further 
 on, may retrace their steps again, and then a meeting would be perhaps something 
 more than troublesome." 
 
 " What do you advise ?" 
 
 *' That you stay here. The man who ketps this farm is no friend, and proba- 
 bly might be mischievous, so he must be duped as to the character of his guests. 
 We will pass ourselves upon him for the officers. Come out of the barn. He 
 will return d|rectly." 
 
 " But you have a friend here," said Claude. 
 
 "Yes. The gate was opened by such. That friend, however, is not the master 
 of the house." 
 
 The little party now emerged from the barn, and then the new friend of Claude 
 Duval called out in a loud voice — 
 
 "Hillaa! hilloa I Whose place is this? Is any one here? In the king'» 
 name, 1 demand assistance. Hilloa! hilloa!" 
 
 Lights flashed across the yard, and then the farmer^ who had been for his gun, 
 called out — 
 
 " What's all this racket about ? Who be ye ? I'll make a hole in thy carcass, 
 danged if I don't." 
 
 " Then you shall be hung on your own gate-poat, my friend." 
 
 " Eh ?" 
 
 **Hung on your own gate-post, I said. We are officers of police, and if you 
 make a fool of yourself, by any resistance to us, you will soon hear of it from the 
 County Magistracy." 
 
 "Why did thee not say that afore," added the man, in a very mild sort of tone. 
 ** How be I to know? If so be, as you be officers, I'm sure I don't want to 
 interfere. Bring a light, Gregory, and show the gentlemen into the house." 
 
 *' Come on," whispered Claude's new and mysterious acquaintance to him- 
 Come on, our only chance is to deceive this old curmudgeon, and if the officers 
 should come back, we can, I think, stand a siege in this place for some time." 
 
 Claude trotted his horse along the yard until they came to the porch of the 
 farm-house, which was one of those ancient looking structures that are fast dis- 
 j^ppearing from the face of the land. A half-wild lookiag boy stood there with a 
 lanthorn in his hand, and by his side was the farmer, an old crabbed-looking
 
 576 GENTLEMAN JACK; 
 
 man, with dirty grey hair, and a face scored and puckered up into aucb a number 
 of wrinkles, that it looked like some wonderfully intricate piece of network, 
 
 ** Well, gentlemen," he said, " walk in. What be the matter?'' 
 
 •' We are after the celebrated highwayman/ Claude Duval,'' said the stranger. 
 
 ** Dang it, don't I wish you could nab he." 
 
 *• Indeed l" 
 
 " Yes. Oh, I hate he."' 
 
 " I will get you,'* said Claude^ as he dismounted, and carefully helped Cicely 
 from the saddle, *' to be so good as to tell us the reason of that hatred, Mr, 
 Farmer." 
 
 «0h, ye?.< rni tell a-But— but— who " 
 
 He was looking curiously at Cicely, and Claude felt it was quite necessary to 
 say something to account for her delicate and debilitated appearance. 
 
 "This is a^oung gentleman," he said, "who was attacked by Claude Duval, 
 and got hurt. We found him on the road, and, being bound to give him all the 
 help we could, I put him on my horse." 
 
 *• Ah !" said the farmer, shaking his head, " what a wagabone that highwayman 
 fellow is. But there's an odd report about to-night, I can tell you.*' 
 
 "An odd report ? What mean you ? '' 
 
 " Why, one of my men, who has come from Southall Market, says that Dick 
 Turpin " 
 
 *' Dick Turpin, the highwayman ?" cried Claude. 
 
 ♦' The very man. That he was seen last night in the neighbourhood on his black 
 mare.'* 
 
 *' I thought he never carae so near London," said Claude. 
 
 "Sometimes," said Jack. '''Don't you recollect his robbing Colonel Wood, 
 near Croydon V* 
 
 " Oh, yes— yes. I heard of that." 
 
 " Gregory— 'Gregory. Take the osses," said the farmer. 
 
 A great hulking countryman approached, rubbing his eyes— for he had been, to 
 his manifest discomfiture, awakened from a sound sleep, in a barn clos? at hand, 
 the straw from which was sticking in a very picturesque way all about his hair 
 and face. 
 
 " Ees, master, ees." 
 
 " Our stay here will be so short," said Claude's new friend, **that we will not 
 trouble any one with our horses. Our friend here will look to them.'* 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, seeing that he was appealed to. *' Yes, I prefer waiting 
 here with the horses, and if this Mr. Gregory will bring some hay and a liule 
 water, it is all we shall want for the cattle." 
 
 " Oh, yes— yes !" cried the farmer, who was delighted at the idea that a feed of 
 corn for each of the horses was not required. •' Oh, yes — yes, all's right. That 
 will do. You attend to he, Gregory." 
 
 " Efs, master. Ees." 
 
 Claude, with Cicely upon his arm, and their new friend following cloie behind, 
 entered the farm-house. The knowledge "that Jack remained behind with the 
 horses, was a great thing towards the feeling of security that was so essential to 
 the-r comfortable stay for any time in the farm-house, and so they all went into a 
 room that was called the best parlour, and a couple of candles were lighted. 
 
 *' Now, what will you have ?" said the farmer. 
 
 "First of all," said Claude's new acquaintance, ** who is in the house besides 
 yourself and Gregory, and the boy ?" 
 
 " Only my deaf housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, and she's a-bed long ago, she 
 be,* 
 
 " Well, tell this gentleman why you hate Claude Dural." 
 
 '« Why, you see, he stopped me one night, and took £10 from me, and gav* 
 'em to an old man as I'd turned away from my farm, cos why, he was past all 
 sort of work, and what use was he to me ? I never could catch the old man 
 arlerards, or wouldn't I a persecuted him — ah, wouldn*t I,"
 
 IK 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 577 
 
 A shrill whistle at this moment sounded from without. 
 " That's Jack's whistle," said Claude. , 
 
 *' Ah ! Then they are returning." 
 ** I'll go and see," said the farmer, I'll — — " 
 
 **No, my friend/* said the stranger, " you will not trouble yourself to do any 
 such thing.— -Permit me-^—" 
 
 SURPRISE OF CLAUDE'S PURSUERS ON FINDING THE OFFICER SHOT BY DICK TURPIN. 
 
 '* What— what ." 
 
 The stranger took a rope from his pocket and began to tie the farmer's hands 
 behind him, and as he did so, he said — 
 
 " This gentleman that you see there, iA the boots, is Claude Duval, The gen- 
 tleman there in the shoes is a friend of his. The gentleman outside is another, 
 
 nnr! wp mpnn tn \\n\(\ vmir.farm to-ni»ht atralnst all ComerS."
 
 578 GENTLEMAN JACK •, OR, 
 
 "And who be you?'* said the farmer, his teeth chattering with terror as he 
 spoke. 
 
 "I'm Tom Smith." 
 
 The farmer looked about him with a bewildered air ; and when Tom Smith, as 
 he chose to call himself, opened suddenly the lid of one of the old-fashioned win- 
 dow seats, which were made of about the size of large trunks, and said — 
 
 " Oblige me by stepping in here — " 
 * He gave a howl of terror. Tom Smith took a pistol from his pocket and cooly 
 shook the priming- Before, t^en, he could proceed further in his pretended pro- 
 position of shooting him, the farmer sprung into the window-box with the greatest 
 agility. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXIV. 
 
 SOUTHALL FAIR. 
 
 WuiLE this little piece of comedy Was going on, Claude and Cicely looked on 
 with deep interest, ami at its conclusion Claude said — 
 *' What do you propose ?" 
 
 " Listen to me," said Smith. "The fact is, that in a neighbourhood like this, 
 and with a sick person, your only chance in the world is to throw the officers off 
 the scent — to take to flight, encumbered as you are, will not do. Besides, 
 if you were to stop ^o fight them, you could not kill enough of them to ensure 
 your safety. 1 think, therefore, the best way will be to hold out here for a time, 
 until we can send them off on a wrong scent, or play them some trick that may show 
 itself as we go on. You hear that the house, now we have stowed away the 
 farmer, is nearly untenanted, so what is to hinder us from taking possession of it, | 
 and playing the part of owners of it ? I have one friend on the premises who ! 
 will help us." j 
 
 *• I like the plan," said Claude ; " however, it will afford my youQg friend, ; 
 here, an opportunity to lie down a little.*' . j 
 
 " Certainly." | 
 
 Another sharp whistle from without showed that Jack felt that there was • 
 cause for alarm. I 
 
 " Go," s^id Smith to Claude. " Go, and let the cattle be ptit in stable, and bring ' 
 your friend here." 
 " I will." I 
 
 "Oh, Claude, will you leave me ?"' said Cicely, in a low voice. *' Will you let i 
 me be out of your sight again, now that we have, after so many dangers^ met ?" 
 ** Do you mistrust me V said Smith. 
 " Oh, no— no. But—-'* 
 
 •' If you did, it is only natural that you should do so. Wait one moment.'' 
 He went to the door'and called aloud. '*Ann ! — Anr !" and a young woman, ' 
 with some degree of alarm depicted on her eountenancey made her appearance. 
 
 *' Ann," said Smith, " this lady wishes to rest a little. Do not be alarmed, A 
 lady she is." 
 
 *' You know the secret ?'* said Claude. 
 
 " No further than that this is a lady you have with you, that is aH. And now • 
 you can ask Ann, who is the only female in this house, except the old deaf house- 
 keeper, if I can be trusted." 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes," said Ann, anticipating the question. " I, and all who are 
 dear to me have much need to bless you, sir.'* 
 
 "Are you satisfied, Cicely ?'* said Claude. *' There is truch in those ton€s, is 
 there not V 
 
 »' Yes, Claude. Go— go." 
 
 Claude at-once left the room to go and speak to Jack, and Cicely, in company
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD: .j 679 
 
 with Ann, proceeded up stairs, but not before Tom Smith had given Ann some 
 whispered instructions, to which she replied — 
 
 "Oh, yes, certainly, Mr. Dome. Certainly, sir, in a few minutes." 
 ** Don't hurry,*' said Tom Smith, who was, we see, named Dome by Ann. 
 When Claude got outside, he found Jack in no little trepidation to see him. 
 " I thought," he said, •* you would never come out, Claude. Don't you hear 
 the officers coming up the lane ?" 
 
 Claude listened, and heard both the sound of voice?, and the tramp of horses' 
 feet. 
 
 " Yes, Jack," he replied. "But our safety is here." He then told him what 
 had been determintted upon within the house, and afcer a few moments' thought, 
 Jack said — f 
 
 " Well, it may be all for the best, Claude, I hope it is. At all events, rest is o 
 importance to Cicely." 
 
 " It is, Jack, and I thank you kindly for thinking of her at such a moment as 
 this. As soon as you have put up the horses, come inside," 
 
 " I will." 
 
 Claude returned to the parlour, and was just in time to see Tom Smith equip- 
 ping himself in a pair of top-boots and a sraockfrock. Ann had brought down 
 stairs several of those garments, and that indeed was what he, Smith, had whis- 
 pered to her to do. 
 
 " Do as I am doing," said Smith. " We must make our appearance, as far as 
 we can, correspond with our professions." 
 
 Claude saw the importance of putting some such a disguise over his regular ap- 
 parel, and he immediately equipped himself. Jack then came in and was induced 
 to do the same, so that they all three wore the appearance of respectable husband- 
 men. 
 
 " Now," said Tom Smith, " we will be three brothers. I am Tom. You, 
 Claude, will be Jack, and your friend here. Bill." 
 
 "Let nne be Jack," said Jack, "for I shall then not forget my name, since it is 
 the one I am used to." 
 
 "Very well,'" said Claude, "then I will be Bill; and as this is all your plan, 
 Mr. Tom, we will, if you please, leave t!)e whole management of it to you. Only 
 tell us what we are to say, and how we are to play our parts." 
 
 " Circumstances only can guide us," said Smith. " At any time the horses 
 can be Saddled, and we can, I think, be off, but I hope we shall be able to do that 
 and leave our enemies in not a vtry good condition to follow us. Ann ! Ann!' 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Is there anything to drink in the house ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir, some fine old ale." 
 
 " Good. If they resist that, they are wonderful officers indeed." 
 
 "Then you mean to ask them in V said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, and ray great hope is, that baffled, and tired, and hurt, as they are, they 
 will not scruple to accept the polite invitation." 
 
 "Hush!" said Jack. 
 
 They all listened, and heard a loud knocking at the gate leading into the yard, 
 and a voice shouting — 
 
 " House ! — House ! — Hilloa ! — Is anybody up here ?" 
 
 " I'll go," yaid Smith. " You two can stroll out quietly afterwards, and see 
 how things are getting on." 
 
 With this Smith, or Tom, as it will be more convenient to call him in the scene 
 which is about to ensue, went from the room, and Jack approached Claude, and 
 said in a whisper — 
 
 " Do you trust him ?'* 
 
 " Yes, Jack, fully." 
 
 "Then I am satisfied." ' 
 
 " But remember. Jack, if you hear me say I wonder if the moon is yet up, you 
 will understand that as a hint to get our horses out."
 
 580 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 . *' Good—and Cicely ?•' 
 
 " I will take care to ascertain where she is, now at once. Ah, here is the young 
 girl. Can you tell me in vhat room the lady is ? I am her husband, Ann,'' 
 
 *• If you will follow me, sir, I will show you." 
 
 Claude did so, and found that Cicely was lying down to rest in the room directly 
 overhead, so that she could easily enough be communicated with. He kissed her 
 cheek, saying — 
 
 " Dear Cicely, be under no alarm. All will be well." 
 
 *' You say so, Claude," she replied, "and you will be near me, so all is well." 
 
 Feeling then that his presence down stairs might be required, he tore himself 
 away, and descended the stairs. Jack was rather impatiently waiting for him. 
 
 *' They are talking outside,'' he said, "but I did not like to go without you, 
 Claude. Come at once, and let us hear what it is all about. This is rather a 
 ticklish position I take it." 
 
 " A little so. Jack." 
 
 They both left the house, and upon reaching the court-yard they found Tom 
 upon the point of opening the gate to about a dozen mounted men, who were 
 without in the lane. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen,*' they heard Tom say, "you can make sure of him I should 
 think tc-morrow. . He can't be far off.' 
 
 *« I don't know that," replied one of the horsemen. " Foiled we are, and there 
 is no such thing as saying nay to that ; but where he may be by to-morrow morn- 
 ing, I won't pretend to say." 
 
 " But at all events, we cannot do better than turn in for an hour or two to feed 
 the horses and rest. There's rain coming on," said another, " don't you feel it ?" 
 
 " And are we really to give it up as a bad job ?" said a third. 
 
 " No, no, Jenkins," said the first speaker, *' let Reed and Thompson keep watch 
 in the Une : we will not wait long. It's quite clear that for some particular object 
 or' another, Duval is hankering about this neighbourhood, but it would be sheer 
 folly of us to go galloping, perhaps in the very contrary direction to which he has 
 taken." 
 
 " Will you come in then, gentlemen ?" ssid Tom. 
 
 "Yes. Yes." 
 
 " The gale was swung open, and ten men on horseback came in, while the two 
 underlings who were mentioned, kept watch in the lane, not over- well pleased, no 
 doubt, to be exposed to the pelting of the rain, which was beginning to fall rather 
 sharply, while the others of the party went into the farm house," 
 
 " Open the door, Bill," said Tom to Claude. 
 
 " Yes, Tom," said Claude. 
 
 *' And Jack," added Tom, " get a drop of ale ready for these gentlemen, will you?" 
 
 " Yes, Tom." 
 
 " Are these your brothers ?" said the principal officer. 
 
 " Yes, sir. — Gregory ! Gregory ! Gregory I I say !" 
 
 " Oh, don't give yourself so much trouble. Of course you will understand 
 that we pay for whatever we have, as we are upon the public service, and get it re- 
 funded to us again by the clerk of the peace, you know, so let our horses be well 
 fed, and give us the best you have in the house. Master Farmer." 
 
 " Certainly, sir, and I only hope you will catch Claude Duval to-morrow. This 
 way, gentlemen. — Ah, it's a horrid thing to think that the highways are not safe. 
 Suppose, now, I was coming home with the price of a score of sheep in my pocket, 
 how unpleasant it would be to meet a fellow who would say • stand and deliver.' " 
 
 ''Very. Very." 
 
 While Tom carried on this discourse with the cTiief officer, Gregory, the farming 
 man, who had heard himself called in such stentorian accents, madejhis appearance 
 again from the barn, where he had vainly hoped to get a little more sleep. At the 
 sight of Tom, instead of his mates, his mouth opened quite wide, and he said — 
 
 " A man I—Who be ye?'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 581 
 
 " Come, stupid,'* said Tom, '* take these horses and give them a feed each, and 
 a good one too." 
 
 " Eh !— Lor!— Who be ye ?" 
 
 " Why really, Gregory," said Ann, stepping forward, with her apron over her 
 head to protect her from the rain, " really, Gregory, you will have to go back to 
 the mad-house again— you don't seem to know your own mates." 
 
 ** Mad — ^house— eh ?" 
 
 " Poor fellow," said Tom lo the chief officer, *' he has been in a lunatic asylum 
 once, and I fear will have lo go in again, for at times, notwithstanding he' was 
 brought up with us, he don't know me or any of my brothers.'* 
 
 '* Indeed !" 
 
 " Yes, and then he generally speaks of some old man."" 
 
 *' Really !' 
 
 *' Wher's the old man ?" said Gregory, " I don't know ye, 'danged if I doos. 
 Wher's the old man ?" 
 
 ** It's a pity," said Tom, " and enough to draw tears from a horse's hind leg ; 
 but the only thing that does him any good and brightens up his memory is this." 
 
 Tom as he spoke took from his pocket a coiled- up horse whip, and straightening 
 it out, he gave Gregory a lash or two with it, that made him dance and roar like a 
 bull. 
 
 '* Do you know me now P" said Tom. 
 
 " Oh, ees— ees." 
 
 '< Who am I— am I your master ?" 
 
 " Ees, ees, maister,— oh, dang it dont, and " 
 
 ** And do you know my two brothers. Bill and Jack ?" 
 
 ** No — I'm dang'd if I doos.* 
 
 Slash went the whip. 
 
 *' Murder, oh — oh, mrrder — Yes, I doos. Bill and Jack — and, yea, I knows 
 anything now. — Oh, oh, oh.— Dang it if I ain't bewildered ; and I shall have to 
 say the Lord's prayer backwards or raise the devil and axe him to unbewitch I. — 
 What will become of 1 V 
 
 " You see what a poor fellow he is," said Tom. 
 
 <' Oh, yes," replied the officer ; '* but what a cunning there is about mad folks, 
 and the——" 
 
 «• Oh, tremendous," said Tom, as he followed the officer into the house. " I and 
 my brothers are going to Goodhall farm in the morning, if it is fine, so you see we 
 are ready for the start." 
 
 Ann made herself quite busy and u eful. Indeed but for her, Jack would have 
 found no small difficulty in complying with Tom's orders about the ale, but she 
 assisted him, and the table waS soon respectably enough laid with a cold round of 
 beef, a foaming tanknrd of ole, and some large wheaten loaves. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," said Tom, '* fall to ; your cattle will be well looked to, but 
 you'l excuse me going in and out, as 1 have some stock to get ready for the 
 market." 
 
 *' Don't mention it," said the chief officer, " we should be very sorry indeed to 
 interrupt you in your business at all, and we are very much obliged to you for 
 your very civil reception of us." 
 
 " Don't think of that, sir, it's no more than one ought to do to gentlemen who 
 are trying to rid us of the greatest pests in the world, namely highwaymen." 
 
 ** You are right. I tell you what it is, comrades," added the officers, when the 
 door was closed upon Tom, " that farmer is a decidedly clever fellow, that 
 he is." 
 
 *' Yes," said Bill, who was pouring out the ale. " Yes, my brother Tom is 
 reckoned a man of abilities." 
 
 The door opened, and Gregory popped in his head, and cried— , 
 
 ♦* I can't make it out, dang it.' Wher's the old man ?' 
 
 **Ah," said the chief officer, "you want it again do you, you poor mad 
 fellow?"
 
 5S2 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " But wher's the old man ?" 
 
 "Take that," said the chief officer, as lie snatched up a stick and gave Gregory 
 a blow on the hack with it. " Do you want, you fool, the old man now ?" 
 
 "No — no. Oh, dang it, no!" 
 
 *' You own that I am Bill ?" said Claude, snatching up another stick. 
 
 " And that I am Jack V cried Jack, doubling his fists. 
 
 "Yes — yes. Dang it, ees" 
 
 Poor Gregory made a precipitate retreat upon this, and punching Ijis own head 
 with his clenched hands, he cried, as he took his way to the stable-yard — 
 
 *• Dang it, i am mad — I am mad, and shall be in a Lunacy Sylum, as safe as 
 bricks. I is mad ; mad a« a March hare, and no mistake." 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXV. 
 
 THE FIGHT ON SOUTH ALL GREEN. 
 
 After this, it did not seem very likely that Mr. Gregory would have much 
 stomach for any further interference, since it brought with it such an amount of 
 retribution. At any other time a sense of the ludicrous, in the whole transaction, 
 would have made Claude laugh immoderately ; but one thought of Cicely, above 
 stairs, was more than sufficient to control any such impulse. The officers did 
 ample justice to the strong ale^ and the eatables that were placed before them, so 
 that Claude felt at each draught they indulged in from the ale flagons, that he 
 was, in a manner of speaking, getting rid of a danger, inasmuch as the larger 
 quantity of that pleasant and seductive fluid they imbibed, the less would they be 
 in a condition to exercise that amount of judgment and discretion that was requi- 
 site in the circumstances they uere placed in. Tom, who took the lead in what 
 was doing, urged them, by a great many jocular inducements, not to spare the ale, 
 and they, like men who had got thirsty by hard riding, certainly paid an amount 
 of attention to it that was extraordinary. After a speech which made the officers 
 all laugh, Tom left the room, and in a few moments his voice could be heard out- 
 side, shouting in a careless sort of way — 
 
 " Bill — Bill. The dun cow has got among the turnips. Bill— Bill, just come 
 out a minute.*" 
 
 *♦ Your brother is calling you, I think," said one of the officers to Claude. 
 
 " Is he ?" 
 
 *• Yes. I heard him," said another. 
 
 ** Excuse me, gentlemen, a moment then," added Claude, and he at once left the 
 room, and made his way to the farm yard, where he found Tom Smith awaiting 
 
 him. , . „ 
 
 *♦ If anything is to be done," said Tom, "now is the tnr.e." 
 
 *' Agreed," said Claude. " What do you propose?" 
 
 " First, to let all their horses go. Come with me." 
 
 Tom led the way through a stable to a small yard, along one side of which was 
 a long manger, at which the horses of the officers were enjoying themselves, for 
 Gregory had taken good care, of them, and was there with a lanthorn. 
 
 " Gregory," said Tom. 
 
 « Ees, sir." ;- 
 
 ** You know me ?" 
 
 Gregory gave his back a wriggle, as much as to indicate that he had a perfect 
 recollection of him in one way, and then he added— 
 
 *'0h, ees — ees." 
 
 "Have you any way of getting into the meadows from here, Gregory, without 
 going through the yard again, into the lane ?' 
 
 " Ees. here's the little gate." 
 
 <• Good, Open it, Gregory,'*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 5S3 
 
 A gate was opened that led ao-oss a small ditch into the open fields, and far 
 away in the dim obscurity of the ni*ht. It was jast what Tom Smith wanted. 
 He led the horses of the officers, one by one, through that gate, and. with a lash 
 to each of them with a heavy horsewhip which half- maddened them at the 
 moment, he dismissed them into the open country, plunging and dashing on as 
 though death were at their heels. 
 *« That will do," said Claude. 
 
 " I think so, now let us get our own steeds all ready saddled and bridled, and 
 we will be off. Where's Jack ?" 
 ** Waiting upon the officers." 
 " Well, he must be got out." 
 " And Cicely ?' : 
 
 *'Who?" 
 
 ** I have no secrets with you. She who is above stairs in male attire is my wife. 
 Cicely." 
 
 V She must and shall be well cared for. But how to get her down, is the mys- 
 tery. Ah, whom have we here ?" 
 " It is I," said Ann. 
 
 *' Then you have come in good time. Can you get the lady down here with- 
 out passing through the supper room ?*' 
 
 '* Oh, surely, sir. In a moment. There are three staircases to the old farm 
 house, and she could get here two ways without going near the parlour." 
 " All's right then. Go for her at once." 
 
 Claude waited in a state of feverish anxiety until Cicely made her appearance ; 
 and the moment she did so, &he clung to him, saying — 
 '* Ah ! we are once again together, and all is weil." 
 
 Tom was placing the bits in the horses' mouths, for they had not been at 
 all otherwise divested of their trappings, and in a few moments all was ready for 
 a start, with the exception of getting Jack out of the supper-room. That, how- 
 ever, was not a matter of much difficulty, for the officers entertaining no luspi- 
 cions, might just as well admit of an excuse for his absence as for Claude's, The 
 latter accordingly went to the door, and callerl aloud — 
 " Jack ! Brother Jack, come here a raonrjent." 
 " Don't you hear you are called ?" said the chief officer to Jack. 
 "Am I, though?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ; your brother calls you. I dare say it's all about that d— -d 
 cow, that gives you no end of trouble. Ha ! — ha ! — ha!" 
 
 All the officers laughed as the principa.l one laughed at this sorry joke, and 
 amid the explosion of meriiment, Jack safely enough left the room, and hurried 
 into the farm-yard. 
 
 ** Claude?" he said. 
 ^ " Yes, Jack, it is I. All's right. Follow me.* 
 ^" Yes, Claude ; y»8. Shall we escape ?" 
 
 "I think so." * ^ 
 
 "And Cicely — what of her? Is s'he safe and better? How has the fatigue 
 j aflfected her, Claude ? We must look; to her comfort and safety above all things, 
 I you know, Claude." 
 
 I "I thank you. Jack, from my heart, for those words. All is well, I think and 
 I hope. This way — this way." 
 
 j A few moments brought them to (vhere the horses were, and then Tom Smith, 
 j as he would call himself, took Claudie aside, and said— 
 
 j " Which, in your judgment, will 'be the best, to go away bv this little gate lead, 
 ing to the fields, or by the high-road ?' 
 
 «'I should prefer the road," ropiied Claude, " simply because I have Cicely 
 
 with me, and we may meet with obstacles the field way, that the horse, doubly 
 
 loaded, might not be able to surmount : but then, again, the field way is the 
 
 safest.'* 
 
 " It is. There are but two ememies in that direction — I mean the road-^and
 
 584 ■■■'. iC^fej^TLEMAN JACK. 
 
 if they use fire-arms, the report may alarm our ale-drinking friends before w 
 wish that they should find out anything is amiss.*' 
 
 *' True» And yet, if I could but get Cicely to Ealing Common, she is safe." 
 
 *' Indeed !'* 
 
 **Yes: I have a friend there who will aflford her a shelter, and then my mind 
 would be at ease, come what might." 
 "Would it be prudent, think you, to go direct to your destination V* 
 *' Perhaps scarcely so." 
 
 « Not at all, I think. No doubt all that road is well watched, and although, if 
 you have a friend there that you feel you can rely upon, I would, by all means, 
 advise you to lodge Cicely with that friend. I beg of you to make a detour in 
 your progress there for safety sake." . 
 
 •• You aie right— you arc 'right. I am not well acquainted with the country 
 beyond Hanwell, but if ysu will be my guide, you will add muchno thp debt of 
 gratitude we already owe you." 
 
 Claude's new friend, Tom Smith, willingly gave his assent to the proposition 
 of becoming the guide of the party to Ealing Common. The next considsration— 
 how to get Jack and Cicely away from the house, without creating any suspicion 
 m the minds of the officers— was set about, and quickly arranged. At this mo 
 ment, however, Ann was seen emerging from the house, leading Cicely by the 
 hand. She was immediately tp.ken in charjfe by Claude, who mounted his horse, 
 and caused her to be placed behind him. The reader is aware that Jack was the 
 last of the party below, who lad been called out of the parlour on the frivolous 
 pretence of looking after the-^iow, while attending to the comforts of the officers. 
 After a short absence he reap^^)eared amongst them ; and on entering the room with 
 a doleful countenance, he muttered — 
 
 "Contound the cow. You cMd well, my friends, to say she gave us no end of 
 trouble. The beast is now trespassing on our neighbour's turnip-field, and you 
 must excuse my absence while I get her out, as we like to do /as we would be 
 done by." 
 
 *'0h, certainly," said two of three of the officers at once ; <* don't mention it. 
 Your kindness is so great, that we »7aa readily excuse such a trifle as that. VVe 
 .are sorry, my friend, that you are c ompelled to leave us ; but if you will procure 
 us a little more of your sparkling old ale before you go, we shall be happy enough 
 till we see you again." 
 
 After furnishing them with more a.^e, Jack placed his hat on his head, and 
 quietly left the room. He soon joined the party in the yard, where his horse was 
 in readiness for him. Having mounted', Tom Smith placed himself in front of the 
 party, and said in a low tone— 
 
 "Silence!" - 
 
 He listened for a moment, and not hea ring a so® id except the cooing of the 
 disturbed pigeons, he led the way to the gat e ly whiid't they had entered. The road- 
 way to it they had littered with straw, to pr.event ibe" n oi»e of the horses' feet ; and 
 in a few minutes they were once more fai rly on i?re road, in the wake of their 
 mysterious new friend, Tom Snrith, in whc tm the rend^ir will not have failed by 
 this time in recognising as the notorious '.Dick Turpili. After progressing some 
 distance, they turned into a by-lane leading Jn the direct ion of the lianwell Road. 
 Now the morning had made such progress, that in thi^ open country all objects 
 were distinctly visible, and the sky wasof ths \t dull lead en sort of colour peculiar 
 to the early dawn before the sun has risen si ifficiently to gild it with beauty ; but 
 in this lane, where were those in whose fortu nes we are a o deeply interested, the 
 trees in many places met so completely overhe ad, that a da rkness continued, which 
 a mid-day sun could only convert into a dubious sort of tft 'ilight. Claude and his 
 party were in one of those dark portions of th e lane when i bus questioned by the 
 officers— 
 
 ** Now,'let'us have a look at you l* said on^ e of those men who had been left in 
 the rain to keep watch and wj.rd. He was c) losely followed by his companion. 
 « Look away," said Tom.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 585 
 
 ^ • 
 
 '* We will trouble you to ride on to the next gap in the trees. This place is as 
 dark as a dungeon." 
 
 " Very good," said Tom, " we will follow you.'* 
 
 A>hort canter brought them all to the gap in the trees which the officer had 
 spoken of; and then he who had assumed the office of spokesman cast a scrutinising 
 
 SUDDEN APPEARANCE OB THE OLD CLERGYMAN BEFORE CLAUDE, TURPIN AND PARTY. 
 
 eye upon the party. It will be remembered that with the exception of Cicely they 
 had each a smock frock and top-boots on. 
 
 " You may or may not be what you say/' said the officer, *' but it's my duty 
 
 Before he could finish the sentence, a loud shout rent the air ; and then a loud 
 galloping of some approaching horses came clearly upon the ears of the whole 
 party. 
 
 Kn TA.
 
 586 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 "My frbnd/ said Tom, <' we would gladly have given you the chance of 
 getting out of this with whole bones ; ' but needs must,* you know, ' when the devil 
 drives/ " 
 
 I He made a clutch at the officer's throat as he spoke, and got hold of a cloth 
 cape be wore, which being rather old and rotten, came away in his hand in & 
 moment. 
 
 " Not quite so fast," said the officer, and drawing a pistol from his holster, he 
 fired at Tom. 
 
 " A close touch !" said Tom, as snatching a pistol from his breast-pocket, he 
 fired at the officer. The other officer tried to make off in the direction of the 
 Farm House ; but Claude, by a dexterous turn of his horse, intercepted him, and 
 struck him down with a blow inflicted with the butt-end of a pistol. He who had 
 been fired at by Tom, was hanging: down upon his hoise's neck, and the animal, 
 terrified at the report, set off at lull gallop. 
 
 «* Forward !'* cried Tom. 
 
 Both Claude and Jack gave their steeds the rein, and off they went like the wind. 
 Tom kept the lead easily, although he was behind at the first part of the start. 
 His horse actually sprung past the others in two prodigious leapt, and then it kept 
 its place as easily as though it was merely taking a pleasure canter. The lane was 
 soon cleared, and then. Tom, waving his arm to intimate that they were to follow 
 him, turned a little to the left, and soon emerged into the* high road to Hanwell. 
 Our friends were three quarters of a mile ahead, when the officers, who had been 
 played such a trick at the Farm House, appeared at the end of the lane, and all 
 mounted too. How they came to be in such an efficient state for action, is soon 
 told. When Tom and his friends had .eft the place, the fears of Gregory in a great 
 measure subsided, and he not being quite so stupid as he looked, repaired at once 
 to the parlour, and popped his head in, just as one of the officers, being attracted 
 to do so by some hideous groans, lad lifted up the lid of the window seat, and dis- 
 covered the farmer. 
 
 " Hilloa l" cried Gregory, as he saw his real master's head, •* Here's thfe t»ld 
 man at last. Dang it maister, where have you been ?" 
 
 This produced fcn explanation. The officers found they were duped, but Gr^ry, 
 placing his finger to the side of his nose, said — 
 
 "The osses bean't gone.'* 
 
 ** Not gone, why you have just told us they were all started by (those highwaymen. 
 What do you mean ?" 
 
 " This'en, maister. They was started, but it was only into the close paddock. 
 They can't get out. He ! he ! who's a vool now, I wonders ?" 
 
 Gregory was right. In the darkness, Tom nor Claude had been able to see 
 exactly where the officer's horses' went j and so, in lieu of sending them right away 
 into the open country, they had only turned them out into a small two-acre paddock. 
 Thus it was, that in the course of ten minutes, the officers — although some of 
 them were not in the soberest condition — were all mounted again, and had in a 
 belter skelter sort of way, taken to the lane,'-with a hope cf speedily overtaking the 
 fugitives. But this was a matter much more easily wished and attempted than 
 performed, considering all things. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXVI, 
 
 THE CHASE AND ITS RESULTS, 
 
 Tom and his friends being, as we have said, about three quarters of a mile 
 a-head of the officers, had very nearly reached Hanwell, while they were emerging 
 from the outskirts of Ealing, sojnear together are those two pretty villages. Claude 
 thought he might put a question to Tom. 
 
 '* How far shall we pursue this road ?" he said.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 587 
 
 *' Through Southall ; and then, by the green lanes to the left, we can get round to 
 Ealing again. 
 
 *' That will do. What do you think of our friends, behind ? 
 
 ** That they will remain behind, until we turn completely, as we shall do ; and 
 then they will be pursuing nothing, for we shall halt, I hope, while they continue 
 their wild goose-chase upon the high road. 
 
 " I knovv not how to thank you." 
 
 " Pho ! You may do as much, or more, for me some day." 
 
 " Are you, then, on the road ?" 
 
 *' Ha ! ha I Well, sometimes 1 am. But is not this a fine bracing gallop. By 
 Heavens, it does one's heart goad to come over the country in this way. Out of 
 the road, will youl" 
 
 This was said to a small market cart driver, who was plodding along to Southall 
 Market, with a couple of pigs secured in the cart by a netting. Claude and Jack 
 had room enough to pass on one side, and so would Tom, if he had moved to the 
 other side, or paused a moment ; but instead of doing either of those things, he said 
 something to his horse, and in another moment the creature was over, cart, pigs, 
 and all, and safely alighted upon the other side. 
 
 •* Well done, my pet," said Tom, as he patted the neck of the noble creature 
 he rode. " Well done, pet, though you have done better things than that.'* 
 
 ''That horse," said Jack, *• is the devil, or " 
 
 *' Or what?" said Claude. 
 
 *' Never mind just now, Claude, we will speak of it another time; I have my 
 own ideas about it. Push on We are lagging behind, don't you see. If we keep 
 up this pace another two miles our cattle will be quite knocked up." 
 
 " I fear it. But only look at our friend's horse. It has not turned a hair, and 
 it looks as. fresh as if it had just trotted out of a meadow.'* 
 
 The stranger's horse did indeed merit all the ecomiums that could possibly be 
 passed upon it; and notwithstanding the speed at which it had gone, it certainly did 
 not exhibit the smallest trace of distress. The village of Hanwell, with its pretty 
 little picturesque church by the banks of the Brent river, was dashed through in a 
 few moments, and they were upon the high road to Southall. It ws just then that 
 the first glimpse of real sunshine of that day began to gild the tree tops, just in- 
 deed as they were emerging from the valley of the Brent to the high ground on its 
 western side. The view around was now very beautiful, but to men struggling 
 for their lives, and pursued by a relentless foe, the calmunimpassioned beauties of 
 nature appeal in vain. Obstacles in the shape of market-carts, and occasionally a 
 waggon, now began to be in the way, for the market at Southall was a well-attended 
 and pjpular one. To his dismay too — for Jack was, as we know, rather easily broken- 
 spirited — he saw a flock of sheep about a quarter of a mile a-head. The melliflu- 
 ous grunting of some pigs too, showed that some of that obstinate race were not 
 far off". Still Tom upon his wonderful steed kept on ; and as they neared the 
 sheep, he cried — 
 
 ** Keep to the right, and we shall pass them." 
 
 This was correct, for the man in charge of them was diligently collecting them 
 upon the other side of the road. Claude got by, by a hair's beadth almost with- 
 out injuring any of the creatures. He had an almost superstitious love of animals, 
 had Claude, and would at any time have run some amount of personal risk to avoid 
 injuring one. Fortunately, the pigs had not yet reached the high road, but were 
 just coming into it from a lane, so that the officers would encounter them imme- 
 diately, although the fugitives narrowly escaped them. 
 
 " All right," cried Tom. '* We shall have time to draw rein at the George Inn 
 at Southgate, and take a glass of something as well as breathing our cattle. Here 
 we are." 
 
 There was a sudden turn in the road, and then all at once th«y dashed into the 
 pretty High Street of Southall, and Tom, as he said he would, drew rein oppo- 
 site to the George Inn. Preparations for the market were going on all round the 
 place, and indeed much of the stock had already arrived, so that there was the
 
 588 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 noise of a good deal of chaffering about the price of pigs, poultry, and cheese, go- 
 ing on already. The landlord of the George, hearing some horsemen pause at his 
 door, came out with a smiling face ; but the moment he saw Tom, he cried — 
 
 " Good God ! You, and a market-day too !" 
 
 *' Why not ?" laughed Tom, ** the more the merrier, you know. Let us each 
 have a thimbleful of brandy.'* 
 
 " And the horses V 
 
 " We have not time. Nothing for them but the privilege of standing still for 
 two minutes." 
 
 « What's that ?" said Jack. 
 
 *< Which ? which ?" ^ - 
 
 •' Those horsemen coming in the other direction to which we came. Is there a 
 hunt here ?" 
 
 About a score of men in red coats came trotting a'ong, and Tom said, \vith an 
 air of discomfiture, which, however, quickly vanished — 
 
 *' Yes, by George, the harriers do meet to-day. Now if those idiots should take 
 it into their heads to run us down — Humph! Well, we should have to show some 
 s,.ort, and at ail events, whoever came near me, should, in a sense that he would 
 not like, be in at the death !" 
 
 <* But something must be done," said Jack. 
 
 ** Of course it must. Here's the brandy. I drink to our further acquaintance, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Can you," added Jack, " be so calm at such a moment of danger ? Oh, Claude 
 this is the end."^ 
 
 " Of what. Jack ?'' 
 
 ** Of your and ray caieer. I will die with you." 
 
 " No, Jack, drink your brandy. Something seems to tell me that this is not 
 the end. Tom, we are under your orders.*' 
 
 *' Come on.'* 
 
 He who had called himself Tom, took the lead, and they followed him at a quick 
 walk through the fair, for a fair it might almost be called, that populous market- 
 day at Southall. In a few moments the little party, in the fate of which we are 
 interested, was all but surrounded by the huntsmen. Their fate hung upon a 
 thread. If they got clear of the "men in red before the officers entered the High- 
 street and spread the alarm, the odds were in their favour, for it was not likely 
 that those who came out dressed for a day's sport, would spoil it by turning aside 
 for the purpose of lending their aid to police officers, although if Tom and his 
 friends could b; caught by the stretching out of a hand, it is possible enough 
 caught ihey would hare been. And now the greater number of the men in scarlet 
 had been passed, and Tom was beginning to quicken his pace, when the officers 
 (.ame thundering into the market-place. 
 
 *'Stop thieves! Highwaymen! Highwaymen!" they cried. "Stop them! 
 There they go !" 
 
 •' Now for it,'* cried Tom. *' Tally-ho f*' 
 
 He touched his steed with his heel-spurs he' had none—and it gave one of those 
 terrific bounds that covered such an amazing stretch of ground, and then took to a 
 gallop. 
 
 Claude and Jack likewise pushed their steeds to their utmost speed, and off 
 they all were. The officers did not pause, but dashing on, upsetting pigs, poultry, 
 stalls, and everything in their way in their eagerness, they kept on crying — 
 
 "Stop thief! Stop thief !" 
 
 Two or three ©f the huntsmen on the impulse of the moment turned their 
 horses' heads in the direction of the letreating party; but a second thought caused 
 them laughingly to abandon the chase, and one said-^ 
 
 " Ten Jo four on the fellow with the black mare." 
 
 *• Done," said another — *• against who 1" 
 
 "The field!
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 559 
 
 <'Done again! Ha! ha! ha! By Jove, he'll lead 'ejn a dance, Sir Harry, I 
 think." 
 
 A quarter of a mile was passed over, when, directly in front of oar party. Trom 
 out of a lane to the right emerged five keepers or whippers-in, on horseback, ac- 
 companied by a score of pointers — for that was to be a day of hunting after 
 various fashions. — These men were not of the class that had allowed the chase to 
 go on without interference ; and when they heard the still repealed cries from the 
 officers, or rather, from one of them, who seemed to have a throat of iron, of 
 ** Stop the highwaymen! — Stop them! — Stop thieves [" they made a dash at the 
 flying party. Tom stooped down to his saddle nearly, and catching the foremost 
 of the men who tried to stop him by the knee, he dismounted him by a sleight-of- 
 Imnd that appeared quite marvellous. 
 
 *' y )rward !" he shouted. 
 
 One man laid h's hand upon the reins of Claude's horse, saying as he did so — 
 
 ** I'll trouble you to stop, my fine fellow.'* 
 
 ** The trouble's a pleasure," said Claude, and with his right hand he grasped the 
 man by the throat with such a vice-like pressure that his face got black. The 
 two horses flew along neck and neck for a few seconds,and then when Claude let 
 the man go, he fell to the ground in a state of insensibility. The other three 
 keepers dashed after the fugitives. The dogs followed them howling and yelping, 
 so that the confusion upon the road, and the dust that was kicked up, was some- 
 thing tremendous, as the rain had not been sufficient to lay^it thoroughly, Tom 
 now, who was somewhat in advance, slackened his speed slightly, until the others 
 were abreast of him, and then he said to Claude — 
 
 '* This won't do, Duval." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 "The turning to the left which we must take is close at hand. We must turn 
 and fire." 
 
 •* Very well. — Jack, get your pistols ready." 
 
 •« All right." 
 
 " Give me one," said Cicely." 
 
 "My brave girl!" said Claude, " but— no, no,— you, at least, shall be out of 
 these contests." 
 
 '* Are you all ready ?" said Tom. 
 
 "Yes. Yes." 
 
 **Then wheel round, and fire low." 
 
 Tom, nor Jack, nor Claude, saw Cicely reach cut one of her hands and take a 
 pistol from the left-hand holster of Claude's saddle, but she did so. In anotiicr 
 moment the three horse* faced their foes, instead of dashing from them. Bang! 
 went the four pistols as if they only made up one report. Two of the keepers 
 were hit, and made such a howling that the very dogs were alarmed. One of the 
 horses, too, was wounded and fell. The officers came on hke an avalanche, and, 
 unable to stop themselves, they dashed among the dogs. The wounded keepers 
 and the half-maddened wounded horse, who in his struggles occupied nearly all 
 the road, and over the most of them went: sprawling man and horse, making such 
 a scrambling and tumult as never was known. The two or three of the officers 
 who were not mixed up in the melee drew up, and one cried aloud — 
 
 " For God's sake be off. I won't stir another step after you, Claude Duval. 
 No, not if I live a hundred years." 
 
 '• Nor I," said another. 
 
 " All I want to know," cried a third, " is, who that man or devil is, on the 
 black mare." 
 
 ** Ah," said Tom, " would you like to know V 
 
 " We would ! we would !" ' 
 
 He lifted off his hat and showed a slightly bald head, and a singularly fine 
 brow, as he said in a clear ringing voice — 
 
 " Folks that know me, and can take the liberty, call mc Dick Turpin I"
 
 590 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXVII. 
 A morning's adventure. 
 
 What pen shall picture the consternation of the officers— professional and 
 amateur — lo whom this sudden and most unexpected announcement was made ; 
 and at the same time we may add, what language would be sufficiently strong to 
 depict the astonishment of Claude Duval and his friend Jack. The vague and 
 undefined rumour that no less a personage than Turpin, who had achieved by that 
 tmie a reputation only second to Claude's, was in the neighbourhood, had 
 certainly met Claude's ears, but that he had become his travelling companion 
 he certainly had not suspected. Cicely, too, heard the announcement with con- 
 flicting feelings, for while she could not but admire the chivalrous spirit in which 
 Dick Turpin had come to the aid of Claude, she feared much that his companion- 
 ship would only tend to form another link in the chain of those seeming fascina- 
 tions that held Claude to a career slie could not but look upon with horror and 
 loathing, flowever, that period of the absolute recognition of who and what their 
 new acquaintance was, certainly did not present a favourable opportunity for re- 
 flection, as they were still in the greatest danger. Self-preservation was the domi- 
 nant feeling in all their breasts, now, as they darted madly on. 
 
 "Forward ! Forward \" cried Claude. *' They will be on us soon. Forward !" 
 
 *' Yes," added Turpin, " it's a case of the devil take the hindmost now. Push 
 on, all of you." 
 
 They did not require much pressing to do this, for putting aside every other 
 consideration, Claude would have be^ cut to the heart if Dick Turpin had been 
 captured while fighting so gallantly for him. They put spurs to their horses, and 
 galloped on like madmen. The officers were recovering from thair pains, and a 
 gentleman belonging to the hunting cavalcade, who although too much of a gentle- 
 man to join in the pursuit of the highwaymen without any persional provocation, 
 nevertheless spoke his mind fully enough. 
 
 " If you are officers of the police," he said, " and let such a chance as the 
 capture of two such men as Claude Duval and Dick Turpin slip through your 
 fingers, you will deserve all the censure that can be heaped upon you." 
 
 " But what are we to do, sir?'* 
 
 "After them I* 
 
 " Come on — come on ! Oh, hear what this gentleman says, comrades. We 
 must have them." 
 
 *' Besides," added the gentleman, '' they are but men, and their horses are but 
 flesh and blood. If you keep up the chase, and get fresh cattle, as you easily 
 can at every post town you come to, you must run them down at last." 
 
 There was sound reason in all this, and the officers, to the number of nine, at 
 once commenced the pursuit again with the viciousness that promised by no means 
 an easy relinquishment of it. The little rest they had had, no doubt did the 
 officers* horses some good, for they went off at a good pace now, and if we may 
 have an opinion, we think that the danger of Claude Duval and his friends was 
 much greater from those nine determined and angry officers than it had been from 
 all the disorderly rabble that had been opposed to them in the Market Place of the 
 old village of Southall. Dick Turpin turned his horse's head when they reached 
 a piece of high ground, and looked wistfully towards the village. 
 
 " Yes,*' he said. *' Yes.*' 
 
 " What is it ?*' said Claude. 
 
 '* It is as 1 thought. The boldest of our foes will keep upon our track, and, 
 unencumbered by the others; they will get on much better. Now for a race. Oh, 
 if it was but night." 
 
 "Yes," said Claude, " that would indeed befriend up." 
 
 "What will become of us?" said Cicely. 
 
 " Nothing particular," said Dick. " On — on— on
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 691 
 
 He gave the reins to his beautiful steed and swept onwards like the wind. It 
 was soon to be perceived that the horses of Claude and Jack could not keep up 
 with the pace of Turpin's Black Bess, and Claude in a loud voice called to him — 
 
 " Don't pull in for us. We owe you many thanks already. Push on, and let 
 us hope that some day we may meet again." 
 
 *' VVoa, Bess. Gently, lass, gently." 
 ; He turned and cantered back to the little party. 
 
 " What did you say just now about meeting again, Duval?" 
 
 " I saw that we were a clog upon your speed, and I begged you to leave u 
 the same time that I expressed a hope that we might meet again." 
 
 " Pho ! I am never in a hurry to leave good company. Introduce me." 
 
 " This, then, is my wife." 
 
 Turpin whistled, and looked surprised. He then lifted his hat respectfully to 
 Cicely, and no doubt observing her confusion, he turned to Jack, and said — 
 
 " This is— is " 
 
 "Sixteen. string Jack.*' 
 
 ** What ! Sixteen-string Jack ! Oh, another — another.*' 
 
 *• No. The only Sixteen-string Jack. The original," 
 
 '* Who was hanged at Tyburn," added Jack, *• Anno Domini seventeen—" 
 
 " Stop," said Dick Turpin. " Don't be joking till we get a rest. Come on. 
 Don't you hear the horses' hoofs skurrying the road behind us, as if a let of road 
 persons were at work ?" 
 
 This was not at all an inapt simile as regarded the sounds that came upon the 
 ears of those who were flying for life itself, and although Claude would have 
 wished, even at such a moment as that, to disabuse the mind of Dick Turpin of 
 the idea that they were joking with him, he felt that he was called upon to give all 
 his attention to his hor?(e. They had by no means paused as they carried on the 
 little conversation we have recorded, but yet, as it had proceeded, the speed of the 
 cattle had considerably slackened, and consequently they had some ground to make 
 up again, to place the same distance bet. veen them and their pursuers, that had 
 been but a few moments before. For now the space of about a quarter of an hour, 
 they proceeded without exchanging a word, and it was quite evident that Turpin 
 was accomodating the speed of his horse to the powcis of the animals bestrode by 
 our friends. But yet the pace at which th-y all went was highly respectable. 
 They had not got far beyond some cross-roads when a carriage was seen advancing 
 towards them, and at the rate they were going, although the carriage travelled but 
 slowly, they seemed to near it with great speed indeed. 
 
 *' Business," said Dick Turpin, as he drew rein. " Business, my friends, is 
 business." 
 
 " What is it ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Ride on. Pll overtake you. Times have been bad lately, and I really cannot 
 allow a chance of earning a trifle to go by me. JElide on, I pray you. I will soon 
 be by your side. 
 
 Claude dashed onward, and Jack followed him, while Turpm, suddenly wheeling 
 round to the side of the road, took a pistol from his pocket, and without a word, 
 deliberately took aim at the coachman, who began bobbing his head from side to 
 side, as though, by that means, he might puzzle the shot. 
 
 *' Murder !— murder !" he cried ; and then he drew up, and rolled oflf the box 
 into the road. 
 
 The horses began to kick and plunge. Turpin dashed up to them, and in a few 
 Moments, with a knife he took from a small sheath in his bosom, cut the traces, 
 and the cattle went oif, down the road to Southall, at a gallop. All this was done 
 with such tremendous rapidity, that the occupants of tho carriage had not really 
 had time to know that anything was amiss. It was only the cry ol "Murder!" 
 from the coachman that let them know he was not paying some toll merely, and 
 then the glass was let down, and a head popped out. 
 
 *' What's all this ?'* said the owner of the head, a stout, passionate-looking, 
 elderly man.
 
 592 GENTLEMAN JACk. 
 
 " Ah! air, it's dangerous to do that,'* said Turpin, as he fired a pistol so close 
 to the enquirer's ear, that the head popped in again with the most frightful 
 rapidity. 
 
 "Good Godl" said an affected voice, "what is it, uncle? Oh, dear!— oh, 
 dear ! is there any danger V i 
 
 Turpin was by the window of the carriags in an instant, and placing his hand ' 
 upon the sill ot it, he said, in a calm voice — 1 
 
 *' Money, watches, and jewellery, gentlemen, and be quick, if you please, for my ' 
 time is limited.'' j 
 
 «' Well, of all the impudence," said the elder gentleman of the two, *' of all the 
 impudence that ever I met with, this is the " i 
 
 *' Yes— yes," said Dick, *' we know all that, and vou Can talk about it at your 
 leisure. Your money, watches, rings, and so on, is all I want at present. Quick- 
 quick." I 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said the younger of the two, who was dressed in the 
 extreme of fashion. " My dear sir, screw me up if I can. understand— aw— aw. 
 You see our property is our property — aw — aw -" I 
 
 *' Then you will have it,* said Dick, as he took a pistol from his pocket, aacl 
 thrust the barrel right into the open mouth of the exquisite, whose complexion i 
 immediately turned of a dirty yellow. - 
 
 ♦'No — no," said the old man. " Here !- here!" •' 
 
 As he spoke, he handed to Dick his purse and his watch., 
 
 *' Your ring,'* said Turpin. 
 
 *' If you must have it you must, but it is a jnourning one, and I prize it." 
 
 " Keep it, sir." 
 
 " Thank you. Richard, give your watch and purse. We might have fallen into 
 worse hands than his." 
 
 *' A great deal,'^ said Turpin. '< You mjghthave gone to law, and been robbed 
 that way, in a protracted manner, and not allowed the privilege of any grumbling, 
 while 1 lob you off-hand ; and when 1 am gone, or even now, if you like, you may 
 d— n me to your heart's content. Come. Richard, be quick." 
 
 Richard, however, was so completely overcome by the pistol having been placed 
 in his mouth, that, although upon the old gentleman so handsoijiely surrendering at 
 discretion, Dick had immediately withdrawn it, he could only sit shaking and chat- 
 ter his teeth together like castanets, and positively had not power to tiike his purse 
 from his pocket, or his watch from his fob. The old gentleman was obliged to 
 take both from him, and hand them to Dick. 
 
 "Well, Richard," said Turpin, "I think you will never make a hero ; but if 
 you like to recover your own and your uncle's property, I'll fight you for it, if you 
 will get out." 
 
 Richard's teeth only chattered together more energetically, and Dick, waving hits 
 hand to the old gentleman, said — " 
 
 *• Adieu, sir ; you will remember Dick Turpin." 
 
 '* Tile devil I" said the old gentleman ; *' it s you. is it V* 
 
 " Exactly," said Dick. *• Ah I" - 
 
 At this moment a turn in the road brought the nine officers in sight, and at the 
 appearance of the carriage and Dick, they raised a loud shout, which he replied 
 by a quiet smile, as he patted the neck of his horse. 
 
 ** Ah, Bess," he said, ** my lass, shall we show them how to do it ?" 
 
 Even as the words left his mouth, the gallant creature darted forward with a 
 bound that would have speedily unhorsed any less practised rider than he who 
 spoke them, and then off she set, at a speed that made anything in the shape of 
 pursuit look hopeless indeed. The officers reached the carriage, and saw at a 
 glance what had happened. They did not stop to say a word in the'way of 
 sympathy to those who were thus robbed, and left in the middle of the road 
 without horses, but plunging on, they still hoped to be enabled in the long run to 
 come down upon the fugitives, who, alive or dead, would be to them the most 
 valuable of prizes. The little episode between Dick Turpin and the occupants
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE EOAD. 593 
 
 of the carriage, had taken much less time in the reading than it has necessarily 
 taken us to describe ; but yet the lapse bad been sufficient to enable Claude and 
 Jack to get a long start of Turpin. It has become proverbial with us that ** a 
 stern cbase is a long chase," and, notwithstanding the astonishing speed at which 
 Dick travelled, and that too upon a good road, it was some time before the sound 
 of his horse's feet came upon the ears of Claude. 
 
 .7.S^^a= 
 
 THE FLIGHr mOM THE FATIM-KOUSE, 
 
 ** He comes," said Jack. "Do you hear?" 
 
 «* Yes— yes. Let us draw rein for him. Ci-ely, how fares it with youf" 
 
 " Weil. Quite well, Claude, while you are safe.'* 
 
 *'Alas ! what a life this is for you." 
 
 " You are with me, Claude." 
 
 He could make no reply to this, but by a slight pressure of her hand, which
 
 694 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 laid much more than words could have done, and then Dick Turpin rode up to 
 them. ^ ^ 
 
 " Well done," he said. « Push on." 
 
 *f Our foes ? Are they close?" said Claude. 
 
 *'NDt very, but there's a gravel-pit near here. I have hidden in it twice, and 
 without looking down it, my pursuers have ridden on, fancying me still upon tha 
 upper road." 
 
 ** Will you chance it again ?" 
 
 ** Yes. If they do see us, we are not much the worse off, for they can only 
 get at us by going round by the road-way, while we can scramble out of the pit 
 by a path I know, and still have a good mile the start of them." 
 
 "A mile," said Claude, ** is as good as a hundred. Come on." 
 
 " There's one good thiag, too; about these halts," added Dick. ''They give 
 the cattle breathing time. The game of these fellows, who are so hotly after us, 
 will, no doubt, be to get fresh horses, and so run us down in time, but that they 
 cannot do for six miles yet. This way.'* 
 
 " Where are we now?" said Claude, as he kept his horse's head close up to the 
 neck of BlacK Bess. 
 
 "To the left, in Langley Marsh,'* said Turpin; <'butby kee^ng as we are 
 we shall get on the high road to Maidenhead. If they do baffle us at the gravel 
 pit, we will strike for the Marsh," 
 
 " Do you know it ?" 
 
 "Well." 
 
 They now reached a very siugular bit of road. It was a cutting by the side 
 of a precipitous kind of bank, upon the top of which the original road had evi- 
 dently run, but no doubt, on account of its dangerous steepness, the lower road, 
 as it was called, had been formed. Dick Turpin, to the surprise of Claude, took 
 the upper one. 
 
 *' This way," he said. 
 
 Claude and Jack followed him closely, and after proceeding about a hundred 
 yards, he paused and dismounted, 
 
 *< We must walk the cattle into the pit," he said. " We can easily get out of 
 it mounted, if that is any consolation ; but as I have a regard for my neck, con- 
 sidering it is the only one I have, I would rather go down this steep descent with 
 my own feet beneath me than Black Bess's." 
 
 They all dismounted now, and Dick Turpin leading the way, while Cicely hung 
 upon Claude's arm, they descended into one of the most singularly romantic places 
 that they had ever beheld. At least, it was new to all but Dick Turpin, and he 
 appeared ^uite familiar with its intricacies. 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXVIII. 
 
 THE murderer's DEN. 
 
 When Dick Turpin had spoken of a gravel pit, Claude had thought that he 
 
 meant to introduce them into one of those disorderly-looking excavations where 
 
 stones and sand formed the principal appearances. His surprise, therefore, at 
 
 eing conducted into a little woody glen, full of the most luxuriant vegetation, 
 
 1 was great. 
 
 ** Is this a gravel pit 1'' he said. 
 
 <' Yes, an exhausted and long since deserted>ne," replied Dick Turpin. "I 
 ought to have told you that." 
 
 " I am agreeably surprised. Is not this beautiful, Cicely'?" 
 
 " It is indeed." 
 
 " But how comes it," said Jack, ''that so much vegetation is to be found in a 
 place that one would have thought a great foe to it V
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 595 
 
 *' Ah, my triend, is that you V said Turpin. ** Where did you say you were 
 hanged ?" 
 
 *' You think that a jest," said Claude, who saw Jack give a shudder, and well 
 knew how unwelcome a theme that was to him, *i but I assure you it is no such 
 thing. This is Sixteen-string Jack. Hanged he was, and "th«n brought to life 
 again by a Jew.'* 
 
 " You surprise me, indeed; and at some more fitting time, I should like much 
 to know all the particulars. At present we have too much upon our hands to 
 attend to anything that does not press.'* 
 
 *' True— true." 
 
 Dick Turpin, with the look of one perfectly well acquainted with the 
 place in which he was. led the way, and in the course of about three minutes, 
 they were all at the lowest depth of the old deserted gravel-pit. 
 
 The rank and vile vegetation at the bottom of the pit was high enough to reach 
 the girths of the horses, and here and there the animals smelt out a mouthful 
 of sweet young grass, which they eagerly devoured, as no doubt it was deliciously 
 cooling to their mouths. 
 
 *' We can get no further," said Dick, " without ascending, and that we don't 
 want to do yet." 
 
 "Certainly not. Then this place has not been worked for a long time ?'* 
 
 " Not for sixty years. It was only a vein of gravel, and was soon used up. 
 The excavation was then left. Rains and winds germinated and scattered seeds 
 into it, and now you see it is quite a little wood, and any one not accustomed to it 
 would find no small difficulty in threading its many winding intricate paths." 
 
 " Not a doubt but they would." 
 
 '• Moreover, here and there, there are deep holes, which have been carelessly left, 
 and at the bottom of which there is in all weathers and seasons water, and into 
 which any unwary explorer might fall with but a poor chance of getting out 
 again." 
 
 " Hush !" said Jack. 
 
 "What is it ?"^ 
 
 " They come." 
 
 *' Ah ! 60 they do indeed," said Dick Turpin, after listening for a few moments ; 
 " now absolute silence is requisite, for any sound from below here goes up the 
 sides of the excavation, and is heard more clearly above than below," 
 
 The hard gallop of the approaching oflBcers now came plainly upon the ears 
 of the little party. Not a word was spoken. The caution of Dick Turpin was 
 by no means thrown away, for whatever risks they might have felt disposed to run 
 themselves, they had certamly no right in the world to tamper with his safety." 
 
 *' The attention of them all was strictly directed to listening if the horsemen 
 stopped, or continued proceeding at their maddening pace upon the lower road. 
 On, on they came, and the gallop of nine horses made no inconsiderable tumuli. 
 On — yes— on — on. They pass — no— they pause— a loud voice cries " halt." 
 
 "D— n them!" muttered Dick. 
 
 Claude spoke not a word. 
 
 " Halt !" again said the loud voice. 
 
 The horsemen paused. No longer could the sound of the fierce gallop be 
 heard, but distinctly the laborious breathing of the horses came upon the ears 
 of our adventurers, even so distant as they were from the road where the officers 
 paused. 
 
 " I don't hear them," they heard a voice say. Then another, " Not so loud, 
 Griffiths, — if walls have hears, holes and corners in woods may likewise." 
 
 After this the consultation of the officers was carried on in a tone of voice which 
 forbade the slightest woid of it from reaching the ears of those in the gravel pit, 
 who would have certainly been better pleased to have heard the wi:dle of it. 
 Dick Turpin placed bis mouth close to Claude's ear as he said — 
 
 " Duval, this has been tried once too oft^." 
 
 ''What? What?"
 
 m GENTLEMAN JACK • OR, 
 
 " Hiding here. They have been thrown off the scent before at this spot, and do 
 you know it strikes me forcibly we shall have a run for it yet." 
 " I am sorry we kept not the road then." 
 
 *' Hush, man, hijsh, you speak an octave too high ; whisper as low as you cau. 
 If we could have got the cattle to lie down it would have been better. — Bess will 
 do it at a word, but it is too late now, much too late." 
 *' What is to be done then ?'» 
 
 " We must wait a little. We shall soorx find what they are about. If they 
 come down here— why, their fate be upon their own heads ; but if they fire upon 
 us from above, I, for one, will not be made an animated target of." 
 "Nor I." 
 
 " Then we must make a rush for it. Keep your party ready to mount at a 
 moment's notice." 
 " I will." 
 
 Bang! went a pistol shot, and a rushing sound amid the branches of an alder- 
 tree, close at hand, attested that the shot had come pretty near to the place of con- 
 cealment of our party. Claude shifetd his position so as completely to shield 
 Cicely from any chance shot, and then he felt mote satisfied. Claude was too ip- 
 tent upon shielding Cicely to notice that Jack took up a very similar position as 
 regarded himself. 
 
 " Don't speak/" again whispered Turpin: " They may not have seen us yet. 
 We can be no judges down here of what sort of obstructions may be in the 
 way of their seeing clearly into this dark excavation. The bough of a tree may 
 screen us." 
 
 Claude and Jack both felt the truth of this, and were perfectly still as statues. 
 Cicely trembled. In the course of a few moments another sharp crack proclaimed 
 that a pistol shot was among them ; but this time it did not come so near as 
 before. They all breathed more freely. 
 
 •* It's nonsense," they heard a voice say. " Come on." 
 " Nonsense or not nonsense I am going no farther," said some one in reply. 
 *' No farther ?'' 
 
 " Not an inch. If you think you can find, and when found catch, you can do 
 it. I am not in condition to go further, nor my horse cither. Don't you h«ar 
 him blowingi" 
 " Who ?" 
 
 " Mv horse, stupid." 
 
 Theconversa'ion ceased abruptly at this point ; and Turpin once more inclining 
 to Claude's ear, whispered, — 
 " Do you think that little conversation was genuine, or only intended to deceive 
 us, — possibly to our dostruction ?" 
 " I can hardly say." 
 
 " Nor I. I am in doubt. Let us listen for more." 
 
 Scarcely had he done speaking, when one of the previous voices again broke the 
 silence, and the following conversation took place — 
 
 " And so you think it of no use to go further in the chase ?" 
 " Not a bit ; it's all gammon. They are off and far by this time ; at all events, 
 I look upon it that there's an end to the whole matter." 
 •* What will you do then ?" 
 
 •' Go back to the 'George' at Sout'iall, and order a good dinner." 
 " Well, that ain't a bad idea. What say yon all, gents, to it. Shall it be as 
 Jones says, or shaU we go on putting our heads into danger in looking after fellows 
 who would just as soon put a bullet into us as eat a sandwich." 
 
 *' Oh, let's be off,'' paid a chorus of voices. " We have had quite enough of 
 it. Better luck next time, that's all." 
 *' Come along, then." 
 
 Apparently, off they all' went at a trot, and while the sound of the horses' feet 
 i was still upon the air. Cicely spoke, saying— 
 I "Oh, what a mercy this is,"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 507 
 
 Turpin shook his head. 
 
 " I don't mean to say ihat it is not a mercy, because that's all as it turns out ; 
 but if any of you here imagine those fellows are gone, in my humble judgment you 
 will make a great mistake." 
 
 "That IS my opinion likewise," said Claude. "The attempt to hoodwink us 
 was too transparent. But we may talk a little freely, for they are with their 
 horses." 
 
 " Nay, we cannot be too cautious,'* said Turpin. *' Do you think it unlikely 
 that they have left one of their number to listen if any sound should come up from 
 this place?" 
 
 This was a supposition which was too natural not to place a restraint upon 
 every tongue. Claude and Turpin only continued to converse in very cautious 
 whispers. 
 
 "And so/' said the former, *'you think they suspect we are here ?" 
 *' I think they know it." 
 ** What do you advise, then ?" 
 
 "Simply, that at present we remain were we are. I think, for the purpose of 
 deceiving us, they will leave their horses some hundred yards or so away and come 
 themselves on foot ; if so, we shall have a good advantage, for we can take to our 
 steeds at any time, and be oiF.'' 
 " Confound them." 
 
 " Exactly, and if my pistols don't misfire— a thing they are not in the habit of 
 doing — I will effectuallv confound some of thom." 
 
 ** I regret, though, that you should be much exposed to danger upon our account. 
 There is no rewaid for you.'' 
 
 " Yes, but there will be some day. Come, come, Duval, unless such men as you 
 and I make common cause when we do chance to meet, the Philistines will be too 
 strong for us. If your young wife was in some place of safety, there would be no 
 better fun going there for you, and I, and Jack; for Jack, you say, he is to cope 
 with these fellows above." 
 
 " Alas, yes," said Claude, " I would give all the world were it mine to dis- 
 pose of it, if I could feel that she was, as you say, safe." 
 
 *• Never mind, I will go and reconnoitre the enemy. Just be as still as you 
 can until I come back." 
 " Shall I hold your horse ?" 
 <* No, thank you. Let her be. Bess, lass, Bess." 
 
 Dick Turpin placed his hand upon the shoulder of Black Bess, and gradually 
 pressing upon it, the animal yielded and lay quietly down upon the little grassy 
 spot where they were all standing. 
 
 " She will not stir until my return," said Dick; " I won't be long gone, you 
 may depend." 
 
 Cautiously, now he crept away from them, stooping so low that he was quite 
 hidden by the tall brushwood that grew in such profusion and luxuriance at the 
 bottom of the excavation. 
 
 " Oh, Claude, what will happen to you ?" said Cicely. 
 *' Nothing, dear one, nothing." 
 
 " Ye?, but " 
 
 *« Nay, while you thus torment yourself with fears, you withdraw my attention 
 from the means of safety. Hush !-- what is that }" 
 '* Only me,' said Turpin. 
 " So soon returned ?'' 
 
 " Yes, the vagabonds are slipping quietly down into the excavation like Indians 
 one after the other. We shall have something to do with them yet, I think. 
 The fools, we fight for our lives, they only for money. Ha ! ha !" '
 
 698 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CXXXIX. 
 
 THE CITY MILITIA. 
 
 The state of aflfairs vfere getting serious. 
 
 '• Do you mean that they will actually venture to attack us ?* whispe ed 
 Claude to Turphi, 
 
 ** Ay, do I, and from what I can hear, they have got something in the shape 
 of a reinforcement, for there are two men with thero, whom they address as gen- 
 tleman of the city militia." 
 
 "The city militia?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I don't think we need put ourselves much out of the way concerning 
 them, for I never yet heard that they were any very redoubtable warriors. I 
 think, however, with all deference to you, Duval, ^ I know the locality here- 
 abouts perfectly, you should give me over the full command of our party." 
 
 " Take it in the name of all that's fortunate,*' said Claude j " you may depend 
 upon our followino; your directions in all things." 
 
 " Very good. Then you will remember that there are eleven men after us, 
 and we are but three." 
 
 •* Four to fight," said Cicely. " It is little that I can perhaps do, but that little 
 I feel myself called upon to do by every principle of sound justice." 
 
 •*Gocd," added Turpin ; " mount then all of you, but take care to stoop so low 
 down in your saddles, that your heads are not higher thau those of your horses. 
 I am convinced by the manner of our foes, that in consequence of some inter- 
 vening obstacles, most probably some boughs of trees, they cannot see us at Ipre- 
 sent, and if we rise no higher than the cattle stand, we shall still preserve the same 
 sort of advantage." 
 
 While Claude assisted Cicely to mount again, and whispered to her to be sure 
 to stoop low in the saddle, Turpin spoke to his mare, saying — 
 
 " Now, Bess, up and stirring, lass." 
 
 As he said these words, he placed his hand again upon the creature, and It got 
 up from the ground so softly and with such an amount of positive caution, that it 
 was really diflBcult to suppose that the sagacious animal did not bring to bear 
 upon the occ^ion an amognt of reflection that was quite out of the question. It 
 is difficult to say, though, where instinct and memory end, and mind begins. 
 
 *• All right," whispered Turpira. 
 
 " Yes— yes." 
 
 ** Then get your pistols ready ; and when I say ' Fire I' take care that you do 
 so, and fire low," 
 
 " We will.— Can vou see the foe ?" asked Claude. 
 
 '' No. But hark'!" 
 
 Claude listened intently; and he heard a crackling sound as if some dry fern 
 was being broken up. It was the beast of the officer upon the grass and decayed 
 leaves that strewed the pathway. They were looking, to the capture, as they 
 thought, of Claude Duval and his new ally, the well known Dick Turpin. 
 
 Unde. stand me," whispered Dick Turpin. "Keep your horse|f heads to the 
 right here ; and the moment you have fired your pistols, give them the spur and 
 the rein, and follow me." 
 
 " We will — we will." 
 
 It was really an anxious moment now, for none of the fugitives could exactly 
 calculate either upon the mode of attack or the amount of valour and netermina- 
 tion which would be brought to bear upon the affair by the officers, and likewise 
 the two men mentioned as members of the City Malitia, might be men of courage. 
 It did not follow to the mind of Claude, that every soldier East of Temple Bar 
 must be a Major Sturgeon, Duval could feel that Cicely trembled. 
 
 " Dear one," he said, " it is for you and you only that I feel deeply anxious.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 599 
 
 Let me implore you, if anything should happen ot me, to go to London at once, 
 and find out Mark Brereton and May, and throw yourself upon their protection." 
 
 " No more, no more, Claude. Say no more in such a strain. I cannot, dare not, 
 think of such contingeuces. You must not ask me to do so." 
 
 '« But, Cicely " 
 
 * No — no—no, I can truly say in an.wer to you, 
 
 " Tkat i?ay madness lies !" 
 
 I implore you to say no more, Claude.' ' 
 
 Duval was silent ; but if anything could have nerved him to throw aside all feel- 
 ings of hesitation, in opposing those who came against him, or regret for the 
 necessity, perhaps, of taking their lives, it certainly was the conviction that if he 
 fell Cicely would be something worse than desolate. He closed his lips firmly, 
 mumbling to himself ~ 
 
 ** Let them come : it is their own selection.'* 
 
 And so, indeed, it w&s. If those officers sought, in a manner of speaking, to 
 coin the blood of Claude Duval into gold, they had no right to expect that he 
 should spare them, while they attempted to carry into effect such a process. But 
 all time for reflection had now passed away. 
 " Steady !" said Turpin, in a low voice. 
 
 " Surrender in the king's name, or we will fire upon you 1" cried one of the 
 officers. 
 
 Probably they were alarmed at the profound stillness in that place, which they 
 knew to be peopled by foes. No answer was returned. Turpin, from between 
 his clenched teeth/uttered a low •* Hush !'* 
 
 " Once more, before we fire upon you," cried the voice again, " we call upon 
 yoa to surrender ! You must be killed if you are foolish enough to resist ! Claude 
 Duval, the game is up !'* 
 " Fire low !" said Turpin. 
 
 Bang ! went the pistols, as if all the triggers had been pulled by one finger, so 
 simultaneous was the report. A shriek of pain mingled with the sound, and in 
 another moment, obeying the furious injunctions of Turpin, they all darted to the 
 right ; but no sooner had they done so than a rattling discharge of pistols from 
 the officers right into the spot they had occupied, convinced them how necessary 
 t had been to leave it. 
 " Back again ! cried Turpin. " Turn— turn ! Back again !" 
 He was quickly obeyed; and then, in a voice that rang loud and clear in the 
 pit, he shouted-— 
 *' Forward!" 
 
 They dashed after him. The route which Dick Turpin took might well have 
 appaled any one who for the first time looked upon it ; for, to all appearance, it 
 seemed as if he had an intention of clambering right up the face of the excavation. 
 Now as that was, at the very least, some 200 feet in depth, anyone might well be 
 excused for looking upon it with a feeling of dismay. But, as the reader may 
 suppose, Turpin knew better what he was about than to make any such wild at- 
 tempt. The fact was, that there had existed an old cart track, by which the 
 ground had been brought from the lowest part of the pit to the surface, and al- 
 though that cart track had become very much grown over by weeds, yet it was 
 there, and it v^s in pursuit of its windings that Turpin went. By keeping a light 
 hand upon the near rein of his steed, tbere was little danger of its slipping off the 
 road- way. If it had, instant destruction must have been the consequence ; for 
 nothing could have saved a fall to the very bottom of the pit. The speed, too, at 
 ■which they went, was something in their favour ; for it prevented the cattle from 
 looking at their own perilous position ; and so pursuing the zig-zag and circuitous 
 route of this long disused road, our party slowly worked its way towards the mouth 
 of the deep excavation. Now, the officers were in what, in their own parlance, 
 they would have called rather a fix. Two of their number had been killed out. 
 right by the pistol shots, and one was wounded. They saw their prey escaping,
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK, 
 
 and there they were in a gravel-pit without horses, by the aid of which to follow 
 upon their track, if they could have, after what had happened, summoned courage 
 ■enough with a reduced force to do so. The two military men backed out of the 
 fray. They were both as pale as dea.h ; and one of them said — 
 
 ** We have given all the time we can to the affair, and must go now." 
 
 "Afraid by G — !" exclaimed one of the oflacers. 
 
 To this taunt the military men made no reply, but turning round, scrambled 
 back again as quickly as they possibly could from the gravel-pit, with a profound 
 hope of finding their horses, and being of an equally profound determination never 
 again to interfere with highwaymen at bay. 
 
 " We have ouly one chance," cried the boldest of the officers. l 
 
 " And what's that t" said another. 
 
 ** Why to take up as good a position as we can here, and blaze away upon them. 
 Who knows but we m»y hit our men yet, before they get out of the pit?'* 
 
 This was certainly the very best thing for the accomplishment of their purpose 
 that they could do ;' and as the others naturally fell into the opinion of him who 
 'chose, at auch a moment, to take the lead, they all scrambled on to a little height, 
 ■from which they could command a tolerable view of the fugitives amid the brush- 
 Tvood, and commenced firing upon them. Six men, none of whom were at alldis- 
 ^abled, could manage to keep up a toleraUly brisk fire with a pair of pistols each ; 
 and it was only a wonder that our friends did not suffer immediately from the dia- 
 •charge. Those who are aequainted with piatol shooting, however, know how 
 many trivial circumstances and accidents will be sufficient, at any time, -to prevent 
 the success of a shot, especially in a strange place, and when the objects fired at 
 I are in motion. Each of the officers had fired twice, and yet there were the horse- 
 j I men gaining rapidly the mouth of the excavation. 
 
 j *' Confound them \" cried he who had taken the lead. ** Can we not hit horse 
 ( ! or man ?" 
 
 ;ij " It seems not,'* ^aid another. 
 i "Fire away! We can but try. Ah ! there they are ! By George they will 
 I give us the slip! Now is not that provoking ?" 
 
 Even as he spoke, Dick Turpin, with his Black Bess, made one vigorous dash, 
 and reached the summit of the excavation. 
 
 "Hurrah !" he cried. " Come on." 
 
 The officers could hear the cheer. 
 
 " Fire upon him ! Blaze away at llie one on the top ! There can't be a better 
 anark ! D~n the fellow I has he sold himi'elf to the devil for the privilege of 
 being shot-proof?" 
 
 Dick Turpin was suflficienlly in advance of his friends that, as he stood upon 
 the brink of the chasm, playing to them the part of a guide-post, the whole of the 
 officers had a shot at him, and the whole of them missed him. 
 
 " Now what a set of rascals," he ejaculated, *• to go blazing away at a man in 
 that way! Why, Bess, if they had hit you, I'd go down among them, and sell 
 j mv life for three or tour of their 's !" 
 
 As he spoke, he took from a pocket that woald only just hold it, a particularly 
 long-barrelled pistol. He fixed his eyes upon the officer who had taken the lead 
 among his comrades. 
 
 " So," added Turpin, as he took deliberate aim at him, " you have fired at me 
 twice, and you are, I suppose, what is called an active and enterprising offiicer. I 
 will sec if I cannot put an end to your activity and enterprise, my fine fellow." 
 
 In another moment he fired. A cry reached his ears, and the officer was gone. 
 The bullet had hit him in the chest, and he had fallen to the ground among the 
 bush wood. 
 
 " Done at last !*' he said. " Oh God 1" 
 
 The others suspended the firing to look at him, as he lay there with such a look 
 of horror upon his face, that for some few minutes they were struck dumb with 
 horror
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 601 
 
 " Come a-way, there," said one, slightly recovering sufficiently to speak. " Oh, 
 come away! This won't do !" , . ^, ^ 
 
 The dying man tossed his arras about, and spoka something that was quite 
 inarticulate. 
 
 " Are you very bad, Mouldy ?'* gasped one. 
 
 JACK DISCOVERING THE MURBEBED CORPSE IN BEDF.LLA HOUSE. 
 
 He tried (o sfeak again, and the blood oozed from his mouth—flowing down 
 his breast in an ensanguined stream. He seemed to be struggling to rise, a,nd they 
 thought they had better hold his head up a little, for fear he should be choked. 
 His Face wns awful to look upon, and he who held him up partially shook, so that 
 the (lying man's agony was much increased thereby, if his hfe was protracted. 
 
 " Are you better?" said one.
 
 602 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Oh God, no ! There they come ! There— there !" 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 '* Don't you see ? All with the ropes round their necks ! Oh, it is ^oo hor- 
 rible I" 
 
 " Why, he is raving !" 
 
 " Hush !— hush ! Down with the old man ! Don't let that child escape !— 
 There ! Now — now ! One smash ! There go its brains ! Tell ?— who can tell ? 
 This will come npon me when I die, do you say ? Ha ! — ha ! No— no—no !" 
 
 The dying man fought the air with his hands for a few moments, and then a 
 gulph of blood come from his mouth, and his head fell forward upon his chest as 
 though his neck had been suddenly broken. The officer was d3ad ! No wonder 
 his companions looked on with horror-struck wonder. No effort was made to stay 
 the rapidly retreating fugitives. All spirit had gone from the hearts of the remain- 
 ing officers, and with their dead, they remained in the gravel-pit, looking at each 
 other with consternation upon every countenance. Surely the affair had turned 
 out to be a very different one to what they had projected it should be. But not 
 for long was this state of total inaction to continue with them. It so happened 
 that the "gentlemen of the hunt," had by this time started a fox, and had got 
 round to the meadows in the immediate neighbourhood of the gravel-pit. There 
 they lost the scent, for the fox took refuge in some secret covert, close to the pit ; 
 and the horsemen, some fourteen or fifteen in number, who had, with the utmost 
 enthusiasm followed the dogs, assembled to consult about what was best to be 
 done next, close to where the officers had left their horses. They had hardly 
 had time to make a remark to each other about their disappointment, when the 
 two members of the City Light-Horse arrived^ and hastily mounting their horses, 
 cried — 
 
 '* Oh, gentlemen, there's a horrid murder taking place in the gravel-pit, down 
 yonder,'* 
 
 Then, without waiting for a word in reply, they darted off as hard as they eould 
 to town. 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this, gentlemen V* said one of the **hunt." '* Let 
 us trot on and inquire, if we have lost the fox, we may find some other game.* * 
 
 ** I'll be bound," said another, " that it's those highwaymen we saw at Southall." 
 
 CHAPTER CXL. 
 
 THE LONB HUT, 
 
 Dick saw that he was recognised by the " gentlemen of the hunt,- * and lifting 
 his hat a little from his head, he cried in a vo^ce that was quite loud enough to go 
 across the pit— • 
 
 " Hark away, gentleman! If you are inclined for a race, come on. We have 
 not a bit more the start of you than we mean to keep. — Tally-ho !'* 
 
 He only paused long enough to see that his taunt had had the eflFect of inducing 
 the huntsmen to eome after him, and then turning to Claude, he said— 
 
 " They are not upon our track, but a stern chase is indeed a long one; so let 
 them come. Now for it — ofi and away, at once, fov we must throw away no 
 chances." 
 
 " But they are quite close to us,'* said Cicely. 
 
 " In appearance yes , but not in reality.'* 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 ** Why, we are upon one side of the gravel-pit, and they are upon the other. It is 
 three quarters of a mile*s ride to get round to this spot ; and although it is not 
 the odd quarter to come through the pit, 1*11 warrant, if they try that game, it will 
 take them longer than it would to come round."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 603 
 
 " Yes," said Claude, " we have as fair a start of thena as we could desire. Calm 
 yourself, Cicely, there is nothing to fear now, nor do I think there will bee" 
 
 "Itou are right," said Duval; •' all we have to do is to push on until we reach 
 some shelter, and then double upon our foes." 
 " Can we do so on this road?" 
 
 " Yes, easily. Ah ! what is that ?— Woa, Bess !— Woa, mare I" 
 A brilliant flash of lightning had suddenly lit up the whole scene with such a 
 lurid glare that, passing, as it seemed to do, immediately before the faces of the 
 horses, it alarmed them all ; and it was some few moments even before Turpin 
 could succeed in calming the terror ef his exquisitely trained steed. 
 "A storm," said Claude, as he looked up. 
 ** Yes, it's coming," 
 
 *' But Where's the thunder?" said Jack. 
 
 The inquiry had scarcely passed the lips of Jack, when the thunder came with 
 such a startling explosion that it seemed as though a hundred field-pieces had 
 been discharged at once in 'mid air. 
 
 " That is terrible," said Cicely. ^ .^ 
 
 The horses swerved and shouk ; but by voice and hand their riders strove to 
 console and manage them so that they galloped on through the now rapidly dark- 
 ening air, as though the> had wings. 
 
 *' Our friends in scarlet," said Dick, <' will get a wetting, which, I think, will 
 cool their courage a little.* 
 
 "It ought to do so," said Claude. «' Ah! there it is again ! What a flash that 
 was." 
 
 The forked lightning had seemed now to pass exactly between them and some 
 trees that were by the road-side; but such could either not have been its exact 
 direction, or it must have swerved with wonderful velocity, for a loud crash, as 
 though the very vault of heaven was rent assunder, succeeded, and an immense 
 elm tree fell across the road, rent and shattered from its topmost branch to the 
 very roots by the formidable fluid. 
 
 "Hold in! hold in !" said Claude, " till the thunder is over. It is coming 
 now." 
 
 Mechanically they obeyed him ; and it was well they did so, for what with the 
 tremendous reverberations of the thunder, and the alarm previously occasioned 
 by the lightning and the fall of the trees, the horses were begining to be un- 
 manageable. Claude's steed reared ; and it was quite as much as he could do by 
 ' dint of coaxing and main strength to keep the creature from tearing off at a wild 
 mad gallop. 
 
 j « Humph !" said Dick ; " we are in for it now, I rather think.*' 
 I ** We are, indeed.— What shall we dc ■ ' 
 I Pat! pat! came some large drops of !.mi. 
 
 " We shall get drenched," added Turuiu. " Let us get into the meadows, and 
 see if we can find a house.'' 
 " But, our persuers ?" 
 
 *■ Oh, you need think nothing of them, I fancy. You may take your oath they 
 have all turned tail upon the storm, and are off to Southall, just as hard as they 
 can put hoof to ground. What should they see in us that they should spoil their 
 Jim-^crack hunting finery in coming after us? Ah, here is a gap in the hedge. 
 Come on, and let us trust to fortune for a shelter, somewhere." 
 
 The gap in the hedge, to which Dick Turpin alluded, was only just large enough 
 to allow one horse to pass throagh it at a time ; and then they all found themselves 
 in a delightful, soft, and verdant meadow, skirting the road-side. 
 
 " Follow me," said Dick, "■ I see something like a homestead right out some 
 distance." , 
 
 Another flash of lightning, certainly not so brilliant as the former, and followed 
 by a roar of thunder, that convinced Claude the storm was nearly overhead, ac- 
 celerated their movements, for the natural result of this contention of the elements 
 would be sure to be a fall of rain, that in Cicely's delicate state might do hei"
 
 601 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 much injury. As they proceeded across the meadow, Claude spoke to her in a 
 low voice — 
 
 " Cictly, this is, indeed, hard fortune for you ; but cheer up, dearest, and all shal 
 yet be well." 
 
 A mute — but, oh ! how eloquent — pressure of the hand was the only response. 
 That slight touch was sufficient for Claude. It was such things that spoke to his 
 heart, and told him how much he was beloved. 
 
 *' Ah !" cried Turpin, suddenly, " I see the chimney pots." 
 
 "Where — where?" cried Claude. 
 
 Turpin drew up, and pointed in the direction of a clump of trees, at about a 
 couple of hundred yards distance ; and there, sure enough, Claude saw some giant- 
 looking, ornamental chimney-pots, lifting up their heads against the darkening 
 sky. 
 
 " Alas !" said Cicely, who likewise saw them, *' some lonely cottage would be 
 a much more likely place in which we should find some shelter, than in such a 
 home as, probably, lies imbosomed among those trees. What think you, 
 Claude ?" 
 
 *' I think with you, Cicel)'', that we shall find no welcome there." 
 
 ** We can but reconnoitre the place," said Dick. *' Do }ou know, it strikes me, 
 that these chimney-pots belongs to Bedella House." 
 
 '' And what is that ?" 
 
 ** A deserted mansion, supposed to be haunted. They say no one has slept a 
 night in it since Queen Elizabath ruled in England. But that to me is a very 
 doubtful proposition, indeed." 
 
 *' It will afford us a shelter, if one can gain admittance,* said Claude, " against 
 the weather, I suppose." 
 
 " Certainly it will. Let us push on for it, I see we shall have to cross another 
 meadow. I hope we shall find a gap in the hedge, or a gate, for our cattle, I 
 don't think, are in any humour for jumping just now, whatever they may be for 
 a sharp run.* 
 
 They reached the confines of the first meadow from the high road, and it was 
 only, after skirting the hedge for some distance, that they, come to a small gate, 
 made for the convenience of cattle, through which they passed. And now the 
 rain, that had been, as it were, only threatening, began in a very unequivocal 
 manner to descend. The worst of the storm clouds had, certainly, nut broken over 
 the spot upo;» which our adventurers were ; but at times there would come such 
 a dash of water against them, that it would really seem as if some one had delibera- 
 tely cast it in their faces. Cicely shrunk closer to Claude. 
 
 *'This is pleasant, indeed," said Dick Turpin, " and the worst of it is, it don't 
 at all seem inclined to get any better. Come on, we can but try our luck at the 
 old mansion. A roof over one's head, will be something to-day to boast 
 of." 
 
 " It will indeed," said Claude. 
 
 They had pased through the small cattle gate, into the second meadow j and 
 as it was made narrower than the last, and they had but to cross it at its least 
 dimensions, they soon reached an iron hurdle fence, which separated the actual 
 grounds of the old house from the meadows. Jack dismounted, and quickly re- 
 moved a couple of the hurdles, so that the horses could pass through with ease ; 
 and then upon all sides they could see what had once been high culture, and 
 abundant evidences of a carefully kept place. To le sure, the gravelled pathway 
 was now almost completely overgrown by tall weeds, but still its ruinous course 
 could be plainly enough traced ; and some flower-roots that had grown wild and 
 gigantic — losing much of their beauty, while they gained so much strength and 
 freedom — looked strange and new to the eyes of our friends. 
 
 •' This way, I think," said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, you are right," said Dick. *'That leads evidently to the house. Ah, 
 more thunder ; did any one see the lightning?" 
 
 No one had ; and from the character of the thunder it would seem as if the
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 605 
 
 storm was going off in au easterly direction. The rain, liowever, although it still 
 pursued its fiiful varying character, became more annoying each moment. 
 
 ** What a strange old pile," said Claude, as they advanced a few yards further; 
 and suddenly upon rounding some laurel bushes of most luxuriant growth, come 
 in front of the house. 
 
 Cicely thought it beautiful. That it was of the Elizabethan order of archi- 
 tecture could be seen, and that was all ; for the whole face of the building, without 
 exception, was completely overgrown by ivy. The windows were blocked up by 
 the beautiful creepers, the doors were covered over, and it was only some few of the 
 chimnpy pots that had escaped being covered. From want of care, too, hundreds of 
 young green shoots ot the ivy stood out from the house, waving about like so many 
 green arms, that might be supposed to be either welcoming or warning off a visitor, 
 as the fancy of those that looked at them might choose to dictate. 
 *' Well," said Jack, " I think this is worth coming to see.," 
 " And 80 do I,'' said Cicely. 
 
 " It is curious enough," said Turpin j " but now let us try if any one lives here, 
 which I fancy, after all the show of its desertion, must be the case." 
 
 He hit heavily with his riding-whip upon the sill of one of the windows of the 
 house; echo alone returned any answer to his blows. The darkness now was, 
 for the time of day, something absolutely appaling ; and the birds flew scanning 
 by with terror, sufficiently manifest by the irregular manner of their flight. The 
 horse's snorted and pawed the ground with an impatient restlessness, while a 
 strange moaning sound, fromsome gathering gale of wind, seldom hehvd upon shore, 
 come mournfully and fitfully upon the ears of the little party, who stood appa- 
 rently so fair a chance of being exposed to the 
 
 " Pelting of the pitiless storm," 
 as shelter was denied them. 
 
 *' I won't stand this," said Jack. 
 *' Nor I," said Claude. *' I will force an entrance,'' 
 
 "Ah, here is an old knocker," said Turpin. ''By the lord they shall think a 
 dozen London postmen are at the door." 
 
 The hard knocking of Turpin produced no effect whatever ; although he re- 
 peated it twice. 
 
 " Well,*' said Claude, " what is to be done now ?*' 
 
 "I can hardly tell," replied Dick, " unless we can manage by our united force 
 to break in one of the doors/' 
 
 -' I think we may do better than that," said Jack. " Skill to overcome an ob- 
 stacle, I take it, is always better than force ; and I havt the means of opening, I 
 am quite certain, some one door of this house, provided no one is within." 
 ** Indeed. Whal makes you say some one door ?" 
 
 " Why, whoever last left the house, may have bolted every door but the one he 
 left by. That he must only have locked, and I have tools with me that no lock 
 ever resisted yet." 
 
 **I," said Dick, "you are right. Now I should hardly have thought of that. 
 But, come Master Jack, if you can make us free of Bsdella House, do so as quickly 
 as you can, or we shall be drenched in the rain, which you cannot fail to per- 
 ceive is thickening each moment." 
 *' Indeed," said Claude, "it is, now, no despicable kind of shower." 
 
 CHAPTER CXLl. 
 
 SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. , 
 
 Claude was right enough as regarded the rain, for it begin to come down with 
 thbt perpendicularity which is incidental to the discharge of the contents of storm 
 clouds. Jack, with a picklock in his hand that he knew well the use of, took his
 
 C06 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 way to what appeared to be the principal door of the house, thinking that such 
 was the most likely one of which the persons last occupying had left. 
 
 " Ah, that will do," cried Dick. *' We shall get shelter now." 
 
 " No," said Jack, as he tried the lock, " no— yes — stop, yes. — It yields. It is 
 only rusty, I suppose from long disuse, that is all. There it goes j now if this 
 has been the last door opened, there are no bolts to it." 
 
 As he spoke he gave a push to the door, but although it was evidently not made 
 fast by any legitimate means, something impeded it« opening ; and then, before 
 Jack could make a surmise upon the subject, a gruff and somewhat surly voice, 
 cried— i 
 
 " What's the row now ? Who's there?" 
 
 " Hilloa !" cried Dick, *' we have roused up somebody at last. Push it open. 
 Jack. Push it open." 
 
 " Help me!" 
 
 Dick sprung at the door, and his strength united to Jack's forced the door open, 
 to the distraint of a hulking ill-looking fellow in the hall, who had been striving 
 to hold it shut, and who was fairly thrown down in the violence with which it was 
 forced open. 
 
 ** What do you mean by this ?" he cried. 
 
 *' Just what you see, my friend," said Dick. 
 
 '< But this is not the way to come into an honest man's^ house, confound you 
 all.'' 
 
 " If it be an honest man's house," replied Dick, " it cannot be your's, so you 
 have no cause for grumbling, for if nature took the trouble, my friend, to write 
 rogue on any one's face, she did upon your's. But, I suppose, you have been 
 told that before, and if so, I beg to apologise for mentioning it to you." 
 
 The fellow who was dressed in a half-gamekeeper, half-ploughman sort of 
 style, looked perfectly aghast at these words, as though in all his life no one had 
 dared to be so impertinent to him, 
 
 ** Come in — come in," cried Dick ; " it's all right. Come in." 
 
 " Is it all right ?" said the man. 
 
 ** Yes, my friend. Quite so." 
 
 ** Don't you make too sure of that." 
 
 The fellow advanced before Dick and barred the way, showing a frame of Her- 
 culean proportions, and a countenance of the most savage ferocity. 
 
 " I never say anything is all right," said Turpin, "unless I mean it ; and now, 
 bully, get out of the way." 
 
 " I won't." 
 
 *' You won't ?" 
 
 *' I told you so ; and if you don't be off, I'll soon make you." 
 
 Dick retreated a step ; hut it was only to get the fellow out from the doorway, 
 and it had the effect, for the man supposing he had produced some effect from 
 his threats, followed him closely and raised his arm. Dick, with a spring, closed 
 upon him. 
 
 " Oh, that's it," said the fellow. " You want a fall, do you ?" 
 
 •* I have no objection if you can give me one." 
 
 *• Haven't you ? then look to your neck." 
 
 " Keep off, Claude," cried Dick, as he saw Duval was about to interfere ; " keep 
 off. Let him alone. I can manage. Get inside all of you out of the rain. I'll 
 come directly," 
 
 " Will you ? Ha ! ha! ha!" laughed the brutal fellow, as he clasped Dick in 
 his arms. "Ha! ha! That's a hug !" 
 
 "Is it ?" said Dick ; " and that's a fall." 
 
 In an instant the fellow's legs flew up from under him, and he fell upon his 
 head with a violence that left him insensible upon the ground for a few moments. 
 
 " Ah !" said Dick, as he shook himself and drew a long breath ; " I thought 
 that I could show you a dodge in wrestling, unless you had been to a better school 
 than was likely to have had you for a pupil."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 607 
 
 During the time of this brief contest, our friends had all taken refuge in th e 
 hall of the house, and then Dick joined them. The discomfited bully rose to a 
 sitting posture and rubbed his head. He uttered some awful oaths. 
 
 *' Silence !" cried Dick. " I won't have any svsrearing here." 
 
 The fellow was silent. He seemed to have a thorough dread of Dick, and 
 slowly rising, he staggered into the hall, saying — 
 
 *' If it's shelter you want, I havn't got no objection. Come in." 
 
 <* Thank you for nothing," said Dick ; '* we are in." 
 
 " I always wishes to make everybody comfortable/* added the fellow; *'I am 
 sure, that I do," 
 
 " Oh, you are disposed to be civil now, are you ? If you had taken the same 
 thought some time ago, you would have spared making that hole in the gravel 
 there, outside the door, with your thick head.'* 
 
 "Oh nifister, let by-gones be by-gones,** said the fellow, with a rough attempt 
 at good humour, which sat most awkardly upon him ; "I don't bear any malice." 
 
 " Yery well," said Dick. *' Light us a fire then somewhere, and we will pay | 
 you for your trouble." 
 
 " This way master. I lives here, and takes care of the old house. I've got a 
 bit of a fire here in one of the rooms. This way, master, if you please. This way 
 —this way — to the small parlour — a-hem !" 
 
 The man brawled out these words so loud that Dick, said to him — 
 
 *' What are you making all that noise about ? We are none of us destitute of 
 the sense of heaiing, thank God." 
 
 "Did I speak loud, master ?'* 
 
 " Did you ? To be sure you did." 
 
 ' ' Ah, it's only one of my little funny ways, maiter, that's all. If you coraes to 
 know me, I'm full on 'em.'* 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " Yes, master. This way if you pleases." 
 
 Claude took the opportunity of the fellow being a little in advance to wisp e r 
 quietly to Dick Turpin. 
 
 *' We had better be fully upon our guard with this fellow. I am quite con- 
 vinced that he has confederates in the house, and that his loud talking was 
 merely to give them a hint to keep out of the way while we went to the room he 
 speaks of." 
 
 *' I am of the same opinion." 
 
 " I thought you would be. Let us Be careful." 
 
 *' Yes, and keep close together.** 
 
 The man suddenly turned, and said— 
 
 " You will excuse my being all of a muddle here, gentlemen, as I live'all by 
 myself, you see ; and there ain't no woman folk* in the place to put it a bit to 
 rights, you see. This is the room, master, if youjpleases." 
 
 He called Dick master, and evidently stood in fear of him since the heavy 
 fall he had had from Dick's superority in the art of wrestling, in which skill 
 is so superior to mere brute strength, for as regards the latter, the man could 
 have eaten Dick up. They all followed him across a long hall, and though 
 two empty rooms, and then down six steps into a small apartment that at one 
 time had been a sort of waiting-room. There was no grate in the place usually 
 so filled, but upon the hearth a wood fire was slowly burning. The smell of 
 tobacco was powerful in the room. As regards furniture, there stood in the 
 centre of the apartment a table which, from its shape, had evidently at one 
 time been fixed to a wall, and in its best days had been, too, rather a gorgeous 
 piece of furniture, for the legs of it were carvred and gilt. Some chairs of 
 all sorts and sizes, from the \ow prie-Dieu to the large old fashioned arm-Qhair 
 were there likewise, and they completed the furnishing ©f the room, for upon 
 the floor there was nothing in the shape of a carpet. 
 
 *' Sit down, and rest yourself,'* said the fellow. *• There's plenty of seats, you 
 see, master,"
 
 608 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Yes,'* said Dick, " and of all sorts. I suppose these come from some of the 
 other rooms of the house ?" • i. i >t 
 
 " Oh, yes, master, there's no end of old traps m the place. 
 " Indeed, Is it furnished then V 
 '« Why, you may say it is, master." 
 " Who owns it ?* 
 
 *' The lawyer, old Griffiths, is the only one as I sees. He gives me, you see, a 
 trifle to look after it, and keep the doors and windows shut." 
 " And you live here all alone ?" 
 
 *' Oh yesjmaster, all alone. I wander about a little, and looks after the garden, 
 and so on ; but as you say, master, I lives here all alone." 
 •' A solitary sort of life." 
 
 •' Oh, very, master, very. Would you like to take anything just to keep the 
 damp out, master ?" 
 
 •' No," said Claude, quickly. 
 
 The fellow looked at him as though he would have said — " I did not ask you," 
 but he suppressed the inclination to be uncivil, and merely added — 
 " Perhaps you will, master, though, for all that," 
 
 " No," said Dick. *' I don't drink anything before dinner. We will only wait 
 till the lain has gone off a little, and then push on. You are sure you tied up 
 the horses inside that porch, Jack ?'* 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Jack, "they are safe enough, and under cover, too. I think 
 we had better go now. I don't hear the rain." 
 " Let us listen." 
 
 " I'll go and look out and see how the weather is," said the man. 
 Before they could have said a vfovd in objection, the fellow left the room, and 
 they heard him walking very quickly away. 
 
 " Dick, I don't like this place," said*Ciaude. " Let us get out of it as soon as 
 we possibly can. The rain without is better than danger within." 
 
 " I am of your opinion," said Turpin. " I feel as certain as I am of my own 
 existence, that yon fellow is a scoundrel of the first. water. Ah I what's that ?" 
 
 The door of the room was suddenly slammed, but it did not close perfectly. 
 Some one uttered an imprecation on the outside, and when Dick Turpin and 
 Claude both rose and made towards the door, they distinctly heard footsteps run- 
 ning from it at a hard rate. 
 
 <* What is the meaning of this ?" said Claude. 
 
 *' Why," said Jack, *' it just means that we should have been shut in here, if I 
 had not, as we first came into the room, slipped the little bolt at the under part 
 of the lock out. That, as you see, prevented the door from going close, and he who 
 came to shut it was in too great a hurry to stay to see what the obstrdction 
 was." 
 
 " Confound his impudence,'' said Dick. 
 " Look to your pistols," cried Claude. 
 "Ay, we shall perhaps have a fight for it yet." 
 
 " When, oh, when will all this end," said Cicely. " Oh, Claude, let us leave 
 this place at once." 
 
 *' We will, dear one, if we can," 
 
 *■ Come on," said Jack. " This way to the outer door. This way. We ought 
 to lose no time now. Up those steps. Don't you recollect now the way ?" 
 « Yes — yes. Quick, oh, quick," said Cicely. 
 
 They ascended the steps and rushed through the empty room to which they 
 led. They reached the door ot it — It was last shut, and seemed as firm as a 
 rock ! 
 
 " Ah ! we are caught !" said Dick. i 
 
 *' It looks like it,'* leplied Jack. 
 
 " This is too ridiculous !'' exclaimed Claude. *' Yon rascal can hardly suppose 
 that we are going to stand any of his nonsense, or ttat a closed door is to bar the 
 way against three men."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 609 
 
 As he spoke, Claade flung himself against the door vigorously, but the solid 
 oak of which it was composed effectually resisted any effort of his to force it, and 
 he was compelkd to give up the attempt in some chagrin a its completer 
 failurei 
 
 " It won't do," said Dick, 
 
 « So I see." 
 
 '* What will become of us ?" said Cicely. 
 
 " Be under no apprehensions," added Claude. " We arerather too strong a 
 party to play any serious tricks with. How is the window situated, Jac^?" 
 
 " Stop a bit," said Jack. " Never mind the window ; here is something bet- 
 ter. If I mistake not, this is a door, although well enough for ordinary purposes, 
 concealed in the panelling." 
 
 No. 77.
 
 • - , , ..'!■- . I .. . ■a . II. I mi Sfm m ■ - !'■ 
 
 610 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 They all proceeded to the part of the room where Jack was, and there they 
 saw sure enough j;hat there was a door which had been at one time, after the house 
 had been built, doubtless cut out of the panelling, so that moulding and all 
 fitted tolerably exact, giving it the appearance as though it had been made for a 
 concealed door, when, in all likelihood, no such notion was entertained by its 
 architect. 
 
 "Is it fast r said Claude. 
 
 '* They would hardly neglect it," said Diek. 
 
 "They?'' exclaimed Cicely. *' Then you think there are many here ? Ha»e 
 we f alien into bad hands V* 
 
 " Hush! hush!' said Claude ; " I pray you compose yourself. There is some 
 little mystery in this affair, which a little time will, no doubt, quite completely 
 disclose." 
 
 '•People who think themselves wonderfully clever," said Jack, "often neglect 
 obvious precautions. This daor is only locked, and now it is not even so well 
 fastened as that." 
 
 As he spoke, he skilfully picked the lock of the door. A quantity of dust came 
 from the top and sides of it, and< they saw beyond it what at first appeared to be a 
 most particularly gloomy passage, 
 
 " Come on," said Claude. " Let this lead to where it may it will be better 
 policy to follow it than to remain where we are ; for here in this room we- were, 
 no doubt, intended to remain, so* that by leaving, it we may de£ea4^ some plnn- or 
 combination against us." 
 
 " What a gloomy place," said Turpin, m he dww Br pistol firom hi« pocket and 
 .'hook the priming. 
 
 Claude hact pushed on, and upon feeling the opposite wall^ which was not aboye 
 four feet from, the door, that Jack had opened, he came upon something soft like 
 cloth. Upon pushing more strongly it yielded before him* audi to the agreeable 
 surprise of the whole|party a door, covered with cloth and destitute o^ all fasten" 
 ings, swung open, and admitted them into a spacious and most elegant apartment. 
 Situated as this room was into which they now all made their way, it had, doubt- 
 less, ut one time been the principal dining-room of the mansioni The walls were 
 covered with faded tapestry. The ceiling was richly painted^ in arabesque, and 
 the five windows were, in some of these compartments, fitted with crimson glass, 
 that gave a sort of richness of colouring to everything within the apartment. 
 One of these windows opened into a small conservatory. It would appear, that 
 from this room some of the furniture of the apartment into which they had been 
 shown by the man had been taken ; for they saw in niches in the wall, several 
 tables similar to the one they had noticed in what he called his room. A quantity 
 of furniture, of one kind and another, was scattered about^ the place, but all in 
 the most miserable state of disorder, and absolute delapidation from sheer negleefe 
 The dust lay upon some things like black snow. 
 
 " This is at all events,'* said Dick, as he glanced rapidly aroundhim, '^ AiibWS^' 
 for the better, Claude. Do you not think it is ?" 
 
 •' I do," said Claude. •' But you are right to be upon your guard, Tarpj»,v and 
 I will do ihe same." 
 
 Claude took the pislol upon which he knew he could most depend^, from his 
 hreast- pocket, and caiel'ully examined it to feel certain that it was in. a- state of 
 efficiency for use. 
 
 *' All's right !" he said. 
 
 '• The best thing we can possibly do,*' said Jack " is to make our way to our 
 horses, and be off. The storm has abated, so I don't think we need wish to pro- 
 tract our sta3i here." 
 
 As though to give the most startling contradiction to the words of Jack, there 
 came, at this moment, a clap of ti under that seemed as if it shook the house to its 
 foundations. The echoes appeared p«»rfectly interminable, and rolled and rattled 
 about the wings of the building as though some wild animal was seeking admit- 
 tance. Cicely clung to Claude's arm. Dick made his mouth up with a whistling
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 611 
 
 expression ; and Jack placed his hands over his ears to shut out the dismal and 
 startling reverberations of the 
 
 ♦' Loud-mouthed artillery of Heaven !" 
 
 " Weil," said Dick, "what do you think of that?" 
 
 " It was terrible/' said Jack. 
 
 " It was, indeed,'* exclaimed Cicely ; " oh, let us leave this place, for the very 
 atmosphere is full of horrors. From the first moment I crossed the threshold, a 
 shuddering feeling came over me, and it seemed as though a voice not of this 
 world whispered to me, 'Turn and fly.' " 
 
 "My Cicely," said Claude, " you do, indeed, now allow your imaginations to 
 play with you.'* 
 
 *' Well," said Dick, ** I am not in love with the place, and storm or no storm, 
 I am willing to leave it as soon as you like, Claude. Only say the word.*' 
 
 At this moment, when they were in a state of doubt and hesitation as to what 
 1o do, a door that they none of them had noticed, suddenly opened, and an old 
 man with white hair, and quite a patriarchial look, made his appearance. 
 
 CHAPTER CXLII. 
 
 DANGER THICKENS. 
 
 They alllooked in astonishment at the old man, and the old man looked in 
 astonishment, real or pretended, at them. For a few moments not a word was 
 spoken on either side, and then Claude, advancing and adroitly placing himself 
 between the old man and the door at which he had entered, 8aid«» 
 
 " Pray, sir, who are you ?" 
 
 The old man made a half-kind of bow, as he replied— 
 
 *' Really, gentlemen, I might, considering all things, ask that question of 
 you." 
 
 ** We are overtaken by the storm, that is all,* said Claude, " and took shelter 
 here, where we have encountered «ome strange treatment.** 
 
 ** Strange treatment, sir P" 
 
 ** Yes, a man locked us in a room, with what intention is best known to him- 
 self." 
 
 ** Alas ! alas !" 
 
 '* But we are prepared for anything, and if violence is the object, we are just 
 about the worst people it could be tried upon.'' 
 
 **Dear! dear!'* said the old man, as if in great grief. "Was the man tall, 
 sir ? and, though I say it perhaps who ought not, was he rather ill-favoured.** 
 
 "Yes, tall," said Claude. 
 
 "And most decidedly ill-favoured,'* said Dick. 
 
 " Then, gentlemen, I grieve to say it, instead of encountering me, you have un- 
 fortunately seen my poor deranged son." 
 
 "Deranged?"' 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen ; mad — quite mad. His manner is sometimes to strangers 
 all courtesy, and he will declare, to the surprise and confusion of the people, that 
 he has known them for years, and insist upon treating them as old acquaintances; 
 and then at times he will be so rude and insolent, that people will fancy this rather 
 a den of malefactors, than a peaceful old deserted house. Alas! alas !'* 
 
 The old man wiped away a tear. i^^^^, 
 
 " This is extraordinary," said Dick. 
 
 " My poor, poor, boy,*' muttered the old man. "You see, gentlemen/ if I did 
 not live with him, who would ?" 
 
 " But what do you mean V asked Dick. {?
 
 612 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Why, you see, sir," replied the old man, " the house now belongs to Colontl 
 Vese)'; and as I was many years with my old woman (rest her soul ! she's gone 
 now) in the service of the' family, they gave us this house to live in, and what 
 with the kitchen-garden, and the grapes the ladies used to take some of in the 
 summer-time, when they come to view the house, we did pretty well." 
 
 "And brought your mad son here?" 
 
 " Alas, sir, he was in a lunatic asylum, but they said he was incurable, so we 
 took him back to us, with the hope that love with something like liberty, and old 
 well-remembered faces about him, he would be a little better. Alas ! alas! I think 
 the sight of him hurried my poor wife, rest her soul! into the other world." 
 
 " This is melancholy," said Cicely. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is. It is." 
 
 '* And 80," said Claude, "you live here all alone with the poor lunatic ?" 
 
 ** I do, sir, I do. God help me !'* 
 
 Conversation was now for a few moments put an end to by the rain, which 
 came down so tremendously, and made such a clatter upon the glass roof of the 
 conservatory close st hand, that it would have been difficult indeed for any one to 
 make himself heard. Jack was the only one who had said nothing to the old 
 man ; but he was not an unobservant spectator of theinterview between his friends 
 and that venerable personage. 
 
 " It's coming now,'* said Dick, as he glanced through one of the windows. «* It 
 can't last long though at this rate." 
 
 " Impossible," said Claude ; *' it would be a second flood if it did.*' 
 
 •* Pray, gentlemen," said the old man who had been wiping his eyes, and doing 
 what he could to rtcover his composure, after conversing upon such a dismal 
 subject as his mad son. "Pray, gentlemen, make yourselves at home here, 
 I bee of you, as long as you like." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 •* You need not at all tarry. I can find you clean seats in the drawing-room, 
 for we keep that always in good order, for visitors you see, gentlemen ; but this 
 room has not been come into for I don't know when." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " No, gentlemen. But as I heard you here, I thought it was my duty to come 
 and speak to you." 
 
 *' You are very kind." 
 
 *• Dear, dear, how the rain does come down to be sure. Please to follow me, 
 gentlemen, and I will lead you to the drawing-room in a minute. This way, if 
 you please, gentlemen, this way." 
 
 The old man led the way through a little ante-room ; and then opening one of 
 a pair of folding doors, he said— 
 
 *'That is the green drawing-room, which used to be the most favourite room 
 in the house, they tell me, long, long, ago ; and to tell the truth, ii's quite a pleasant 
 lightsome room, now." 
 
 The room into which they all entered fully merited the encomiums of the old 
 man , and no one, to look at it, could doubt that it had been a favourite apartment. 
 The walls of this drawing-room were hung with pale green damask ; and what 
 made that hanging much more estimable was, that it was not deformed by the 
 odious figures with which old tapestry is mostly covered, presenting such vile 
 and abominable imitations of humanity, as must be offensive to any one with the 
 smallest pretentions to real taste. This tapestry had flowers richly embossed over 
 its entire surface ; and the roof of the room was painted so as to give by its 
 shadowing an excellent appearance of a dome ceiling. The heavy and voluminous 
 window curtains, the rich carpeting, and the covering of the old chairs and couches, 
 were all of green silk worked with flowers, and similar to those upon the tapestry, 
 so that there was quite a charming unity about the decorations of the place, 
 which is as rare as it is really attractive. 
 
 " This is, indeed, a handsome room," said Claude, 
 _ J !'jrfiry^*i_§aid^icki *|andwhat_a^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 613 
 
 They all went tj the vTindow, from whence there was a view into a garden, toler- 
 ably well kept. 
 
 " We are at the back of the house," said Claude. 
 
 " Yes," replied the old man. *' The back contains all the principal rooms, as 
 it looks to the south ; and has a pleasanter aspect than the other portions of the 
 mansion. Ah, gentlemen ! will you excuse me ?" 
 
 **For what?" 
 
 "For my great anxiety to look after my poor boy, which compels me to leave 
 you by yourselves for a short time, if you will permit me to be so very rude." 
 
 "Certainly — certainly," said Dick. '* Go, by all means." 
 
 ** 1 will bring you a bottle of my pocr wife's— rest her soul ! she is dead and 
 gone — ginger wine, gentlemen. It will keep the cold and damp out of your 
 stomachs." 
 
 The old man, with looks of anxiety, left the drawing-room by another door, 
 which he carefully closed after him. 
 
 " Poor old man," said Cicely. *' What a cheerless life his must be ; indeed, I 
 pity him from my «o«l." 
 
 '* You do ?" said Jack. 
 
 ** Yes ; and do not you ?" 
 ^ They all looked at Jack, who had his finger upon his lip) as a sign of caution ; 
 and then he added, in a low lone— 
 
 *• Does he not look venerable with his white hair V* 
 
 " Yes— yes," said they all. 
 
 *' Hush!— hush! I " 
 
 " What— what 2" 
 
 *• I saw it was a wigl" 
 
 They were all silent for a few moments, and then Jack added— 
 
 *• Yes, a wig ! — Actually, a wig! Now a man may wear a wig ; but there is 
 no occasion for his wearing a white one." 
 
 ** Not the least," said Dick. " But are vou sure, Jack ?" 
 
 <'lam." 
 
 " Then he is an old rogue. By heavens ! there was, at times, a something about 
 his manner, that 1 did not like." 
 
 " Bi't what do you suspect ?" said Cicely. 
 
 '* Everything," replied Jack. 
 
 " That is as vague as it is comprehensive.*' 
 
 *' Yes, but when a man disguises himself in such a way, it cannot be for a good 
 purpose." 
 
 " Let us search the room while he is gone," said Claude Duval. " You see 
 that odd stain on the carpet — what is it ?" 
 
 There was a large stain upon the rich carpet close to the table, that occupied 
 the centre position in the room ; and the more they all looked at it, the moie sus- 
 picious they all thought it was, and yet could not tell what made it so exactly. 
 It is strange how the thoughts of several people will take one direction, and yet 
 each dread as it were to be the one who shall become the actual exponent of the 
 idea. Thus was it with our party as they looked upon the stains in the carpet. 
 One and all, if they had spoken interrogatively upon the subject, would have 
 said 
 
 " It is blood?" 
 
 This was a word, however, that they each appeared to dread to give the slightest 
 utterance to. Perhaps if the men had been alone they would have spoken firmly, 
 but they none of them wished to alarm Cicely 
 
 *' It is— strange !" said Dick. 
 
 " Very," said Claude. 
 
 '* I think so, too," said Jack. ' 
 
 This word " strange," stood to them all in lieu of blood. 
 
 " Stop," said Jack. *' Before wejearch this room, let us see if we can in any
 
 614 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 II 
 
 way secure ourselves from interruption ; I should think that these doors — and I 
 see but two — have some mode of fastening. 
 
 He approached the doors and found that they were easily to be secured by little 
 bolts. He did so, and they all began a vigorous search in the really magnificent 
 room. 
 
 It was strange, very strange how suddenly, as it were, they should all be 
 inclined to the opinion that something was to be found in that rpom, confirmatory 
 of their suspicions that they were in anything but good company in that old 
 uninhabited house ; but such was the case. 
 
 Gradually, however, this notion weakened, as they found nothing upon which 
 it could be fed. 
 
 They looked behind all the cumbrous pieces of furniture, and beneath all 
 the tables that had covers, but they found nothing that could be construed 
 into having the slightest suspicious tendency. 
 
 *' Are we mistaken V' said Dick. 
 
 ** No," said Jack, *' I'd lay my life we are not." 
 
 •' But candidly speaking now," said Claude, "what is it that we suspect, and 
 what is It that we expect to find by all this searching in holes and corners ?'* 
 
 " Don't kiiow," said Jack, as he pressed his band upon his brow. *' Call 
 it superstition if you will, but 1 feel as though we were in this place surrounded 
 by an atmosphere of murder.** 
 
 " Murder ?" 
 
 •' Yes, that is the w»rd — murder !'* 
 
 " Oh, horror !" exclaimed Cicely. *' Is that the translation of all our thoughts ? 
 Let us fly from here, Claude. Let' us fly at once. All the dangers of the road are 
 as nothing compared to the uncertain and unknown horrors of this place." 
 
 Claude drew a long breath. 
 
 " Cicely,'' he said. " Ba,nish fear. I ask you as a favour to me, to permit that 
 we stay and unravel this frightful mystery." 
 
 '* Claude— Claude !" 
 
 " Nay, if you feel that you are quite unequal to the task of remaining fcere, 
 we will 'even go. What say you friends ? Shall we go at once and brave the rain 
 without, or stay and have our imaginations trifled with here ?" 
 
 " I for one," said Dick, "would stay ; but as Cicely is with us, I think we all 
 owe to her so much deference and courtesy as to leave the decision on her words 
 entirely." 
 
 *' I thank you," said Claude, '* for those words.** 
 
 '* And 1 too thank you," said Cicely ; " and when I beg that we go, believe 
 me I please myself with the idea that I am perhaps doing you a service likewise, 
 by removing you from this place." 
 
 Dick with a smile upon his face, was about to say something kind to Cicely, 
 when they were startled by an exclamation from Jack, who had been diligently 
 continuing the search in the room, by lifting up the tapestry that hung from the 
 walls in different places, and carefully looking behind it. 
 
 " A cupboard !" he cried, 
 
 •'A what?" Jack, 
 • •• A cupboard; and— and— upon the threshold of it a — a — a — " 
 
 '' A what ?" 
 
 They all rushed to the spot. 
 
 *' A pool of blood," said Jack, in a low deep voice. i»*'Look at it. Can any one 
 look upon those stains and for one moment doubt their origin ?" 
 
 A feeling of thorough conviction that the stains were those of blood came over 
 them all, and as they gazed at them a shuddering feeling of horror crept across 
 their minds. If they had all spoken at once they would have said, with one voice — 
 
 " What is in the cupboard ?" 
 
 Jack knew what they all meant by the expression upon their faces, ahd nodding 
 his head, he said — .i ■; -,'J 'r. ; - ;; ;!i fhi ffr^j! ,: t ?.. : ■ , 
 
 A*We,wiU:See,*' .^: -,; . . . : .^ ; 1;^,.-.;; n--- - • . • :, ./ .-. ■-:,.:■- ^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 615 
 
 The cupboard-door yielded the monien a button was turned. It swung open ; 
 and alowly, with a hideous fall, the corpse of a murdered man, dabbled in gore, 
 fell to their feet !— Bang ! bang ! went some one's fist at one of the doors that Jack 
 had fastened — bang! bang! 
 
 CHAPTER CXLIir. 
 
 THE FIGHT IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 Cicely did not shriek, but her eyes were fixed in horror upon the corpse which 
 had fallen at their feet from the cupboard. It was at once the most awful proof 
 that could have been tendered to them of all their worst suspicions regarding the 
 place in which they were. No longer could Claude now doubt the fact ; and, 
 without heeding the knocking at the door, he said to Dick Turpm — 
 
 *' Let us fight our way out of this place at once. The very air of it seems full 
 of blood. It is a den of murderers." 
 
 Bang ! bang! went the blows upon the door again. 
 
 " Who can that be ?" said Dick ; and then advancing to the door, but standing 
 not in a line with it, for he knew not what amount of trickery might not be in- 
 tended, he said,' in a loud fearless voice — 
 
 " Who is there ?" 
 
 " Fly !" said a voice from the other side of the door. ''The officers of justice 
 are at the great gale leading into the grounds, and they ask for persons such as 
 ye are. Fly from here, and save yourselves." 
 
 *' What shall we do 1" said Dick in a whisper to Claude. 
 
 ** Do you think the information regarding the officers is true?" 
 
 " 1 do ; for how else could those people know anything of our being pursued at 
 all ? It must have some foundation.'' 
 
 '•' True. — true. We have enemies, then, both within and without this place ; 
 but we will not shrink from any of them.'* 
 
 *' What are you about to do ?" 
 
 *' Secure the one, for I don't think there are more, who is at this door. You may 
 depend the great object is to get us out of this room, so as to avoid the chance of 
 the discovery we have already made." 
 
 " It may be so. But would you open the door ?" 
 
 " Yes. Hark, what is that ?" 
 
 The loud tingling of some heavy bell at a distance reached their ears, and the 
 voice from the other side of the door cried— 
 
 " Open — open and follow me; I will lead you clear. The fact is, we are no 
 better than we should be in this house, and I confess that we sometimes commit 
 robbery ; therefore if you are the persons sought for by the officers, we have a kind 
 of fellow-feeling with you, and the sooner we can expedite you on your way the 
 better we shall be pleased." 
 
 The mouth of the speaker of these words was very near the key-hole, so that 
 they were all distinctly enough heard by our little party in the room. Suddenly, 
 and without by a single word giving the man who was without the least idea of 
 what he was about, Claude opened the door. The fellow half fell into the room, 
 and Claude completed his enirance into it by seizing him by the head and dragging 
 him completely across the threshold of it, while Jack closed the door again. This 
 man was one whom they had not seen before, and he struggled with Claude 
 fiercely, and actually succeeded in getting a knife from his pocket. He had, 
 however, met with his master in regard to strength, for Claude clutched him by 
 the throat and held him at arm's-length, until he got black in the face, and the 
 knife dropped from his useless hand. 
 
 " Hold open the cupboard-door, Jack," cried Claude. 
 
 "Yes — yes." 
 
 " We will get rid, for the time present, of one of these rascals." 
 
 " And you could not put him into a more appropriate place," said Dick, 
 " Cram him in, Claude, and there is some company for him,"
 
 616 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 Not without a feeling of repugnance, Dick lifted the dead body by the clothes, 
 and crammed it into the cupboard along with the half. strangled ruffian, and then 
 Jack slammed the door and fastened it. 
 
 ** Now then,** said Dick. " It's oft and away with us as soon as possible. 
 Come on, and keep your arms in readiness, for I am getting more uneasy than I 
 can well express about our horses." 
 
 ** And I, too, feel somewhat more than uneasy about them," said Claude " and 
 would go through any danger to get at them. They are our only hope." 
 
 Cicely now crept close to Claude, and looked interestingly at him, as though 
 she would have implored him not to fly into unnecessary danger lor her sake; and 
 he answered that look by whispering to her— 
 
 ** Fear nothing, my Cicely; I feel convinced that we shall pass scatheless through 
 this danger. My time has not yet ceme." 
 
 Cicely shuddered. 
 
 Those words, in their extended implication, might be a prophecy that his time 
 was to come-^a time at which he should die a death of violence. How she prayed 
 that before that happened she should be even 
 
 " As a clod of the valley." 
 
 " Are you ready V said Dick. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And your pistols well primed ? A miss-fire might be our destruction now. 
 We may have to fight our way.'* *' 
 
 ** All ready," said Claude. " Lead on. I have an extra care, you know, here 
 in Cicely." 
 
 " No," said Dick, " no. We will all perish rather than desert her, or permit 
 a hair of her head to be injured. Yourself^ Claude, cannot do more. Now, 
 come on. You and I, Jackj will lead." 
 
 " No," said Jack. " Let Claude and Cicely be the main body. You take the 
 advance, and I will bring up the rear, for remember, that our foes are just as 
 likely to strike from behind as in front." 
 
 •* True — true. You are right. Jack. Keep a wary eye, and I fully believe 
 after all that your post is the one of the greatest danger." 
 
 All this passed very rapidly. Much of it was spoken simultcneously, so that not 
 above a few moments were consumed in the arrangements before they left the 
 loom in which they had confined the living and the dead in the cupboard. Their 
 great object was to get out of the house by the front, if possible, and so reach 
 their horses, which once obtained, they would find that their danger was not half 
 what it now seemed. But that house had such a world of intricate passages about 
 it, and so many windings and turnings, that it was next to impossible 
 they should find their way easily. Perseverance, however, will do wonders ; and 
 if three men, with a brace of pistols each in their hards, and three such men too 
 as our adventurers were, could not get out, any other persons might well indeed 
 despair of doing so. Heaven only knows how many had so despaired in that 
 haunt of the murderer ; for that the house was a den of that description, there 
 could be now no shadow of a doubt. Jack performed his duty as a rear-^-uird 
 well ; and as they passed a staircase he fancied he heard a shuffling noise, as if 
 some person was hurriedly going up it. He had only just time to glance up, 
 when, from a great height, there came down an immense feather bed. If it had 
 fallen upon Claude and Cicely it must have struck them down, and then they 
 might have become an easy prey. Two men ran partially down the staircase at 
 the moment, but Jack had called out, " Forward— quick !" in good time, and 
 Claude had caught Cicely round the waist and darted on a couple of yards, so that 
 the bed fell between them and Jack. Turning then, he saw the two men descend- 
 ing the fitairs ; Jack and he both fired at once, and a loud cry of pain sufficiently 
 testified that the shot had taken effect upon one of them. 
 
 ." On— on," cried Dick. "I can see the conservatory, and our horses cannot 
 be far off. This way — this way t"
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 617 
 
 Dick had opened a door which led into a very pretty, although small, apartment, 
 at the further end of which was a ^lass door, most of the pains m which were 
 fxjltely lined and wrought in flowered devices. Through this glass door a 
 conservatory could be plainly seen, and the party now humed forward full of 
 the hope that it was the one not far from which they had tethered their horses. 
 
 To their chagrin, however, when they reached it they found that ^^ opened^ upon 
 the back of the house instead of the front, and that they stood/ upon the verge ot a 
 large garden. Still they saw no enemies. -n u ♦ 
 
 "We must have our cattle," said Dick, -and the easiest way will be now to 
 get to the front of the house by the garden. Stay here, all of you, while I go 
 upon the expedition." . - ___— 
 
 No, 78,
 
 618 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 II 
 
 " Nay, let me go," said Jack. 
 
 D ick shook his head. 
 
 ** You would have a little more difficulty thaa you are aware of in getting 
 Black Bess along," he said. •* Your cattle probably not have been made such pets of, 
 and will come with me; but my Bess is my friend and companion, and from :he 
 great indulgences she has had, is as self-willed as a spoilt girl/' 
 
 He darted oft am he spoke, and Jack then climbed up some iron lattice-work 
 which was close to the conservatory, to get a good look about him, which other- 
 wise was prevented by the mass of flowering shrubs that grew in great luxuriance 
 around. They had all concluded, that if there were any officers in pursuit of them, 
 that it was in the front of the house they were to be found ; but the moment 
 Jack got a clear view over the ihrubs, he cried to Claude, in a voice of alarm— 
 
 '* By Heaven, they are here !" 
 
 "Who? Who?" said Claude. 
 
 '«Our foes— the officers." 
 
 "No— no. Surely—" 
 
 He was up the lattice- work in a moment, and there he saw, over a portion 
 of the garden-wall, a considerable distance from where he was, no leas a num- 
 ber than half-a-dozen men scrambling. From their appeaiance he had no doubt 
 in the world that they were officers. The highwayman was quite as good a 
 judge, in those days, of a Bow-street runner as the latter prided himsel upon 
 being of a highwayman. Two of them had dropped into the ararden, and the 
 other four were partly upon the wall and partly in the act of dropping 
 from it into a soft flower-bed that was at the foot. 
 
 *• How easily they could be picked off," said Jack. 
 
 "They m ght, indeed." 
 
 *«And yet it would look almost like murder, would it not. Jack?" 
 
 •* It would be absolute murder, Claude. No — no. Let them attack us and 
 get into fair fight with us, and I would as soon put a ballet through one of 
 ihem as look at him ; but I must own I should not fancy firing at them as they 
 are now clinging to yon wall." 
 
 "And yet," said Claude with a sigh, " I doubt much if they would be one 
 half so scrupulous towards us." 
 
 " Of course they would not. But M us think ourselves wmcthing better, 
 Claude, although we are knights of the road, than thief-catchjers." 
 ' "We will. Jack." 
 
 ** Thank the fates, here is Dick Tarpin with the horses all sjrfe. At all events, 
 that is something gained." 
 
 " It is everything," said Claude, as he sprung down from the lattice. " It is 
 everything. Stay, Jack, and watch them a moment or two." 
 
 Jack remained upon the lattice watching the officers who> were making so 
 determined a descent into the garden of the house, while in a Ifew words Claude 
 managed to inform Dick Turpin of the state of affairs. 
 
 •* So," said Dick, " they will fight it out with us at last, will they V* 
 
 " So it seems." 
 
 " Well, they must have their own way so far.** 
 
 " How do you mean?" 
 
 *' Why, as regards the fight. Here are the horses all safe anud sound, but they 
 would not have been so but for Bess," 
 
 " Indeed I" 
 
 " No. You will be amused to hear that when I got to the railing by the 
 balcony to which we had secured them, I heard some one groaning and 
 swearing alternately. Upon getting nearer, I saw, sitting; upon the ground, 
 about as disreputable a looking scoundrel as I ever looked *pon. 'Hilloa!' I 
 said, < friend, what's the matter ?'— * That mare,* he said, poimting to Bess, ' is a 
 fiend in the shape of a horse.' — * Why so ?' — ' The devil kicked me.'-—' Then you 
 naust haV3 interfered with the devil,' said I. — *Yes,* he replied with ferocity, 
 ' and if she had not kicked me in the extraordinary way she did— for, confound her.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 619 
 
 she twisted round to do it — l*d soon have cut off your retreat by securing your 
 horses.' * 
 
 ** Then we ran a risk, indeed," said Claude." 
 
 ** We just did." 
 
 ** What did you do with the rascal ?" 
 
 '* Ob, I only laughed at him and left him there. I thkk he was too much 
 hurt to get up, to tell the truth.'' 
 
 " He deserves it.*' 
 
 "He does, indeed ; but here are the horses all safe and sound, and refreshed, 
 too. My advice is, that we had better go roind the garden close to the wall, until 
 we find some door, which we may be able to open and escape by. The vegeta- 
 tion, you see, is quite high enough to be above the horses' heads, although if 
 we were to mount we should be above it." 
 
 *' True— true." 
 
 "They are all over,'* said Jack. 
 
 '* Which route do they take ?" 
 
 " None at present ; they are consulting about it." 
 
 " Then this is our time," said Dick. *' When officers begin to consult, you are 
 sure of some time before you. They are like a parcel of old women to talk. Each 
 one will have his own opinion, resting upon some limited kind of experience he 
 has had ; and they will stick to it as destinctly as — the duce I What is that ?" 
 
 A sharp crack sounded in the air ; and something whistled over the heads of 
 our little party. 
 
 **It sounds marvellously like a pistol bullet," said Claude. 
 
 '' They have seen us," said Dick. 
 
 '* Then it must have been Jack holding on to the lattice. Let us shift our 
 quarters, or we shall have a few more such messages ; and if they only chance to 
 fire a litde lower they may do some mischief to us." 
 
 "They may, indeed. Come on." 
 
 Turpin led his own mare, while Jack and Claude each led their respective 
 steeds ; Cicely kept sl'jse to Claude ; and so at a very slow pace, and making not 
 the slightest noise, they crept along in a flower-bed close under the garden wall, 
 hoping to double upon the officers. They heard another pistol-shot discharged 
 at the spot they had just quitted, and Dick muttered — 
 
 " I do think the muddy-fated rascals will let us fairly give them the slip, in 
 this simple way, after all. There they ^o again. Come on a little faster.'* 
 
 CHAPTER CXLJV. 
 
 Thky quickened their pace. The soft ground of the flower bed upon which 
 they trod stil' concealed all sound of the horses feet, and Dick, who was foremost, 
 looked carefully along the wall, with the hope of finding one of those doors which, 
 for convenience, are commonly, at not very distant intervals, placed in the walls 
 of very large gardens. None such appeared. 
 
 " Confound it," he said. *' We shall get right round to the house again if we 
 don't mind, and then there will be the devil to pay." 
 
 •'The wall is high," said Claude, as he scanned it with his eyes, 
 
 *' Ah," said Dick, " I know what you are thinking of; but it won't do. Bess 
 knows what a jump is, but she could not clear that." 
 
 "So I was thinking." , 
 
 " Stop," said Jack. 
 
 ''What for?"
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " I have an idea," 
 
 "Out with it, then/' said Dick, with a smile. "I will not say as the man 
 said to his friend, when he made a similar speech, * Where did you steel it V Out 
 with it, Jack ; I have no doubt it is a good one." 
 
 " This wall is of brick." 
 
 *'Ha!— hal" 
 
 " Upon my word, Jack," said Claude, •' it needs no 
 
 "Ghost to come and tell us that !" 
 
 "No,'' said Jack. ♦* But if you keep yourselres profoundly quiet I will endea- 
 vour, seeing the decayed state it is in, to pull down enongh of it, with the assis* 
 tance of my knife here, to enable the horses to get out of the garden ; and if the 
 hole is big enough for them, we will conclude it is for us." 
 
 " Good," said Dick. 
 
 " Yes, that will do," said Claude. ** Work away, Jack." 
 
 « We will all work away," said Dick. " I happen to have a good large knife, 
 that some folks would call a small cutlass, about me, and if it don't displace the 
 old rotten brick-work quickly, I don'c know what will." 
 
 " Claude! Claude !" said Cicely. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 «*Look!" 
 
 She pointed in the direction of a large bush of variegated laurel which was not 
 far oflf, and there he saw one of the officers holding back two of the boughs, while, 
 upon his knees, he glared at the party. The moment Claude saw him, the boughs 
 collapsed agam; and the man was gone, no doubt, to warn his comrades of where 
 their prey was to be found. 
 
 " Did you see him ?" said Claude to Dick. 
 
 The latter had a pistol in his hand, which he was presenting in the direction 
 whence the man had disappeared, but he did not fire. 
 
 *' It's a thousand to one," he said, '* about killing him now. A leaf will turn a 
 bullet in another direction, sometimes. We shall have to stand a 4ege." 
 
 **I fear we shall." 
 
 "Never mind. I like Jack's idea so well, that I think we may endure a few 
 shots here, rather than not carry it out. Let us work away at the wall.* 
 
 " Agreed.—Cicely V* 
 
 " Yes, Claude." 
 
 ** Lie as flat upon the grass as you can, and you will be out of danger of any 
 of those chance shots that may be whistling about our ears shortly." 
 
 " And you, Claude ?" 
 
 "I must be up and at work. But if I do not know that you are safe, I shall 
 be fit for nothiog. Cicely." 
 
 "But—but-" 
 
 *' Nay, dear one — time is precious, and we owe something to those who are 
 risking their lives. Let me implore you to make no difficulties." 
 
 Cicely flung herself, weeping, upon the little edging of grass that shielded 
 the flower bed, upon which the horses had been walking and where they now 
 stood. 
 
 " Be under no undue apprehension," added Claude. " All will be well." 
 
 " I pray it may." 
 
 *' Stay, you may do us some service. As you lay you can hold the bridles of 
 the three horses. There, that will leave us at liberty to work upon the wall." 
 
 By this time, Jack, who had let nothing disturb him from bis operations upon 
 the wall, had got out several bricks ; and as the commencement of any operation 
 of that nature is one-half the trouble, they went on capitally. They were not to 
 escape, however, without some interruption. Suddenly they heard a voice say — 
 
 *' Surrender, in the king's name ; or your deaths be upon your own herds." 
 
 "Hush: don't answer," said Claude. ** Work away."
 
 LIFE ON iHE HO AD. 621 
 
 *' We know you are oa the other side of these laurels/' added ths voice ; "and 
 if you don't give yourselves up we will fire." 
 
 Not a word was spoken, and in the course of a minute or two more the same 
 voice added — 
 
 i' We are unwilling to shed blood, but we must 'and will take you all, alive or 
 dead. Once more, as a last chance, will you surrender V* 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "Fire!" said a voice. 
 
 Both Claude and Dick stooped, and Jack darted aside, so that tkey escaped 
 the bullets ; but one of the horses was slightly wounded in the shoulder, and 
 began to be restive in consequence. 
 
 ** Confound it,'* said Dick. " I'd rather they hit me than Bess. Let us 
 move the cattle on one side a little.'* 
 
 This was done, and hardly was it so, when Jack said in a low tone — 
 
 " All's right. I can see daylight through the wall now. We shall have it 
 down by a good push.*' 
 
 ** Think you so? Then here goes." 
 
 "All together," said Jack. "Now, Claude, push away. Once— twice — ah, 
 there it goes. That will do^" 
 
 A good psrtion of the old wall fell outwards, and immediately that it did so, 
 Dick cried — 
 
 " Give them a volley. We owe it to them, and I really should not like to go 
 away in their debt, even to the extent of a few lumps of lead." 
 
 They all three fired in the direction from whence the officers had discharged 
 their pistols at them, and then, before even the smoke had cleared away, they 
 fired again. A few dropping shots from the oflicers replied to this, and then a 
 voice of a far different character to that which had spoken before, cried — 
 
 " Forward !" 
 
 In a moment, round the screen of laurel bushes rushed the officers, boldly de- 
 termined to seize their prey. 
 
 *• All's right," said Dick ; " give it them." 
 
 He caught up a brick, and dashed it at the foremost oflScer, whom it hit in the 
 face, and at once sent headlong to the earth insensible, A short but decisive 
 contest now ensued. The officers grappled with their foes, but they soon felt all the 
 disadvantage of fighting with men whose lives hung upon the issue of the contest. 
 One of them was felled to the ground by a blow upon the forehead, with the but- 
 end of Claude's double-barrelled pistol. Dick threw one a tremendous fall upon 
 the bricks, and Jack got another down, and was sawing away at his throat with 
 the knife he had used to pull down the wall. It was lucky for this officer that his 
 cravat was thick, and the knife blunt. In the course of three minutes our adven- 
 turers had all the field to themselves, and the only noise consisted of the shouts 
 of murder of the officer Jack had got into so precarious a position. 
 
 '• Let hira go, Jack," cried Claude. 
 
 " You rascal/' said Jack, not hearing what was said to him. *' You rascal — so 
 you thought you would get the better of us, did you V* 
 
 ** Oh ! murder — murder! — mercy !" 
 
 *• Mercy, you vagabond. I wonder what sort of mercy you would have had 
 upon us? But I'll send your head to the Secretary of State, that I will." 
 
 '* No, no, Jffck ; let him get up," said Claude, as he laid his hand upon the 
 shoulder of his old companion. 
 
 Jack slowly arose. The officer would have done the same, but Claude gave him 
 a look, as he said, — " You had better not." And the man laid down again as flat 
 as possible, looking as white as a sheet. 
 
 " Veiy well," said Jack. " The next time will do as well ; and if I catch you 
 again coming after us, off goes your head." 
 
 •' I have had quite enough of it," said the officer. ''I'll b3 off to London^, and 
 not trouble you any more, you my depend upon it, gentleman/' 
 
 " Now for it," said Dick.
 
 622 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 They turned and saw that he was mounted. 
 
 " Let's off and away,*' he added. *' We have had too long a stay here alreadv. 
 Mount, and let us be off." 
 
 "And no one is hurt?" inquired Cicely. 
 
 " Not I," said Dick. 
 
 " Nor L" said Claude. 
 
 *' Nor I." said Jack. "So we are all right, you see, after all, and have cleared 
 the road too.* 
 
 ** I am sure we have/' said Dick. *' But what is to become of this house, and 
 the scoundrels that live in it ?" 
 
 *' That ought to be seen to," said Claude. " Ah, I have it. Here, Mr. 
 Officer, get up ; 1 want to throw a little job in your way. — Come here.'* 
 
 The officer was full of suspicions that some practical joke, of perhaps not a very 
 pleasant character, was about to be played off upon him, and he only gave an odd 
 sort of groan, as he replied — 
 
 *' Thank you all the same, I'd rather lie down here till you are gone.** 
 
 " Come here, I say.'* 
 
 " I won't look after you, genlleraert, indeed I won't.'' 
 
 " No mischief is intended you; I have only something to say to you. Come 
 quickly or the consequences may be unpleasant, as we have no time now to throw 
 away." 
 
 The officer thought it was best to comply. When he got close to Claude's horse. 
 the latter said to him — 
 
 ** This house is inhabited by murderers, who make a habit of waylaying pei- 
 sons who come to see it. You will find the corpse of one of their victims in a 
 cupboard in a room hung with tapestry. I leave vou to make of the mformation 
 what you please. It is your business to see to it.'*' 
 
 The officer looked aghast. Before he could say a word in reply, Claude, who 
 had Cicely safely upon the horse with him, galloped away. He was closely fol- 
 lowed by .^ack and by Dick Turpin. They went on about a mile before they 
 exchanged a word, and then Claude drew up and spoke to his friends. 
 
 ** I must get back to Ealing Common.*' 
 
 *' Well," said Dick, " this is not the way.'* 
 
 ** No,'' said Claude, glancing at the sun ; " it is not, I can see ; but can you tell 
 me, as a last favour, of any near route to that place ?" 
 
 *'Last favour?" 
 
 * Yep, I feel that I and Cicely are but as clogs in your way. We lead you 
 into all sorts of unprohtable adventures and dangers, distracting you from your 
 pursuits ; and we leel that we ought to bid you good-by with our best and most 
 grateful thanks for the service you have done us.'" 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! I will see you safe to the common ; as for fancying you are 
 in any way indebted to me, don't think of it. Recollect, Claude, that we have 
 one common enemy — the officers of the law ; and that while contending with them, 
 let the precise circumstances be what they may, I am fighting my own battles." 
 
 " To some extent, but ■'* 
 
 *'Nay, now we will have no buts about it. Say no more upon this head ; I 
 am very well pleased to have made your ac>]uaintance ; and when you have placed 
 her who, I do not wonder, is dearer to you than all the world beside or life itself, 
 in a place of safety, I will bid you adieu ; for the same road ought not to hold you 
 and I. We should be too much for society." 
 
 *' I thank you with all my heart.'' 
 
 " Come on, then : and as we trot gently down a lane here, which will lead us 
 right, I will try and persuade you, Jack, to tell me more particularly how you 
 escaped the — the gallows — that is5 the word, although it is an awkward one for 
 gentlemen of our profession to utter." 
 
 Jack shuddered. 
 
 *' Nay," said Dick, *♦ if the theme be disagreeable to your feeling*, say no more 
 about it, Jack."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 623 
 
 "No, no. There are people whom I feel that I can tell, and you are one of 
 them ; so you shall know all." 
 
 They now turned abruptly into a shady lane, that was entered close to some 
 wheat-ricks, that cast a shadow over the mouth of it ; and Jack was about to say 
 something to Dick, when the sound of cariage-wheels came upon their ears.J 
 
 " Ah !'• said Dick, « do >ou hear that ?" 
 
 ** Yes," replied Claude ; ** it is in the lane too." 
 
 "Ay, as luck will have it; and I don't see why I should not combine a little 
 business with pleasure." 
 
 *' You will stop it ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Why, yes, I thought of doing so. If you have any objection, though, only 
 say so, and I will let it go by at once. It don't much matter." 
 
 "Oh, no, now. I have no sort of objection, Dick. Business after all is 
 business, and the world scarcely will give us any credit for forbearance, I take 
 it." 
 
 *' Forbearance ? oh, dear, no ; it is quite impossible, let us do what we may, 
 that we can be so bad as the kind, good-natured world is willing to make us out. 
 But here it comes ; what a close affair." 
 
 ♦* It is, indeed." 
 
 The carriage, that now appeared at a turn of the lane, was a charioit, the blinds 
 of which were all closed. A postillion drove it, and it was as plain a coach 
 as could possibly be. It came on at a good pace. The postillion, when he 
 saw our party, Xvaived his whip for them to let him have a clear road. This was 
 not exactly what Dick purposed doing. On came the carriage at an accelerated 
 speed, and the postillion, with gestures that betrayed more passion than prudence 
 under the circumstances, again made signs he would ride over Dick, if he 
 did not get out of the way. Turpin drew a pistol from his pocket, and shutting 
 one eye as he presented it, he affected to be taking a deliberate aim at the pos- 
 tillion, who first decreased his speed — then stopped entirely— and at last slipped 
 off his horse in the road, calling out as loudly as he could — 
 
 " Murder ! murder ! there's a highwayman with a pistol as long as my arm 
 taking aim at me ! I'm a dead man ! I'm a dead man !** 
 
 CHAPTER CXLV. 
 
 A STRANGE ADVSNttJBR* 
 
 ** You will be a dead man if you don't stop that howling noise>" said Dick as 
 he rode up to the carriage. 'The postillion was silent. Claude accompanied 
 Dick towards the carriage, for although he looked upon ic as Dick's affair, yet he 
 thought there might possibly be some danger which he would willingly assist to 
 get over. The postillion had crept now to the road -aide, and there he sat 
 trembling, it being quite evident that there was nothing to dread from him. The 
 only thing that a little surprised Claude was that he kept saying — 
 
 *' It will be all blown ! It will be all blown I Oh, dear — oh, dear ! " 
 
 What it was, in the peculiar parlance of the postillion, that was to be blown, 
 Claude could not conceive, but he turned all his attention to the carriage, at the 
 door of which was Dick making ineffectual efforts to let down the blind, and see 
 who was within the vehicle. 
 
 " They are shut up close enough," said Dick. 
 
 Scarcely had the words left his mouth than the blind was alertly let down 
 from within, and to the surprise of both Dick and Claude there appeared 
 at the window a vounggirl of such beauty and intelligence of feature, that for a 
 few moments they could say nothing, so absorbed were they in contemplation of 
 her exquisite countenance. This young creature was about fourteen or fifteen 
 
 I
 
 G24 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 years of aoe. Her dark hair hung in masses upon her neck and shoulders. Her 
 complexion was the purest that could be imagined, and she had such liquid trans- 
 parent blue eyes that it was twly ravishing to look upon them. And joined to 
 this there was such an elegance of expression, that she fascinated them both 
 beyond all power of withdrawing their eyes from so fair a vision. Truly, any one 
 might have obtained an easy victory over them both at that moment, so completely 
 thrown off their guard were thev while in contemplation of that most lovely 
 sight which God has given man tfie joy of looking upon— a young, beautiful, and 
 innocent girl. A voice, however, from the interior of the carriage at once restored 
 them to a consciousness of their position. The voice came from some one whom 
 they could not see, inasmuch as the young girl blocked up the window. The 
 tones were harsh snd discordant. 
 
 " Say it ! sav it !" cried the voice. 
 
 The' girl started. 
 
 " Yes—yes/' she replied, " I will, Phillip." 
 
 * Say it at once I" cried the voice. 
 
 ** Gentlemen," said the young creature, addressing Claude and Dick, *' gen- 
 thimen, I beg of you to allow me to proceed ; I am going to visit a dying father. 
 Oh, gentlemen, if you have any pity, let the carriage proceed. I do not know but 
 that this short delay may be the cause of inabittering my poor father's las'! 
 moments, by denying him a sight of his child, and rendering him unhappy that I 
 was too late to receive his blessing. 
 
 " Yes — yes. ,Oh, yes," said Claude. 
 
 " God will reward you." 
 
 * Hold ! " said Dick. 
 
 " Nay, this must not be,'* said Claude. " Dick, you surprise me. You are 
 not now acting in accordance with all I have heard, and all I know of you." , 
 
 *'Yes, I am, Claude." 
 ' No— no." 
 
 " Yes, Claude, I am ; do not prejudge me." 
 
 The young girl burst mto tears, as clasping her hands, she said— 
 
 *' Is there no feeling of pity in your breasts? Have you no compassion upon 
 me? Oh, gentlemen, 1 pray you let me go !'* 
 
 *' Do not fancy, my dear," said Dick, " that :t is from any want of feeling to- 
 '■rv'ards you that I detain you ; 1 have a fancy to say a word or two to the gentle- 
 laian vjho is with you in the carriage." 
 
 '• No — no. Postillion drive on," said the voice. 
 
 "That he cannot conveniently do," said Dick; "Claude, remain where you 
 are, while I go round to tlve other door.'* 
 
 " No, no," said the voice, again. Murder ! help !" 
 
 ♦' Oh, have mercy upon him," said the girl. '* He is my friend now." 
 
 ** Now ?" said Claude ; " was he not always?" 
 
 "No — but — but he has repented." 
 
 ** Ah," said Dick, "I am glad to hear those words ; I think I am upon the right 
 «ceiit ; I thought I knew the voice of the person in the carriage ; I will see if I 
 know the face as well." 
 
 Dick had now got round the vehicle by the back, as being th? nearer way, and 
 notwithstanding some resistance from the inside, he wrenched the door open, and 
 beheld a man fashionably dressed sitting in l^he carriage. The man tried to hide 
 his face. 
 
 " Come," said Dick ; " let me have a good look at you/* 
 
 He forcibly turned the man's face round to the light, and then lie added— 
 
 •' So, it is you, Phillip Manning. You rascal, what do vou da her ?'* 
 
 "1— I— you— I—" ^ 
 
 " Come— come, no stammering. Who is this young girl 1" 
 
 ** My cousin.'* ^ *'■< 
 
 " Cousin ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the young girl, « this is my cousin Phillip, He is not a bad young
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 625 
 
 man as he used to be, and ray father has forgiven all, and trusted him to bring 
 
 me home to the lodge." 
 
 « Trusted him ?" • , , 
 
 *' Yes, oh yes ; I pray you to let us proceed at once. Remember, gentlemen, 
 
 that it is my dying father that I am hastening to see**' 
 
 PHILIP THIlEATrNIXG GRACE IN THE PRISON. 
 
 " My dear, what is your name ?" a'M Dick. 
 
 ** Grace Manning." 
 
 " And your father V 
 
 " Is Judge Manning." . 
 
 " And do you know, for a fact, that this man is your cousin i 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes ; my father has told me so often."
 
 626 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 •* That is good authority. It is true that this rascal, Phillip Manning, who 
 is perfectly well known in London, always represented hmself as the nephew 
 of Judge Manning, but we never believed it. It seenas, however, from what 
 you say, that it must be true." 
 
 *' Well," said the fellow, gathering courage, " what have you to say 
 against it V* 
 
 " Nothing, Phillip. Do you know me ?" 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 <' Do you know Colonel Stillkey ?" 
 
 "The devil!" 
 
 " No, not the devil, but Colonel Stillkey, to whom, you made, about a 
 month ago, a certain proposition, which the colonel pulled your nose for in- 
 sulting him by making. Perhaps, if you look at me more attentively, you 
 will see some resemblance between me and the colonel whom you met at 
 the hotel in St. James's." 
 
 "He — he — had a moustache," 
 
 ** Ihey are in ray pocket." 
 
 " And lighter hair.'' 
 
 *' The wig is in my travelling vallise.** n 
 
 « Confusion I" 
 
 " Yes, Mr, Phillip, I think you have named it rightly ; it is confusion to 
 you rather, you Hnmitigated scoundrel." 
 
 " What i» #ie meaning of all this?" said the young girl." " What is the mean- 
 ing of it all? Oh, sir, will you not let us proceed 2"^ 
 
 •* Where, my dear, do you suppose you are going P" said Dick, 
 
 " To London, to my father's house." 
 
 " Well, London lies east of here, and you are travelling due west. Now, listen 
 to me. This precious cousin Phillip of yours, is deceiving you. Your father is 
 no more ill, in all likebood, than I am, and this is a new scheme to take you 
 away and secret you somewhere. It's a providential thing that you found us, 
 or rather that we found you." 
 
 *' It's false," cried Phillip. " It's fal«e, I say. The old man has been lying ill 
 ill his bed for a week ; andjonly when he was given over, he sent me to bring him 
 his child, and you would, for some base purposes of your own, hinder me upon 
 my errand of mercy and kindness." 
 
 " 111 m bed for a week ?"(said Dick, as he put his hand into his pocket. *' Here 
 is a newspaper, now— you need not look incredulous of what it contains ; it is 
 not the " Times," but really an honourable paper, and under the date of only the 
 day before yesterday ; here is the report of Judge Manning's speech at the open- 
 ing of the sessions, at the Old Bailey." 
 
 Phillip tell back in the carriage with a groan. In his eagerness to lie with 
 effect, he had, like most perverters of the truth, overshot the mark. The girl 
 smiled through her tears, as she cried, 
 
 *' My father is not dying V 
 
 " No, Miss'Manning, certainly not." • 
 
 *' Oh, Phillip ! Phillip!" 
 
 " Phillip, how could you be so wicked ?" 
 
 " Yes, you now see what a pretty rascal this cousin of yours is ; and you see 
 you have had a narrow escape." 
 
 *' You are deceived, Grace," said Phillip. ''This man, who has taken^o much 
 Upon himself, is evidently, by his appearance, a highwayman." 
 
 *• But he has saved me from you, Phillip." 
 
 What language could have conveyed such a world of reproach as these few 
 simple words did ! If the villain had any heart at all, it must have been deeply 
 wounded at that moment. He shook for a moment or two as though he had been 
 suddenly seized with the ague, and then he said — 
 
 "It is all false. All false." 
 
 " It is for you to decide," said Dick to Grace.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 627 
 
 ''Decide? Oh no, there is no decision wanted. The truth is manifest. Oh, 
 sirs, protect me from this bad man." 
 
 "With our lives," said Dick. "Now, Mr. Phillip, I will trouble you to get 
 out of this vehicle. You see how your fair young cousin shrinks from you. 
 She feels that your touch is contamination." 
 
 i<Bm " 
 
 ** Get out, I say ; get out, or my method of compelling you may not b« quite 
 so gentle or so pleasant an one as you would like, Master Phillip." 
 
 •* You — vou won't " 
 
 "Won't what!" 
 
 "Kill me?" 
 
 "You don't suppose, now, that I would cheat the hangman in such a shabby 
 way, do you ? No, Phillip, hanged you will be some day, and it is not for me to 
 Interfere with the proper destination of such a personage as you are. Get^out 
 of the carriage at once, I say." 
 
 •* Have mercy, I say — have mercy !" 
 
 ''Get out!" 
 
 Phillip got out of the carriage, looking like some wretch who was condemned 
 to death. The glance with which he regarded Dick had something in it that was 
 essentially ridiculous, as fear in its more abject manifestations alway is. He fell 
 or flung himpelf to the ground. Dick Turpin stooped over him for a moment, 
 and then, with an exertion of strength, such as one could hardly have looked for 
 from him, he fairly lifted Mr. Phillip and flung him into a stagnant ditch, the 
 surface of which was plentifully covered by duck -weed, and which was close to 
 the side of the road. The shriek of the discomforted ruffian mingled with the 
 loud splash which he made in the water ; and there be lay floundering about, and 
 from the slimy slippery character of the mud, in which he found himself en- 
 gulphed, quite unable for a time to extricate himself. Dick turned all his atten- 
 tion to the young lady in the coach, and speaking to her in a kind tone of voice, 
 he said — 
 
 ** Now, my dear, where would you'like to go ?" 
 
 " Home— home." 
 
 " But which ? Back to the place which you call the Lodge, or home to your 
 father ?" 
 
 •* To my father. I shall still be afraid of Phillip, if 1 go to the Lodge, for he 
 may follow me there. Oh, you do not know how wicked he is, and how much I 
 have had to forgive him." 
 
 " You can tell me nothing of his wickedness that I cannot fully believe. But 
 will you trust yourself with us ?" 
 
 " Yes— y;s. Am I not much beholden to you ?'* 
 
 '• But we are strangers." 
 
 " But you saved me from Phillip." 
 
 *' Well, that is true. I will consult with my friends here, as to the best method 
 of proceeding." 
 
 Dick turned to Claude, and said in a low voice — 
 
 '* This young thing ought to be taken, for safety's sake, to her father, Judge 
 Manning.— How can it be done ?" 
 
 " He is the severest judge upon the bench, is he not?" 
 
 "Yes, and we will take a noble vengeance upon him, by restoring to him his 
 only child." 
 
 " It is indeed a noble revenge." 
 
 " I knew you would agree with me in that." 
 
 •' And I, too," said Cicely, who was just near enough to hear what they said, 
 ** I, too, fully agree with you, and honour you for the feeling which has dictated 
 those words." 
 
 "Thank you," said Dick. "But the means of carrying out this resolution, 
 do not readily present themselves. What do you advise, Claude ? I regret
 
 628 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR,'? 
 
 that some imperative business will prevent me from riding into London with the 
 young creature.*' 
 " Then I will do it." 
 "You, Claude?" 
 "Yes, whrnot?" 
 
 « Oh, think of the danger." %, \ 
 " Nay, it may be 
 
 *< I That nettle, danger, 
 From which we pluck the flower, safety;" 
 
 and besides, I have thought of a plan. Do you. Cicely, get into the carriage 
 with the young girl. I will take the postillion's cap and jacket, and drive, while 
 Jack follows on horseback leading my horse, who, as he has been for some time 
 carrying double, will be glad of a rest." 
 
 " That will do," said Dick. 
 
 •* And— and,'* interposed Cicely. " Do you think, Claude, you run no great 
 risk?" 
 
 *' In good truth, I think I run little, if any ; I will first drive to the town ^t 
 Ealing and lodge you in safety, after which I will take Grace to London. 
 
 CHAPTER CXLVL 
 
 CICELY IN SAFETY. 
 
 This was certainly not a bad plan of operation, although as regarded the latter 
 portion of it, namely, the taking Grace Manning to London by Claude, very 
 much could not be said for the safety of the proceeding. Claud?, however, as 
 the reader has long since discovered was not one to allow himself to be turned 
 from a purpose by considerations connected with his personal safety. He thought 
 as little of the large rewards for his apprehension that were promulgated, as if no 
 such sums of money had been in existence, and it he could but provide for the 
 safety of Cicely, and then do a good turn to a young and innocent girl, he was 
 happy, 
 
 *.* That rascal, Phillip, though," said Dick, "must not' know of the route we 
 take, I will tie him with his face to the tree.'* 
 
 Dick turned and glanced at the ditch where he fully expected to see Phillip, 
 but no Phillip was there.'* 
 "Hillio! Gone!'* 
 "Who? Who '** cried Claude. 
 ♦* Why, that scoundrel, Phillip, to be sure.'" 
 ** Jack, Jack," said Claude. •* Why did you not look to him?'* 
 " 1— I, really,*' gaid Jack, " I was looking at what one so rarely sees, and yet 
 what at the same time is the sweetest sight in all nature, the fresh, child-like, 
 beautiful face of an ingenius young girl, that I thought of nothing else in all the 
 world.** 
 «• Oh, Jack, Jack, you ought to be past all that.'* 
 
 " I hope when I am past all that,'* said Jack, " that I shall not have got past 
 my grave, Claude. But this fellow must be near at hand." 
 •• Surely, yes," said Dick. 
 
 As the latter spoke, he scrambled up the hedge, and took a long look around 
 him. But no Philip was to be seen, and what was, if possible, more provoking 
 too, Claude suddenly called out — 
 " And where is the postilion ?" 
 *' What! is begone?"' 
 " Yes."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. C29 
 
 "Now,'' said Dick Turpin, shaking his head, " I call all this rank negligence 
 upon our parts. It is too had. Here, under our very eyes, two persons, with 
 neither of them courage enough to stand up like men, have fairly given us the 
 slip." 
 " I know the r«ason," said Cicely. 
 ** You do ?" 
 « Yes/' 
 
 ** Then pray favour us with it,'* said Claude. " I see you smile, so it cannot 
 be a very serious one, Cicely. What is it ?" 
 
 *' Perhaps I ought not to tell you ; but the fact is, if the blind of the carriage 
 window had been up, and neither of you had been able to take repeated glances at 
 the, I will own, beautiful and engaging face of Grace Manning, you would have 
 kept a far better guard upon your prisoners." 
 
 Claude and Dick glanced at each other. 
 
 «' Guilty !" said Dick. 
 
 " Guilty !" said Claude. 
 
 Jack laughed as he said — 
 
 " Ah, Love's magic has, indeed, wrought. Come, let us search well for these 
 fellows : they can't be far off. I will gallop down the lane this way, and one of 
 you can take the other. 1 dare say we shall find them by a little perseverance." 
 
 The search was duly instituted, and although not a little perseverance tvas 
 brought to bear upon it, not a vestige of either of the runaways could be found to 
 reward it. This was especially provoking, inasmuch as it complicated the whole 
 affair, by rendering it probable that Philip might yet attempt something to the 
 discomfiture of the party ; but Dick suddenly said— 
 
 " No ; upon consideration, I do not see that we have much to dread ; for when 
 we come to consider the whole facts, we have no reason to beheve that Philip 
 Manning or the postilion, either, have the smallest idea of who we really are. 
 
 ** There is something in that," said Jack. 
 
 *• Well, then," said Claude, ** let us pursue our original intention. Are you all 
 agreed to that?" 
 
 •' Yes — yes./' 
 
 " Then the sooner we carry it out the better. Cicely, get into the carriage at 
 once ; and if you see any occasion so to do, I would not hesitate to confide to 
 Grace Manning that she is in company with one of her own sex." 
 
 *• It will ease the girl's mind much, I am sure," said Cicely, *' if I be at once 
 allowed to do so, Claude.'' 
 
 " Then do so, in the name of Heaven. Tell her to respect your secret, as veare 
 at some pains to protect her." 
 
 « I will— I will." 
 
 *'But mind. Cicely, do not bother this young thing with more secrets than can- 
 not be helped. She need not know to whom she ows her rescue. If she should, 
 as most probably she will, ask who we are, give the general name of Smith to us 
 all, and say we are private gentlemen merely." 
 
 '* I will, Claude." 
 
 Cicely now made her way to the carriage, and at once got into it. At the sight 
 of a young man, which Grace Manning took her to be, she slunk as far off as 
 possible into a corner ; but when Claude shut the door, Cicely took her hand, 
 saying— 
 
 *• Be not afraid of me, I am not what I seem." 
 
 '* Oh, do not touch me— do not be as bad ag Philip, who would hold my hand 
 while I loathed him." 
 
 "Nay, Grace, 1 am net a man. Look at me !" , 
 
 Grace Manning looked long and earnestly in the face of Cicely, and then the 
 soft, feminine, and really beautiful features of Cicely presented themselres as 
 convincing proof that it was a female with whom she conversed." 
 
 " Ah, this is joy," she said. 
 
 " You are satisfied ?'
 
 630 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 *' I flm— I am. You are like me — some persecuted girl ?'' 
 
 " I am the wife of him who will take you in honour and in safety to your own 
 proper home," said Cicely. 
 
 " How can I thank you?" 
 
 Grace threw herself into the arms of Cicely, but then rapidly extricating herself, 
 with a blush, she said — 
 
 " I wish you had not this dress on." 
 
 " My dear, Grace, will you in return, for all that my husband is doing for you, 
 do me one favour?" 
 
 " Oh, yes— yes." 
 
 " It is a very simple one. It is, merely, to abstain from aikiqgkne why I am 
 thus disguised, and why I am not more communicative than I sl4||f be respecting 
 who and what we are. Will you piomise me this much V 
 
 ** Yes, anything ; and yet " 
 
 "And yet, what, Grace?" 
 
 " I would fain, when I pray for the happiness of those who are dear me, know 
 by what name to speak to God of you." 
 
 There was something so unaffectedly sincere — sonftthing so — if we may i?e 
 allowed the expression — serenely pious in the way in which the young creature 
 spoke these few words, that Cicely was too deeply affected to answer them for 
 some few moments. She could only turn aside her head and weep. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Grace, " I have said something now to you that I ought 
 not to have said. Can you forgive me ?" 
 
 " Forgive? Ah, no ! It is I who ought " 
 
 She wept convulsively. Grace threw her arms round her, and implored her 
 to be!^calm. She lavished endearments upon her that were worth a kingdom. It 
 was in the midst of this affecting scene that Claude came to the window of the 
 chaise. He had, by the assistance of Jack and Turpin, made himself very well 
 up, from their united vallaises, and looked like a respectable kind of groom, 
 with a top coi.t on to keep out the cold. 
 
 "What has happened?" he said. 
 
 " Nothing — nothing," said Cicely. *' Only, Claude, you must do all you can 
 for Grace, and preserve her from all danger." 
 
 " That will I, as sure as my name is Smith !'* 
 
 Claude placed an emphasis upon the name of Smith, to awaken Cicely to the 
 imprudence of calling him Claude?, and then he added— 
 
 *' Compose yourself. I am going to mount and be off directly. Do you feel 
 unwell, Cicely ?' 
 
 " No — no. All is well — go on." 
 
 Claude closed the door, and proceeded to depart with the chaise, containing 
 two of the fairest and best of created beings. Claude's feelings were too much 
 interested for ihe young creature, who had been rescued so opportunely from her 
 rascally cousin, to permit him for a moment to shrink from the full carrying out 
 of the project that had been agreed upon between him and Dick, for her restora- 
 tion to her father; and yet, if we come to consider of it for a moment, we cannot 
 fail to be struck by the enormous amount of risk he ran by so acting. He had 
 to traverse a number of streets of the metropolis, where if it had only been for a 
 moment whispered who he was, every arm would have been raised against him. 
 Truly it required no small amount of chivalry of spirit, to overcome such feel* 
 ings as these. But first he meant to proceed to the farm-house, at Ealing Com. 
 mon, where he knew that a friendly welcome, Jor his sake at first, and afterwards 
 he felt certain, it would grow into one for her own, awaited Cicely. When she 
 should be in safety, he felt'with how much more ease of mind and spirit he should 
 be able to devote himself for a few hours to the service of Grace Manning ; and 
 after all it was only the work of a very few hours to place her upon her father's 
 threshhold. Dick had nr»t yet parted with them, but he intended to do so now, as 
 soon as they got within sight of the farm-house, which was to be the place of re- 
 fuge of Cicely. Jack, as had been arranged, followed the carriage, leading
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 031 
 
 Claude's horse, and mounted uponhio own, while Dick rode on, as a sort of advance 
 guard, about twenty yards in the van. They thus proceeded, until by driving 
 tolerably quick, they came within sight, from a rising piece of ground at the top 
 of which Claude pulled up to allow the horses of the carriage to take breath, of 
 Ealing Common. Dick rode to the side of the carriage. 
 
 <* Farewell," he said. 
 
 Cicely put out her hand to shake hands with him ; and Grace would do the 
 same. 
 
 "We shall meet again," said Claude. 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Nay, 1 feel assured we shall. Something seems to whisper to me, that you 
 and I are yet to execute an exploit which will transend all that has been done 
 upon the road." 
 
 Dick waved his hand, and was gone. In another half hour, for in truth the 
 Common was further off than it had seemed to be, Claude drew up at the gate of 
 the farm-house, which the reader is already acquainted with, and where Claude 
 stopped a whole day once before. They did not know him in his disguise, but 
 the moment they really became aware of who he was, their welcome was most 
 cordial. A. very few words sufficed to place Cicely quite at home there. Grace 
 Manning alighted too, at the earnest request of Cicely, and partook of some re- 
 freshment at the farm; for she had travelled many miles now without having 
 anything in the shape of food. After a time, Claude spoke to her — 
 
 " Will you trust yourself alone to my care ?" he said, " I will take you safely 
 to your fathei's house in London," 
 
 *' Oh, yes , and yet, I — I " 
 
 She glanced at Cicely, whom it was evident she would gladly have had the 
 society of on the road, but Cicely shook her head saying — 
 
 *' I would, but I feel that I should only, perhaps, embarass, where I would 
 guard." 
 
 Grace Manning, young as she was, and all unskilled in the world's ways, could 
 not but see that there was some mystery of a serious character about her new 
 friends, but she forbore to make the slightest attempt to penetrate it; and she 
 took a most affectionate leave of Cicely, with many expressed hopes of meeting 
 her again upon some other, and perchance, happier occasion. Then as the long 
 shadows of the trees proclaimed the decline of that busy day, Claude once more 
 mounted one of the horses, and drove off with Grace for London. A feeling of 
 gloom, which some more superstitious minds than Claude's would soon have 
 made into a presentiment of danger, slowly crept over him; but yet it had not 
 the most distant power over his intention to persevere in the restoration of Grace 
 to her father. The more he had seen of the manner and feelings of that young 
 creature, the more she had won upon his esteem. 
 
 " No," he said to himself. " I will not allow a few gloomy fancies to turn me 
 aside from an act which will be a source of pleasureable thoughts to me while I 
 live — I will persevere." 
 
 It was full of such thoughts that Claude reached the top of Oxford-street, and 
 heard the din and bustle of the mighty city, in which he had so many enemies. 
 
 "Truly," he thought, " I shall owe my safety, I think principally to the fact, 
 that no one will believe that I could think of coming here ; and if any one 
 sufficiently familiar with my features to pronounce a judgment upon them, were 
 , to see me, they would mistrust that judgment.'* 
 
 Claude was tolerably right. The very outrageous audacity of some undertakings 
 protects the author of them. The lamps — miserable oil substitute for the present 
 glories of gas — were all lighted in Oxford-street by this time, and as Claude rat- 
 tled along he could see the tradesmen in their shops, lighting up for their evening 
 display j while the streets were each moment getting more and more thronged. 
 Among all the faces that flitted past him, he knew not one ; and it was a 
 satisfaction to him to observe that the carrriage which he drove only excited an 
 ordinary share of observation. This convinced him that his disguise was tolerably
 
 632 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 perfect, and that by night it would pass very well. Had it been daylight when 
 he got into London, he certainly would have run a much greater risk. Once, and 
 once onlv, an uneasy feeling of suspicion that something might be amiss, came 
 across his mind; as a close chaise suddenly darted down a street to the right at 
 a rapid pace, the driver of which appeared to regard him with unusual earnest- 
 ness. Claude soon recovered from the slight shock this gave him, and he smiled 
 to himself as he said— 
 
 "Truly our fears are the scarecrows that conjure up spirits to attack us at every 
 turn." 
 
 CHAPTER CXLVII. 
 
 CLAVDE's ▲RIlEgl 
 
 There must have been some sort of entertainment at one of the houses in th ^ 
 immediate viciaity of where he was going ; for there was a great concourse o 
 carraiges, and he saw so many men and boys dashing about with liffks in the 
 restless and disorderly manner incidental to such men, and such boys. The 
 additional care he was compelled to take in driving, very likely had the effect of 
 distancing from his mind more uncomfortable topics. As he neared the square 
 in which Judge Manning resided, he found the throng and confusion to increase, 
 and as he had forgotten the number of the house where the judge resided, he 
 drew up close to the iron-railings of the centre garden of the square where 
 I, there was the least tumult ; and having dismounted he approached the carraige- 
 1 1 door to speak to Grace. 
 
 I "I have forgotten the number," he said, *' of your father's house." 
 W "It is forty," she replied. «'.But you will know it by the first floor being 
 ; j adorned with columns." 
 
 1 1 Claude looked about him. The only house so decorated was the one that was 
 I, the veiy focus as it were of all the bustle and confusion. Its windows were a 
 j . glare ot light ; and there was abundant evidences of its bein^ v.i that time the 
 :. centre of attraction in consequence of some \arge fete or enltriainment go ingon 
 I,' there. 
 
 1 1 " Look out for a moment," said Claude. 
 [ , She did so. 
 
 1 1 *'Is|||at your father's house ?" 
 
 ; He pointed to the one where the li-^kts blazed forth with so much brilliancy, | 
 . and from which came the sonnds of music. I 
 
 ' "Ah, yes," she lepliei], *' it is — ^if. is." j 
 
 " There is something unusual seems to be going on. Shall I enquire ? or will 
 , you have nie drive you to the door at ouce P" 
 
 " 1 have been thinking," said Grace, kindly, '* that my father might not wish 
 that this affair should attain an undue publicity. He can punish my guilty cousin, j 
 without any but the members of our own familv knowing aught of the'circum-' 
 stances." ' ' 
 
 , " You have but to decide," said Claude, " what you would wish done, and I | 
 , will do it for you, with the greatest pleasure." i 
 
 "And— and, besides, my father has many guests to-night," she said, shrink- | 
 , ingly. *' 1 would fain, that by some less public means, than by entering his house, 
 amid such a throng, he knew I was here." 
 
 " That is not difficult,'* said Claude. I 
 
 , *' Is it not?" 
 
 I " No. If you have courage to remain here for a short time, I will make my ' 
 I way to your father, and let him know all that has occurred, when he may take i 
 , what steps he may think proper, in his wisdom, to get you into his house. Will | 
 , that be the best way ?" i
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 633 
 
 THE DEAD INFOBMED BY CLAUDE AND DICK, 
 
 whose existence a price had beer set. There can be no doubt, but that in follow- 
 ing out the impulses of his generous feelings in this adventure, Claude ran the 
 greatest risks. But if a courage, as rare as it -was admirable, would suffice to 
 carry him through such an adventure, he would be carried through it safely. 
 
 *' Be cautious," h e said, as he closed the carriage door carefully. *' Be cautious, 
 I pray you, and speak to no one." 
 
 No 80.
 
 684, GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Depend upon my caution, as you may upon my gratitude," replied Grace 
 Manning, in a voice faltering from eiTiOtion. 
 
 Claude felt that he could not hope, without creating more observations than was 
 at all desirable, to obtain an interview with Judge Manning in his tlien present 
 costume ; but he was too much of an adept in changes of that sort, to suffer much 
 difficulty upon that score. By taking off his great coat, which he had flung over 
 one of the horses, and making a few other trifling changes in his costume, he was 
 able to look quite dressed enough not to be remarkable, although he certainly 
 did not look as though he was attired for an entertainment. It was easier for a 
 foot passenger than for one in a vehicle to get to the door of the judge's house. 
 Claude soon succeeded in elbowing his way along, until he ascended the st«ps; and 
 then accosting a powdered and bediioned flunkey, whom he saw lolling with some 
 companions, he said — 
 
 " Are you the judge's servant V 
 
 There was something in Claude's tone and manner which induced a respectful 
 answer, when to any one else, probably, it wrould have been an insolent one. 
 
 *' Yes, sir." 
 
 " Show me into a waiting-room, thea, and let him know that a gentleman must 
 see him on business of importance.'* 
 
 " The judge, sir, is very bttiy." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 "It is a party you see, sir." 
 
 " Never mind that. My business will quite satisfy the judge, that I am justified 
 in disturbing him. The world don't Stand still because people have parties." 
 
 *' My good, sir, will you step this way ?" 
 
 Claude followed the footman, and was showti ioto a waiting-room close at hand. 
 i In another moment he wad alone. 
 
 I " How will all this end, now," he said to himself. " Shall I get clear of this 
 most perilous adventure, or shall t by some Cf oss accident find that by trying to 
 to do good I have brought upon myself evil? Well, well, we shall see. We 
 shall see." 
 
 I The room was well lighted, although not brilliantly, that is to say it was not 
 lighted as though it formed any part ot the fete but only in the ordinary iuf- 
 ficient manner. 
 
 I The door suddenly opened, and the servant who opened it announced the 
 judge. Claude advanced towards him And bowed. He felt rather sur- 
 prised that the judge did not> as a gentleman both by education and habits he 
 must beyjiiB did not make the least show of returning the compliment. 
 I " We^llr,*' he merely said. 
 
 I Indeed, thought Claude, this Is Hot exactly the man whose feelings Grace need 
 have been so Very pattlcttlar about sparing." 
 
 " It is of yout daughter, sir* 1 come to ipeak," said Claude. 
 
 " Well, sir!" 
 
 Claude was thutiderstrickeri to find the indifference of the judge upon such a 
 point ; and for some moments he was silent. How very unworthy is this man, 
 I he thought, of such a child as Grace. 
 
 I "' *' Well, sir," repeated Judge Manning, with still more harshness and abruptness 
 than before. 
 
 I •* Shame upon you, sir,'* said Claude, " that the name of your fair child does 
 not call up gentler emotions. Were I the father of such a piece of gentleness and 
 excellence as Grace Manning, and a stranger came to me with her name upon his 
 lips, my tenderest feelings, my deepest anxieties would be raised. lam sorry 
 that she has such a father." 
 
 I The judge clutched the back of a chair for support ; as in a voice that shook 
 ; with passion, he said — 
 I " Where is she ? What do you demand?,' 
 
 '< Demand?" 
 
 ."'Yes, speak, ruffian, name the extent of your demand."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 635 
 
 •' Ruffian ! How dare you V 
 *' Peace. No more of this. I know you, I say — I know you. You may well 
 taunt, to find that it is so, and that by a circumstance quite sufficiently extra- 
 ordinary to enable me to think it almoat a kind interposition of Heaven. I know 
 you, and therefore I say without further parley, how much do yon demand 
 villain V* I 
 
 '* Sir, if you do know me, you may congratulate yourself upon knowing a more 
 courteous, and possibly honester man than yourself." 
 ** Dare you thus insult me?" 
 " Ay, 1 dare." 
 '* In my otvn house?" 
 
 ** Your own house ? What is there in the atmosphere of your own house, I 
 should like to know, what gives you a license to us j intemperate language without 
 the ordinary consequences ? Tell me that.'' I 
 
 *' You incorrigible rascal.'* ' 
 
 "lam sorry to call the father of Grace Manning an ill mannerly old idiot," 
 said Claude. I 
 
 The judge sank into a chair as he said, in gasping tones— j 
 
 I *' I thought I should be equal to this interwiew, but I am not. No, I am not, 
 1 feel that I am not." j 
 
 j '* That is quite evident," said Claude. 
 j ** Torture me no more." 
 
 j *' Torture you ! I torture you ! Is this man mad ?" | 
 
 I **You will drive me mad. What sum of money do you demand for the re- 
 storation of my child? Answer me that. Let your demand be exborbitaut and 
 you shall have it." ' 
 
 " There is some horrible mistake here," said Claude. " Sir, the conviction is 
 momentarily creeping over me that by some means. Heaven only knows how, we 
 are at cross purposes." 
 
 " Cross purposes?" 
 j " Yes, that is quite clear, I come here not without some risk, to do you 
 a great service, and am met by personal abuse, and some of them strangest questions 
 one man could put to another. You ask me to name a sum ; I want no 
 money of you." 
 
 j " What do you want then ?" 
 j <* To restore to you your daughter." 
 I " Where is she ? I demand to know where she is ?'' 
 
 I' " Stop," said Claude. " In the tirst place indulge me by briefly explaining to 
 me, who and what you take me to be." 
 
 I " Read that, and tremble," said the judge, as he laid a crumpled note before 
 Claude, who took it up and read it with astonishment. It was addressed to 
 : Phillip Manning, Esq., and was as follows — 
 
 I " Sir — Knowing you as the nephew of the much respected Judge Manning and 
 knofving that, notwithstar.ding some wildness of behaviour incidental to youth, you 
 entertain the greatest respect and love for your uncle, 1 apprise you of an affair 
 that very nearly concerns his happiness. 
 
 I Some villains, by way of raising a sum of money, intend by a false tale of your 
 illness, to get your cousin, Grace, to accompany them from her aunts at the Lodge. 
 They will hide her somewhere until your uncle's fears for her safety mduces him 
 to pay a large sum, literally, for her ransom. 
 
 i One of the gang will call upon your uncle this evening, to open the affair as 
 regards the money. It is for you to take such steps, contingent upon this piece 
 of intelligence as your affection for both your uncle and your cousin , may dictate 
 to you. 
 
 You may rely upon the perfect authenticity of this intelligence.*' > 
 '* From your well-wisher,'* 
 
 "A. B. C." 
 " P. S.— Do not seek to know who I am, as the gang of rascals, whose pro-
 
 636 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 ceedings ia Uiis case I inform you of, would murder me if they knew I had be- 
 trayed them.'' 
 
 '*Now, sir," said the judge, when he saw that Claude had perused the letter. 
 '* Now, sir, are you convinced how far my knowledge extends V 
 
 *' 1 am astonished V* 
 
 ** And you do not blush at your infamy? Alas ! alas ! My poor nephew upon 
 the receipt of this letter, which was slipped into his hands in the street by a 
 woman, who immediately fled, took horsp and went to the lodge. He was too 
 late. Too late." 
 
 " Too late for what, sir ?" 
 
 " To save my child. The villains had already got her away with them ; and 
 I— I. — But name your price." 
 
 " And your nephew, to-night, brought you this letter 1" 
 
 " Only a quarter of 'an hour ago." 
 
 "Is he here?" 
 
 " He is; and I will confront you with him." 
 
 *' Stop, hear my statement first. It was your nephew, Phillip, himself, who 
 planned this adduction of your daughter. He, himself, is the writer or the dic- 
 tator of this letter." 
 
 "Impossible!'' 
 
 ** Yet true. I rescued your daughter from his hands, at her her owt earnest, 
 and imploring solicitation." 
 
 ** I will have him here to confute you." 
 
 The judge rang the bell, and when an attendant appeared, he said— 
 
 <• Tell Mr. Phillip that 1 want him." 
 
 " He is not within, sir." 
 
 *' Not within ?" 
 
 *' No, sir. He left the house about a quarter of an hour ago. Indeed, directly 
 after he had seen you, sir." 
 
 " And left no message ?" 
 
 ** None, sir." 
 
 " Of course not," said Claude. " It would have transcended even his imper- 
 tinence and assurance to have met with me before you face to face." 
 
 " I cannot for a moment," said the judgp, after ordering the servant to leave 
 the room, " I cannot for a moment believe your statement. What proof can you 
 bring nae of it?" 
 
 *' What proof has Phillip Manning brought you of his statement, sir?" 
 
 "Your presence here is amply ;;uiTicient." 
 
 <'Well, thank God, I, too, have proof of the truth of my statement. Proof 
 before which he would quail, and before which your scruples must vanish into 
 thin air." 
 
 *« What proof ?" 
 
 " Your daughter's testimony." 
 
 " Ah! That indeed— but no— no—Phillip could not— dared not " 
 
 '• Suspend your judgment, sir. Close to the railings of the square garden, and 
 a little to the left only of being exactly opposite to your house, is a plain brown 
 travelling chaise. A great coat is thrown over one of the horses — in that chariot 
 i§y6ur daughter." 
 ^'^ « My Grace ? My child ?" 
 
 " Even so, sir. After rescuing her from Phillip, her worthy cousin. I only 
 paused sufficiently long to enable her to take some refreshment at a farm house at 
 Ealing, for she was faint and weary, and then 1 brought her direct to you. Send 
 your servant to bring her here, and I will stand or fall by the statement the young 
 lady mav please herself to make." 
 
 The judge rang the bell violently, and several servants rushed into the room at 
 once. « 
 
 " My secretrry !" he said. " My secretary l*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 637 
 
 CHAPTER CXLVIII. 
 
 THE STRONG CELL. 
 
 The judge seemed to be quite exhausted by the violence of his emotions, after 
 giving utterance to this order, and he sat in a large chair, looking as pale as death 
 itself. 
 
 **The company, sir, ask for you," said a servant. 
 
 The judge only waved his arm, as though he would deprecate any attempt to 
 withdraw him from the business he then had in hand, but the servant was 
 not used to the language of signs, or he thought the entertainment that was going 
 on above stairs was too important a matter to be disposed of by a wave of the 
 hand, so with more pertinacity, he said — 
 
 " Sir, the saloons are full, and Lord John Muscle has twice asked for you, sir, 
 if you please." 
 
 "Let him ask again. Begone !'* 
 
 The servant retired, but those who had gone in search of the secretary presently 
 announced Mr, Atkinson, who was the secretary in question. 
 
 A middle-aged respectable-looking man was this secretary, with a remarkably 
 soft voice, and much suavity of manner. 
 
 "Atkinson," said the judge, speaking with difficulty on account of the deep 
 emotion he was suffering under, " Atkinson, I am informed that Miss Manning 
 is in a coach close at hand. Will you fetch her ?*' 
 
 *' With the extremest pleasure, sir.'* 
 
 "Go, go — let no one Icnow -'* 
 
 '* You will find the young lady," said Claude, " in a plain travelling chariot, 
 without any arms upon it ; and you will know it by a great coat being thrown 
 over the off horse." 
 
 '* Perhaps," suggested Mr. Atkinson, " this gentleman will accompany me V* 
 
 " No, no,'* said the judge. 
 
 " No," said Claude, " 1 am a sort of hostage or gage here for the truth of what 
 I assert regarding the young lady being in the carriage at all." 
 
 Mr. Atkinson stared. 
 
 ** But I am willing to be such bail for such a fact," added Claude ; ** and you 
 will better please both me and the judge by being prompt in your mission, air." 
 
 Mr. Atkinson left the room hastily. 
 
 " He will bring her in by the side door," said the judge, ** which opens into 
 the next street, if she be there to bring." 
 
 '* She is there to bring," said Claude. 
 
 *• Sir, if you should turn out to be right, I shall give you what reparation I 
 can for my suspicions of you." 
 
 " And nothing for the service I have rendered you in rescuing your child from 
 the hands of such a scoundrel as your nephew." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; much — much. Name the price, and I—'* 
 
 " Price ? Price ? Really, my lord judge, you seem to think that all human 
 nature may be bought and sold, and to subscribe to the doctrine that every man 
 has his price." 
 
 " We will settle all this, sir, when Mr. Atkinson returns," said the judge. 
 " Do not let us enter into what in either event must be a profitless discussion. If 
 you have saved my child, you will find r\p occasion to taunt me with any want of 
 gratitude. If your statement on the other hand be untrue, your own imndna- 
 tion may depict to you what a father is likely to feel, and likely to do m con- 
 sequence," , 
 
 Claude slightly bowed, and then the conversation stopped. 
 
 The judge with difficulty rose, and proceeded towards a dojr opposite to that 
 by which the room seemed to be generally entered. He oj^^ led this door and 
 held it partly for self support, and partly to keep it open, as li said—
 
 638 GENTLEMAN JACK 
 
 "This is the way, she will come. Of course if she be there at all, Atkinson 
 will bring her at once to me. This is the way, she will come. Oh, God, if any- 
 thing has really happened to my girl ?" , 
 
 The fatherly anxiety of the judge, and the evident affection with which he 
 named his daughter made a favourable impression upon Claude, and quite 
 eflfaced anything *in the shape of irritation which his mind had felt upoa the 
 occasion of the few w6rds that bad passed between them. 
 
 " Be at ease, sir," he said. " All is well." 
 
 " I hope 80." 
 
 ** You may be assured so. Your child will be restored to your arms pure and 
 spotless, as when she left them." 
 
 " She is my only child, sir, and if anything were to happen to— but no, no that 
 is impossible.'* i 
 
 He shrank back from the door, and' again sank into a chair. 
 
 •' I hear footsteps," he said. 
 
 "Then she comes," said Claude. 
 
 *' I — I only hear the footsteps of one person, and they are not hers. Do you 
 think, sir, a father's ear would not recognise the footsteps of his child." 
 
 Claude approached the half open door. In another moment Mr. Atkinson 
 appeared. Claude grasped him by the arm tightly, as he said, in loud clear 
 accents. 
 
 " Miss Manning, sir ? Where is she V* 
 
 *' I only Avish I had the supreme happiness of knowing. There is no such 
 coach as you mention — no such horse with a great coat thrown over him, and I 
 grieve to say no Miss Manning." 
 
 The judge uttered a deep groan. 
 
 "This is false," cried Claude. "It is too absurd. It is — is— good God — it 
 is possible " 
 
 " What is possible," said the judge. *' Speak now — speak. I command you 
 to speak to me. What new horror would you suggest?" 
 
 "That your nephew, Philliu, may have dogged your child and rae to London, 
 and while we were here engaged in profitless discourse.'he may have again seized 
 her." 
 
 "Oh dear, oh dear," said the secretary, "that T should live to hear that. 
 The blood of the Mannings, sir, Mould not stoop — could not bear down as it were 
 in a manner of speakint? to " 
 
 '• This is trash !" cried Claude impatiently. "I will go and search for her 
 myself- Do not despair, sir, I have promised, myself, to bring you your daugh« 
 ter, and I will keep my word." 
 
 Claude was moving towards the door, but the judge rising with a sudden 
 energy, cried in a fierce tone — 
 
 " Stop that man ! Do not let him escape ! Seize that man !" 
 
 " Is this possible," said Claude. 
 
 " Stop him ! Seize, I gire him into custody 1" 
 
 Claude had reached the door, when Atkinson shouted — 
 
 " Stop thief !" 
 
 Stung by the injustice that was being done him, Claude drew a pistol from his 
 pocket, and cried — 
 
 " Take your reward for that cry !" 
 
 He pulled the trigger, but the weapon was faithless. During his drive from 
 Ealing, the powder in the pan got scattered, and so Mr. Atkinson was saved. It 
 was the only weapon Claude had about him, for at the moment he recollected 
 with a pang of anguish that he had placed his other pistols in the pocket of the 
 great coat he had flung over the back of the horse. 
 
 " Ah, I am supremely fortunate," said Atkinson. '« Stop thief !" 
 
 " Are you," said Claude, as he flung the pistol in his face with a force that 
 sent him retiring to the floor with an awful contusion upon his nose. ** Are you. 
 Let him who sets small value upon his life try to stop me !" I
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 639 
 
 The cries of the judge, and of Atkinson, had by this time reached the saloons 
 and the hall, so that Claude, when he gained the threshold of the room in which 
 this singular conversation had taken place, found himself in the midst of a throng 
 of persons. 
 
 With a conviction of his fate he said to himself in a low voice — 
 
 ** I am taken." 
 
 But it was only to himself that he made this remark, snd not to his foes. 
 
 Dashing forward, he endeavoured to make his way through the throng of per- 
 sons, for he felt that in so doing, upon the spur of the moment, lay his only chance 
 of escape. 
 
 He was nearly successful, but in fighting his way he quite forgot that there 
 was a rather steep step at tiie door. His foot slipped, and he fell. 
 
 In another moment he was a prisoner. 
 
 " Thauk you, Phillip Manning," said Claude, bitterly to himself. 
 
 " Hold him tight— hold him/* cried Atkinson. '" Where's a constable, hold 
 him tight. He seems a desperate fellow !" 
 
 Some half dozen men held Claude until a constable came up, who said in a 
 roice of authority— 
 
 *' What's the charge >" 
 
 "Felony!" cried a voice, and the old judge appeared to be in the hall. You 
 know me, officer ?" 
 
 ** Yes, your honour." 
 
 "Then 1 give this man in charge, and you will take him upon my personal 
 responsibility V* 
 
 "Certainly, your honour !" 
 
 Claude was forcibly held while a pair of handcuffs were put upon him, and 
 then Atkinson coming up to him, said — 
 
 " I have the supreme satisfaction of congratulating myself upon the fact, that 
 you will be hanged.'* 
 
 " No," said Claude. *' Not this time. You and I will meet again and with- 
 out witnesses, too, before that happens. You may affect to smile, bat you will 
 find me a true prophet." 
 
 '* Ha ! ha !'* laughed, or rather tried to laugh, Atkinson, for it was only a try 
 after all. 
 
 *'Take away your prisoner," said the judge. I 
 
 ** Now, young fellow," said the officer; " come along." 
 
 ''Where to ?" said Claude. 
 
 *< Where to ? Why the lock-up of St. James's to be sure, and there we can 
 accommodate you with a strong cell. Perhaps you know it ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 '* You don't? iWell, then, you will another time, if yon should escape being 
 lagged or scragged this time, which ain't very likely, you see ; for if anybody 
 I ought to know what they are, stout old Judge Manning ought to be that indivi- 
 dual. Oh, that's you, Morgan, is it ; I'm glad you are come, for I don't much 
 like this customer single-handed, though the darbies are on him. There's no 
 knowing how many palls he may have about this ere place." 
 
 These words were addressed to another officer who came up at the moment. 
 
 *' "What's he been amusing himself with doing?" said Morgan. 
 
 ** I don't know." 
 
 ** You don't know ? Then how came you to take the charge ? Is he a war- 
 rant customer ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it ; but Judge Manning gave him to me, and says it's felony, 
 and orders him to be well looked after." 
 
 '* Oh, that alter's the case. I'll come with you." 
 
 Morgan walked on the other side of Claude and after some time, he said— ^ 
 
 •* And pray what do you call yourself, young fellow, when you are at hom'e ^" 
 
 •* What will you give me for that information ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Give you V*
 
 640 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Yes. How mueh ^ill you give me V 
 
 " That is a good one. Well, if you ain't a cool hand. Co me, old fellow, just 
 to honour the joke, how much do you want?'' 
 
 « ^500." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 '*jHiOO, and that's cheap too ; there's many would like the bargain." 
 
 " Well, of all the pieces of impudence that I ever heard of, I think this beats 
 them,"" said the officer. 
 
 •' And I too,*' said the other. *' £500 ! Well that is a good one— and all for 
 the pleasure of knowing what a man's name is.* 
 
 " We shall see," said Claude. 
 
 At that time in the evening there were few, indeed, in the streets to take any 
 notice of Claude and his captors, and probably if there had there would not have' 
 been many who, in the prisoner, would hare recognised the famous Claude DnvaU' 
 over whose head there hung rewards equal lo within a trifle of ^3000. | 
 
 The old watch-house of St. James's was soon reached ; as the constable for the 
 night bad just taken his seat, Claude was brought before him with no small 
 amount of affected bustle. | 
 
 "Hilloa! billoa!" cried the night constable on duty; " what's the charge 
 against this gentleman? Accommodate him with a seat." | 
 
 Claude's appearance had had its effect, and the constable no doubt thought it 
 was some street row or practical joke, concerning which, the distinguished-looking 
 personage — for Claude was distinguished-looking — that was brought before him, 
 was about to be charged with. , 
 
 " Why, your worship/' said one of the constables, " this ain't my charge, but 
 Judge Manning has given the prisoner into custody, and desires be be kept fast, 
 and he will make it all right.'* 
 
 "You don't say so?" | 
 
 " Yes, that's it, your worship." | 
 
 The night constable — who was called worship, from the same strained courtesy 
 that folks in the House of Commons are called Honourable Members, or in the 
 House of Lords, Noble Lords, or on thrones, miracles of beauty and virtue- 
 turned a fierce look upon Claude, as he said — 
 
 "You ill-looking rascal, what have you been doing ?*' 
 
 Claude did not condescend to return any answer. I 
 
 " What is your name, villain ?" 
 
 " Don't you know me, any of you ?'* 
 
 They all looked at him, and shook their head^. i 
 
 " Will any one here give £500 for a knowledge of who I am ? I will impart 
 that knwoledge to him secretly, and 1 don't want to be paid immediately.'* ^ 
 
 '*Ha! ha!" laughed the night constable. "Ha! ha! That's good. Oh,' 
 what a ruffian this must be, to make jokes in St. James's watch-house, actu- 
 ally.* ' 
 
 " Well," said Claude, " if you will persist in considering it merely as a joke, 
 I cannot help it. You can have your own way." 
 
 " Ah, my fine fellow, that's just what we mean to have, and what we generally 
 have. There's no doubt you are a great rogue, or Judge Manning would not 
 have taken the trouble to have anything to do with you. Ha ! ha ! . You shall 
 be put in the strong cell, my fine fellow, Jobkins ! Jobkins !'* i 
 
 ** Yes, sir." 
 
 " Is the strong cell vacant ?*' 
 
 '* Yes, sir. All's right'; but it lets in the water woundily." 
 •* "That's no matter. It's'refreshing. You will put this fellow in, and in the 
 morning I will wait upon Judge Manning myself, and ascertain what he has 
 done."
 
 GENTLEMAN JACkV OR, L.IFE ON THE ROAP. 
 
 C4l 
 
 CHAPTER CXLIX. 
 
 THE SUPPLEMENTAL SESSION. 
 
 Tins vvns certainly a novel mode of administering justice, to lock up a man in 
 a strong cell over night, and then go in the morning to inquire what he had done ; 
 and probably, even the non-astute mind of the night constable might have been 
 
 CLAUDE SEIZI>G PHILLIP MANNING BY THE THROAT IN NEWGATE. 
 
 a 1 rifle shoclscd at so unusual a mode of doing business, bad he not had the 
 authority of a iudge for it. , , r n -.x, 
 
 Mr. Jobkins, who was a great, hulkmg-looking, good-humoured fellow, with a 
 face about the size and colour of a warming-pan, escorted Claude to the strong 
 cell, according to the orders he had received that way t%ndmg.
 
 642 GENJLEMAN JACK; OR, Ij 
 
 That anything but desirable location was situated under ground, and reached ' 
 by a descent of twslve steps. An iron door then opened, and then there were 
 two steps more, after which the strong cell was gained,, i 
 
 It would have been more to tne purpose if they had added another syllable to 
 its name, and called the strong cell the strong cellar, for a cellar it was to all in- 
 tents and purposes. 
 
 Now, Jobkins was kind in his way, and he said to Claude, as they descended 
 the siairs together— 
 
 *' I don't know what you have done ; but there's no need that you should be 
 more uncomfortable than needs be, I'll take of your handeuffs for you." 
 
 "Thank you/' said Claude, " thank you. I will remember this act of kind- : 
 ness, and it will go hard with me but some day I will find a means of requiting ;.| 
 
 " Oh. that's no matter." 
 
 '* Jobkins took of the handcuffs, adding, as he did so— 
 
 "If the cell ain't strong enough to hold a man safe for a night without a pair 
 of darbies on him, it ain't no good at all." i 
 
 *' That is true enough," said Claude. " You spoke of It letting in water, did '. 
 you not, ray friend ?' 
 
 ** Yes I did, and not without reason top. Don't you hear it," j 
 
 They both paused upon the threshold of the cell, and Claude heard quite dis- • 
 tinctly the dripping of water. i 
 
 "That's anything but pleasant," he sai^. 
 
 " Quite the reverse of pleasant," added Jobkins. "It's not common to put 
 anybody in here at all, unless they have shown fight." P 
 
 *' How do you mean by showing fighl ?" i' 
 
 '* Why made a row up stairs, and tried to get a^vay, but you have not done 
 thst at all. Howsomever I suppose the night constable thinks he'll please the 
 old jufdge by telling of him in the morning what an amazing lot of care he took i 
 ofvou." ! 
 
 •* Very likely." 
 
 Claude stepped into the cell. It felt sloppy under his f^et, and a natural feeling 
 of indignation arose in his mind at the idea of it being apart of the baibarous 
 policy of the state, to confine prisoners in such unwholesome places, and that too | 
 before they were convicted of any offence against society. i 
 
 *' You stand still a hit," said Jobkins, " and I'll try to make the place s^ little 
 more comfortabl ) for you.'* 
 
 How he was to succeed in doing that, Claude cQuld nqt divine, but he waited 
 for about a quaiter of an houj- with patience. Then the ^por of the cpll was 
 open d, and a truss of straw was thrown in. 
 
 " All right,*- said Jobkins. i! 
 
 "Yes," said Claude. " Thanfe you, alj is right as yotj say, and I mt\ very \ 
 much obligod to you, indeed." 
 
 "Don't mention it." j 
 
 The cell was locked up. and Claude was alone. \\ 
 
 Under the circumstances in whicb he npw was, his reflections Were not ! 
 likelv to be other than of the most painful character. In addition to the | 
 menial aggravation of being apprehended upon a charge of which be was most par' 
 ticalarly innocent, he could not doubt but that upon his appearance in the morn- j 
 ing at a poirce-office, some one would be able to recognise him ; and in that event 
 he would be at once hurried to Newgate, and his death determined upon as soon i 
 as possible. 
 
 When he came to consider, he much doubted if, cTen npon his recognition by | 
 any one, that person would get any reward, since he (Claude) was already in \ 
 custody; but after all, that was a matter that did not much distiarb him. j 
 
 He began quite plainly to understand how the whole affair had been managed ; 
 by Phillip Manning. That unscrupulous individual had got to town just a little 
 before him (Claude) by scftne means, and prepossessed the mind of his uncle with
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 643 
 
 the story that had induced the judge to give him (Claude) such a strange, and, at 
 the time, incomprehensible reception. 
 
 Then Phillip had — probably by the assistance of some persons in his service, 
 while he (Claude) Wtis talking to the judge — left the house, and got possession of 
 the young girl, and driven the chariot off with her. 
 
 And even amid all his own troubles, serious and aflfecting his life as they were, 
 Claude felt heart-stricken at the i lea of Grace Manning being in the hands and 
 at the mercy of her abandoned cousin. 
 
 •* And thus," he said, " for a time does wickedness triumph." 
 
 After a while he stirred himself to see if there were any means by which he 
 could possibly escape from the cell. Retried the door; but destitute of imple- 
 ments as he there was, any attempt to force it would be utterly futile. The walls 
 he struck in all parts ; but from the dead sound they returned he felt certain that 
 the cellar he was in was a mere excavation, and that all around him was solid 
 earth, so that he could only hope that on the morrow something would turn up of 
 an advantageous character, so as to induce the judge to side with a belief in his 
 innocence before any discovery of who or what he really was could be made. 
 
 And Claude had some confidence in the usual stupidity of the police. He well 
 knew their great anxiety to identify any one whom they were asked if they knew, 
 and he likewise well knew how stupid they were at anything: in the shape of 
 recollection. 
 
 Of course, when he reasoned thus of the police, he excepted some of the old 
 experienced Bo'v-street men, who, if they were to see him, would at once be 
 able to name him. 
 
 Wearied with such agitations, and worn out by the great fatigues he had gone 
 through for the last twenty four hours, Claude, at length, lay right in the centre 
 of the truss of straw, that had been so kindly given to him Ly Jobkins, and 
 fell fast asleep. 
 
 The piobability is, that he enjoyed a far rounder repose than Phillip Manning, 
 notwithstanding that villain had so successfully, for the time being, got the better 
 of him, by fixing his own guilt upon his (Claude's) innocent shoulders. 
 
 Daylight at bright noon, and midnight, were alike in the strong cell of the 
 St. James's watch-house. 
 
 Claude started, and rubbed his eyes, when some one called " Hallo ! hallo ! — 
 Get up, unless you are fond enough of the damp to lie here and rot.'* 
 
 It was not Jobkins who made this speech. Claude rose, and felt his limbs 
 much stiffened by, no doubt, the damp air in which he had slept ; before trying 
 to turn his head he found that he had got that most unpleasant companion, a stiflf 
 neck. He could not help uttering a malediction upon the place. 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" said the officer, who came to fetch him, " you don't seem to 
 like it at all. But come on ; it's time you made an appearance at the police 
 office." 
 
 Claude did not condescend to make this man any answer, but followed him up 
 the twelve steps. 
 
 It was broad daylight. 
 
 A tin mug, half full of water, and a lump of very brown, coarse looking bread 
 was given to him for breakfast, and then he was permitted at a pump to wash 
 his face and hands. 
 
 " Now, you rascal," said the night-constable, bustling up to him, " I have seen 
 the judge." 
 
 " Have vou ?" said Claude. " Is he pretty well after it?" 
 
 " After what ?" 
 
 " After the infliction of a visit from such an ass as you are." 
 
 The officerf did not want to laugh ; but they could not stand this', and a 
 general roar testified their appreciation of the joke against the night-constable, 
 who was not celebrated among them for any large amount of wisdom, 
 
 " You villain, do you dare to make a laughing-stock of me P" 
 
 ♦* Oh, yes," said Claude,
 
 6U GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, | 
 
 " I wonder 1 don't knock you down." 
 
 " It's no wonder at all. The simple explanation is, that vou are afraid 
 to try it." 
 
 The night-constable looked ferocious ; but he turned away muttering to him- 
 self — 
 
 ** If I can do you an ill turn, master, I will; you may make up your mind to 
 that. I never was so insulted in all my life." 
 
 Claude felt that now was coming the lime when he would have to run the risk 
 of detection in his true character. He wished much to prolong the period during 
 which he should be unknown ; and he so disposed his hair, and the upper part of 
 his clothing, that he looked as unlike what he usually looked as possible. 
 
 He thought it would be prudent to give some name to the magistrate, however ; 
 if he did not, he knew that the officers would all be put upon the mettle to find 
 out who he was, and some one might make a shrewd guess, who otherwise might 
 not have his attention directed towards him (Claude) at all. 
 
 Police vans were at that time things undreamt of, and the charges over night at 
 the various watch-houses of the metropolis, were taken through the streets pro- 
 perly ironed, and the procession headed by a couple of officers, while two more 
 brought up the rear ; and in this way was Claude Duval conducted to Bow Street. 
 
 He had hoped that some other less conspicuous police office would have been 
 chosen ; but Bow Street it was. 
 
 His was not the first case called upon, but when he was conducted into the 
 court, he saw Judge Manning on the bench talking to the magistrate. The judge, 
 looked old and worn. 
 
 A general feeling of curiosity was manifest upon the countenances of all who 
 were present, for it had got whispered about that the case was a curious one, and 
 Claude found himself very uncomfortably the centre of attraction. 
 
 Ihe magistrate was a short, bloated-looking man with an immense projecting 
 under lip, acd features indicative of sensuaHty in the highest degree. His voice 
 was harsh and discordant. 
 
 ^* Well, prisoner," he cried, " what is your name ?*' 
 
 "John Smith," said Claude. " What is the charge against me ?" 
 
 * Oh, you want to know the charge, do you V 
 
 " I trust that that is not a very unreasonable amount of curiosity in one so 
 situated as I am." 
 
 •' You are a scoundrel, sir ! Hold your tongue." 
 
 " You are a fool, sir, and a liar," said Claude ; *' and if holding my tongue^ in 
 your vernacular, means keeping silent, while you make me the subjectof silly and 
 impertinent remarks, I will not do so." 
 
 The face yf the irritable magistrate turned of a purplish hue. Never had he 
 been before so defied in public, and, like most bullies, he had, when such a circum- 
 stance reaby took place, hardly anything to say for himself. 
 
 Judge Manning interposed. 
 
 " Pardon me, your worship," he said, " for interferring ; but I am quite willing 
 to state the charge against the prisoner at the bar." 
 
 *' Very well — very well," said the magistrate, wiping his face with a flaring silk 
 handkerchief. *' Very well — as you please, ray lord. Let it be so." 
 
 He spoke as though it was some great indulgence to the prisoner at the bar to 
 state the charge against him. What a famous inquisitor such a magistrate would 
 have made ; but then, all this was in the olden time. Ministers are now forced to 
 place men of education and some judgment on the magisterial bench; but it is 
 only the force of public opinion that has made the chan?e, as only the force of 
 public opinion makes all changes in this country of corruption, and dominant 
 rascality. All ministers go into office with but one motto, and that is "Resist- 
 ance to all change." 
 
 "The charge," added Judge Manning, "is for the abdication of a young 
 lady." 
 
 His voice faltered as he spoke.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 615 
 
 •* Not guilty/' cried Claude. 
 
 " Silence," said the magistrate. 
 
 " Not guilty," cried Claude again, in a voice that might have been quite con- 
 veniently heard in Bow-street. 
 
 ♦'Allow me to state the charge and to call my witnesses," said the judge. 
 
 The magistrate waved his hand as though he were the eir.peror of all the world, 
 and only graciously gave his permission for other folks to breathe a little to keep 
 life in them. 
 
 *' I charge this man," added Judge Manning, *' with the abdication, from the 
 house where she was residing, some distance fiom London, of my daughter, Grace 
 Manning." 
 
 He then briefly and very clearly went through the particulars already known to 
 the reader ; namely, the raysteriousi commission to Phillip, and the arrival cf 
 Claude at the mansion in town, with his accusation of Phillip, and assertion that 
 Grace was in a chariot without, and would substantiate it ; when no Grace and no 
 such chariot could be seen at all in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Claude listened to all this without the least interruption, and then the judge 
 said — 
 
 " If the prisoner has any question to ask of me, I shall ot course reply to 
 him." 
 
 " I would merely ask if your nephew Phillip enjoys your confidence?" 
 
 "Aly confidence?" 
 
 **Ye8. Is he a person of that character that you consider him worthy of 
 belief?" 
 
 '• Yes — yes— Now.'* 
 
 " Then there was a time when such was not the case." 
 
 " There was." 
 
 " I have nothing further to ask of you, sir. I have only to say that you are 
 much deceived.'' 
 
 " Well," said the magistrate, '* this is quite clear. The prisoner at the bar has 
 committed a roost heinous offence, and 1 shall commit him for trial," 
 
 " Perhaps you will condescend," said Claude, "to hear any witnesses first that 
 may depose to what the prosecutor has stated, and which, with all due deference 
 to him, I would suggest is not yet proved." 
 
 " I will call my nephe a'," said the judge. 
 
 " Ah," said Claude. *' I shall be glad to see him." 
 
 Phillip was in the body of the court ; and now looking as pale as death itself, 
 he made his appearance. It will easily be conceived how reluctant lie must have 
 been to come forward and confront Claude, and yet how impossible it was that 
 he should not do so under the circumstances. 
 
 The oath was tendered to him and duly taken. 
 
 •* Now, Phillip," said the judge. ''You will oblige me by slating as briefly as 
 you can all that you know ol this affair; and you will be as temperate as vou can." 
 
 " I will, sir." 
 
 " Proceed then," said the magistrate. 
 
 Phillip had time to muster up courage to look Claude in the face, but he could 
 not do so ; and the conscience that th« eye of the innocent man whom he was 
 going to do all that perjury could do to condemn, was upon hira, dazzled him 
 like sunlight. 
 
 There surely is something in the very nature of truth that makes it apparent and 
 infinitly superior in its very essence to falsehood ; for notwithstanding PhiJlip had 
 a good tale to tell, and was well backed by both the magistrate and his uncle, no 
 one in the court could listen to him without a lurking suspicion that all was not 
 right with his evidence.
 
 646 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CL. 
 Claude's friends become active. 
 
 We shall see how he got on with his vile and slanderous tale of imfamy and 
 calumny. 
 
 Phillip Manning put in the letter that he said he had received, and which pre- 
 tended to warn him of the projected abduction of his cousin Grace ; and then he 
 went on to say how he had tried to thwart the design — heen too late, and finally, 
 just managed to get to Lanion again iti time to put his uncle in possession of the 
 frif;htful fact that Grace was actually carried off. 
 
 *' Look at me," said Claude. 
 
 By a good effort, Phillip manaij;ed to do so. 
 
 " WheriB have you seen me before V* 
 
 ** At my uncle's house, last night." 
 
 " And when and where before that V* 
 
 *' Nowhere.** 
 
 *' Then I will refresh your memory. We met in a green lane near to Ealing, 
 yesterday. Do you deny that, upon your oath ?'* 
 
 "I do." 
 
 ** Do you keep a carriage?" 
 
 *' Certainly not. My income will not permit me to do such a thing.** 
 
 " But your income will no doubt easily permit you to hire one now and then, 
 Mr. Phillip Manning, and that was possibly the case as regards the one in which 
 I stopped you when you were conveying off Miss Manning." 
 
 " This is monstrous," said the magistrate; '* what does the prisoner mean ?" 
 
 *« Ay," said Phillip, " what can he mean ?'* 
 
 " Simply,*' said Claude, " that I rescued Grace Manning from you yesterday, 
 and brought her to London. By her own request, I left her for a few momisuts 
 outside her father's house while I went in to prepare him for her sudden appear- 
 ance, and during those few moments she disappeared. Where she is now, you 
 Phillip Manning can best tell." 
 
 ** I ?" 
 
 *' Yes, who but you ?— who but you stole dut of your uncle *8 bouse, while he 
 and I were talking, and made off with her?" 
 
 '• Surely, surely this cannot be trueT' said the judge. 
 
 **Iti3 all false," said Phillip. " I should be worse than the worst if I could 
 do such acts." 
 
 *« You would, indeed, Phillip." 
 
 '< And are," said Claude. *'That such has been the case I am now quite cer- 
 tain; and a time will come, T hope, when the only witness who can clear up this 
 affair will do so, to my honour, and to Phillip's confusion." 
 
 "What witness?" said Phillip, looking round him with apprehension, M 
 though he feared that from the crowd in the court some one would step forwiard 
 and confront him, bringing proofs of his duplicity and villaoy. 
 
 " This man asks what witness ?" said Claude j *' and I declare that the witness 
 I hope yet to se3 will be Grace Manning." 
 
 " Where is she ?" said Phillip. 
 
 " What !'* said Claude, " have you forgotten where you took her to last 
 night ?" 
 
 " I — I took her nowhere— I don't know anythmg about her.'* 
 
 " Prisoner," said the judge, "restore me my child, and, even now, I will abandon 
 this charge, and you shall go free." 
 
 " I wish I could," said Claude ; " ask your nephew." 
 
 The judge sunk back upon his seat again, fiom whence he had partially risen, 
 and uttered a long-drawn sigh. 
 
 «« I will commit him,*' said the magistrate. "Prigoner at the bar, you stand 
 committed to take your trial for—"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 647 
 
 " Stop a moment," said Claude. " Has Phillip Manning a servant— a stout 
 man with red hair?" 
 
 *' Yes, yes," said the judge, "he had." 
 
 "Then that servant was with him, when I met him in the green lane, and 
 rescued your daughter from him. He was then playing the part of a postillion." 
 
 " Well, my servant is here," said Phillip; " put him upon his oath, and let us 
 see where he was last night at the time you mention. Peter! Peter ]•♦ 
 
 -' Here, sir," said a voice ; and the identical man who had driven the chaise, 
 and who, it will be recollected, crawled away in the bustle attendant upon 
 Claude's rescue of Grace Manning, made his appearance. 
 
 The oath was taken by this man ; and Claude said to him — 
 
 *' Where were you yesterday, about sunset V 
 
 ** I was in London all day, and all night too. My master gave me a guinea to 
 go and relieve a poor family with, and that took me all day, for I could not find 
 where they had moved to.*' 
 
 ** But you found them at last ; and, I hope, relieved them ?** 
 
 " No ; I couldn't for the life of me discover where they had moved to. 
 Please, sir,'* turning to Phillip, " here's the guinea, as I could not find the poor 
 people." ~ 
 
 *' That will do," said Claude. " I have nothing further to say to this witness. 
 Time alone can put this affair to rights. I pity you, my lord judge, more, if pos- 
 sible, than I feel for myself, for you, after all, in the uncertainty as to the fate of 
 your child, are the worst victim of this most foul conspiracy.'' 
 
 " But it shall be found out," cried a voice from the body of the court. 
 
 « Ah I" said Claude. 
 
 He \ new the voice. It was Jack's, 
 
 " Who was that ?" said tlie magistrate. " Seize that man, and bring him before 
 me — officers, seize that man ; I have not the slightest doubt but that it is one of 
 the prisoner's abandoned accomplices." 
 
 An active search was made, and a vast amount of bustle ensued, but the 
 officers with all their exertions were unsuccessful in discovering who had spoken 
 the words. 
 
 Claude was very anxious to say a word or two to Jack ; but all he could ven- 
 ture upon was a few words of a general character. 
 
 '* If any friend of mine," he said, '* be here, let him try to find Grace Manning 
 as well for my sake as for her own and her father's consolation." 
 
 *' Yes !" cried the voice again. 
 
 *' Hush !*' said Claude. " Hush I" 
 
 *' Upon my life !" cried the magistrate, " this is very strange and very annoying. 
 Officers, I demand that the person who interrupts the court in this manner be 
 brought before me immediately !" 
 
 The officers now felt the necessity of laying hold of somebody, so, as they 
 could not find the real offender, they laid violent hands on the most stupid, 
 inoffensive, harmless-looking person they could see, and dragged him forward, 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " Here he is, your worship. Here he is !" 
 
 " Well, fellow," said the magistrate, " what have you got to say for yourself 
 for this indecorous interruption of the court ?" 
 
 " It wasn't me, your wuship !" 
 
 " Come, come —be careful what you say, sir.*' 
 
 " Of course he denies it, your worship," said one of the officers. 
 
 '' Of course," repeated his sapient worship. " I have a great mind, sir, [to 
 commit you to prison for a month ; but as it is, I will let vou off this once^with a 
 fine of forty Eh T' 
 
 The clerk had whispered something to the magistrate, who, after a whispered 
 consultation with that functionary, added — 
 
 " A-hem ! Will anybody swear that this was the man who disturbed the 
 court ?'*
 
 us GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 The officers had some sort of dread that the real offender might come forward ; 
 and they nudged each other to take the necessary oath, which the magistrate ob- 
 serving:, induced that potentate to say— 
 
 " Well, prisoner, for this time you may go; but don't let me see your face here 
 again — mark that." 
 
 " Yes, your wuship ; but I didn't speak.*' 
 
 '* Go away, sir, and be thankful." 
 
 The man slunk away, and then the judge said, in a low tone, expressive of much 
 dejection— 
 
 "May I request that your worship 'will remand the prisoner for a week? I 
 hope, during that time, that by indefatigable exertions, something may be brought 
 to light that will elucidate the mysteries in which this painful affair is enveloped." 
 
 The magistrate assented ; and Claude found himself formally remanded for one 
 week. 
 
 Claude was rather anxious regarding what prison he was to be sent to ; for he 
 knew that there was rather a paucity of jail accommodation in London, and that 
 it was a very common thing for even remanded prisoners from all parts of the 
 metropolis to be taken to Newgate. 
 
 " Where am I to be taken V he said. 
 
 "To Newgate." 
 
 Claude looked upon his recognition at Newgate as certain, and all -he said 
 was— 
 
 "I protest against all this proceeding. Judge Manning. You will be sorry, 
 sir, for sacrificing one .vho has run into much danger to save you much sorrow." 
 
 ** Save mc much sorrow ?" ! 
 
 "Yes. I tried to do so by restoring to you your daughter. I failed in that, 
 perhaps, mad-brained, toochivalric enterprise, and here I am!" 
 
 Judge Manning was evidently shaken. 
 
 ** Would to God," he said, *' I couid see uiy way through all this tangle of 
 incidents ! I shudder to do less or more than justice !" 
 
 " The time will come,*' said Claude. 
 
 *' Now, young feller,'* whiepered an officer in his ear. " This way, if it*s all 
 the same to you.** 
 
 In another moment he was led from th3cnart. As he passed out he was quite 
 close to Phillip Manning. That rascal glanced around him to see that his uncle 
 was not nigh, and then he saluted Claude with a grin of malice as he said,— 
 
 " I triumph uow." 
 
 " Yes," said Claude, '* you fancy so." 
 
 *' I know it.'* 
 
 " Bat you dread the result, and that will sarely come. Triumph, do you sav ? 
 Is that cowardly hang-dog-look one of triumph ? Why, )0u are shaking with 
 fear, to your inmost soul. Officers, look at us and say which, in your experience, 
 is the guilt)', and which the innocent man ?*' 
 
 The officers only looked at each other, but they made no reply to this remark 
 of Claude's. It was not at all likely, under the circumstances, that they would. 
 As for Phillip he walked away as quietly as possible. 
 
 "Shall I keep up my incognito or not?" was the question that Claude now put 
 to himself. After a few moments counrjl, he answered, and in the affirma'ive. — 
 A coach was procured. He was told that that was done by order of Judge Man- 
 ning, and in the course of about five minutes more our hero was on his road 
 to Newgate. 
 
 He was carefully handcuffed. 
 
 If such had not been the case he might yet hnve made gome sort of effort at 
 escape, upon the principle, that it ought to be much easier to get out of a coach 
 than out of Newgate. 
 
 The gloomy portal of the prison was soon reached, and then came the most 
 anxious momei.t of all — a moment which would decide whether Claude weuld be 
 recogaised or not by the officials.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 649 
 
 '* What sort of a lot have you got there ?'' said the man at the wicket. 
 
 '* I'll be hung if I know," said the officer who had special charge of Claude. — 
 *' But I don't suppose it's of much consequence; I'm to give this letter to the 
 governor. Is he up and about V* 
 
 " Not he. Didn't you know he's been confined to his bed for a fortnight V 
 
 ''Not I." 
 
 DICK TURPIN PRESENTING HIS CARD AT 'HIE QUAKFr's. 
 
 " Well, it's a fact then, and our fellows say here that he sickened when Claude 
 Duval got away the last time, and has never been his own man again, and won't 
 be, 'till we have Claude under lock and key.'" 
 j^/' Then the letter must be taken to h=m." 
 
 1^ " Ay, that can be done. Peter, take this letter to the governor ; I suppose 
 .it's about the prisoner V*
 
 650 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Not a doubt of it as it's from old Judge Manning. The charge though 
 don't seem to be much, and between you and I and the door-post. Bill, this chap, 
 in my notion of things, isn't the right party." 
 
 " You don't say so?" 
 
 " Yes, I do. You take a look at him." 
 
 Claude had managed, by stooping, to deceive his real height very much, aiiil 
 by slightly puffing out his cheeks, he certainly materially altered his personal ap- 
 pearance, so that one would have needed to be very familiar, indeed, with him to 
 have recognised him. 
 
 ** Humph !" said the man who was, as it is technically termed, on the lock. — 
 »' Humph I It seems, to me, as if I had seen somebody like him somewhere ; 
 but I'll be hanged if I know where. 
 
 At this moment the lad, who had been sent to the governor -with the letter, 
 came back with it opened, and said, — 
 
 " The governor is too ill to attend to it ; but he says ' I'm to shew it to Mr. 
 Blain, and he is to attend to it.' " 
 
 Then, it's no secret," said the turnkey. " Let's have a look at it." 
 
 '* Ah read it out," said the officer, who had brought CTaude from Bow-street, 
 ?' Read it out." 
 
 ** You read it, Peter." 
 
 Peter, in a school-boy-like drawling tone of yoice, without tl^e smalleit regard 
 to punctuation, then read as foUovirs : 
 
 •'Judge Manning present his compliments to the Governor of Newgate, and 
 would feel obliged by the remanded prisoner, John Smith, being placed in a 
 private room, and shown alFthe indulgence consistent with his safe keeping ; 
 as Judge Manning has not sufficient evidence to pronounce confidently on his 
 guilt, and is anxious to commit as little injustice as possible." 
 
 By this time some half dozen officers had repaired to the vestibule, and no one 
 seemed to recognise Claude. Tfaey all heard the letter read, and then turned 
 away with looks of indiiference, as though they would have said — 
 
 '*'0h, this is nothing ; this will turn out no case.*" 
 
 The one named Blairi' now took the letter, and intimated to Claude that he was 
 to follow him. 
 
 Claude did so, affecting to be quite lame of one leg, 
 
 " Are you hurt ?" said the officer. 
 
 "No,*' said Claude, '' this is an old aflfair." 
 
 " Well, you can rest yourself as long as you like in the place Fm going to take 
 you to ; I suppose it's all some mistake ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Claude, *' quite so.** 
 
 " Ah, well you will have nothing to complain of in Newgate ; and when you 
 see Judge Manning again, you can say that Blain made you as comfortable as he 
 could." 
 I '* I will; and yet it's an awful thing to be put in Newgate." 
 I ** Stuff, I live in it. This way — this way. 
 
 I'd work not by night nor by day, 
 But back on my fortune I'd fall, 
 If I could but find out the right way. 
 To say * wanted' to famed Claude Duval. 
 Ah, sir, he's the fellow we are all sighing after, here." 
 
 «' Really," said Claude. 
 
 CHAPTER CLI. 
 
 dick's visit to niwgatb. 
 If Claude could in those adverse circumstances in which he was placed, have 
 been amused at anything, probably the regrets, both in prose and verse, of the 
 officer in Newgate, at the impossibility of capturing such a prize as Claude 
 Duval, would have had that effect.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 651 
 
 Bat his heart was too full to enable him to do more than faintly smile. 
 
 The room into which he was now conducted, differed very njuch indeed from 
 those sad and dreary portions of the prison which ordinary malefactors, who had 
 no one upon any ground or with any authority to intercede for them, were 
 placed by the officials. 
 
 The letter from Judge Manning had done much more for Claude in Newgate 
 than all the appeals to the humanity and sense of justice that could have been 
 made, would have accomplished ; and when it is recollected that many an inno- 
 cent man is taken up and committed to jail until an investigation of the charge 
 against him is made, it is a disgrace to the jurisprudence of this country, that 
 his punishmet should begin before the law has declared him guilty. 
 
 But yet such is the case. 
 
 It is said in England to be an axiom that the law preserves all accused persons 
 to be innocent, until, by the regular course of judicial investigation, they are 
 clearly and distinctly proved to be guilty ; but to any one who has paid attention 
 to the subject, it i.* quite clear that the administrators of the law, from the lowest 
 policeman to the governor of Newgate, are of a different opinion. 
 
 They presume that the suspec'.ed and the accused are in all cases guilty, and 
 therefore there is no difference between the convicted thief and the man whose 
 neighbour has " borne false witness against him," in regard to treatment. 
 
 Any man in England, who choose* \o take a false oath, may place any other 
 man in prison — put handcuffs upon his wrists — associate him with thieves, and 
 characters worse than thieves ; and although in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, 
 the innocence of the man falsely accused, W3uld eventunlly be brought to light, 
 who is to undo what is done ? — Who is to say that he has not suffered as much 
 up to the point when his innocence becomes apparent, as though he had been 
 guilty ? -> i 
 
 Hence, then, we say that the treatment of accused persons in England is in all 
 cases most gros^ and unjustifiable. 
 
 That Judge Maaning felt this to be the case, is pretty manifest by the care he 
 took that Claude should not undergo it. 
 
 The judge had doubts of Claude's guilt, and hence he had sent the letter, which 
 the reader has heard read, to the governor of Newgate. No doubt, in the clear 
 and astute mind of the judge, as the cfi«;e or presumed case against Claude had 
 developed itself, there had arisen many circumstances to cast a doubt upon his 
 nephew Phillip's statements j and from all that was taking place, Claude entertained 
 a sanguine expectation that if he happened not to be recognised, he might soon 
 find himself at liberty. 
 
 There was a carpet upon the floor of the room to which he was consigned, and 
 in other respects it bore evidence of regard for comfort. In a small closet adjoin- 
 ing was a bed, and indeed the only circumstance that really gave it what might 
 be called quite a prison-look was that the windows were well defended by iron 
 bars both within and without. 
 
 " What do you think of this?" said the turnkey, as he glanced round with quite 
 an air of pride like the owner of some palace. " You may be as comfortable here 
 as the day is long. Don't you think you can now V' 
 
 " I should not wonder," said Claude. 
 
 " Only look. Here's a fine view of a bit of the outer wall, and it you only get 
 to this corner of the window and squint downwards, you will see a little bit of 
 one of the enclosed yards." 
 
 " Very lively, indeed," said Claude. 
 
 '* Ah, you may say that. I don't know how they are going to manage about 
 your grub, but 1 suppose as they have put you into such good quarters as regards 
 your lodging, that will be all right." ' 
 
 " 1 don't know," said Claude, " what they mean to do, but I know what they 
 ought te do." 
 "What's that 1" 
 *' Why, compensate an innocent man in every way that is possible for an unjust
 
 652 • GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 detention here. Liberty is the dearest possession in the world, and if a man be de- 
 prived of that, he may well, provided he be innocent, expect other indul- 
 gences." 
 
 ''Humph!" said the jailor, "as for the innocence, that's neither here nor 
 there. We never yet had anybody in Newgate that, according to their own ac- 
 count, wasn't one of the most injured of individuals; and as for innocenc3, lord 
 bless you, new born babes afore they begin squalling can't be more innocent than 
 they. Ha~ha— r' 
 
 *'Ah," said Claude, as he threw himself upon a singularly hard couch that 
 was in the room. "You look, my friend, upon all these things with a profes- 
 sional eye." 
 
 " I rather think I do. However, I wish you well; and if I can do you a good 
 turn, I will, for to tell you the truth, I like the looks of you." 
 
 "You have my best thanks.'* 
 
 The man smiled and withdrew. Claude heard the sound of the lock of the door 
 as it was carefully secured on the outside, and then there was the unequivocal 
 bang of an iron bar into it's place. 
 
 *' These indulgences," said Claude to himself, "are not without the usual 
 severities, but this is better than a cell. I wonder now if I owe this to the honest 
 convictions creeping over Judge Manning that I have told the truth and that his 
 nephew is a rogue, or to his fears about his child?" 
 
 By a natural movement enough now Claude commenced a careful examination 
 of his prison. 
 
 No place could so little reward a scrutiny. There was literally nothing that 
 could invite a second glance. The walls were stone. The floor was stone. Hobs 
 or cupboards, with the exception of that which held his bed, there were none, and 
 that might be called something between a hole and a cupboard. Less than five 
 minmtes sufficed to convince Claude that there was nothing to glean in the way of 
 hopeful information from an examination of the room, if it might be called so, in 
 wh'ch he was. 
 
 He cast himself upon the hard couch again, and gave himself up to reflections, 
 some of which were of anything but a pleasant or consolatory character. It seemed 
 to him to be next to an impossibility that heshoald escape recognition from some 
 of the authorities of Newgate, and in that case he, of course, knew that the very 
 worst might be expected. There was only one gleam of consolation amid the 
 sombre darkness of his position, and that was the conviction that Cicely was safe 
 and well cared for. 
 
 It cost him much thought, however, and many pangs to know how and in what 
 way he should communicate to her his perilous position. 
 
 When he came upon that subject, the tumult of his thoughts would liot allow 
 him to b'^ still, and he rose and paced the small apartment to and fro, with rapid 
 and uneasy steps. 
 
 In the midst of this state of things, he was startled by the sudden opening of 
 the door, and Phillip Manning stoed upon the threshold. 
 
 *' You will find him there, sir," said a voice. " I will wait, and you have only 
 to call out in a loud voice * Very,* and I will come and let you out/* 
 
 " Thank you," said Phillip. ' 
 
 The door was closed, and he stood a couple of paces within Claude's particular 
 prison. 
 
 At this moment, the impulse to knock him down certainly came strongly over 
 Claude, but by a powerful effort of his judgment, he restrained it, for he felt how 
 important it was to him not only to hear what Phillip had to say, but likewise to 
 avoid making any commotion in the prison, which might have the effect of sum- 
 moning round him some who might know him. 
 
 He would not speak first, however, but he looked Phillip in the face with astern 
 defiance, before which the conscious villain shrunk and trembled. 
 
 At length, finding that Claude would not ask bim the purport of his visit, he 
 was compelled to commence the conference himself.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 6S3 
 
 " You may make me your friend, if you like," said Phillip. 
 
 " No/ said Claude. " If such a thing were possible I would decline the pro- 
 cess. Speak out at once, and say what new circumlocution of villany brings you 
 here ?'' 
 
 *' I regret the turn affairs have taken." 
 
 «* Indeed." 
 
 " Yes, in truth I do ; and I think, upon mature consideration, we had better 
 back out of it now, with what we can get." 
 
 u We ?' 
 
 " Yes ; I say we, because I am quite willing that you should be a sharer in the 
 full proceeds, yoii see.*' 
 
 '* Go on. Explain yourself more fully," said Claude, controlling as well as he 
 was able, which was not very well, the indignation that was swelling at his heart. 
 
 "Why, I don't mind telling you because no one else hears me, and if you 
 repeat it, nobody will believe yon, that I did, while you were talking to the Judge, 
 pass out and get possession of Grace." 
 
 <* I know it." 
 
 ** That is to say vou guessed it." 
 
 " Well, well, Phillip, I guessed at it.— What next ?" 
 
 *' I can't help stopping to tell you how well pleased I am to find you so reason- 
 able about this matter ; for, to tell you the truth, I fully expected you would have 
 stormed and raved in good style." 
 
 ** You see how calm I am ?" 
 
 '*Yes, 1 perceive. Well, as I was saying, I recovered my prisoner and have 
 her safe, but — but the thing is a failure rather, and — and——" 
 
 '* How a failure ? If you have her safe, what do you mean by a failure ? You 
 must explain yourself more particularly." 
 
 " Well," said Phillip, with a tcss of his head. *' You know so much of the 
 affair already, and you suspect so much more, that the safest way, if any good is 
 to be done with you, is to tell you all." 
 
 " Much the safest," said Claude. 
 
 " So I think. In the first place I want money. In the next I was not with- 
 out a certain amount of admiration of my cousin Grace. 
 
 « Good." 
 
 " Well, as we were first cousins, and so within'the legal bounds ofconsangunity, 
 I did not see the least objection to marry her. She is my uncle's only child, and 
 will inherit all his wealth, to a certainty, and he is rich. I proposed to Grace." 
 
 *' And was rejected ?" 
 
 " Yes, with great scorn. From that moment I promised myself revenge ; but 
 I likewise promised myself that I would be careful in my manner of exacting it. 
 Grace went to stay with a distant relative, from whom I got her away by the 
 story of her father's illness, as you are well aware. You met us and spoiled my 
 plans, or I should have taken her where she would have been quite safe, and I 
 would have forced her into a marriage or blighted her existence in such a way, 
 that it would have been a relief to have had even me to have called by the name 
 of husband." 
 
 " The situation," said Claude, *' must have been indeed desperate that would 
 have made that a desirable resource." 
 
 Phillip continued without heeding this bitter sarcasm. 
 
 " But things have turned out differently. She is as obstinate as twenty mules, 
 and I am afraid that she will kill herself. All I have got her to consent to, is, 
 that if she is restored to her father, she will, provided you likewise consent, bury 
 the whole affair in oblivion, and not accuse me. But that is onl} half the battle 
 gained. I want money, aad surely you cannot be quite indifferent to the claims 
 of a couple of thousand pounds." 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 «« Well then, I know that for the restoration of his child, the judge, if you ask 
 him, will hand you a draft for ^4000 or £5000, and consent to ask no questions.
 
 C64. GENTLEMAN JACK j OR. ^MW^- 
 
 He will be with you here in the cou^e of aa hour. I ask you to adopt that 
 course. Ask him for the money. Promise him his child by twelve o'clock to 
 night ; and then when you hand me the chetiue, I will restore you, and to- 
 morrow mornlDg we will meet and share the proceeds.'* 
 
 " Ah 1" said Claude. He could not trust himself at the moment to say more. 
 
 *< Well, is it a bargain ?" 
 
 *• Where is she ?" 
 
 '* You must excuse me there, my friend. That is a secret wonh knowing, so 
 1 intend to keep it to myself" 
 
 Claude covered his face with both his hands and thought. Shall I, he thought, 
 consent in appearance to ibis villany for the sake of restoring the child to the 
 father, and then afterwards proclaim it? No — no. He, this Phillip, will bind 
 Grace to secresy by some oaths, which her pure spirit will not break ; and then I 
 should denounce him in vain ; besides, could I go through the interview with the 
 judge? Nc — no. A hundred times no. The words in which I should cloathe 
 the proposal for the restoration of his daughter for a sum of money, would stick 
 in my throat. I cou'd not — J could not 1 
 
 " Have you decided ?" said Phillip. 
 
 •* Yes!" cried Claude, with startling energy. 
 
 *• And you will do it?" 
 
 "You will find^what I will do. Villain ! Monster !'* 
 
 Claude made a dash at him and caught him by the throat. Phillip raised a 
 stifled cry, but it sufficed to reach the ears of the turnkey, who opened the door 
 just as Phillip was tnrning bla«k in the face. 
 
 " Holloa ! What's this 1" 
 
 " Keep off!'' cried Claude. " Keep off! There will be one scoundrel the less 
 in the world. Keep oiF, I pray you." 
 
 " No, no, this sort of thing won't do," said the turnkey. 
 
 As he spoke he drew from his pocket a whistle, and blew a shrill note, which 
 had the eftectof bringing half-a-dozen turnkeys to his aid, and by their united 
 exertions, Phillip Manning was torn, more dead than alive, from the grasp of 
 Claude. 
 
 For a few minutes the scene of confusion was most intense ; and several of the 
 officers were of opinion that Phillip Manning was dead. 
 
 " You have let yourself in for it now," said one ; *' you will swing for this." 
 
 *'Sueh a villain,'' said Claude, " deserved death from the first hand that could 
 be raised with sufficient power to inflict it." 
 
 *' Ah," said an old officer shaking his head sagely from side to side. «' If all 
 the villains were to be throttled, what would become ot the population I should 
 like to know. That would never do." 
 
 The door of the room was again closed upon Claude, and fastened securely, 
 while the insensible, and as some thought, the dead Phillip was taken to the 
 Infirmary, for the purpose of seeing if the surgeon could do anything for 
 him. ^ 
 
 It was only a case of suspended animation. A little blood-letting soon 
 recovered him. Such folks as| Phillip Manning, somehow, always do , take a 
 deal of killing, while people whose lives are of both public and private conse- 
 quence, most easily ^ 
 " Shuffle off this mortal coil.^ 
 
 ' There is surely a special Providence for the conservation of bhckguardism. Do 
 we not see daily instances of men ;whose lives, as far as society is concerned, 
 are perfectly worthless, running ri»ks and escaping danger.i which would be tho 
 instant destruction of any really estimable and valuable member of society? There 
 are men who ride across horses, who patronise gigs, who ride steeple-chasea, and 
 daily expose themselves to all the chances of death and accident, and yet upon 
 such men's safety, you may^ freely wager — and why? Simply because their deaths 
 would be a gain rather than a loss to society.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 655 
 
 And so Phillip recovered with l)is heart full of such unmitigated hatred to 
 Claude, whom, it must not be forgotlen, he only knew ns John Smith, that nothing 
 short of his complete destruction would now satisfy him. 
 i_ It vvas about half an hour after these events, that Claude's door was opened 
 again^ and the turnkey said — 
 
 " Here's your brother, Tom Smith, as he calls himself. I suppoie you won't go 
 far to throttle him I" 
 
 • CHAPTER GUI. 
 
 JACK UNDERTAKES A PERILOUS MISSION. 
 
 " My, brother r exclaimed Claude. 
 
 *' Yes. But if he isn't, why we can " 
 
 "Stop! Stop!" cried Claude, "it's all right ; I only thdught he was out of 
 town. That's all. Let him come in directly." 
 
 ♦' Ah, John," said a voice, *' I knew you would be glad to see me." 
 It was Dick Turpin. 
 
 Claude, at the moment, deeply congratulated himself that he had taken the 
 hint about a brother, and not said anything to breed a suspicion that such was 
 wtt the case ; but ke was, at the same time, full of wonder to know how Dick 
 could possibly have found out what had happened to him. 
 " I am, indeed, glad to see you, Tom,*' said Claude. 
 
 " Oh, it's all right," said the turnkey, as he closed the door, "There will be 
 no throttling this time, I suppose." 
 
 The moment they were fairly alone, Claude said,— 
 " Dick, I am pleased, and afflicted at this visit." 
 « How afflicted ?" 
 
 " At the danger you thrust yourself into." 
 
 " Oh, don't thmkof that. Danger is the element such men as you and I live 
 in. It comes as natural to us as water to a fish ; but, speak low, and don't pro- 
 nounce my name, nor will 1 yours. Walls have ears they say, and I don't feel 
 much trust in anything, even being quite alone in Newgate.'' 
 ** I will be careful ; but how did you find me out ?" 
 
 "I have many and some very strange sources of information. At some other 
 time we will talk about that. Moments are precious just now ; for, although, it is 
 contrary to their orders to forbid me to visit you, upon my stating my near rela- 
 tionship ; yet they will cut that visit as short as possible, you may depend." 
 *' True— true !" 
 
 ^'^Then tell me, Claude, at once, what is best to be done, and Jack and I will 
 do it. Bother my tongue ! I uttered your name just now, after myself giving 
 you the caution not to do so." 
 
 ** Never mind. You spoke in a very low tone." 
 " I hope I did." 
 
 " Be assured you did, and that, as yet, all is well. There is only one course of 
 conduct that you and Jack can adopt to aid me, and that is to follow Phillip Man- 
 ning, and find out where he has bestowed Grrace." 
 " He has her, then ?" 
 
 " Yes ; the villain has been here and confessed as much. I have half choaked 
 him, I believe ; but I hope I have not wholly done so. The restoration of Grace 
 to her father, untramelled by any promise to keep secret Phillip's share in the 
 infamous transaction, will be the signal for my instant liberation ; and if that can 
 take place before any awkward recognition of me takes place here, the whole ^ffair 
 will end well, and do to laugh at on a winter's night. 
 " It shall be done." 
 
 " Then I feel easy ; for well I know that if it can be done at all, you and Jack 
 are the persons to do it : and now, as regards Cicely, merely tell her that I am
 
 656 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 engaged for a day or two upon a matter that has suddenly sprung up ; but it is 
 quite needless to mention me in any connexion with this dreadful building, which 
 is already sufficiently a bug -bear to her imagintaion.*' 
 
 '* All shall be as you wish in that respect." 
 
 ** Hilloa ! is the goisiping over?" cried the turnkey, "Ten minutes is all we 
 allow." 
 
 •* Yes, yes," said Dick. " Good-by, John." 
 
 "Good-by," said Claude. *• All's right. They are very civil to me here, 
 Tom, and this man has been particularly so." 
 
 Both Claude and Dick felt the importance of propitiating the officials of ^the 
 prison, so Dick at once handed the man a guinea, saying — 
 
 " Take that as an earnest of another, when my brother here is declared inno* 
 cent, which he is." 
 
 The turnkey tossed the coin in the air by a dexterousmovement of his thumb; 
 and as he caught it in its descent, and placed it ia his waistcoat pocket, he looked 
 aside at Claude, saying— 
 
 *5 He won't fare the worse ; but mum is the word about the spangle.** 
 
 " All's right" said Dick ; ** I know. God bless you, brother John,— You will 
 soon be out of this.* 
 
 Claude was again alone, but his reception of visitors was not yet over. 
 Phillip Manning had spoken for once in a way, just because it happened to suit 
 liim, the truth, when he said the judge was about to pay Claude a visit, and sure 
 enough, Dick had hardly got well clear of Newgate, when the judge was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 Claude rose and received the old man with respect, for he could not quarrel 
 with him, knowing well, that in his conduct towards him he acted as any one 
 would have done under the circumstances, and probably with much more consi- 
 deration, than any ordinary person would have brought to bear upon the 
 subject. 
 
 Claude was aware that the judge placed his own back to the light, which gave 
 him the advantage of seeing Claude's features fully, while his own were partially 
 shrouded; but Claude had no sort of objection to such an arrangement. He 
 had no emotion of his mind, that might find expression upon his countenance, to 
 conceal. 
 
 " You will perhaps be surprised at this visit," said the judge. 
 
 "No, sir. Your nephew told me of it." 
 
 "What, Phillip?" 
 
 **Even 80, sir.*' 
 
 *' Then he has made already an attempt to move you to compassion for a 
 father's sufferings ? "What has been your answer ?" 
 
 " Phillip has made no such attempt." 
 
 *• Do not try to deceive me. For what other motive could he seek you in this 
 gloomy prison ?" 
 
 " To add to his villany by attempting to get me to participate in a scheme of 
 robbing you." 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 " And yet true, sir. I took hira by the throat as my answer. They wrested 
 him from me, or he would not have lived to deny the new charge against him as, 
 of course, he will most freely and distinctly." 
 
 « Alas ! alas ! What am I to think V 
 
 ** Nothing is more natural than that you should be thoroughly confused by all 
 that has happened. You would need to have the prescience of the Almighty to 
 see your way through the conflicting evidence that is brought before you. No- 
 thing but the evidence now of your daughter, Grace, can be conclusive to your 
 mind." ^ 
 
 *' Restore her to me— restore her to me !" 
 
 " I would that I could." 
 
 ** Hark your, sir; this child— this Grace— is the child of my old age. My only
 
 ::,^:^r;eU, if youbegunty, limplce you^you«i^hatHeaven should 
 
 THE 0U> POMP, NEAB CLATOE'S TOWN BESIDESCE. 
 
 o,eaookt.atsuiU-.syo„hopefo..Uy.-e^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 even expected to accrue from that guilt— i enireax yu 
 your own terms ; you have only to speak. 
 "This is hard, indeed." 
 
 No 83.
 
 658 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 judge once for all, that I was your child's defender — that I rescued her ; but that 
 she has been torn awaj' from me and from you again. Look to Phillip for a 
 further answer." 
 
 The judge groaned. 
 
 "Yes, sir; I add, and I add it most emphatically — Look to Phillip, whom 
 you have loaded with benefits — to Phillip, whom you have had occasion to for- 
 give for much, and whom you have so forgiven. Look to him, and to him only, for 
 your child." 
 
 " I am as one in a maze, I know not what to think, nor which way to move," 
 said the judge, mournfully. 
 
 '* Hark ye, sir, ' said Claude, after a slight pause. *' I do not feel any degree 
 of bitterness or resentment against you for this imprisonment which X innocently 
 suflfer. 1 admit it was forced upon you." 
 
 " If you be innocent," said the judge, ** you are the moat generous of men. 
 But if guilty, you are " 
 
 *'Gro on, sir. Being innocent, I can very well bear to hear what you would 
 say cf guilr." 
 
 " You are, then, of guilty, the most artful and spurious." 
 
 *' Kxcepting one." 
 
 "What one?" 
 
 "Your nephew, Phillip, sir." 
 
 '* If I were once only assured of his guilt in the present instance, he should 
 never again reach my heart ; but it is too improbable. What could he, of all 
 men, have to gain by the abduction of my child, but shame and want ?" 
 
 " He knows that you are rich, sir." 
 
 " Granted that T am. What then ?* 
 
 " He knows that Grace is your only child, and that upon her will devolve the 
 greatest amount of your wealth. Thus calculating, then, his great object was to 
 get her to consent to m union with him." 
 
 •' You are wrong. Shp has already explicitly refused him.' 
 
 ** Yes, but he hoped that by taking her from all who would befriend, he should 
 be able to place her in such a position that even marriage with him would be far 
 better than the shame which would be her posiiion otherwise." 
 
 A flush of angry colour came to the judge's cheeks. 
 
 *' No, nx)," he said, " that is too much." 
 
 ** In what way?" said Claude, speaking quickly. "Do you think that any- 
 thing: in the way of wickedness, that yon and I may imaj^ine is in reality, too much 
 for Phillip to perpetrate ? I tell you, sir, he has been to me to-day." 
 
 ** I knfw it. He has tried to move your heart." 
 
 ^^Move pay heart? In good truth, sir, he did mqve both my heart and brain 
 to that extent, that I could not keep my fingers from his throat. I did not kill 
 him; but it will be some time before Phillip Manning forgets the clutch with 
 which I held him, in consequence of moving ray heart," 
 
 The judge glared at Claude with an expression that looked almost like in- 
 sanity, as he said— 
 
 '« And what is your account of the interview you have had with Phillip ?" 
 
 *« The true one ?" 
 
 *'But its substance?" 
 
 " That you will not believe it if I tell it to you ; and yet you shall know that 
 he admitted to me he knew where Grace was, and hia object in coming tome 
 was to get me to take the guilt off his shoulders, by owning that I was tne 
 criminal, and asking of you a large sum for the restoration of your child, which 
 sum he proposed to share with me. That was his errand." 
 
 The judge looked astonished. 
 
 ** And your answer?" he said. 
 
 " Look for it upon Philip's throat." 
 ^ "I khow not what to think. I am bewildered. Your tone and manner is so 
 like innocence, and yet the circumstances are so strongly against you, that
 
 LIFE ON" THE ROAD. 659 
 
 lyoumay well suppose that even, with all my experience, I know not what to 
 
 think." 
 
 ** Granted, sir. And now I will make to you a proposal,*' 
 
 ** Name it. If it tend to the restoartion of my child, you may make your own 
 
 terms. Goon. Goon! 
 
 "The first condition of my proposal is, that you will not insult m« by 
 
 supposing that what I am about to offer to do is for money. Do you consent to 
 
 that?" 
 "I do." 
 " Then, sir, I will make an effort to get back your daughter from the hands of 
 
 your nephew Phillip, if you will aid me to do so. I have friends without this 
 
 prison. It matters not who or what they are, but for my sake they will do their 
 
 utmost to find out where Phillip has bestowed Grace. Their exertions will be 
 
 something worth thinking of, but from you I must have certain facilities for 
 
 them.'* 
 
 " Name any sum required." 
 
 "It is not money. What I demand is that they come and go as they please to 
 
 me in this prison, without question or hindrance.'* 
 " Granted." 
 " *Tis settled then. I demand too; that I may correspond with who I 
 
 please without my lett-jrs being subject to the surveillance of the authorities of 
 
 the prison." 
 ! " Send any letter you please, addressed to whom you like, under cover to me, 
 
 and I pledge you my honour as a gentleman to forward it." 
 I " I am quite satisfied, sir." 
 ! " Then you will try your best ?" 
 
 I '* Sir — sir. Remember that you still suspect me guilty." 
 I ** No, hardly now." 
 
 I '* Why am I here then ? Nay do not look confused, sir, at the seeming incon- 
 sistency of your acts. Were I in your place, and you in mine, I daresay I should 
 do as you do, and with that feeling, I of course find no fault with you. As 
 soon as 1 can get any intelligence for you, satisfactory or otherwise, you, shall 
 hear it." 
 
 i^ *• I thank you, and be assured that if in this matter I have done you an in- 
 justice, I have both the will and the power to amply indemnify you for it. You 
 shall want for nothing here." 
 
 I *' I thank you. I am certainly not partial to prison fare." 
 I " Then you know what it is ?" said the judge, quickly. 
 
 I " Yes," said Claude, " and I can well see that that admission tells much against ] 
 me in your mind. But let it go. You will find that there are worse men out of 
 prison by far, sir, than in them, and that piece of knowledge may be of the first 
 importance to you upon the seat of judgment." 
 
 I The judge rose and went to the door of Claude's cell. A turnkey was within 
 call, to whom he said — 
 I '*l8 the governor up ?" 
 
 I '* Yes, my lord judge," said the man, *'and he will be happy to see you." 
 I *' Very well. I wan't to speak to him." Then turning to Claude, he said — 
 ** You may write to me with safety, and you will find, by the free egress and i 
 ingress of your friends, if you send for them, that the agreement is being carried 
 out." 
 
 I Claude bowed. 
 
 I The door of the prison room was closed, and again barred and locked, and Claude 
 was alone. 
 
 *^ All may yet be well," he said, as he paced the narrow confines of the apart- 
 ment. "If Dick and Jack can be but the means of restoring Grace to her father, 
 the tale that she will have to tell will complete my justification, and all I shall 
 then ask will be an instant release. Oh, that I were on the road again, breathing 
 j , the free air of Heaven from the back of my gallant steed."
 
 660 GENTLEMAN MCK; OR, 
 
 The very first thino; now that Claude wished to do was to make Dick and Jack 
 aware of the sort of bargain he had made with tha judge. 
 
 This could now easily be accomplished by writing to them and putting the 
 utmost confidence in the promise of the judge to forward his letters without any 
 examination, provided they were addressed to him, he wrote the particulars of 
 the conversation we have worded, ending by saying — 
 
 " To save me, detectThillip Manning. I leave it to the skill and the friendship 
 of you both, to do so much for me." 
 
 CHAPTER CLIII. 
 
 JACK AND DICK GO UPON THE TRACK OF PHILLIP MANNING, AND MAKE A 
 
 DISCOVERY. 
 
 The cogitations of Phillip Manning, after his interview with Claude, could not 
 be of a pleasant character. In addition to being half choked, he had, by his folly 
 and his criminality in the whole transaction, placed himself in a most uncomfort- 
 able situation. 
 
 Gladly, most gladly, would he now have backed out of the affair, if he could 
 possibly have done so without comprom'sing himself beyond all power of 
 redemption with his uncle. 
 
 Whatever scenes or follies of extravagance the old judge might from time to 
 time be inclined to forgive his nephew, it was not at all probable that if he came 
 before him in the character of the abductor of his much-loyed child, that he 
 could feel anything but the most intense indignation. 
 
 Phillip felt this. 
 
 We will, preceding the receipt of Claude's letter by Dick and Jack — by-the-by, 
 it was addressed to the latter, for Claude felt that Jack deserved the compliment 
 at his hands — take a peep at the proceedings of Master Phillip. 
 
 We have already stated that while Claude was carrying on that most inauspi- 
 cious dialogue with the old judge, Phillip had gone into the street, and found the 
 carriage which contained Grace. 
 
 The young creature had been waiting most anxiously for the return of Claude, 
 and when the coach door was opened, she looked for nothing but to see him, and 
 to hear some message from her father. 
 
 When the hateful countenance of Phillip Mdnning met her gaze, she seemed 
 as though her life Avere evaporating, and she could only gaze upon him with a 
 speechless despair. 
 
 " You are mine," he said. ** You are mine. Ha ! ha ! I have you once 
 again, and your are mine." 
 
 Overcome completely by the sound of these terrible words, a dimness, as if the 
 world were enveloped in a mist, came before her eyes, and she swooned, falling to 
 the bottom of the carriage. 
 
 " Good I'» said Phillip. " Good !'* 
 
 He at once closed the carriage door, and having carefully fastened it, he 
 mounted himself on the box, and drove off. 
 
 Where and how she was bestowed, will be best understood by a slight detail of 
 the circumstances that ensued, upon her coming to her senses again. 
 
 When Grace opened her eyes, all was darkness— darkness, too, of the most 
 profound character— so that although she held up her 'hand before her eyes, she 
 could not see it. 
 
 At first her memory was so confused that she could not recollect the various 
 circumstances of the last twenty- four hours; but this state of inertitude -did not 
 last long, for gradually circumstance by circumstance then came back to her 
 in detail, all the events that had placed her in her present position, but what that 
 position was she could only conjecture.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 66.1. 
 
 She at first felt fearful that she was 141 some sort' of bondage that would pre- 
 vent her from rising; but she found that that was not ihe case, and she gained 
 her feet. j 
 
 "Father! father! Help me!" she cried. ' | 
 
 The echo of her own voice was the only answer that was returned to her cry 
 for aid. | 
 
 j " Just Heaven !" she cried, " what will become of me V 
 I She sank upon lier knees, and remained for some time in that attitude of 
 supplication to the Deity, beorging for that mercy and consideration which, if 
 extended to any one in this world, surely should be to one so pure and so fault- 
 less as she was. 
 
 I When she rose from this act of devotion, she felt greatly refreshed in spirit,' 
 and much more able to reason calmly upon her perilous situation. She did not 
 entertain the smallest doubt* as to the fact of her being again in the power of 
 Phillip Manning, and she resolved that, let what might occur, he should not see' 
 any evidences of i'ear upon her part now. | 
 
 j " If I subdue him," she said, " it will only be by showing no fear. His 
 dastard spirit would rejoice in my despcndency, as much as it will be cowed by! 
 an appearance of courage." 
 
 i There could not possibly be a juster mode o' reasoning than this, as regarded, 
 Phillip Manning. His was just the sort of disposition to indulge in weak 
 triumph where he found submission, but to be abashed and shrinking before that 
 real courage, which even in the midst of his power should defy hira. j 
 
 j Having come to this resolve, Grace began, aa well as the intense darkness 
 would permit her, to feel about the room, in order to ascertain its proportions, 
 and, ifpossible, find some window or other aperture, by which she could get light. 
 I After a time she did find the window. But the shutteri were fast closed. 
 She could only tell by the feel that a window it was ; but all her exertions did 
 not enable her to find any means of unclosing the shutters. 
 
 I Suddenl5% while she was engaged upon the attempt, she heard a rattling noise 
 and from beneath a door, she saw a thin pencil of light. 
 
 I Clasping her hands, she waited in expectation of what might then ensue, fully, 
 determined to defy Phillip to the utmost. 
 
 j Sue heard y key rattle in a lock — she heard a heavy bolt drawn from the oufc- 
 side of a door, and then it opened, and Phillip Manning, conveying a lamp in one 
 hand, appeared before her. 
 
 I The sudden glare of light from the lamp, after the intense darkness she had 
 been in, was painful to her eyes at first, but in the course of a moment or 
 two, that feeling wore oiF, and she was able to move her hand from before 
 them. Phillip had paused upon the threshold, and was looking into the room 
 with an mquiring gaze. 
 
 '* Grace I he said, "Grace!'' 
 She would not answer him.'' 
 
 " Good Heaven !" he exclaimed, "she has not escaped ?" 
 He rushed into the room with vehemence, but when he saw her standing by 
 the window he drew a long breath of most exquisite relief, and holding the 
 lamp above his head, he said— 7 
 *' So you are here?' 
 Still she would not answer him. 
 
 *' This obstinacy," he said, " will not avail you. Grace, do you know where 
 you are ?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 ** Ah ! you know ?' 
 
 " 1 am in the hands of a villain, so far as he thinks, but in reality I ara, as he 
 too is in the hands of Heaven." 
 
 j ''Let Heaven open the door, then, for you," he said, with a sneer; *' but I 
 am not going to quarrel vtith you, Grace. I come to bring you freedom and 
 happiness."
 
 662 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 She stajted and felt her colour come aiia goat the delightful prospect, but fearing 
 some viilany, as, indeed, she had abundant cause to do, she said nothing. 
 I " You have but to acquiese in what I shall propose to you," he added, ** and 
 you will be never again subject to such an annoyance as you now suffer from ; 
 your fate is in your own hands." 
 
 '* Go on," she said, finding that he would not continue speakin g unless she 
 made some sort of rep'y to him — " go on." 
 
 " You encourage me to proceed," he said. " 'Tis well that you should do so, 
 and I am glad, indeed, to find you so reasonable. Now, Grace, you know that 
 I love you." 
 
 •* You — love — me ?" 
 
 ** Yes, and why not ?" 
 
 **0h, no, no, no!" • 
 
 " You doubt it ? I ought to be able to convince you of your error." 
 
 ** No, Philip, no. Love desires the happiness of its object, but you do not, 
 cannot love but one. It is not in your nature." 
 
 "And that one is you ?" 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 *' What absurd story have you got hold of to my prejudice ? Who could have 
 dared to tell you falsely that 1 love another ? Name at once the author of the 
 calumny ? Who is it yon would say that 1 love ?" 
 
 " Yourself, Phillip. Only yourself." 
 
 He looked abashed. 
 
 ** Pshaw !" he said, after taking a few moments to recover himself. " Pshaw! 
 This is only some foolish delusion. My love for you is so great that, you see, in 
 the face of the most serious obstacles, I have taken you away ; and now, Grace, 
 you have only to consent to be mine, and you shall beat liberty." 
 
 *' Look you, Phillip. Where death by some lingering torture upon the one 
 hand, and you upon the other. I would gladly, if no other mode of escaping 
 from you presented itself, endure the bitterest pangs." 
 
 ** You only say this, Grace." 
 
 *' I think it, too." 
 
 "No, ne, or if you do, your mind will change some day. Peihaps the beauty 
 upon which you, no doubt, pride yourself, will fade after the confinement of a 
 ycHr or two in this place, and you will be right glad to embrace my oflFer. I 
 will keep you here until you go mad and your father dies, and then I will produce 
 you, and as your next of kin, claim the benevolent care of you and all your 
 property. Ha I ha !" 
 
 " O. , Phillip do you, can you think there is a God above us ?" 
 
 *' I care not." 
 
 " The time will come for you to care, indeed." 
 
 *' Ha! ha ! You would attempt to frighten me by religious terrors, would you? 
 but such a course will not do for Phillip Manning. I am long past all that. Let 
 us kiss and be friends." 
 
 " Away ! do not pollute me by your touch." 
 
 " Now by all that's I've half a mind. But do ; that would be folly. You 
 
 will think better of all this, Grace. I am willing to restore you to your father, 
 upon condition that you immediately give me your hacd, and likewise to tell to 
 him, to account for your absence, such a tale as I shall concoct for you." 
 
 ** Never — never !" 
 
 " Beware — beware 1" 
 
 "Beware of what?— 0/ you, poor villain? No! You have the heart to 
 think of deep crimes, but not the courage to perpetrate them ! I am not afraid of 
 30U, Phillip Manning, and I never shall be. My first act the moment I see my 
 father's face, will be to proclaim to him you viilany, and to ask his utmost grati- 
 tude for him who rescued me from you some time since, and to whom some sad 
 accident must have happened, or I should not have again fallen into your 
 power."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 *' He's in Newgate." 
 
 "Newgate ?" . „ 
 
 " Yes, charged by your father, at ray instigation, with your abduction. Your 
 ! father is fully possessed with a belief that he has secreted you somewhere, and 
 will no doubt, exert the utmost rigour of the law against him. But you can save 
 him." 
 " I V* 
 
 *• Yes ; by consenting to become mine he shall be released. All that is required 
 is that your father should be to a certain extent mystified in the affair, which will 
 do him no harm." 
 
 I " Once and for all,*' replied Grace, " I reject with scorn your proposals. If I 
 suffer — if my generous and gallant preserver suffer — if my father suffer, let the 
 account of all these deeds be asked of you at the judgment seat of the Almighty. 
 It is your work, Phillip.'* ^. 
 
 <• We shall see,'* said Phillip, *' we shall see.'* V 
 
 He glaied at her with such fiendish ferocity, that even boldly as she had 
 hitherto maintained herself towards him, she almost shrank before him, fearing 
 that he might descend to personal violence. 
 
 This no doubt would have been the result of the interview, but really, Phillip 
 felt a degree of terror at the young girl, half a child as she was, which kept him 
 back ; and besides, he knew that there could be no hope of anything in the 
 shape of a reconciliation if he once laid his hand upon her in anger. 
 He drew back. 
 
 ** Thank my clemency," he said. 
 
 She did not condescend to contradict him. Mer attitude and the expression 
 upon her face were fully sufficient to show him what her feelings were upon the 
 subject. 
 
 For a few moments now, a death-like stillness subsided in the roost ; and find- 
 ing she was not hkely to break it, Phillip said— 
 
 I *• Perhaps you are not quite aware, that by the law as it stands at present, it is 
 death to abduct from her home a person of your age ? When he who now lies in 
 Newgate upon that charge, suffers on the scaffold, I will bring you an account of 
 his last moments. 
 
 I Without waiting for her reply to this, which he thought likely enough might 
 be one he did not wish to hear, he abruptly left the room. 
 All was dark again. 
 
 When she found herself alone, the feelings of Grace underwent rather a sort of 
 revulsion, and she trembled excessively and wept. But her natural good sense — 
 her education and her courage, soon rose up against the longer continuance of 
 such a state of depression, and she rallied amazingly. 
 
 j « No— no," she said, " I may suffer, and <\\\ who are dear to me may suffer, 
 .but I will not deviate from that path which I know and feel to be the right one." 
 She found her way, notwithstanding the intense darkness in which she was, 
 'to the couch upon which stie had been lying before her recovery, and sitting 
 upon its edge, she began as calmly as she could to think over her position, 
 land its meagre prospects. 
 
 I While she was thus occupied, she heard the voice of Phillip in the passage, if 
 passage it were, outside the door of the room, saying — 
 " Be quick— be quick !" 
 
 The door was opened, and while he held the light, an old decrepid hag of a 
 woman came in with some bread and a pitcher of water. 
 
 " Here, my honey," she said, in a strong Irish accent, ** don't say we starves 
 you, anv way." 
 
 ** Peace !" cried Phillip. 
 
 " Musha ! master, I was only saying to the little ladybird that any how 
 
 we " ' 
 
 " Peace, I say. — Come away."
 
 664 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 The old woman hobbled out of the room again, and PhiUip carefully fastened 
 the door. She heard him fumbling at it for some time, and it was clear he was 
 most particular about the fastenings. 
 
 CHAPTER CLIV. 
 
 JACK RtlPLENISHES CLAUDE'S PURSE. — THE PURSUIT OF PHILLIP, 
 
 HE letter that Claude sent through the orders of Judge Manning to Jack 
 camt duly to hand. 
 
 Dick had completely forgone his intentions of leaving that part of the country, 
 and now sign i|g^ to Jack, that he would devote himself entirely to the service of 
 Claude, in thewitter of his most unjust imprisonment. j 
 
 To say that Jack was pleased at this determination is to say very little, for in 
 point o{ lact he was overjoyed at it. 
 
 "It is such brave friends as yourself," said Jack, "that Claude wants, now 
 he is in difficulty and damper." j 
 
 "Well," replied Dick, *' he sl>all not be either in difficulty or in danger for long, 
 if our exertions can rescue him. Let us set about it, Jack, with good will, and if 
 we do not succeed in finding out where this rascal, Phillip Manning has bestowed 
 the young lady, it will, indeed, be an odd thing to me." \ 
 
 Where there's a will, there's certainly, in a vast number of cases, a way, and 
 so Dick and Jack set about placing themselves upon the track of Master, 
 Phillip. r & f , 
 
 They both remounted at the farmhouse, where Cicely was in comfort and 
 security, and at a brisk trot went towards London. Jack seemed to be consider- 
 ing something, and suddenly he said — j 
 
 *' Money is a good thing to have plenty of in Newgate." 
 
 " In good truth it is," replied Dick. "The power of money by no means 
 ceases at the vestibule of Newgate." j 
 
 "Well, then, I know it is quite impossible, what with one thing and another,' 
 that Claude can be even moderately well provided ; so the only thing I can think 
 of doing is to get him some." 
 
 *« I understand you," said Dick, with a smile ^ "you would levy a contribu- 
 tion upon some traveller ?" 
 
 " I would." 
 
 " Don't let me, then, be at all in your way ; and if I^ can] render you any as- 
 sistance, depend upon me." 
 
 " Many thanks. I am resolved to stop the first traveller me meet, who shall 
 look worth the robbing. If there are two, I shall, of course, be glad for you to 
 tackle one of them while 1 make free with the purse of the other ; and who 
 knows but we may be lucky enough to get him a good round sum by our exer- 
 tions ?" ^. 
 
 Dick could not help smiling at the seriousness with which Jack spoke of their 
 exertions, as though it was some legitimate business affair ; but he said, 
 jocosely — 
 
 " Yes, Jack, and I promise you that I will Hfanage to keep up the supply to 
 Claude, as long as he is not in a position to help himself. Who knows but some 
 of these fine nights I may get a wound which may so far disable me as to make 
 me fall into the hands of the Philistines myself?" 
 
 " It may happen to any of us,'' said Jack. 
 
 " Well," added Dick, <' you may rely upon my co-operation with you, if it 
 be necessary." 
 
 Jack expressed his acknowledgments with infinite gravity, and the two made 
 their way at an easy canter to London. 
 
 At that period, the environs of the metropolis, to the west and to the north in
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON TFiE ROAD. 665 
 
 particular, presented a strikingly rural appearance, and you got quite among the 
 houses before you lost the aspect of the country. To a greater extent than any 
 other roads out of London, these environs now present rural aspects ; for when the 
 traveller reaches Harapstead or Acton, he might, by a very small stretch of ima- 
 gination, fairly enough fancy himself many miles from the giant city. 
 
 PHILIP MANNING BESOLVESjJP MURDER ©RACE WHEN DICK SEIZES AnD SECURES HIM, 
 
 Thus, then, although both Jack and Dick were very close to Oxford- street,^ 
 they by no meana despaired of meeting with some one whom they might ease of 
 a little ready cash. They were passing through a long avenue of trees, not far 
 oflf what is'now called the li([ew-road, leading towards Acton, when they became 
 
 nnncnintia rvf tho cnttnA nf. wbppls bphinri thpTTl.
 
 666 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " I hear the sound." 
 
 " Shall I leave you to the adventure if it be only one man ?" 
 
 " Yes, if you will be so good, and another time I will give you the road in the 
 same way." 
 
 " Don't mention that. I know your motive, and am quite contented that you 
 should have all the spoil, upon this occasion, to take to our mutual friend, 
 Claude." 
 
 Dick accordingly left the aide of Jack, and rode ao close to the trees on one 
 side of the road, and with so quiet a step, too, that it was next thing to impossi- 
 ble he could be seen. 
 
 Jack posted himself in the centre of the road. 
 
 In the course of a few minutes the sound of the approaching wheels became 
 very distinct, and Jack's experience told him that it was only a two- wheeled 
 vehicle that was coming. A feeling of great disappointment came over him, for 
 it might only be some commercial traveller, after all, with nothing worth the stop- 
 ping him for. Still he resolved upon making the experiment, and when the gig, 
 for a gig it was, came sufficiently near, he called out— 
 
 •♦Stop!" 
 
 The voice in which he spoke was quite loud enough to have reached further than 
 the gig, and its occupant, and the result was an instant draw-up of the vehicle. 
 
 Jack galloped towards it, and when he got quite close, he said in calm deter- 
 mined tones — 
 
 " Your money, or your life and money both ?" 
 
 The person who had been driving was evidently in such a state of terror that 
 he could not gpeak; but Jack could hear his teeth chattering together like a pair 
 of castanets, 
 
 " Comply with ray demand quickly," he said, ** and you are in no danger." 
 
 "1— I have only got eighteen-pence — ' 
 
 "Pho! pho!" 
 
 '^ Oh, good Mr. Highwayman, it's a melancholy fact, it is, indeed. I'm a very 
 poor fellow, upon my word I am." 
 
 " Who are you ?" said Jack. •* I fancy I have heard your voice before, some- 
 where ; and if I know any good of you, I will let you oflp. I cannot see your 
 face. Why don't you have lights to your gig ?*' 
 
 " Yes — yes, good sir, I bad." 
 
 " Where are they, then?'* 
 
 " They — they blowed out, good Mr. Highwayman. I've only got a small 
 matter of eighteen-pence. Indeed, that's all."* 
 
 ** We shall see. Who are you 1 Speak at once, or I shall take gome means 
 of unloosening your tongue that you won't like," 
 
 **Mv name, sir, is— is 'fhomas.* 
 
 " Thomas what V 
 
 ** Brereton, sir, I*ra usually called plain Tom Brereton, sir ; of course, a 
 gentleman lik? you, sir, may call me what he likes. Take my eighteen-pence, and 
 spare my life," 
 
 "Ah," said Jack, " I thought I knew your voice. Why, you are a terrible 
 rascal, Mr. Tom Brereton, I have heard of you. Do you know anything of 
 Claude Duval ?* 
 
 "I'm done, I'm done. I'm a dead man! I'm as good as done for. The 
 Lord have Bpercy upon me. It's Claude Duval himself. Oh, don't cut me off in 
 the flower of my youth, don't ; I'm too great a sinner, indeed I am, and ought t« 
 have time given me to repent." 
 
 " You are a dinner 1 know,'* said Jack ; " but don't be going off with the idea 
 that you are stopped by Claude Duval, for I am not he. You ought to know that 
 well enough by my voice^ which is so strikingly different from his ; nor is he in 
 my company, nor in any way connected with this affair. Yet by chance I hap- 
 pen to know you are a great rascal, and have behaved yourself as badly as pos- 
 sible to him,"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 667 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no——" 
 
 ** I say yes." 
 
 " Good Mr. Highwayman, you really are '"quite mistaken. You don't know 
 how fond I am of Claude Duval." 
 
 "Fond of him?" 
 
 *• Ye3 ; I value him next to the apple of my eye, indeed I do. If you come 
 near him, pray give my respects to him, and tell him how glad I shall always he 
 t o see him. Good night, sir, good night. I hope you may do a good stroke of 
 b usioess to night. Good night, sir.' 
 
 "Move one inch, and I will blow your brains out." 
 
 " Oh, dear — oh, dear. What's that V 
 
 <'What?" 
 
 Quite involuntarily Jack looked in the direction that Tom Brereton pointed to, 
 and at that moment, relying probably upon having a fast horse in the gig, Tom 
 made a desperate attempt to be off, but Jack was one too many for him at that 
 game, and darting to the horse's head, secured him in a moment. 
 
 " This is very uncivil of you," said Jack ; ** you wanted to leave me, did you, 
 without any acknowlegements for your civility ? but I will put it out of your 
 power to play such another trick. I have wasted too long a time upon you 
 already." 
 
 Tom translated these words into a direct threat to murder kim, and throwing 
 himself out of the gig, he fell upon his knees in the road, crying — 
 
 " Spare my life, and take all I have, I have got a illOO with me, good Mr. 
 Highwayman, that I stole myself, for you can't think how I have been taken in 
 in marrying." 
 
 " You deserve any fate," said Jack. 
 
 With this he at once cut the traces of the horse, and set the creature at 
 liberty from the chaise, so that Toin Brereton had no opportunity of again 
 trying to give him the slip. He then approached him, and clapping a pistol to 
 his face, said — 
 
 " The money. Give it up at once.'* 
 
 " Here, Sir. Here good Mr. Highwayman. Here. Do you know, sir, I stole it 
 from my wife, who stole it from the dressing room of a lady, that she has 
 gone to live with as maid. I was going to make off vi^ith it, sir, if you please, 
 out of the country ; and I stole the gig too, sir, and I stole the horse." 
 
 " Why, you incorrigible rascal, you will tell me next that you stale the coat 
 that is upon your back." 
 
 " Ah, sir. I stole the whole suit, that I did, sir." 
 
 "Then yoti can't blame me," said Jack. " You may depend upon my giving 
 your compliments and kind regards to Claude Duval, if ever I should come across 
 him, and in the meantime I wish you a very good night." 
 
 •* Won't you give me back some of the money, sir ?" 
 
 " Give you back some P How absurd. No, Mr. Tom Brereton, you must do 
 the best you can with what you have left." 
 
 " Left ! Gracious ! I have not one farthing." 
 
 " Nonsence, you know you have eighteen-pence in change which you 
 were kind enough to offer m?, so don't tell me you have nothing. Good night." 
 
 Tom Brereton fell with a groan to the ground, and Jack galloped back to join 
 Dick, who, by going at a very easy pace, gave him an opportunity of easily doing 
 so. 
 
 " Success," said Dick. 
 
 '« Yes. Ample. A £100 in gold." 
 
 '* Hurrah, that i» good. It will relieve Claude from many a disagreeable in 
 Newgate, that otherwise, without money, he would be compelled to submit to. I 
 congratulate you." 
 
 " Yes, and what makes it more pleasant by a great deal," said Jack, " is that 
 I have taken it from an old eneiny of Claude's, and a man whom 1 know to be 
 one of the most contemptible scoundrels the world ever saw."
 
 6G8 GENTLEMANJACK ; OR, 
 
 " That is better and better." 
 
 ** It is ; and now we have nothing to do, but to push on for London as quickly 
 as possible, for I long to put myself into communication with Claude.'* 
 
 " Will you venture within the walls of Newgate?'' 
 
 Jack gave a slight shwdder, and then he replied — 
 
 *' Yes, I will to see Claude ; and perhaps it will do me good, by preventing 
 the thought of that building being such a bugbear to my imagination as it is now." 
 
 ** There can be no doubt of that," said Dick, "and I encourage your visit, for 
 I am quite convinced Claude would not have told you in his letter it might be 
 made with safety, unless he had bad ample reason to say so." 
 
 '* That is precisely my opinion." 
 
 By this time they had reached Oxford Street, and Dick proposed that they 
 should halt for a moment or ttvo at a noted hos<,el on the left-hand side of 
 the way called *' Hercules's Club,'' where knights of the road were accustomed 
 to bait. 
 
 *'We shall hear the news of the day there," said Dick. "For my own 
 part I am full of apprehension that Clawde will not be able to preserve his 
 incognito in Newgateii; and in such a case, the whole aspect of affairs will be 
 changed, and any visit to him might be attended with the most dangerous of all 
 consequences." 
 
 "What?" said Jack. 
 
 *• The arrest of the visiters. But here we are at the * Hercules's Club, ' and 
 we will take a glass without dismounting, and ask the news of the landlord." 
 
 " Does he know you^ Dick ?" 
 
 *' Perfectly well, and if he knew you likewise it would be no matter, for you 
 would be as safe as you are now. But do not fancy that upon that account I 
 am going to'tell him a word about you. Your secret is your own, not mine." 
 
 Jack was quite satisfied with this assurance. 
 
 A very few moments brought them to the door of the hostel, which Dick had 
 spoken of in such terms of co-afimendation ; and in answer to his cal)^ a man 
 appeared at the door, who said in rather a crusty tone. 
 
 "Who are you, I wonder!" 
 
 ** Look again," said Dick. 
 
 " Eh ? Bless my soul, yes it is you. Well, who would have thought of seeing 
 you in this quarter of the world. Come in ?" 
 
 " No, thank you. I can come in. It is not my part of the country this certainly. 
 But I have business in London. Bring us out a cup of wine, sueh as I know you 
 have at hand for a friend, and then we must be off again." 
 
 " That will I," said the landlord. 
 
 The wine was brought in an antique silver flagon, and Jack and Dick divided 
 it between them. Then Dick, in a careless way, said to the landlord— 
 
 ■" Is there any news stirring ?" 
 
 *' No. None that I know of." 
 
 *' By-the-by, have you heard anything of Duval's lately ?" 
 
 ** Only that he is still on the Western Road, that is all." 
 
 CHAPTER CLV. 
 
 THE RESCUE OF GRACE MANNING. 
 
 From this reply of the landlord's, both Dick and Jack were quite satisfied 
 that up to that time Claude's incognito had not been blown upon. If he had 
 been discovered in Newgate, the news would have got to no place with greater 
 alacrity than to the " Hercules's CLib." 
 
 "Thank you," said Dick, as he returned the empty flagon to the landlord. 
 " The next time I come I hope I shall be able to step in, and have a gossip with 
 you about old times."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 669 
 
 " I hope so too," said the landlord ; ** you have been a good friend, Dick, 
 to me, and mine, and there is no man I should be more glad to see at all times." 
 
 Dick shook hands with him, and then Jack and he rode off at a rapid pace down 
 Oxford Street. 
 
 *' I will take Claude the money, Jack,'* said Dick,^' if you in the least way feel 
 any repugnance to going into Newgate.*' 
 
 •* No. I have made up my mind to it," said Jack ; " and I am so bound up in 
 the service of Claude, that I feel confident now I shall be able to go through 
 wilh the affair." 
 
 *' Very good, f am glad to hear you say so. We will find a place to put up 
 our nags, and I will make what changes we think necessary in our costume; and 
 we will, in a serious manner, undertake this job of unasking the villany of Phillip 
 Manning." 
 
 ** And we shall succeed Dick." 
 
 " In good truth it .will go hard with us, as well as withjothers, if we don*t ;*for 
 a trifle don't stop me when once 1 undertake a thing.** 
 
 " Nor shall it stop me.*' 
 
 "And in addition to my feelings," added Dick, •* for Claude in this matter, 
 and my great anxiety to see him safe out of the stone pitcher, in the Old Bailey, 
 I have got used \o the road, and the free balmy air of the open ceuntry, and the 
 sweet smell of the hay, and the songs of the birds, that it is quite a sacrifice for 
 me to spend twenty-four hours in London.'* 
 
 «».„*' I, too," said Jack, " love the open air, and the birds, and the trees, and the 
 flowers." 
 
 " Ay, Jack, as all must, who compare such beauties with the grimy town ; 
 but business, my friend, is business, and must be attended to. We will see Claude 
 free, and then hurrah for the road again, and the open sky. After all, Jack, what 
 life is like ours?" 
 
 'i What indeed." 
 
 " We enjoy existence with very few of its cares. With a good steed; a pair of 
 pops that can be depended on, and a light heart—we are happier than kings." 
 
 "Yes," said Jack, " I was once, but I am now spirit-broken.** 
 
 " Not so, old fellow. You will come round again in good time, and the name 
 of Sixteen-string Jack will yet be spoken as it was once spoken of. Why, folks 
 used to delay journeys on your account once upon a time ; and you were ai well 
 known upon the great north road, as any old sign. It was always a question if 
 any one came off a journey in that direction, ' Did you meet the famous highway- 
 man, Sixteen-string Jack ?' " 
 
 Jack's face glowed for a moment with the remembrance of old times, and he 
 said in a voice of emotion — 
 
 " I never was grasping, or cruel either.** 
 
 *' No, Jack, I never heard that you were, either. It is not in your nature to 
 be cruel or grasping. But here we are." / 
 
 *' Where ?" 
 
 " Why, close to Soho, where I will find you a lodging in which you can sleep 
 BBCnrely, and where our cattle will be well taken care of. In the morning, then, 
 you can make yourself up for your visit to Newgate ; and after that we will be 
 like bloodhounds upon the track of that scoundrel, who has got Claude into this 
 mess." 
 
 " We will." 
 
 Jack fully expected to find Dick stop at some house of ordinary entertainment, 
 the landlord of which he knew ; but to his surprise Dick drew up at the door of 
 a quiet looking house in Dean Street, which, from us private and respectable ex- 
 terior, looked as though it belonged to some people who were highly propW/ and 
 well to do in the woild. 
 
 *' Why surely you don't bait here ?" said Jack, 
 
 "Yes," said Dick. 
 
 *' Well, you know best, of course."
 
 670 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ** I know the people. Jack. This is one of the safest cribs in all London. I 
 don't mean to say that the master of this house will be quite delighted to gee you 
 and I ; but for all that, he will pay us every attention in the world, and we shall 
 be quite safe." 
 
 " Who is he r* 
 
 " I can better tell you, Jack, what he is than who he is. In plain terms, he 
 keeps a fence." 
 
 " Ah, a receiver ?" 
 
 *' Yes, and one of the richest in London. He don't intefere with petty spoil, 
 nor is he at all known to petty thieves ; but to such as I and Claude, and to such 
 as you, Jack, he is quite a patron, and keeps his house open to us, although he 
 does not wish aay of us to come except upon an emergency ; but of that he can 
 be no judge ; so he will make ufe welcome, fancying this is one." 
 
 " Must he know me V* 
 
 *f He does know all you have to tell him, I suspect." 
 
 " Indeed ?" 
 
 ** Yes, Jack ; he told me the last time I saw him, although at that time I was 
 far from believing it, that you were alive, and expressed a wish to see you, and a 
 desire to be of what service to you he could. How he came by the secret of your 
 resuscitation I know not ; but such men as lie have a thousand unknown resources 
 of information. At all events, you may depend upon your absolute safety in 
 his house." 
 
 Jack was a little shaken at the idea of his being known i but the assurances of 
 his safety, which he knew Dick would be the last person in the world to make if 
 he did not feel quite confident upon that subject, reconciled him. 
 
 '' In that case then," said Jack, " I prefer th»t I should be named to him at 
 once. If a man be trusted at all, let him be trusted wholly," 
 
 " That is good, both in principle and in practice, Jack/' said Dick. '* There 
 is no knowing the mischief that results from half-confidence ; I will at once in« 
 troduce you to Josiah Franklin." 
 
 " Oh, is that his name?" 
 
 '' Yes, and he is one of the most respected quakers in London.'* 
 
 " Quakers ?" 
 
 Dick laughed. 
 
 " I thought, Jack," he said, ** that would surprise you ; but our'friend here is a 
 quaker. He knows Claude very well, and has upon more than one occasion 
 accommodated him with a suit of quaker's apparel." 
 
 " I have seen him so attired," said Jack. 
 
 ** Then he got the clothing from Franklin ; and after that I hope you 
 trust in his good faitb, and in your own perfect safety, beyond a doubt." 
 
 " It was beyond a doubt before, Dick ; and yet I am glad to hear .that Claude 
 knows and trusts this man. I wonder he never mentioned him to me." 
 **- *' He could not. Franklin makes his intruders promise that they will not 
 mention him to their nearest- and dearest friends ; and I should not now have 
 dreamt for a moment of bringing you to his house, if he had not, as I have already 
 mentioned, expressed a wish to see you." 
 
 Jack held Dick's bridle while he dismounted, and when Dick rung at the door 
 bell, it was answered by one of the most serious-looking domestics that could b« 
 imagined. 
 
 " Is Mr. Franklin within V 
 
 " Friend,'* said the servant, ** hast thou a card ?*' 
 
 'f Yes," said Dick. 
 
 He took a card from his pocket-book. It was an odd enough card, for there 
 was nothing upon it but a diamond, such as is used in playing cards. In fact, he 
 presented to the serious footman the ace of diamonds. 
 
 " Verily, humph !** said that personage. " Wilt thee walk in^" 
 
 ** Yes, and my friend likewise." 
 
 *' Has thy friend a card V
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 671 
 
 It's all right. We want the horses taken care of for 
 a day or so." 
 
 *• Leave them to my care, friend, and thou shall not be disappointed," said the 
 serious domestic, without altering a n;uscle of his countenance. 
 
 Dick beckoned to Jack to come in, while the serious domestic called some one 
 up from the lower part of the house, who took immediate charge of the cattle. 
 
 In another moment Jack and Dick were both in the passage or hall of the 
 house, and the door was closed. 
 
 This house, which for many years was inhabited by Josiah Franklin, the 
 quaker, is still standing in Dean Street, Soho. Perhaps the present proprietors 
 would not thank us for pointing it out, so we will content ourselves by saying 
 that it is a large one, and on the right hand side of the way going southward. 
 
 The hall — and it was not a mere passage as is too often the case, dignified by 
 the name of one, but a really large spaee — was handsomely got up. Dingy-look- 
 ing busts, with a respectable amount of dust upon them, stood grimly upon 
 brackets looking down upon the intruders ; and some large pictures hung against 
 the ample wall. 
 
 *' I will announce thee, friend," said the serious domestic, *' if thou wilt have 
 patience for a short time.*' 
 
 " Don't hurry yourself," said Dick. 
 
 " Well," said Jack in a Ipw voice, when they were alone in the hall. *' This 
 is a place worth knowing. I suppose Franklin makes it well worth his while ?" 
 
 ** Not a doubt of that. When a quaker is a rogue, he is an outrageous one, 
 you may depend. The garb of sanctity in this world forms one of the most 
 admirable cloaks for all sorts of iniquitj." 
 
 « Not a doubt of it." 
 
 " Now, Jack, I look upon you and I as bold, honest men, compared to such a 
 fellow as this Franklin. It is true that we say, * Stand to a true man upon the 
 king's highway/ but we say it boldly, and he may have a shot at us for our 
 pains; but there are thousands of men in this great eity of London, who rob 
 their neighbours with a^smirk and a smile, and go to church regularly, who would, 
 if you were to call them anything but honest men, be ready to leap down your 
 throat." 
 
 Jack was rather amused at the vehemence of Dick, but he could not help 
 fully agreeing with him in what he had just said. It was too true to be disputed. 
 
 In about three minutes the serious domestic came back to them, and said — 
 
 " If thou wilt follow me even to the room thai is at the back of the dwelling, 
 I will introduce thee to Mr. Franklin, as the vain aiid the giddy call him, but to 
 plain Josiah as he is called by the devout." 
 
 '* Lead the way, then, you hypocritical rascal," said Dick. 
 
 The serious domestic did not seem at all put out of the way by these words. 
 He only shook his head and uttered a sort of groan, which might be supposed to 
 be deprecatory of the sinfulness of mankind in general. 
 
 Dick and Jack were presently ushered into a large, handsome room, situated at 
 the back of the house, and they found there seated a small man, plainly attired in 
 a quaker's costume, who rose at their entrance, and with a grave air said— 
 
 '* Be seated, frienda. Thou both art welcome.. Leave us, Aminadab." 
 
 When the door was closed, Dick pointed to Jack, and said— 
 
 "This is Sixteen-string Jack." 
 
 The quaker did not sutfer the least emotion to be visible upon his face, as 
 he said— 
 
 ** Friend, I am glad to see thee, to which end indeed I did express a wish to 
 thy friend, Turpin, here. I heard that, notwithstanding thou hadst been hanged 
 by the neek at the place called Tyburn, that thou wert still in the land df the 
 living." 
 
 " Yes,''.'said Jack. " I was recovered after execution.* 
 
 '* Truly friend, thy case is a singular one. Hast thou any swag ?** 
 
 "No," said Jack; '' I have nothing.''
 
 672 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 •*No doubt, Turpin, thou hast some." 
 
 ** Not a scrap," said Dick, 
 
 ** Then what the devil, friend Turpin, I ask thee, didst thou come here for 
 If thou hast no swag, d — n thee, wliy didst thou trouble me ?*' 
 
 " Be patient," said Turpin, '* and I will tell you. Claude Duval is in the 
 stone pitcher at last." 
 
 A slight shade of increased colour at these words seemed to pass over the face 
 of Franklin, but he did not speak. 
 
 " Yes," added Dick. " He is there, sure enough, and it is about that business 
 that Jack and I,much otherwise against oar own inclinations, have come to town." 
 
 " It is very strange," said Franklin, " that I did not know of this. Thou must, 
 friend, b« roisinlormed thyself. My information is generally tolerably close upon 
 the fact. I will ring and inquire." 
 
 ** Spare yourself the trouble,' said Dick, arresting the hand of the quaker as 
 it grasped a bell-rope. " Spare yourself the trouble, friend Franklin, and you 
 will soon find out from what I shall lell you how it is that you know nothing 
 of it.* 
 
 *' Proceed, friend." 
 
 Dick, then, in as few words as possible, told him the whole story of how Claude 
 had got into his present condition, and how, up to the last inteUigence he and Jack 
 had, he still continued, to preserve his incognito ; Franklin listened with evident 
 displeasure ; and when Dick had done, he said— * 
 
 " And, pray, what business was it of Claude Duval's if all the Phillip Manning's 
 in the world ran off with all the Grace Mannings? His only duty to himself 
 and to me was to stop them and ease them of their valuables by the way. I 
 never Heard of anything more absurd, friend, in all my life, than his conduct! 
 
 CHAPTER CLVI. 
 
 PHILLIP MAJMNING GETS UNEASY, AND IfAKES A RESOLVE. 
 
 Plain Josiah Franklin was so incensed that he rose and paced the room for a 
 few moments quite in a fame. 
 Dick let this feeling s'ubside before he spoke again : and then he said — 
 " It's done, Frankliiu- 
 _*• What dost thou say, friend ?• 
 
 ^" I say, it's done, now, and it is not the part of a wise man to j^fret and fume 
 about the past. The i'ature is our own, but the past is gone for ever, aud may 
 not be recalled." » f & 
 
 The quaker stopped short in front of Dick ; and then, after regarding him for a 
 lew moments attentively, he said — 
 " Thou art right, firiend.* 
 
 « I knew you wowiki see the thin a in a proper way soon." 
 I do see it, and I see that Claude Duval will be hanged at Tyburn." 
 He is not yet even discovered,* said Jack. 
 ** But he will be, fnead." 
 
 ** I should not like to feel so confident of that," said Dick. '< If Jack and I 
 Sf'ir^ ^Jr^^ ^"^ ^^^^^ ^® ^^^^^ ^^» su.ccessful in tracing the hiding place in which 
 FhilJip Manning has ]placed his fair young cousin iGrace, all will be well. 
 Ahree werds from her iips will exculpate Claude, and his instant release, as the 
 laJsely accused John Smith, will follow." 
 
 "No, it is too much to expect, friend, "* said Franklin, *' I look!upon the 
 rate of Claude Duval as settled." 
 
 " Then mine is settie^d likewise," said JJack. 
 
 •*^ How dost thou mea n, friend ?* ' 
 
 " Why, I don't intend to survive CL lude. I vrfil find sny death in some
 
 GEiNTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 673 
 
 desperate attempt to rescue him, even if it should he at the fcot of the gallo<v 
 itself. That is my detcimiialion; and I carenjt who knows it, or hears me 
 avow it." 
 
 The quaker lool.ed at Jack for a moment, anl then he shrugged his shoulder?, 
 as he said — 
 
 THE aUAKEK VISITS CLAUDE UNDER THE DISGUISE OF HIS SOLICITOR. 
 
 " Every one to his (aste, friend." 
 
 '•ConQe.--come/' said Dick, "' we need not quarrel about what any ot us may 
 do in the event of such a contingency. It may not happen, and if it does, it^wiU 
 then be time enough to think of it." 
 
 " Exactly, friend/* £aid Franklin ; " and now I jre^iume that Claude will want 
 scmething in the way of help with money while he is in his present situation, and 
 
 No. §5.
 
 674 p GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 you have only to ascertain from him how much, and I will immediately pro- 
 duce It." j 
 aifc«Yoa will?" said Dick. 
 ife" Ay, friend, I will." 
 
 ** Tn 8 is kird of you," said Jack. 
 
 " Nay, friend," added Franklin, " it is nothing out of the way. I ara a man ! 
 well to do, and I have made that which 1 now have by gentlemen of thy profes- ; 
 sion, friend; so it is but fair that I should help thee and such as thee in the hour 
 of need.'* j 
 
 '* You have done yourself no harm, Mr. Franklin/* said Dick , ''* by the kind 
 offer — for it is kmd, let you say what you will of it. Claude will have plenty of 
 money for all his wants in Newgate. All that we require of you is a place of re- 
 fuge tor ourselves and our horses iintil we ha^e tiaced this Phillip Manning, and 
 10 ferret out where he has bestowed the judge's daughter." 
 
 ** That you shall have, friend. Think that my house is your own, and all within 
 it at thy disposal." j 
 
 *' Many tliank* — many thanks. Jack wants to go at once to see Claude in 
 Newgate, and he wishes to be disguised." | 
 
 The quaker looked at Jack scrutinisingiy for a few moments, and then heeaid — i 
 
 "If thou wilt follow me, friend, I will shoi* the sort of disguise that I would: 
 recommend thee to put on." j 
 
 " Go, Jack," said Dick ; " I will wait here." | 
 
 **Thoa mayest wait with a perfect conviction of thy safety, friend Turpin, 
 or thou mayest come with us." I 
 
 ** Then 1 will come with you, since I have the option." | 
 
 The quaker led the way to the top of his house, and having selected a key 
 from among several that he took trom his pocket, he unlocked a back attic, which, ! 
 all around it, was filled with presses, something like a linen-draper's shop, where { 
 every description of apparel was to be found, from the sooty habiliments of a 
 sweep to the showy apparel of a general officer. | 
 
 " Here, friend," he said, " 1 can make thee look like a very respectable 
 
 grazier; and as to-morrow is market-day at Smithfield, it will favour the delusion, i 
 
 although I cannot quite comprehend how Claude has got leave to see whoever I 
 
 iplies to visit him." | 
 
 " His letter," said Jack, " says that the judge has got him such leave.*' | 
 
 " Yes, friend, it says so, but * ' 
 
 , •• You doubt it ?" 
 
 I '* Indeed I do, friend. But here is the grazier's suit, which, to my mind, will 
 
 |>mpare well with thy cast of countenance, to which I can iQ>part a more ruddy 
 
 pge ; and if any one speaks to thee, thou must talk much of south -downs an4 
 
 kort horns, and such like matters, with which thy natural wit willsuiely furnish 
 
 fee." 
 
 So saying, the quaker took from one of the presses the costume he had men- 
 pned; and when Jack saw himself fully dressed and his face tinned with a mix- 
 ire that Franklin producea, he was indeed surprised at the perfection of the 
 Isguise. 
 
 ! *• This is capital,*' he said. " What do you think of it, Dick ?" 
 
 I " Simply that it is capital in its way. You are a genius, Mr. Franklin. Quite 
 
 Igenius." 
 
 I ** Nay, friend, I am a plain man, trying to make that which in this great 
 
 iristian country is worshipped by all, and thou wilt easily guess that by that I 
 
 pan money." 
 
 ''*lt is true," said Dick. 
 
 •* I will now go at once," said Jack. " Only tell me^ Dick, where to meet you 
 
 ker my interview with Clau'le, and 1 will come to you." 
 
 j"Lei it be at the judge's house-door. You have the correct address ?" 
 
 i" 1 have, and will be there." 
 
 Jack left the house of Jhe quaker, feeling very easy about the before ticklish
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 675 
 
 matter of keeping himself concealed as regarded identity from the inhabitants of 
 Newgate, some of whom he well knew had a most marvellous faculty of recol- 
 lecting any face they had once seen, 
 
 Dick took his way, dressed quietly in black, to the judge's house, where he 
 thought that, either coming in or out, there was a chance of seeing Phillip 
 Manning. 
 
 We will accompany Jack to Newgate. 
 
 If we were to say that he felt no trepidation at all as he ascended the steps 
 leading to the lobby of the prison, we sbould certainly be going far beyond the 
 truth, for not only did Jack feel emotion, but it was considerable emotion. 
 
 The only thing that supported him at that moment, was the thought that it 
 was for one whom he so much valued, as he did Claude Duval, that he was doing 
 what he did. 
 
 "Courage,** he whispered to himself. "All may be lost by one shrinking 
 action. All may be gained by boldness." 
 
 He tapped at the wicket of the old prison. 
 
 "Hilloa I" said a turnkey, " what do you want? Have you lost a cow, and 
 do you think it has strayed into Newgate ?" 
 
 ** No,'* said Jack. " I want to see John Smith." 
 
 ** John Smith— John Smith. Humph ! Do you think he wants to see you, 
 old fellow ?'* 
 
 " I know he does. He sent for me." 
 
 " Here, Gutty," cried the turnkey, *' you know all about this. It's some one 
 for John Smith.'* 
 
 *' All I know,'' said Gutty, " is that there's an order sticking up there in the 
 governor's hand-writing to let anybody go and come during the regular hours to 
 John Smith, and you know as much as that yourselF." 
 
 " Come in, then," said the turnkey, adm'itting Jack, and then muttering to 
 himself — '* I wonder what's the use of anybody on the lock at all, if anybody is 
 to come in and go out as they like? There used not to be such doings in old 
 times. We never thought of letting anybody in till they tipped, and that hand- 
 somely too." 
 
 Now, Jack was resolved to set his own mind at ease regarding his disguise, and 
 to test thoroughly his own means, by doing something after which nothing could 
 come amiss. He knew the turnkey very well by sight, and he said to him — 
 
 " Do you remember Sixteen-string Jack V 
 
 "Do I?" cried the man. ♦* Don't 1? What do you know about him, 
 master, eh ?" 
 
 "He stopped me once." 
 
 "Did he, and what did he take from thee ?" 
 
 •* A canvas bag with twenty-eight guineas in it ; but when I told him the loss 
 of all would distress me on the morrow, he gave me back five again." 
 
 "Ah, then, you were the man he did that to ? I have heard the story before. 
 Well, he was not one of the worst." 
 
 ** Ah !" muttered the man they called Gutty, as he lighted a lantern to con- 
 duct Jack to Claude's room. ** Ah, Sixteen-string Jack suifered at the Gate, and 
 they say his ghost haunts Newgate now, and has been seen in the long passages.*' 
 
 *' That's very improbable," said Jack, as he followed Gutty from the vestibule, 
 feeling convinced now that his disguise was perfect. The daring experiment hej 
 had tried bad had all the effect he looked for from it. It put him quite at his ease,! 
 and he A\alked after Gutty with such an air, that no one for one moment could 
 have supposed that he was in danger within the walls of Newgate. 
 
 ** A wisitor," said Gutty, as he opened Claude's room- door. 
 
 Claude looked up, and lor the moment did not know Jack, who walked in, 
 saying— 
 
 " How are you, John ?* 
 
 The voice at once assured him of who it was, and stetching out his hand', he 
 said—
 
 676 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Ah, how are you ? it is very kind of you to come to visit me, so busy as you 
 must be." 
 
 Tfie door closed, and they heard the retreating footsteps of Gutty as he went 
 growling down the passage, Then, and not till then, did Jack and Claude cor- 
 dially shake hands like true and staunch old friends as they were, and Claude 
 said'to him — 
 
 *' Jack, you are capitally made up ; I did not know you/' 
 
 " Yes," replied Jack, *• I believe my disguise is good. Franklin, thequaker, 
 got it up for me.'' 
 
 '« Old Jossiah ? Then Dick took you there?' 
 
 *' He did, Claude/' 
 
 *' Well, 1 should have.done so, seme day, when I got leava of him, only 1 did 
 not know if he was at all aware of your singular story, and how far you would 
 like me to mention it. But tell me, Jack, have you and Dick yet done anything 
 in Grace's aiFair?" 
 
 "Not yet. Consider the time, Claude. My present business with j'ou is to 
 bring you this/' 
 
 Jack laid a heavy purse upon the table. 
 
 ** It was not wanted. Jack." 
 
 "Nay it is only £100. Give it about you freely to purchase all ike indul- 
 gences and conr.forts that are not denied in Newgate any more than anywhere else 
 in this world to one who has money, enough. You will be better pleased with it 
 when you hear who it came from." 
 
 '* Who, Jack V 
 
 *' None other than Tom Brereton." 
 
 '• Tom Brereton ? Impossible. That he should send me money, and that he 
 should know I am here, is — — " 
 
 " Stop — stop Claude. You are getting hold of the wrong end of the stick with 
 a vengeance. He neither sent the money to you, nor does he at all know yoB are 
 here. I took it from him on the road." 
 
 " That is quite another thing/' 
 
 '* I met him after a determination to pick up something from the first passenger 
 with a heavy purse, to pay your expenses in Newgate, and luckily he had this 
 £lOO by him, which he admitted he had himself stolen ; therefore I took it with the 
 smallest possible feeling of compunction, I assure you/* 
 
 " Well, that was strange." 
 
 ** It was ; but be under no sort of apprehension as to his malice. He tried to 
 say that it was you who robbed him, but 1 took good care to put that idea out of 
 his head to keep the money." i 
 
 " 1 will have some of it. Jack. But how are you situated in that particular?"! 
 
 ** Well enough— well enough." 
 
 "I will only have half of it. You keep the other half, Jack. Of course it' 
 is a bad thing to have more than you want here, as it might provoke the cupidity 
 of the officials, so fifty pounds will be all I will take." I 
 
 Finding Claude firm upon this point, Jack yielded, and put fifty of the guineas ' 
 in his pocket again. 
 
 After this was settled, he said— - 
 
 " And now^Claude, Dick and I will not spare time or trouble in getting the better 
 of that rascal Phillip Manning ; so keep up your spirits, and hope for the best.'' 
 
 " I will, Jack ; and yet— — " 
 
 "Yet what, Claude r- 
 
 " It seems to me as if some great misfortune were impending over me. I am 
 not, as you know, one of the desponding sort, and indeed I am always much 
 more inclined to look upon the sunny, than the cloudy aide of things j but I have' 
 a decided preseniment of evil." 
 
 Jack shook at this rather. 
 
 " Do r^ot s peak tome in th.t wa}-, Claude," he said, "or you will upset me
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 677 
 
 completely, ard before I reach the gate I shall betray myself. I begin to feel 
 already how artificial is the courage tiiat has hitherto held me up." 
 
 The tone in which Jack spoke rather alarmed Claude, and he said to him hi 
 the most cheerful tone he could assume — 
 
 " Pho ! pho ! Jack ; you know 1 am no believer in omens. Think nothing of 
 the fev idle words I have spoken. We shall be all right again upon the road, 
 with a star-spangled sky above, many and many a time. 
 
 CHAPTER CLVII. 
 
 THE DISCOVERY OF CLAUDE'S IDENTITV. 
 
 Sixteen-String Jack had now for so long a time been in the habit of thinking 
 that whatever Claude said or did must assuredly be right, that he was easily 
 depressed by a fev^r mournful words ; but then he was almost as easily raised up 
 again in spiritg, when Claude spoke to him cheerily. 
 
 Having thus brought Jack to a different state of feeling than that which, with 
 its gloomy presages, might really have produced very bad consequences to them 
 all, Claude was anxious to close an interview which at the best was danger- 
 ous. 
 
 " Go now, Jack,'' he said, ".and do your best. Remember that I wait here a 
 prisoner until Grace Manning is in her father's arms again, and that from that 
 moment I am well aware that I shall be an inhabitant of this place only for so 
 long a time as will suffice for an order to be sent for my immediate release." 
 
 *' Yes, Claude," said Jack. *' We know and feel that, and knowing and feel- 
 ing it, you, and you onlj', can imagine what an incentive to exertion tJiat is to both 
 Dick and I. Keep yourself in good spirits, Claude, and as you ^ay, we shall soon 
 enough be under the starlit sky of the open country, I hope. 1 am going now 
 to meet Dick at the house of Judge Manning, upon which he is keeping a 
 watch ; and it is likely enough that even to-day we may succeed in doing some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Heaven speed you. Jack/* 
 
 Jack knocked at the door of the room, until the turnkey, who was some 
 distance off in the passage, heard him, and came to let him out. " Ah," said he 
 with a discontented air. *' Ah, then, here is fine doings in Newgate for folks to 
 have who they like coniG and see 'em, and stay as long as they likf, and no- 
 body to say ' times up !* I never seed the like." 
 
 . "'Nor I," said Claude, as he placed a guinea ia the rough hand of the turnkey; 
 '* but if every visitor pays you as well as this, you will be making money like a 
 physician, my friend, and I promise you thiit every visit to me will be equally 
 pioductive to you.'* 
 
 The turnkey's mouth widened into a broad grin, as he said — 
 
 *' Oh, that's quite another affair. You may have all the world, and his wife, 
 come and see him if you like ; and arter all, when you come to think, it's a hard 
 thing that a cove as is shut up in a stone pitcher can't have his friends about him." 
 
 *' Particularly," said Jack, " if he can'pay well for the Httle indulgences." 
 
 " In course." 
 
 Afier tnis, the turnkey was all smiles and sweetness to Jack, and told him, as 
 they traversed the narrow gloomy passages to the gate, "That he never seed 
 sicha real gemman as his friend, Mr. Smith, and he only hoped as he (Jack) 
 would make it a pint to come often and see him, just to keep his spirits up a bit, 
 and tell him the news out o' doors." 
 
 And so, without the smallest accident, or any shadow of suspicion as to who he 
 really was, Jack got out of Newgate, and found himself in the open streets of the 
 city, after what may be truly called his perilous visit. ' 
 
 Of course, now, he had the greatest confidence in his disguise, and walked along
 
 678 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 with a much more calm and confident air than he had done before; all which 
 was favourable to hissituaiion, and the carrying out the character which he had 
 assumed. He made his way as directly as he could to the square ia which the 
 judge resided. 
 
 The distance was not great, and Jack was well enough acquainted with London 
 not to increase it by going an inch out of his way, so he soon, from a side street, 
 emerged into the square, very close to Judjre Manning's house. The first thing 
 he saw, was Dick standing nearly oppos te by the iron railings of the centre gar- 
 den, apparently intently reading a bill that was stuck upon the face of a pump 
 that was there. 
 
 Jack at once crossed over to him, and Dick, who had by a rapid side- glance 
 seen him coming, said — 
 
 *' Read this. Jack. I'll keep an eye on the judge's door while you do so." 
 
 Jack cast his eye upon the bill, and found that it offered no less than £500 
 reward for the apprehension of either of three persons ; one supposed to be the noto- 
 rious Claude Duval, the other Richard Turpin, and the third unknown. They 
 were all personally described, and it was stated at the foot of the bill, that the full 
 amount of £1500 would be paid to any one who would lodge the whole three in 
 any jail without waiting for their conviction. 
 
 *' What do you think of thac. Jack V' said Dick; *' ain't we a c apital prize for 
 some one ! Here is £1000 standing by a pump in Loudon, aad not a soul to 
 stretch out a hand to take it. That is really extraordinary, is it not ?'* 
 
 " It is no joke,'' said Jacl . 
 
 •' Joke ? No. They who might try to earn the money, should find it no joke. 
 I am well arme(3, and it is not two, or three, or lour men that would find if a very 
 easy task to fasten upon me," 
 
 ** And I, too," said Jack, " would sell my life dearly.'* 
 
 Of course. X500 sinks in value very much to a man with a bullet or two in his 
 inside. But we are gettmg on well, llow did you find Claude P" 
 
 " Quite well." 
 
 ** And confident of his release, I hope ?*' 
 
 " Yes, he knows us well enough for that, Dick." 
 
 " He does, and he shall not be disappointed. The man we seek is in the judge's 
 house now ; I watched him in, and when he comes out, I will follow him, aad 
 vou, Jack, will follow me." 
 ' " I will." 
 
 '* Of course, it is just possible when he does oomes out, that he may not be 
 going direct to visit Grace Manning in the place of concealment he has found 
 for her ; but visit her at some time or other during twenty-four hours, he 
 surely will ; and our duty will be, now that we have once set eyes upon him, not 
 to lose sight of him until he houses himself; and then if we feel that that is not 
 the place of the concealment of the girl, we will wait for him until he comes out 
 again, acd stick to him like his shadow." 
 
 ** Is that him, Dick ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes !'* 
 
 Phillip Manning caHoe out of his uncle's house. There was a gloom upon his 
 brow, and he glanced cautiously around him before he descended the steps. If 
 I ever a man was thoroughly wretched, not from regret at his own guilt, but 
 fiom a conviction that it was, as regarded its promised and expected results, a 
 failure, that man was Phillip Manning. 
 
 I In the interview he had just had with his uncle, although, the old judge had 
 I not said one word to put hiro upon his guard, yet Phillip, with that acuteness of 
 perception that often belongs to the guilty, had not failed to see that he was 
 more than suspected, and that his uncle's faith was much shaken in the truth of 
 j the story that he had told of the abduction of Grace. 
 
 ! How the judge had been so shaken, he, Phillip, had no means of knowing; 
 I but the fact, combined with the firm resistance, and che dignified and indignant
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 679 
 
 rejection of all terms of coaapromiie by Grace herself, made Phillip endure the 
 torments of the damned. 
 
 I There he stood upon his uncle's door-step, a thorough picture of a foiled 
 villain — of one who, for a greatobject to himself, had committed a great crime, 
 but utterly failing in the ooject, was left standing, as it were, with nothing but 
 the crime to console him. 
 
 i While Phillip Manning there stood looking around him for food for suspicion, 
 [Dick was pumping &wa.j at the pump, while Jack was holding the iron ladle, and 
 they both seemed only intent upon slaking their thirst. 
 
 i The eyes of Phillip wandered over them, without exhibiting the eligh test trace 
 I of suspicion, and then descending the remainder of the a'ceps, he walked on. 
 I " On," said Dick to Jack, " keep as far behind me- as you can, so as to keep 
 me in sight at all ; and mind. Jack, if you see m:^ go into a shop, or knock at the 
 door ot any house, or otherwise appear to gi.'je up the chase, it will be from a 
 suspicion that I may be observed, and ii^, that case you may go on and follow 
 Phillip : I will soon come after you*** 
 •• I. understand," said Jack. 
 
 By this time Phillip Mannip g had reached the corner of the square, and after 
 I casting around him one \&%f^ glance, he seemed to be quite satisfied no one was 
 i<iogging him, and he disv^ppeared round the corner. 
 
 i It was only for a ipfoment that he was lost to the sight of Dick, for he was 
 quickly at the corne;!.^ and then he saw Phillip walking down the street at a quick 
 pace^ without ^once looking behind him. From this time, the chase of the 
 villain might h-g said fairly to have begun. 
 
 ! Dick kept- about fifty paces behind him, and Jack about twenty paces behind 
 Dick. 
 
 I Phill'p made for the northern part of London, and soon began to get into 
 ,what 'was then open country, to the north of the New Road that is nojy. He 
 ther^ crossed the fields to Islington, which then was really quite a siibutban 
 ;<^'istrict, and by no means of such close acquaintanceship with the bricks and 
 : mortar of London as it is now. 
 
 To any one not so w,ll acquainted with the locality as Dick chanced to be, 
 the task of following Phillip would have been one that now would have almost 
 ensured detection, for it would look more than accidental for any one to keep 
 I upon the track of another, both in town and country. It was quite clear how- 
 ever to Dick, that Phillip was taking a short cut across the fields, where there 
 jwas a foot-path, that would bring hira out at a particular part of Islington, High- 
 i street, and he knew that by making a little detour, and traversing a lane which 
 lis now a street, he could reach that point, 
 
 He'accordingly at once struck off from the direct pursuit of Phillip Manning. 
 I Jack at first took this as a hint to him to follow, but Dick caught his eye for a 
 I moment, and gave him a sign to follow him, so that Phillip was to all appearance 
 I left quite alone ; and if anything could tend to completely assure that doubtful 
 character that he was safe, certainly this manoeuvre would. 
 
 In a few moments both Dick and Jack were together in the lane, which was a 
 very verdant one, and on the side of it, next to the meadows that Phillip was 
 traversing, there was a row of tall poplars, which conmletely hid the lane, and 
 cast a sort of twilight into it. 
 
 ** He suspects nothing," said Jack. 
 
 *« Nothing at all. We shall meet him again easily ; but we must push on, for 
 the route this way is nearly double that he is taking, and he walks fast." 
 They ran swiftly for some distance, and then Dick said — 
 *' If we get upon the bank here, we can take a peep at the rascal through the 
 hedge without his being able at the distance he is oflp, to have the least chance of 
 seeing us.*' * , 
 
 Jack was as anxious as Dick to look at Phillip, and when they had scrambled 
 up the wild flower-decked bank, at the side of the lane, they easily through the 
 trees saw the whole extent of the meadows.
 
 680. GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 Phillip Manning had reached a stile and had stopped. His hand was up to his 
 eyes to shade them, for the sun had peeped out, and he was looking southward. 
 He seemed to be taking a long and earnest glance at the path he had come, in 
 order thoroughly to assure himself that no one was upon his track. He sat upon 
 the stile then, and took from his pocket a small telescope, and with that placed 
 at his eye he made an acurate, and no doubt, very satisfactory examination of 
 the route he had taken. Just for fear he might turn the telescope in the 
 direction of the lane, and no knowing what its power might be. both Jack and 
 Dick crouched down among the tall grass and flowering shrubbery, so that it 
 would have been next to impossible for them to hav£ been seen, even if Phillip 
 had looked that way, which he did not. 
 
 To be sure, he did just take a sweeping kind of glance all "round him with the 
 telescope, but he did not fix his regards sufficiently long upon one spot to make 
 our friends be in any danger of discovery in their secure hiding-place. 
 
 CHAPTER CLVIII. 
 
 PHILLIP manning's clever PROCEEDrNGS, 
 
 After this, Phillip, with all the air of a man who is tlu>roughly satisfied, 
 pocketted his telescope and walked on. . 
 
 " Now we 8kall have him," said Dick, " and I call all this very satisfactory, 
 inasmuch as it rssures us of one thing, which is, that we shall not havd pur trouble 
 for nothing. 
 
 '< Are you sure of that, Dick ?" 
 ,, " Pretty sure, Jack, unless we miss him. You may depend he would not take 
 one half the trouble to assure himself that he is not followed, unless he Wv^re 
 going upon some important errand ; and I doubt if Master Phillip has anything 
 else upon his hands just now half so important as this affair in which we feel so| 
 deeply interested." - I 
 
 *' Most probably not, Dick. I see now what you mean, and I do begin to think | 
 that our work is already half done.'' 
 
 ^* Without making too sure," said Dick, '* I confess now to being sangciine ; 
 but we reust put the best foot foremost now, Jack, for Phillip ivJS not far to 
 go to get to the opening into the High Street, and, if we lose him at all, it will 
 be there." 
 
 They now proceeded at such a rate that they soon got quite clear of the lane, 
 and skirting a piece of waste ground, they then emerged into Islington, a little 
 above what is novv|called The Green. , 
 
 There they slackened their speed a little, and Dick went on in advance as 
 before. Jack keeping upon the other side of the way, so as to break the connection 
 between them to the eye as much as possible. , 
 
 ISuddenly from a narrow turning, out came Phillip. Dick took no notice of 
 him, although he was so close to him that he could have touched him ; and to 
 avoid any F.us;'icion, he had to walk on past him. He well knew that Jjick would 
 396 tiiejuicessity of puc!i%step, and would keep an ey; on PhilUp. . , 
 
 So completely, however, was the rascal satisfied that he had come in perf-ict 
 security, that he took no notice of any one, and had quite lost the air of lurking 
 suspicioa which had before been the grand characteri&iic of his pr(>ceedings. He 
 A'alked in the most direct manner to a house with a little garden in front of it 
 and a small green gate. 
 
 This place looked like a better sort of cottage ; and they — for Dick had now 
 looked round, after walking quite far enough to lull all suspicion— sa.v him take a 
 key from his pocket, open the door, and go in. , 
 
 Dick beckoned Jack to come to him.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, Lir¥oN THE ROAd! 
 
 681 
 
 rha .t certainly is not where we .hall find Grace Manning"^ ^ * 
 inat IS precisely ray own opinior,**^ ^ 
 
 "It is too small and too public,- aided Jack; " she could alarm the whole 
 
 T0« BSEBETOH DENOUNCES CLA«I,E AS THE NOTORIOUS HmH,VAVMA>,. 
 
 again.- ° °°" '"" "">' wltage; but ive shall easily know ii 
 
 moment." ^^'^^ ^^°' ^°^^ ^'5*^^ of the green gate for a 
 
 Kn Q(\
 
 682 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ■ 
 
 Even while they spoke they did not look at each other, but kept their regards 
 upon that cottage ; and this state of things lasted for about twenly minutes, 
 when the cottage door opened, and an old woman, with a basket on her 
 arm and pattens on, came out. She crossed the road, and disappeared down a 
 lane opposite, 
 
 ** Is It woith while asking any questions of that old dame V said Jack to 
 Dick. 
 
 ** No, it would be dangerous. The grand thing, I take it, is to avoid exciting 
 is the mind of Phillip the least certainty of his being watched — susp cion he 
 already has ; and if we follow and question yon old woman, how are we to prevent 
 her from telling him of such a suspicious occurrence ?" 
 
 " True enough, Dick— true enough. I only wish the rascal would come out, 
 that's all." 
 
 They waited with the most exemplary patience for nearly a whole hour, but 
 still there was not the least appearance of Phillip Manning emerging from the 
 cattage. 
 
 " There is something more in this than we can just now divine," said Dick. 
 " We are done for this time somewhow. He cannot have left the cottage 
 by the back, for you see, Jftck, it is open to the fields, and we must have seen 
 him/' 
 
 *' Decidedly," said Jack, 
 
 " And by the front we know he has not. Confound it, he may be upon quite 
 some other errand to day than that of calling upon poor Grace Manniag." 
 
 *• That is possible/' said Jack. " But 1 begin to have an idea/' 
 
 "For Heaven's sake then. Jack, lei me have the benefit of it at once, for if it 
 be anything that will abridge the monotony of the watch we are keeping here. 
 I fear in vain it will be most welcome/' 
 
 *• Yoa shall have it, Dick. I don't in the least wonder at your getting impa- 
 tient, for nothing in the world can be so annoying as this sort of thing. You may 
 laugh at me, but my idea is " 
 
 " Hush 1 There's the old woman again/' 
 
 *'Humiih," said Jack. "That is my idea." 
 
 <' Why— why— what do you mean. Jack ? Out with it." 
 
 *' 1 think the old woman is Phillip Manning." 
 
 "The devil!" 
 
 They were both silent as they watched the seeming old woman with the basket 
 and the pattens, cross the road- way to the little cottage with the green -gate. 
 Then they saw her take a key from her pocket, after some rummaging, and place 
 it in the lock. For one instance she held up her head, and took a glance 
 around her. — It was Phillip 1 
 
 *'Done!" said Dick. 
 
 " For this time completely," said Jack; " but we have made a good two hours* 
 work of It for all that, for now we know Phillip disguises, and that it must be 
 somewhere close at hand to this spot, that he keeps Grace a prisoner. You 
 may depend tnat in that basket he took her provisioris until this time to* 
 morrow.'' 
 
 •• Oh, yes," said Dick, in a tone of deep chagrin. " I see it all now. It is as 
 plain as your hand before your eyes. Jack ; but that you and i should be taken in 
 is rather too bad. I warrant now if Claude had been with us he would have 
 detected Phillip's disguise." 
 
 " He might. But the game is over for to-day, Dick/' 
 
 " Iti s, I fear; and jet if you have no objection we will wait here, as we are well 
 sheltered by this chesnut tree, and see Phillip go home again, and then I should 
 like to go down the turning opposite, and see what one can/' 
 
 " And so should i, Dick. We shall see what sort of a place it is, and where it 
 leads to, at all events/' 
 
 Phillip emerged from the cottage in Lis usual apparel in much less time than 
 it had taken him to put on and perfect the disguise that had been good enough to
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 683 
 
 deceive Jack and Dick. He did not look about him at all, but banging the door 
 of the cattage to, he made the best of his way to town again, by the same way 
 he had come. 
 
 When he was fairly out of sight, Dick and Jack emerged from the sheltered 
 spot they had found ameng some chesnut-trees, and looked at 'he cottage. 
 
 ** I would not disturb that nlace,' ' said Dick. "If there be any one ther e, it may 
 have the effect of putting Phillip on his guard ; and if no one, all we could find 
 would be his disguise, and that we know already. Let us go up the lane." 
 
 " Certainly," 
 
 They had now no trouble in 'coking after Phillip, so they could pay the mostun* 
 devided attention to the place they were in. It was a pretty rural lane enough, wjth, 
 at the top part of it, that is to say that part at which they entered some small 
 cottages that seemed to be in the possession of laundresses. Further on it seemed 
 to straggle right away into the open country. 
 
 There was some open country at Islington then. 
 
 Feeling quite certain that none of the cottages at the entrance of the lane were 
 worth their examination, Jack and Dick passed on at a quick pace until they got 
 clear of the houses, and reached a stile that seemed to go into the meadows. There 
 they both paused. 
 
 *' This voyage of discovery," said Jack, "does not seem',to promise many results, 
 Dick." 
 
 " It does no't, indeed. I can see chimney pots among the trees, yonder; but 
 it is rather an awkward thing to go to a house, and say, * Have you got a young 
 lady a prisoner here ? and does a man, disguised as on old woman, come to see 
 her?" 
 
 '* Rather awkward, indeed," said Jack. " It is tolerably clear to me, Dick, 
 that our best course most decidedly is to wait until to-morrow, and then come 
 here and follow Phillip. We know he comes down this lane." 
 
 " Yes, and the plan will be to wait in the lane, Jack. Let us pitch upon some 
 spot now that w« are here, that we can come to direct to-morrow, and wait at until 
 the rascal arrives." 
 
 They crossed the stile with this intent, and soon found a kind of copse, in the 
 intricacies of which they could be effect ually concealed, while it did not prevent 
 them from looking out and keeping a good watch upon the stile, over which they 
 had very little doubt that they should, on the morrow, have the satisfaction of see- 
 ing Phillip Manning get. 
 
 Having settled all this, then, as far as they could, they felt that their presence 
 there was no longer required, and that their best way was to proceed to London 
 again at once. They made for the quaker's house in Dean Street, Soho. 
 
 They fond the *' friend" anxious concerning them, as they had been absent for 
 a much longer period of time than he or they had expected ; for when Dick 
 had gone to wait for Jack in the square where the judge lived, he had no idea that 
 he should so readily light upon Phillip Manning. 
 
 " Friend," said Franklin, " I began to think thee and thy friend Jack had fallen 
 into the hands of the Philistines." 
 
 ** Oh no," said Dick, '* we are making progress of a satisfactory kind, as you 
 will admit when you hear what 1 have to tell you." 
 
 ** It is ill talking upon an empty stomach, and with a dry throat, friend,'* said 
 the quaker — " if thou will permit me, I will provide thee with a resource against 
 both of those evils.'* 
 
 He rang a bell, and ordered a substantial repast for Dick and Jack, together 
 with a couple of bottles of rare old wine, and he would not permit them to 
 fatigue themselves by telling him their news, until they were thoroughly refreshed. 
 
 "lam, no doubt," he said, "friends, anxious enough to hear all, that thou 
 raayst have to say, but I am much more anxious that thy strength and thy 
 courage should be kept up, for really now there are so few good men =|Ii|)on the 
 road, that I cannot afford to lose either of thee." 
 
 Neither Dick nor Jack could help laughing at the bu8iness-like\iews'wbich
 
 1 GENTLJSMAN MCK; OR, 
 
 the quaker took of the aQair, and at the way in which he accounted for his profuse 
 hospitality, which roany men would have tried to make a kind of merit of facts 
 own sake. Franklin however was far above any such petty feelings, and he found 
 his account in letting the highwaymen and crackmens who dealt with him know 
 tbat the assistance he rendered them was merely a matter of busi.iess^ and had 
 no other support or foundation. 
 
 When one of the bottles of wiue was gone, and the other dipped into, Dick 
 recounted to him all that had happened, to which he lent the most attentive ear ; 
 and when Dick had finished, he said— 
 
 <' Thou must be cautious, friend." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Why from all I can hear of this Phillip Manning, he is one who will kill." 
 
 <'Kill!" exclaimed Dick, "kill! And do you fancy for one moment, Mr. 
 Franklin, thai I am afraid of his killing propensities ? and I am sure 1 may say 
 as much for Jack here. We don't care one straw about the malice or the resist- 
 ance of such a fellow es that, I assure you." 
 
 "Now, friend,,' added the quaker, *' that thou hast had thy say, allow me to 
 sta'e that I was not afraid of Phillip Manning killing thee or thy friend Jack of 
 the Sixteen-strings. It was the young maiden called Grace that I spoke of.'* 
 
 *" You are right, Mr. Franklin," cried Jack. *' The same thought has more than 
 once come across me, giving me a cold shudder as it did so. I think he is just 
 the man to murder the young thing, if he found all his villany upon the point of 
 being discovered." 
 
 '• I really did not think of that," said Dick. ''Pardon me, Mr. Franklin. It 
 is a thing of great importance, and I thank you for the hint. I will take good 
 care it is well seen to. Ic would be too terrible.'* 
 
 CHAPTER CLIX. 
 
 AN ADVBNTUEE AT THE QUAKER's. 
 
 TiNGLB ! Tingle ! Tingle ! 
 
 " What's that ?" said Dick. * 
 
 There was just a slight change of colour upon the face of the quaker for a 
 moment, and then he said, in a quiet voice — 
 
 " It is a warning; tha/sall. It is only a warning. You have been traced here 
 by some means : you are either known or suspected, I cinnot say which. Truly 
 the Philistines are at hand even now." 
 
 " The deuce they are !" said Dick, as he sprung from his seat. <* What's to be 
 done ?" 
 
 "Nothing, friend, just now, by violence," said the quaker. '-'Everything, 
 probably, by discretion. Please to remain precisely where you both are, until I 
 come to you again. You will consult your safety by so doing, whereas, by re- 
 moving from this room, thou may'st remove to thy own destruction." 
 
 With these words, the quaker rose, and left the room in a moment, Jack and 
 Dick remaining, staring at each other, rather in a state of amazement, 
 
 " What shall we do'^' said Dick. 
 
 " As he says," replied Jack. 
 
 " But — but 1 don't like this state of inaction. Did you see his face change 
 colour when the bell rang ? Do you know, Jack, I begin to have my suspicions." 
 
 "I have none. You ought to know Franklin much better than I do, Dick, so 
 that ot course, so far as that goes, you are the best judge by a great deal ; but I 
 do net myself entertain anything in the shape of a doubt of his fidelity to ns. I 
 feel that all his interests must be the other way," 
 
 <• You have convinced me. Jack. We will wait here, although I had rather 
 know what was going on below. Let us listen at the stair-head. There can be
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 685 
 
 no 1 arm m that you know, Jack, Come on. Are you a good one at overhearing 
 anything some distance off?" 
 
 " Pretty well." 
 
 They opened the door of the room quite carefully, and crept on to the landing- 
 place of the stairs. Even to do this much was in contradiction to the express 
 recommendation of Franklin ; but something must be allowed for men placed in 
 the exceedingly ticklish situation ot Dick and Jack. They could hear nothing for 
 some time below but the murmur of two voices ; but then they found Franklin and 
 some other person were ascending the staircase" together, and talking as they came 
 on. They both turned into a room before they got to the height that Dick and 
 Jack were. 
 
 " Did you know the companion of the quaker ?" said Dick, in a low, [hissing 
 whisper, to Jack. 
 
 '' No.'' 
 
 '* It was Granby, the informer. He is an officer, but he goes by the name of 
 Granby, the informer, because he makes all his captures and transacts all his 
 bus'ness by treachery. He is rich, and he will pay 'two -thirds of what he will get 
 by the job for the apprehension of any one by treachery, rather than attempt it 
 openly and by force.'* 
 
 ** Say no more/' said Jack. '• I have heard of the man. What do you sup« 
 pose his errand is here ?* 
 
 ** Of course to see if he cannot make terms with the quaker. Stay here, Jack. 
 I have more than once, perhaps very wrongfully, had a slight fancy — suspicion 
 one can hardly call it — that Franklin may, upon some odd occasion, retire from 
 business, and that, preparatory to so doing, he may want to dispose of his stock 
 in trade : do you understand me ?'* 
 
 *' Ay ; and his stock," said Jack, " you would say, consists of such men as we 
 are." 
 
 ** Yes; cracksmen and knights of the road, as we are. Once for all, then, I 
 should like to satisfy myself; so I will step down and listen to his conversation 
 With Granby if I can," 
 
 Dick took off his boots, and went very softly down the stairs on his stocking 
 soles. He reached the door of the room into which the quaker and the officer 
 had gone, and applying his ear quite close to the keyhole, he found that after a 
 f«w moments, he could hear pretty nearly every word that was spoken by the 
 parties withm. 
 
 The officer was speaking; and Dick heard him say, in a clear and very earnest 
 tone of voice — 
 
 *'No\v, Mr. Franklin, it is quite needless to tell yoi that the police have had 
 an eye upon your house for some time j and strange as you may think it, it is I 
 who have saved you. You may look incredulous. Perhaps, if I were in your 
 posit on, I should likewise; but there is a why and a wherefore for everything in 
 this world, and I will soon explain it all to you." 
 
 " Really, friend," replied Franklin, " 1 shall be much indebted to thee, indeed, 
 to explain it to me, for, as yet, friend, I am most truly and lamentably in the dark 
 with respect to thy reasoLing." j 
 
 "Are you?" 
 
 •' Yes, friend; and I beg that thou wilt go on with all convenient expedition 
 with thy promised explanation." 
 
 *' Ah, you are a deep card,'' said Granby, 
 
 "Eh, friend? A card?" 
 
 '•Well, well, I don't t xpect that all at once you are going to drop into my 
 mouth, Mr. Franklin. I tel' you that more than one officer has had his eye upon 
 this house, but I have always fobbed them ofF in some way or another, so tha( you 
 have really hardly been at all disturbed— eh ?" 
 
 ♦' Humph !" said Franklin. 
 
 "Well, well," continued Granby, " I see you are a man cf business, and Hike 
 you a' I tii3 better for it. You will understand what I have got to propose in the
 
 686 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 right spirit. I have looked upon you as a nice little piece of property in my 
 way for these last three years, and I think the time has now come, do you know, 
 to realise you. Ha ! lou understand ?" 
 
 " No, friend." 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Franklin — you are joking^." 
 
 " Friend, I can conscientiously aver that I never made a joke in my life, and 
 that, knowingly, I never shall make one. It thou art joking, friend, thou hast 
 come to the wrong party to show thy wit, for I assure thee thou wilt not get from 
 me the ghost of a smile, friend." 
 
 *' Ha, ha !"' said Granby, with a forced laugh ; ** upon my life you are a strange 
 man — you are, indeed; but copae, you and I must understand each other soor, 
 If you don't make terms with me you will have a rough search in your house at 
 all sorts of odd times when you least expect it. All the oflBcers have great faith 
 in what I say. They think 1 have means of getting information that they know 
 nothing of. And thpy are right. I have such means. You are ail right and snug 
 now, I tell you, for I have fobbed them off just because there being no one to 
 settle with but me, you might aflFord to be liberal." 
 
 ** If I were assured of that '* said Franklin. 
 
 " Oh, that*s the point, is it ?" cried Granby. " Well, I hardly know how I 
 am to assure you of it. But you must see by my way that I am no fool, you 
 know, and is it likely that 1 would let any one else have a share in the affair, when 
 I could keep it all to myself? Now I tell you I know you harbour the great 
 guns here now and then ; fellows with £500, and, at odd times, £1000 reward 
 hanging over their heads. The small pay don't come to you, and that's why I 
 want to transact business with you. Now, at a word, I will go your halves." 
 
 *' Halves in what, friend ?" 
 
 *' Hansj it ! you understand. How jolly green we are all of a sadden.—^ 
 Ha! ha!" ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 *' Thy saying *Ha! ha I' and talking about green affairs, friend, does not 
 enlighten me in the least," 
 
 " Don't it ? Well, then, when you have a fellow snug here, for whom there is 
 a good reward — anything over ^100 will be worth while — you give me the office* 
 I wont take him in yon; house or near it, but you give me sufficient information, 
 and when I nab him you shall have your half down." 
 
 ** Down, friend ?" 
 
 *' Yes, down." 
 
 ** Before you get him tucked up, friend VI 
 
 " Yes. I'll give you a cheque for the amoiirit. Everbody knows Jack Granby*a 
 cheque is a bank-note." 
 
 " Humph !" 
 
 " Is it a bargain?" 
 
 " Wilt thou otand half the forty-pound blood-money likewise, friend, when the 
 individual whom I may be instrumental in giving up to thee is duly suspended by 
 the neck until he be dead, friend ?" 
 
 " I will — I will. That will be twenty-pound more always. Come, is it a 
 bargain P I will stand half the blood-money, though it is rather a hard bargain 
 to drive.'' 
 
 «* Down, friend ?" 
 
 " Yes down. Down on the nail." 
 
 " Of course, friend, then I consent' How could you doubt for one moment that 
 I would ? Good gracious, friend, I think the offer a most liberal one, especially 
 as I am to get my half down; andt)f course, friend, rs my house is to be the 
 great rat-trap, you will be careful cot to let the ammals suspect it," 
 
 " Oh, trust me for that. It's a bargain ? Give us your hand upon it !" 
 
 " Friend, I do not see the least occasion for giving thee my hand because we 
 have agreed to be two thundering rogues, friend. Let us profit by our infernal 
 iniquity, friend, and have, at the sanae time, if it be all the same to thee, friend, 
 the most hearty contempt and abho^rrence for each other, verily,"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROTkD. 687 
 
 " Well, you are one of the oddest fellows, if not absolutely the very oddest, 
 that I ever heard of." 
 
 ** Do you really think so, friend P" 
 
 '* In faith I do ; but that's nothing. We have made our bargain, and I am 
 glad enough of it for one. It will be to the profit of both of us ; and if in the 
 next twelve-months we don't make an outrageous good thing of it, I am much 
 mistaken.'* 
 
 "Truly, friend, the speculation looks well," said Franklin ; "and I should 
 
 like a little memorandum of it, for the purpose of making which, friend, I will 
 
 presently get pen, and ink, and paper. But yet I have many doubts." 
 
 ^ '' About what ? Not about my good faith towards you, I hope ? for if you 
 
 ''^ave, the sooner you dismiss them the better. There is nothing so well calculated 
 
 to keep men faithful to each other as mutual interest." 
 
 " No, friend Granby, I have not the least doubt of thy good faith, so far as thy 
 intentions go; but, even now, I fear that thy visit may bring down upon me and 
 my house inquiry ; and induce, perhaps, other of your fraternit^y to visit me. — 
 Nay, the mere fact of thy visit to-day will act as a kind of provocation to induce 
 some one else to come." 
 
 " Make yourself easy about that." 
 
 « But how ?• 
 flU** Well, I will tell you. Thinking of course that you, as a man of business, 
 would have the good sense to make a proper arrangement with me, I took the 
 greatest precaution to induce everybody to think I was going somewhere else.— 
 Even my wife thinks I have gone down the river upon some business. I believe 
 you will admit that I am cunning enough, Mr. Franklin ?" 
 
 " Indeed, friend, tliou art as cunning as a badger." 
 
 ** Ha ! ha ! Then all your scruples are removed now P" 
 
 ** Completely, friend, and I am quite decided. I may almost say that I look 
 upon thy visit here as quite providential, and the pains that thou hast taken to 
 conceal it, so that thou shouldst not be traced to this house, are really, friend, 
 quite delightful to think of/' 
 
 « Well, well," said the highly gratified officer. '* All's right. I rather think 
 that when you and I combine for any purpose, it would take the devil himself to 
 get the better of us. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 1 am so glad I came, you can't think ; I 
 never felt so pleased with myself, or so comfortable in all my life, really, upon my 
 word." 
 
 Dick thought now that it was high time to get up the stairs agian, for he ex- 
 pected the quaker might come up for pen, ink and paper, with which he wished 
 to make the memorandum he spoke of to the officer. When Dick reached the 
 landing, he whispered to Jack,— 
 
 " We are sold." 
 
 " Sold ?" said Jack. " What do you mean by that V 
 
 " Simply that our friend, Franklin, has even now made a bargain with an 
 officer to give us up for one-half of the reward. You look to your pistols, Jack, 
 and I will look to mine. They shall find that two to two is no odds ; and if they 
 don't bid the world good night, it shall be no fault of mine this day. 
 
 CHAPTER CLX, 
 
 GRACE MAJNNING's GRBArH DANGER. 
 
 While Dick uttered these words. Jack looked at him in perfect astonishment. 
 He found the gratest difficulty in bringing Mikself to believe in the pecfidy of 
 Franklin, and he said with earnestness— 
 
 **lt's a fact. I heard it with oiy own earsi It is no opinion, no surmise. It is 
 a fact. We are bought and sold."
 
 688 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 **Then, Dick, 1 think we will make tbem repent of their bargain. Only say 
 i what you think is best to be done, and I will place myself entirely under your 
 I direction in the matter.'* 
 
 " Are your pistols fit for active service. Jack ?" 
 I " They aie. I have only fresh-primed them a little while ago, and my hand 
 1 is unusually steady. DicK, I feel that I am fit for anything, for if we fall^ of 
 i course poor Claude falls likewise, for who will find out Phillip Manning, and 
 I restore Grace to her father, if we do not ?" 
 
 I ''You are right enough there, Jack. What I propose is, then, that we 
 j go down fctairs, and shoot them both. The quaker has gone to get writing 
 I materials to make a memorandum of his infamous bargain with the officer, respect- 
 1 ing not only a treacherous giving up of us, but of all who may come here, relying 
 1 upon him for safety. He has himself said, that this house shall be a sort of rat- 
 1 trap ; but I think he will find that we decline being the rats. Come on. I will 
 ! shoot the quaker, and you may shoot the other." 
 i ** Agreed — agreed. It is for Claude as well as for ourselves." 
 I If it had not been for his feeling tonrards Claude, there can be very little doubt 
 
 but that Jack would have shrunk from this deed of retributive justice, which the 
 ! sterner nature of Dick suggested ; but he felt certain that Claude's fate would be 
 I sealed if he and Dick were not at liberty to trace out Grace Manning, and so 
 i triumphantly vindicate him from the charge brought against him by Phillip 
 i, Manning. Hence, then, although with a certain degree of reluctance. Jack 
 
 followed Dick down the stairs with a well-loaded pistol in his hand. 
 • . When they reached the landing below, Dick whispered to him— 
 j "It would be a great thing, Jack, would it not, to get the document, which will 
 
 at any time prove the treachery against which me are now armed. Would it 
 
 not?" 
 
 " I should like by all mean," said Jack, " to have such a writtein justification 
 
 of this fearfully necessary deed, Dick." 
 
 " You shall have it. We will listen a moment.'* 
 
 They did listen, but rather to their surprise, all was most profoundly still 
 
 within the room where the secret conference had taken place between the quaker 
 
 and the ofl&cer. After a few moments, both Dick and Jack began to think that 
 
 their prey had escaped them. 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment or two, as though each were anxious 
 
 to read what the other thought by the expression of his face, and then Dick laid 
 
 his hand upon the handle of the door, and whispered — 
 
 - " Gome on." 
 He opened the door, and at once dasjied into the room with the pistol in his 
 
 hand. The qnaker alone was there. He was standing by the window, very 
 
 quietly and composedly washing his hands in a basin that, when the hinged-top 
 
 <(f the window-seat was down, was completely concealed. The expression of 
 
 his couiuenance, as he glanced round upon Dick and Jack, was appahng. All 
 
 the milfl, quiet, firmness of look, which was his usual characteristic, had; fled, 
 
 and his every feature was^^ indicative of passion. His eyes v; ere flashing, and 
 ; indeed, as he the^, stood with hjs coat off, no one not well acquaiftled with his 
 
 features, could for a moment have ventured upon his recognition. 
 I " Well," he said sternly. " Is this obeying my orders.'* 
 j **You are a villain/' said Dick. 
 I "Villain in your teetli, highway robber," he replied. *' How dare you apply 
 
 such a term to me ? You are only existing: upon sufferance." 
 
 " Where is your companion in guilt? Where is he with whom you have made 
 
 an alliance for our blood ?" 
 i '• Oh, you are a listener at keyholes, are you V* said Franklin. " Only wait 
 I until I have washed my hands, and I will soon answer you." 
 i " I came here,'* said Dick, •' to shoot you, and I don't know what hinders me at 
 
 this moment." 
 I " You are afraid," said the quafcer^jdrying his hands very deliberately upon a
 
 GfeNTtEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 680 
 
 large towel. " You are afraid — that's the reason, friend, why thou dost not 
 
 do it." 
 
 He was rapidly recovering his usual manner. 
 
 *• Afraid ?" said Dick, as he advanced two steps. ** Afraid ?" 
 
 "Yes, friend. A brave man ia always ifraid to do a base and cowardly 
 
 action." 
 
 THE RETUEN OP GRACE MANNING TO HER DISCONSOLATE FATHER. 
 
 Dick slowly lowered his hand, as he said — 
 
 "You are a riddler. What am I to think? T heard enough to convmce any 
 one of your treachery ; even now, for ail I know, the officer, Granby, may have^left 
 the house, only for the purpose of concocting measures for our apprehension." 
 
 " He has not left the house, friend." . , 
 
 "Where is he then?"
 
 690 GENTLEMAN JACKj OR, 
 
 "Througli that half-open door, friend, thou wilt find him." 
 "Jack," said Dick, "he is your victim. Shoot him if you see him there, 
 while I keep an eye upon our friend here." 
 
 Jack passed through the half-open doorway, and then in a moment he came 
 back with agitation in his looks— 
 
 " He is there, indeed," he said, " but he is dead." 
 
 " Dead V 
 
 " Yes, Dick. He lies in his blood." 
 
 "And this, friend, is some of it," said the quaker, as he pointed to the water 
 in the wash-hand basin, which was of an ensanguined tinge. " This is some 
 ofit!" 
 
 At that moment the face of Franklin again changed to the awful expression that 
 it had worn at the moment that Dick and Jack had made their way so roughly into 
 the apartment ; but it was but transient ; gradually subsidmg, he looked cold and 
 quiet as usual. Dick hastily made his way to the adjoining room to make sure 
 that Jack had not been mistaken, but there he saw Granby lying in a pool of 
 blood, although he could not well perceive by what means he had come by his 
 death. The face was uninjured, but it had upon it an awful expression of agony, 
 as it was upturned to the ceiling. The eyes were fixed and opaque, $ind the hair 
 hung ia disordered masses, partially dabbled in blood. 
 
 Dick made the best of hjj way back to the other room, and in a voice indica- 
 tive of emotion, he said — 
 
 ** Fratiklin, what is the meaning of this ?'* 
 
 "He," said the quaker, proceeding towards the dead body, " he \<^ould. tell 
 you if he had a tongue that he could wag now." 
 
 •' But— but " 
 
 ♦* Tush ! The explanation stares thee in the face, friend. That man insulted 
 me by an offer, that it appears you overheard. Well, he has signed and sealed it 
 now with his blood. Are you satisfied?" 
 
 *' I am, indeed. You have killed him instead of allowing hirn to betray us. 
 We are safe, and we owe it to you. How can I, for it was all my «aying, how can 
 I sufficiently apologise to you for my most unjust suspicions of you ?" 
 
 " Say no more about it. It was very v/rong and very ipmrudent of you to come 
 out of the room above at all ; but as you did come, and it has turned out that 
 no particular mischief has resulted from it, let it drop. Our friend, Granby. still 
 has to be disposed of. He was the most dangerous man to me in all London; 
 and now I can breath a little freely that he is no more. Mark me, friends, I do 
 not consider this to be a murder, although the law would. Come." 
 
 Dick and Jack followed the quaker with amazement at his calmness so imme- 
 diately after such an act. He pointed to the body, saying — " Drag it aside." 
 
 Although with reluctance, Dick took hold of the heels of the dead man and 
 dragged him aside, when Franklin, by stampingf upon one of the floor-boards 
 where there appeared only to be a simple joining ot two pieces, caused it to lift 
 up at the other end, and after displacing that one board,'he lifted several others 
 with ease, disclosing an opening right through the floor to an immense dep(feli 
 below. 
 
 *' This goes to the cellars, friends/' he said, " and there Mr. Granby mAy lie 
 and rot, or be food for rats. I hear them at times screaming and fighting far 
 down below. Be so good as to pitch him down, friend Jack of the sixteen 
 strings." 
 
 '* Don't ask me,'* said Jack, " I could not touch him for the world. If he 
 were aljve you would not find me backward in grappling with him ; but now 
 that he is no more, Ishould not like to touch him with ttie top of my boot." 
 
 " Nay, friend, I particularly wish you to do it. I killed him. Dick, here, has 
 already dragged him from above the trap, and it is thy duty, friend, to poke him 
 down." 
 
 " If it come at all in the shape of a duty/ said Jack, "I'll kick him down ; 
 80 that you shall not say that I had no hand in the business as well as yourself/'
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 691 
 
 With this. Jack urged the dead body to the opening with his foot, and soon 
 OYerbalancing it, away it went out of sight into the depths below. Fra»klin care- 
 fully replaced the boards, and then remarking that he should have to get out the 
 stains of blood, and that he knew a mode of doing that, he led the way to ths 
 other apartment. 
 
 " How did you kill him?" said Jack. 
 
 ** Do not trouble thyself, friend^ to ask unnecessary questions," replied the 
 qual?er. *' Let it content thee thatjae is dead, friend." 
 
 « * jlr# * « » 
 
 While all this was transacting at the quakcr's house in Dean Street, Soho, the 
 situation of Grace Manning was getting most crilieal. If any one had peeped 
 into a small chamber in the house where Phillip Manning had a private lodging 
 in the city, somewhefe at the back of where the po3t office now stands, they 
 would have seen that he was ratiier singularly occupied. 
 
 This lodging of his consi<;ted of but one room, in which was a sofa bedstead; 
 and there it was that, known only by the name of Smith, he use I to commit big 
 villanies. At this time, however, he was v^ry differently employed, and he is 
 worth, looking ar. 
 
 At a table by the window he sits, with before him a small glass apparatus for 
 distillation, such as is used for chemical purposes, consisting of a retort and a 
 receiver, well supported by a stand. Under the bulb of the retort was a spirit 
 lamp, flickering and burning with its pecuUar faint flame. Phillip was resting 
 with his chin upon his fists, and his elbows upon the table. He was watching the 
 boiling up of some liquid in the bulb of t'le retort, in which, too, there were some 
 herbs . 
 
 " This will do," he muttered. "A3 soon as a great part of the water has gone 
 over in vapour, what remiains will be a tolerably concentrated production from 
 the poisonous herbs I have collected ; and they must destroy life. Ha ! ha ! 1 
 am not so foolish as to purchase poi»m--I make it !'* 
 
 His face at that moment was perfectly diabolical in its satanic expression. 
 
 After a time he removed the- spirit lamp from under the retort, and put upon it 
 its glass cap, and extinguished it ; then he poured cold water over the bulb of the 
 retort to cool it, and was soon able to handle it. He took from it three drops of a 
 greenish thick fluid, and poured them one by one into a pint bottle of wine. He 
 then held the wine up to the light, and looked at it scrutinizingly. 
 
 " No," he said, *' it is to tlie full as clear as it was, and yet what a deadly 
 draught it will be. What an enemy to life would but a small portion of the 
 liquor now become. She shall bid adieu to the world by its means. I will not 
 try to induce her to take it, but I will leave it with her, and at some moment 
 when she feels faint both in body and in spirit she will fancy that a glass of the 
 wine will revive her ; and then, Grace, you will be no more, and I shall escape 
 from the perplexity of an affair which, if it go on much longer, will be certain to 
 end in my destruction." 
 
 He carefully corked the bottle, and then dashed dust upon it to give it an ap- 
 pearance of age. He dragged it through a cobweb that was in a corner by the 
 then he said—'* This shall be the death draught of my fair 
 
 roof of his room, and 
 cousin, Grace.' 
 
 CHAPTER CLXl.' 
 
 PHILLIP'S DISGl'ISB. 
 
 We will take a look at Grace Manning in the "prison-house to which the 
 villany of her cousin Phillip had consigned her in that sweet spring-tide of her 
 existence. She" almost began to despair of aid. , 
 
 It was a room in which she was now confined. Phillip had blindfolded her 
 thrice, and changed the apartment in which he kept her prisoner. He was
 
 693 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 afraid to let her be long in one place, partly for fear she should concoct some 
 plan of escape from it, and partly lest Borae one else might find her. Each of 
 these times that he had changed her abode he had taken her into the open air to 
 make her believe that she had gone to another house entirely ; but she had smelt 
 the odour of flowers, and she felt quite convinced from the feel of the ground, and 
 the character of the air, that she had only been traversing a garden, no doubt at- 
 tached to the house in which she had been in the first instance brought. 
 
 From all this manceavring one thing was quite evident, if e\en other cir- 
 cumstances had not tended to confirm it, and that:was, that Phillip Manning 
 was in a state of the greatest fear and tribulation for the consequences of his 
 
 eriminality. .. ,, . ,.,,,,, 
 
 Upon the occasion of his last visit to the house m which he had her m 
 durance—that visit, in the making of which he had successfully foiled both 
 Jack and Dick— he had us«d the most awful threats towards her. 
 
 **Your life," he said, "is in your own hands. You will, if you please, 
 easily force me to become your executioner. If you are so vindictive as still 
 to assert you will ruin me with your father, by telling him all that has really 
 happened, what can you expect but that, in common self defence, I should pre- 
 fer to kill you in this place ?" ,.,.,« , , . , ,i 
 
 " I will tell the truth, and the whole truth/ said Grace ; " nothmg shall 
 induce me to depart from it.'' 
 
 *' Wretched girl, do you not tremble ?" 
 
 ** No, Phillip ; but I can well perceive that you do so. 
 
 " And so, you even dare to taunt me ?" 
 
 " It is not^taunting. I tell you that I will intercede for you with my father, 
 if, even nowj'^you restore me to him. I will say for you, in asking him for 
 mercy, what I can." 
 
 *' Mercy ! What do you mean by mercy ? What do you expect as the re- 
 sult of your intercession? tell me that; and let me judge of what I am to ex- 
 pect from you. Speak to me fully— your life hangs upon a thread." 
 
 "By my intercession T hope that my father may be induced to spare you from 
 that legal prosecution which your crimes merit. I do not know what the laws 
 of your country would condemn you to for this great iniquity, but I would make 
 an efFoit to spare you that." i • • ... 
 
 <* Yes, and leave me to disgrace and destitution ! 
 
 « It is you, Phillip, who will leave yourself to disgrace. No one caa lift the 
 disgrace of such acts as yours off the shoulders of him who perpetrates them. 
 As for destitution, I do not think that my father would let you starve, whatever 
 might be his abhorrence of your crimes. Perhaps m some other land you might 
 live a life of repentance.'* 
 
 Phillip laughed loudly and discordantly. .„ t i 
 
 c "No, girl,'* he said; "upon one condition only will 1 place you in your 
 father's arms : it is, that you will point to me as your preserver, and accuse that 
 man who is now in Newgate upon the charge of your abduction, of really being 
 the person who tore you from home. I will then ask your father for a sufficient 
 sum of money, which no doubt his grateful feelings will prompt him to give me, 
 and with it I will leave England for ever. When I am gone you can tell what 
 tale you like ; so that, after all, it will only be costing your father a few thousands, 
 and that is no harm to him." 
 
 " No, Phillip, no.*' 
 
 "You will not r 
 
 « I dare not.'* 
 
 " What do you mean by dare not ? Who is to hinder you, fool that you are ? 
 What do you mean by dare not ?" 
 
 " I dare not go to my father with an untruth upon my lips, even for one 
 hour.'* 
 
 " Then die in you obstinacy, idiot, for die you shall !*' 
 
 '* Heaven help me ! '*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 693 
 
 ** Heaven ! Ha ! ha ! Wait for Heaven to help you until you lie and rot. 
 Ha ! ha ! I have you now ; but it is only to bind more tightly around you the 
 meshes of my power, and to lake more effectual steps for the destruction of him 
 who had the audacity to intefere with me m the country lane. To-morrow I 
 will visit you again, and if I do not find you more tractable, that day will be your 
 last in this world." 
 
 With these words, and without waiting for an answer, for anything she said 
 was gall and wormwood to him, he left the house, and full of dark and evil 
 thoughts he made his may to London again. 
 
 It was after this visit to Grace, that feeling how utterly impossible it was to 
 move her from her fixed integrity of thought and action, he fairly made up his 
 mind to her murder. Then it was that he drugged the wine, which he hoped 
 would be a speedy means of relieving him from her presence in this world. 
 
 But notwithstanding all that was happening to them, in the meantime Jack and 
 Dick were not unmindful of the principle business they had in hand, namely, the 
 rescue of Claude from Newgate, by the thorough establishment of his innocence 
 as regarded the abduction of Grace. 
 
 By establishing that fact, they not only anticipated an instant order from Judge 
 Manning for his release, but they hoped that in the judge they should make for 
 him (Claude) such a friend, as upon some other important occasion might really 
 stand him in good stead. 
 
 They were both at the spot in Islington, from whence they could command a 
 good view of the cottage, where Phillip Manning wsnt to put on his disguise, long 
 before the hour at which they expected him to make his appearance there. 
 
 "Do you know, Dick," said Jack, " I scarcely ever felt so nervous in all my 
 life as I do now, about the probable fate of that young girl. It seems as if some- 
 thing whispered to me, that to a certainty that rascal would take her life in spite 
 of us.*' 
 
 •* No, no, Jack, if he come here, you may depend she yet lives ; and so sure as 
 he does come she shall be saved, for we can then take pretty good care not to 
 lose sight of the villain. I grant you if he were not to come, I should have the 
 most dismal forebodings upon the subject.'* 
 
 '* Alas ! Dick, if you began to have forebodings, I should feel and have certain- 
 ties. I hope to God it will not be so. Ah ! what a delightful thing. There he 
 is, Dick." 
 
 " Sure enough. All's right. Yes, that is the fellow. What has he got in that 
 bag, I wonder 2'* 
 
 " Some provisions, or a fresh disguise for himself.*' 
 
 " Perhaps both, Jack ; but as we are pretty sure there is no one in that bit of 
 a crib, which we may call for convenience sake Phillip's cottage, but himself, we 
 will follow whoever comes out of it, let them be in appearance what they may. 
 We have already had evidence that Master Phillip is a skilful actor, and we posi- 
 tively must not let him do us again. Jack." 
 
 " We will not." 
 
 Phillip advanced with the utmost possible caution. He seemed quite to have 
 some sort of notion that he was being followed, for he looked many times behind 
 him, and passed the cottage twice before he ventured upon going up to the door 
 of it, and opening it with the key he took from his pocket. 
 
 When he did open the door though, he disappeared within the cottage, and 
 closed it again with truly marvellous celerity. 
 
 '' Good,'* said Dick. " We have him now. Jack, as safely as though he were 
 in our hands. I will now go up the lane opposite and hide for him, while you 
 come after him, but at such a distance as shall take off all idea that you are after 
 him. Don't you look for me, as I will keep an eye upon you as you come up 
 the lane, and join you in good time." 
 U, " That will do, Dick. Good luck go with you." 
 
 "That it certainly ought to do now. Jack, for this is, to tel Itbe honest' truth, 
 rather a difficult sort of adventure to those that generally engage our attention!
 
 694 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 For the love of everything now, mind whatever you do, that you don't follow 
 Phillip too closely.'* 
 
 " Trust me." 
 
 Dick at once started over the way, and in a careless manner, for fear Phillip 
 should be looking from the window of the cottage, he stalked up the lane. It is 
 highly probable, however, that he might have gone in any way he liked, for 
 Phillip was by far too busy with his own disguise, to pay the remotest attention 
 just then to anything else. 
 
 We will in the forthcoming adventure watch the conduct and proceedings of 
 Phillip, leaving our friends to act as their good feeling and judgment may direct 
 them in the defence of the beautiful young girl who was in such danger. 
 
 Phillip then quite satisfied himself, before he went into the cottage, that no- 
 body saw him, so that when he did get in, he thought he had nothing in the 
 world to do but to put on the disguise with which he was in the habit of going 
 up the lane ; but upon this occasion, having a horrible guilty knowledge of what 
 he meant to do, he shook to that degree, that it was with the greatest possible 
 difficulty he could put on the apparel, which was to make such a transformation 
 in his appearance. 
 
 In about double the time, however, that he usually took to make^ the change, 
 he did at length effect it, and then placing the drugged bottle of wiue in a small 
 hand-basket, he, with that upon Jiis arm, left the cottage. 
 
 Now he did not look to the right or to the left, far he felt confident in his 
 disguise, and he really believed that the only person he had to deal with was 
 Grace herself. He went across the road quickly and up the lane as fast as it 
 was at all prudent to go, considering that he personated an old woman, and 
 perhaps a little faster. 
 
 The inhabitants of a few of the cottages at the commencement of the lane, had 
 got to know him through seeing him several times, and one said, as he went 
 along — 
 
 •' Well, old Goody, how are you to-day ?*' 
 
 " Poorly, poorly," replied Phillip, in a very well acted voice indeed, as he 
 went on. 
 
 He then pursued his way until he came to ihe pailings of the garden of the 
 large house that was to let, and then he slackened his pace and only crept along-. 
 He pretended to be gathering something in the hedge, but in reality he was care- 
 fully looking about him to see if any one were at hand. After getting in this 
 way a handful of chickweed, he quickened his pace a little, still skirting the 
 pailings. 
 
 It was well that Dick was capitally hidden, and it was well that Jack was not 
 too hasty in following Phillip, so as to come into sight before the rascal got 
 housed; for if he had, withouf. the smallest doubt, Phillip would have turned back, 
 and posponed his visit to Grace for that day. 
 
 Everything, however, happened as it was wished to happen, and after a few 
 minutes more skulking along the pailings, he suddenly whipped a little key out of 
 his pocket, and opening a small door in it, disappeared in an instant. 
 
 " I am safe here," he said, as he closed the little door, and locked it on the 
 inside. 
 
 It was rather curious that ai that moment Dick popped from behind a hay- 
 stack in a meadow on the other side of the lane, and said— 
 
 ♦* Now he's nabbed." 
 
 The place where Phi IMp now found himself, was in truth a neglected galrden. 
 The trees had grown tall and strong, ttie shrubs had got wild and straggling, and 
 the flowers had run in all directions, disdaining cultivated art, and rapidly lap- 
 sing into their original wild habit*. 
 
 To him the place had no charms either of retrospection or anticipation. All 
 he knew and felt was, that he had come thera to commit a murdter, and that each 
 moment, although he felt his nerves fearlully shaken, he likewise felt more and 
 more inclined to do the deed.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 695 
 
 There was nothing whatever to interrupt him, and he made his way, regardless 
 of the remains of the old pathway, towards the house, which, with its weather- 
 stained walls and its closed windows, looked grim and desolate. 
 
 "There was a murder, they say, committed in this house once," mutt erred 
 Phillip Manning, as he reached its threshold; " and so no one will live ia it. 
 Now there will be two. Yes, now there will be two ; for nothing can, and nothing 
 shall, save Grace Manning from death to-day. She sliali never be a witness 
 against me." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXII. 
 
 STARTLMTG INCIDENTS. 
 
 So said Phillip. 
 
 f'She shall never be a witness against me; and nothing can, and nothing shall 
 save Grace Manning from death !" Impious man ! did he think that Heaven 
 slumbered while he was about to destroy one of its masterpieces of creation ? 
 
 B'^fore he crossed the threshold of the house, he placed his hand up to his eyes, 
 and took a long look around the garden. He felt quite satisfied tliat he had 
 it all to himself. Like Alexander Selkirk, the original Robinson Crusoe, he might 
 have said — 
 
 " I am monarch of all I gurvey." 
 
 " 'Tis well," he muttered. *' I alw/iys thought that even the highest crimes 
 could be committed with perfect ease if people were but commonly careful. I 
 shall do this deed and no one will be a bit the wiser. Indeed it is as good as 
 done^ and beneath that mttlberry-tree I will bury the only mute witness of my 
 crime. Yes, there shall the body of Grace lie and rot while I comfort her father's 
 and my uncle's declining years, bidding him look upon me as a son, although he 
 has lost his only dauighter. Then of course grief will soon kill him after he has 
 made a will in my favour, leaving me all his property, which is truly immense, . 
 find I shall have my heart's desire— unbounded means of enjoyment. Oh, how 
 1 will play the tyrant and trample on all who come within my power." 
 
 While he indulged in this day-dream, he was fumbling in his pockets for a key 
 to open tke door of the house with. He found it at last, and then he disappeared 
 whin the ill-omened structure that had earned so bad a name and which he 
 fully intended should from that day be entitled to a worse one. 
 
 He did not fasten the door behind him. What was the use ? He was so 
 very safe. 
 
 The hall in which he now was consisted of a jarge space, paved with alternate 
 black and white marble squares, and from the centre of this hall sprang the 
 principal staircase of the house. There was, however, numersus rooms opening 
 from the hall itself, and into one of those he went. Phillip never appeared in 
 his disguise before Grace. Re always felt that that would be useless, as a tone 
 — a look — a gesture might discover him, and probably would do so to one who 
 knew him so well as she did. Into one of these rooms, then, leading off from 
 the hall, he went, to get rid of his disguise. Wrapped up in the bottom of the 
 basket he had brought with him from the cottage was his coat, and that was the 
 only article he found necessary to alter his present appearance with. 
 
 In that side room, which had been a pretty enoui^jk looking breakfast-room, 
 he quickly effected the change in his apparel which he thought necessary, and 
 then, with the drugged bottle of wine and some biscuits he crept up the staircase. 
 Concealed in his breast was a doubie-bairelled pistol loaded carefully. 
 
 " Should she refuse the wine," he muttered, ''she shall die by a more viojeqt 
 means ; but in all cases die she shall." 
 
 The whole of the upper part of the house was in darkness, for P hillip had taken 
 great care to close all the shutters so that no ray of light should by^ any sort of
 
 696 OENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 accident reach the room in which poor Grace was kept a prisoner. That room 
 was an inner one, with but a small window to it. 
 
 " Now," he said, as he began to make his way towards her by unlocking the 
 door that led to the little room in which she was, "now I have a part to play and 
 we shall see whether the complaints that have been paid to me on the score of 
 my acting be genuine or not." 
 
 By the aid of a phosphorous match he got a light in the outer room. A half- 
 burnt candle stood in a piece of wood, by way of a candlestick, on the floor. He 
 ignited it; and then waiting a moment until it had burnt sufficiently to be beyond 
 tha danger of sudden extinction from being moved, he crept towards the actual 
 door of the room in which Grace was a captve. 
 
 He unlocked it and flung it oper.. Then shading the light from his eyes with 
 his hand, he called — 
 ,,. *' Grace ! Grace !" 
 
 There was no reply for the moment, and the idea that she had fled from the 
 house came across him like a death-pang. He rushed into the room. 
 
 •' Grace ! Grace ! Speak ! Speak, I charge you. I pray you do not 
 drive me mad by this silence ! Oh, you are Hiere 1" 
 
 She stood at some few paces from him, calm and still. 
 
 " Well, Phillip Manning,'* she said, " what would you with me ? T am here, 
 as you see." 
 
 " Yes," he said, and he trembled violently. *' I now see that you are here. 
 But— but why did you not speak to me at once ? It is no matter though. It is 
 no matter. Oh, Grace ! Grace ! Pity me !" 
 
 ** I do pity you." 
 
 " You do pity me V* 
 
 ** Ye?. Guilty creatures surely may well be pitied. May they not, Phillip 
 Manning?'' 
 
 '* Well, well, Grace— perhaps you are right. I have come to-day to '"you 
 with very different feelings from what I had when last I saw you. Then all the 
 evil passions of my soul were up in arms ; but better thoughts have since come 
 over me, Grace ; and if a true and a sincere repentance for what 1 have done, and 
 such atonement as I can make will — will " 
 
 .He affected that his feelings would not permit him to finish his speech ; but 
 placing the candle upon the chimney-piece he audibly sobbed. 
 
 " Is this change indeed sincere ? " said Grace. 
 
 " You may well, indeed, doubt it," added Phillip, pretending to speak with 
 great difficulty, and to gulp down his sobs as he did so. " You may well doubt 
 it, Grace ; but it is siocerci and you cunnot see a more wretched man than I. 
 Some demon surely must have possessed me to make me behave to you as I have 
 behaved. I cannot myself understand it.'* 
 
 " If, indeed, Phillip,'* said Grace, *' I could think that you had awakened to a 
 proper sense of your wickedness, it would not cost me an effort to forgive you.*' 
 
 '" Ah, can you be so good -so angelic V' 
 
 " You may prove to me your repentance by the commencement of your atone- 
 ment. When you restore me to Ihe arms of my father, 1 shall then, indeed, be- 
 lieve that you are sincere.'* 
 
 " I will do so. 1 have come now to do so. Without condition other than a 
 claim upon your pity, and your mercy, I have come now to tike you from this j 
 place, and to restore you to your father. la some other land, as you yourself 
 suggested to me when last we met, I shall hope to find that peace of mind which 
 will now for ever be denied to me in my own. You, Grace, will be my inter- 
 cessor with your father ; and while I feel that it will be impossible to say one 
 word in extenuation actually of my offence, still my bitter aai heart-felt repen- 
 tance may be pleaded.*' 
 
 " And it will not be pleaded in vain." 
 
 " Ah, think you so ? What happy words !*' 
 
 " I am certain of it. But do not delay. Phillip. Take me home at once, and
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 697 
 
 for yourself fear nothing. I will raaVe it the first of my requests to my father to 
 forgive you, and to make some sort of provision for you out of England. Let 
 us go now at once, I implore you. Every moment that I remain here is another 
 moment of misery to me, and of deep anxiety to my father." 
 
 "Ah !'* said Phillip, wiping his eyes^ '* how well I can un d cis i : i ll;? enxi 
 
 CLAUDE, WHILE KSCAPING FROM NEWGATF, FINDS PHILLIP MANNING A PRISONER. 
 
 Come, you shall take a biscuit and one gla^s of wine t') strengthen you, my much 
 injured cousin, and tlien we vvill be off." * ' 
 
 " No, no ; I want nothing." 
 
 '* Yes, you do : I feel certain that after even the few days on^y tl^at you have 
 passed here you must be weak and ill. You wiil find that when you" get out into 
 
 M«. R«
 
 693 GENTLEMAN JACK: OR, 
 
 the fresh open air you will be ready to faiat away. But one biscuit, soaked in a 
 drop of wine, will restore you, and keep up your strength and courage/* 
 
 '* I have no need of courage now, Phillip, that you have repented ; and 
 strength I feel I have enough." 
 
 ** Nay, but " 
 
 " Excuse me, Phillip; I will not drink ; I have a great objection to wine— I 
 do not like it. Do not ask me." 
 
 ** To oblige me, Grace. Only one sip— just a sip will be sufficient. You will 
 not, surely, make a quarrel between us at such a moment as this, and for such a 
 trifle as the taking or the refusing a glass of wine ? Surely you would not run the 
 risk of throwing me back again into my former frame of mind regarding you for 
 such a trifle ?" 
 
 " Your repentance, Phillip, must be but skin-deep, indeed, if it can vanish 
 because I refuse a glass of wine." • 
 
 "Well, well, that is an uncommonly true remark. But jet you will take the 
 wine?" 
 
 « No, Phillip." 
 
 " Curses on you ! You shall take it ! " 
 
 " Ah, Philip, now I know you again !" 
 
 ** Know me again P What do you mean V 
 
 '* I mean that from the first I knew that your pretended grief and repentance 
 only served as a cloak to hide some object. Why, you cannot evea deceive a 
 poor simple girl like myself. Your grand object to-day is to get me to drink 
 that wine, and I will not take one drop of it. No, Phillip, I tell you, no ; I will 
 not taste it.'* 
 
 •' Wretched girl ! Have you twenty lives, that you feel you can afford to trifle 
 with them in this way ? If I be not a repentant man, you shall, in go&d truth, 
 find that I am a desperate one. The question between us is your life or mine ; 
 and I tell yon now, Grace, that, with all your youth^and all your beauty, your 
 last hour has now come !" 
 
 '« If it be the will of Heaven, it has." 
 
 " It is my will — that is now sufiicieat." 
 
 She burst into tears. 
 
 *' Oh, Phillip,*' she said, *'you cannot be so very wicked as to take amMy life. 
 If even now there are times when you feel as though you would give ajaything for 
 innocence of mind and purpose, what will be your feelings wrhen you have done 
 murder ? Ordiaary crimes may, in some measure, be atoned for ; but who shall 
 restore the dead? Wko shall bid the grave give up its tenant, because the mur- 
 derejp is repentant 1 Pause, Phillip, for your own sake, .pause, before you commit 
 iigiaiaet that is, in its awful consequences, irrevocable. Spare my life — oh, spare 
 rin< Phillip 1" 
 
 <'No; curses on you! You have yourself goaded me to this act, and you 
 shall die.*' 
 
 *' No, no — oh, God! — no.'' 
 
 " I say yes. There is no help for you. You are shut out from all the world. 
 If you and I were upon some desolate island in the midat of the great sea we 
 could not possibly be more isolated than we are from all human nature. You 
 may cry, pray, rave, and shriek, but there is no help for you. You are my vic- 
 tim — it is a settled thing. You have rejected the terms upon which I offered you 
 your life and freedom, and I will kill you. You have your choice — poison or a 
 bullet r* 
 
 He took the pistol from his breast-pocket as he spoke. The young girl clasped 
 her hands before her face, and sank upon her knees in a paroxysm of terror. 
 
 " Spare me ! — spare me !" 
 
 *' Will you drink the wiwe?" 
 
 "I cannot. I dare not.*' 
 
 " Then there is but one other alternative —you will die a more violent death ; 
 but die you must, and shall, I say, that there is but one other alternative—" \ 
 
 )i uii .i I 1 . ■ ' »"■ ■■ ' ■ ■» '■ ■>«ML i . .. . . ' J ii- I j i M i ■ Ajui..i.mn » . i ,uwjj .i . »> j l i ii' i n» . uiw i '-■u i i> i i«w«i i . i ''*U, i il f li - « .iii i iiiii» ii l l fr ^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 690 
 
 ♦* Liar !" cried a voice of thunder ; and in a momeni Dick Turpin, as though 
 he had been shot out of a cannon, sprang upon Phillip, and knocked him to the 
 floor. 
 
 ** Hush !* cried Jack. *• Have you got him ?" 
 
 •' All's right/' said Dick. " Twist the pis ol out of his hand. T hat will do, 
 Jack. Why I do believe I have knocked all the breath out of him. Cheer up, 
 my lass — cheer up.*' 
 
 ''Gr'ce has fainted," said Jack. 
 
 Dick gnt hold of Phillip by the throat, and there he held him, while Jack tied 
 his hands securely, so that he was quite incapable of further mischief. He did 
 not speak a word, but looked from one to the other of tUem, like a man only half 
 awakened from some dreadful dream. 
 
 " Murder ! — murder ! — mercy .'" he cried. '* Oh, murder ! Help !— help !" 
 
 " Why, you vag?.bond !" said Dick, " it is we who ought to cry murder. But 
 your career is over now, and you may as well take your fate easy, for hung you 
 will be to all intents and purposes." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXHL 
 
 A MOST UNEXPECTED CATASTROPHE. 
 
 Phillip Manning was not tke sort of man 'o attend to Dick's advice, of taking 
 his fate easily. So long as he was at all successful in the prosecution of his 
 villany, he got on amazingly, and was upon the most capital terms with himself; 
 but the instant any reverse happened he was lost to all firmness, and gave himself 
 up to despair. 
 
 "Kill me — kill rar-, at once!" he cvied. 'Mt will now be nothing but slow 
 death to me for the time to come.'' 
 
 " Very well," said Dick. " I will blow out your brains in a moment, since 
 you are so good as to request such a thing, which ia very liberal upon yo.ir part ; 
 for it certainly will save a deal of trouble to society at large, and cheat the 
 hangman." 
 
 •' Oh, no — no—no !" shouted Phillip Manning, when he saw Dick draw a pistol 
 from his pocket. '* Oh, no — no, I did not mean it — indeed T did not mean it. 
 i cannot die. Let mo cling to life while I may. Oh, spare mc !" 
 
 ** Miserable wretch I" said Dick. " Do you fancy for one moment that I would 
 have your death upon my shoulders ? No, I know well enough that you would 
 not have the courage to allow me to do more than to show you the weapon of 
 deatli. The law will wind up the miserabio thread of your exl-'tence." 
 
 Piiiliip licked his lips, and with a g.oan he spoke to Grace, saying to her, 
 whose life by that time he would no doubi have taken, if he had not been 
 hindered from so doing by Dick and Jack — 
 
 " Oh, cousm Grace, say something for me. Tell them to let me go. I — I did 
 hot intend to harm you. It was only a joke, after all." 
 
 "The best joke will be when you are hung,'' ssid Dick. "Don't speak to 
 him, Miss Manning. You should not condescend now to say one word to such 
 a man. His murderous intentions as regarded you were only too apparent." 
 
 Grace shuddered as she replied to Dick — 
 
 " Ye?/' she said, " but for you and your friend he would have no doubt have 
 kdled me; I feel now 1 ke one rescued from the grave, and can hardly believe in 
 the reality of this scene.*' 
 
 " I don't wonder at that, Miss Manning," said Jack ; "but you will soon be 
 in the arms of your father, and then you will, indeed, feel that, in reality, you 
 are rescued from this bad man, who would have murdered you, mereiy to 
 cover his lesser crime of imprisoning you in this dismal place." 
 
 " Yes," said Dick, " in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, murder is done to
 
 700 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 cover the consequences of some other crime, which, compared to it, is a piece of 
 the most unblemished and spotless innocence. But come. Jack, let uj be going; 
 I will take care of Master Phillip, and ao you escort Miss Grace." 
 
 This was, no doubt, a politic arrangement, as far as it went, for he, Dick, was 
 much better qualified to hold a tight grip of Phillip Manning than Jack was, while 
 Jack could very well escort Grace. 
 
 At first Phillip could not be got to move. He flung himself upon his knees, 
 and, in the most abject manner possible, begged for that mercy and consideration 
 which he never yet showed to any one. • 
 
 *' Spare me," he cried, "and you will not — you shall not repent of doing so. 
 Only let me go, and I promise you all most solemnly that I will leave England 
 at once, and no one shall ever hear of me again. In some other country I will 
 bitterly repent of my past errors. Oh, what will be the good, now that Grace is 
 rescued, of bringing me to juitice ?*" 
 
 Grace would willingly enough have listened to the appeal of the abject wretch, 
 and she looked at Dick, as much as to say, " Shall it be as he says 1" Dick 
 understood her, and, shaking his head, he said, — 
 
 " No, no. Miss Manning, you leave this fellow to your father ; he will do 
 what ig right and proper ; but at present I consider that, until he decides what is 
 to be done with Philip, we ought, none of us, to interfere iu his fate. It is our 
 duty to give him up to your father, whom he has so bitterly offended, and he alone 
 should decide upon his fate." 
 
 This reasoning was so clear and conclusive, that it quite convinced Grace, who 
 no longer looked imploringly at Dick, in favour of Phillip. She carefully avoided 
 the looks of Phillip at all ; and Jack offering her his arm, they all left the room 
 together. To be sure, Dick had some difficulty m making Phillip v^alk, but finding 
 such to be the case, he whispered to him,— 
 
 "If you positively will not come along, I can only tell you that my friends tell 
 me I am a very short-tempered man ; and when you or 1 least expect it, I may 
 lose patience, and blow your brains out ; so be warned, I won't answer for ray- 
 self ; and after this, whatever happens in that sort of way, you have only your own 
 obstinacy to thank for it, and you lose your chance of the judge acting with any 
 degree of cWmency towards you, on account of your relatiouBhip to hina and his 
 daughter.** 
 
 " Oh 1 yes, yes," said Phillip, catching, or pretending to catch at the idea ; 
 " how very good and kind you all are to me !" 
 
 ** Hold your row,'* said Dick. 
 
 •* Yes, but I was only saying how very grateful I am to you. It is such a good 
 idea, that of yours, about the relationship. Of course, it would not be pleasant 
 to the judge to have his nephew hung — would it ?" 
 
 " It would be to me, if I were he. There's nothing would give me so much 
 real gratification." 
 
 " You don't mean that — you really don*t mean that ?'* 
 
 " Indeed, but I do, though." 
 
 *' But I thought you thought the judge might be merciful to me, on account of 
 my being hi» nephew V 
 
 «' Yeo, he may do such a foolish thing as take that into his account, but I 
 would not ; and all I said to you was that if I had to blow your brains out pre- 
 viously, you lost the chance — that is all.** 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear sir, I quite understand you ; and how very facetiously you 
 put it too," 
 
 "I put it facetiously! Now, I consider that to be an insult, Mr. Phillip. I 
 never was facetious in all my life." 
 
 •' No, no, ceitainly not. I did not mean facetious, my dear sir — not at all. 
 God bless me, no. I meant that — that you put it quite — quite " 
 
 <* Seriously ?" 
 
 *' Yes ; ah ! seriously, to be sure. That was it — that was what I meant, of
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 701 
 
 course. I'm so much obliged to you, you can't think, for being so good as to 
 suggest to aie what I really did think." 
 
 Dick made a gesture of impatieaj •. The fulso ne and disgusting adulation of 
 Phillip was too much for his patience. 
 
 *• I wish I had given him to you. Jack," he saiJ, " to take care of; you would, 
 perhaps, have had more patience with him than I am blessed with.'' 
 
 '* No," said Jack, •' I .really don't think I should. 1 have a tolerable stock 
 of patience under ordinary circumstances, I fully admit ; but 1 think it would fail 
 in the company of such a man as Phillip Manning. So do you keep him, Dick, 
 to yourself, for, in good trutli, I don't at all Avant him." 
 
 They now made the best of their way out of the house, and Grace could not 
 refrain from shedding tears of joy, as she once again found herself in safety and 
 in the garden. The sight of the trees and the flowers — always agreeable and 
 affecting objects as they are to the sensitive and educated mind — -was to her one 
 of the richest of treats ; and notwithstanding that garden had gone to such decay 
 as it had, she saw a thousand beauties in every struggling plant that spent its 
 luxuriance in that deserted place. 
 
 *' They say a murder was committed in the house long ago," said Jack ; " and 
 that that is the rea-ison why it is deserted." 
 
 ** Alas !" sighed Grace. " The poor murdered one had not such friends as Hea- 
 ven sent to me." 
 
 *' Yes," said Jack; ** no doubt Phillip would have added to the evil repute of 
 the place by your death likewise, had not our anxiety, both for you and for our 
 friend, brought us early upon his track." 
 
 "Anxiety for your friend? Can it be true, as Phillip told me, that the gentle- 
 man who rescued me from Phillip in the country lane is prison on my account ?" 
 
 " It is too true." 
 
 " That gives me truly a heart-pang. Oh, let us hasten that we may rescue 
 him. My father will not lose one moment in procuring his release ; and such 
 rich compensation as he can make to him for the great injustice that has been 
 done him, he will make, you may be assured." 
 
 " Of that," replied Jack, '* we are quite certain." 
 
 By this time they had got into the little lase, and they soon emerged from that 
 info the high street of the then suburban Islington, where Dick's object was to 
 procure, as quickly as possible, some conveyance to London, They stopped at 
 an old inn — then it was an old inn, but now, to the regret of all lovers of the past, 
 it is gone — and inquired for a post-chaise. 
 
 The Angel, for that was the name of the inn — it was no where near the site of 
 the modern Angel Inn at Islington — could only produce one vehicle of the sort; 
 and as Jack did not choose that Phillip should^ride in the same vehicle with Q-race, 
 they had to get another chaise from another inn, and so, the two vehicles keeping 
 tolerably close together, they set off for the house of Judge Manning : Grace and 
 Jack being in one, and Dick with his prisoner in the another. 
 
 The greatest depression seemed to seize hold of Phillip as they neared London. 
 He began to reflect upon the rigidly just character of the old Judge, and to fear 
 that, notwithstanding the relations'iip, he would let the law take its course as re* 
 garded him, PhiUip. His principal hope rested in the expectation that, despite 
 the character of his conduct to her, the gentle disposition of Grace might induce 
 her to plead for him to her father. Of course, anything like a re-instalment in 
 his former condition he now felt was impossible; and, like some ruined and 
 disappointed gimbler who has played a stake with fortMne and lost, he let his head 
 rest upon his hands, and groaned aloud. 
 
 " Those who commit such acts as yours," said Dick, ** should make up their 
 minds to the consequences of detection. Whining will do you no good." 
 
 *' I aaa lost— lost!" 
 
 ** Probably enough; — but here we are at the house of your uncle, and to him 
 I will deliver you. If he like to let you go, well and good. I shall consider it 
 no affair of mine, although I shall think it a scandalous shame." ,
 
 7Q2 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CLXIV. 
 
 CLAUDE IS FULLY LIBERATED, AND YET CHANGES IllS CONDITION FOR THE 
 WORSE IN ONE HOUR. 
 
 The two post-chaises stopped simultaneously at the judge's door, and one of 
 the drivers knocked loudly. The agitation of Grace was extreme, and she at once 
 sprang from the vehicle, crying, in a voice shaken by her feelings — 
 
 " Father ! father !— Where is my father?" 
 
 The servants in the hall were delighted to see her; and for some few moments 
 they were so astonished at her sudden arrival, that they could do nothing but 
 crowd around her, without answering one of her anxious question as to whether 
 her father was within or not. She could bear the suspense no longer, but break- 
 ing away from them she rapidily ascended the staircase. She knew that if her 
 father were within he would be in his study, which was a small room at the back 
 of the house, for quiet sake, where he spent a great portion of the time that he 
 had to spare from his official duties. 
 
 It was thither, then, that on the ' wings of affection * she sped. 
 
 The door of thelittle study was shut ; and, overcome for a moment or two by 
 her feelings, Grace was compelled to pause at it before she could summons strength 
 enough to open it. It must be recollected too, that she had been greatly weak- 
 ened by the few days imprisonment she had endured in the deserted house. In- 
 deed, nothing but the natural elasticity of youthful strength and spirits had kept 
 her up so well as she had maintained herself. After a few moments she recovered 
 herself sufficiently to ©pen th^^ door gently. 
 
 Her father was there I 
 
 The old judge was leaning upon the study table with his head resting upon his 
 hands. He did not hear the study-door open. His thoughts at that moment were 
 ^ith his child ; and he was asking himsef if he should ever in this world again 
 have ihe joy of looking into her eyes, and of blessing her. 
 
 Grace gently touched his arm. 
 
 « Father!'' she said. 
 
 If a spark of elictricity had produced the effect the judge could not have started 
 from his seat with greater precipitancy than he did. 
 
 *' Do not mock me !" he'cried. <' Oh, do not mock me. Who called me father J> 
 I have, alas ! no child now." 
 
 " Yes, yes !" cried Grace, as she flung herself into his arras. *' Yes, father, 
 yes. I have come back to you. I am your own child. Your Grace. Look 
 at me." 
 
 There are ecenes and situations which it would be profanity for the pen of the 
 novelist to linger to depicf. Such scenes should be sacred. In the deep recesses of 
 every human heart there are affections and passions which no language can paint. 
 Over the interview between the father aid child so happily restored to him, we 
 draw for a time a veil. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 While this was going on within the judge's house, Dick and Jack had dismissed 
 one of the coaches, and both of them sat in the other along with Phillip Manning, 
 who, now that he found himself f irly at his uncle's door, appeared ready to go 
 mad with shame and vexation. 
 
 Had he not been well secured there is no knowing what act of desperation he 
 might not have been guilty of. 
 
 " I envy the feelings of Judge Manning, now," said Jack to Dick. <* It is 
 almost worthwhile to have suffered what lie must have suffered, to feel the joy 
 that he must now feel, in the restoration of his child." 
 
 '* You are right, Jack ; it is really worth while. We never know real ioy but 
 by its contra^ with some previously experienced misery, so you see, Jack, these 
 folks who tell>us that pleasure in this world, is of itself merely a negative, imply-
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 703 
 
 — . _ _ . 5P- . 
 
 ing the absence of pain, as night implies merely the absence of day, are about 
 ri ght." 
 
 " I think they are quite rip^ht,'* said Jack. 
 
 " Listen to me," said Phillip. 
 
 ** Well, say on,'' replied Dick. 
 
 " You have now restored Grace to her father. By her testimony, of course, 
 your friend who is in Newgate, vvill be free, and so you will have accomplished 
 all your wishes. I will give you £lO0 if you will let rae go." 
 
 "No/* said Dick. 
 
 *' No," said Jack. 
 
 " I will give you £200. — Yes, I will make it ^200. I have some little savings 
 and I will make it into £200. 
 
 *' I would not let you go," said Dick, "if you were to make it two hundred 
 hundred, so you may spare yourself the trouble of increasing your offer." 
 
 ''Lost! lost! lost!" cried Phillip. 
 
 " You may be lost. But if you are hanged, society will be considerably the 
 gainer in the long run by your loss, I only wish your uncle would come out and 
 say what is to be done with you, now at once.'* 
 
 " He comes," cried Jack. '' He and Grace. Look Dick, look at the old 
 man's face. Did you ever see such an expression of satisfaction ? I'll warrant 
 now that Grace has told him all." 
 
 " Not a doubt of it." 
 
 Jack was right ; Grace had in a few words told her father all, and he was 
 conaiug to the chaise to thank and to welcome those who had brought back the 
 joy of his heart to him, by bringing back his child. 
 
 They both, that is Dick and Jack, alighted to meet him, and he embraced them, 
 while with tears standing in his eyes, like sentinels over his feelings, he thanked 
 them over and over again. 
 
 *' I do not know," he said, ^' I cannot know how I shall be able to repay 
 to you the obligation I owe you, but be assured that you will not be able to draw 
 too largely upon my gratitude. Come in both of youj come into this house, 
 which at all times, I beg you to consider your own." 
 
 " Phillip, is in the carriage, sir," said Dick. 
 
 *' Yes, I have given orders concerning the prisoner.'* 
 
 "Uncle, uncle !" cried Phillip, from the carriage, when he saw that the judge 
 was fairly going away without so much as exchanging a word with him. " Uncle I 
 uncle ! 1 want to speak to you !" 
 
 *' Yes," added the judge, continuing his conversation with Jack and Dick, as 
 though there was no such person as Phillip in the world. '• Yes, I beg that you 
 will both henceforward reckon me as a friend who may always be relied upon.'' 
 
 *' Uncle— uncle ! Good God, uncle ! — will you not speak to me ?" 
 
 "And likewise your friend, who is now so unjustly confined in Newgate. It 
 will be my study to make him the most ample compensation." 
 
 "Grace — Grace! Oh, speak for me. Uncle — uncle! you will drive me mad 
 if you say nothing to me." 
 
 "And believe me," added the judge, as they all four reached the door of the 
 house together. " And believe me, the unjust detention of your friend shall 
 terminate within the succeeding hour to this.'* 
 
 PhiUip raised his voice to a shriek, but the judge would take no more notice of 
 him than he did of one of the post-horses. A couple of stout lackeys caine 
 out of the house, and one got on the box of the coach with the driver, to whom 
 he gave some directions. I he other sprang into the vehicle and seated him ■ 
 self opposite to Phillip, and then away they all went, Phillip's cries and shrieks to 
 his uncle, to take some sort of notice of him, dying away in the distance. 
 
 Both Jack and Dick were inexpressibly amused at this mode of treatment to 
 Phillip upon the part of his uncle, for it was certainly the very best that could have 
 been devised, inasmuch aii any conversation or altercation with him would really 
 have been a humiliation to any one. They would neither of them say one word
 
 70F GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 to the judge about him, and if Grace had in any way interceded for him they were 
 quite delighted to find that such intercession had had no effect upon the just 
 resolves of the father, for that Phillip had gone oft" to prison they did not fjr one 
 moment doubt. 
 
 Refreshments were immediately ordered for Dick and Jack, but the former spoke 
 to the judge, saying — 
 
 " In truth, sir, the most refreshing thing to us in all the world now would be to 
 see our friend free from prison." 
 
 "That you will see shortly,'* said the judge ; "but you know that, in all these 
 affairs, there are certain forms to go through, which even I cannot disptnse with. 
 I have, however, sent my secretary to tee into the matter, with instructions that 
 there should be no delay." 
 
 *' That is sufficient, sir.'* 
 
 '• Make yourselves quite easy. Tou will soon be introduced to your friend." 
 
 Both Jack and Dick fully expected to see Claude come into the house soon, but 
 presently the sound of carriage- wheels without sounded upon iheir ears, and the 
 ji.dge rising, said — . ♦ 
 
 " Will you now accompany me upon the business of taking your friend from 
 durance ?" . 
 
 They were both wilh'ng enough to go upon such an errand, and would have 
 bidden adieu to Grace, b,ut the judge interposed, saying— 
 
 " No — no. , You and your friend, who will soon, be a free man, shall come 
 back here and pass a few hours with me. I want to learn, so far 28 you will tell 
 me, who and what you all are, in order that I may best know in what way 1 can 
 be of service to you." . „ ♦ , , J r* 
 
 Dick and Jack exchanged significant glances at this. It would be no easy 
 niatler to say to a man in Judge Manning's official position, " Why, sir, we are 
 highwaymen ; and the only good you can do us is not to give us into the hands 
 of the police.'* , , ., ; . . , , . ., ! 
 
 They both felt that this explanatory and confidential interview that the judge 
 promised himself with them" was to be courted, at any risk; Lut at that time 
 they said nothing, hoping that Claude, when they were once more united to him, 
 would think of some mode of getting handsomely av/ay. 
 
 With this feeling, then, they get into the judge's carriage, which they found 
 was w^aitirig at the door for them. They fally. expected to find themselves 
 trundling along towards Newgate, so they did not take any particular notice of 
 the route they were taking, until suddenly Jack looked out of the window, and 
 said,— 
 
 "Why, this is Bow Street •" 
 , " Bow Street !" said Jack.. " What do we want in Bow Street?* j 
 ' " I have yet to do an act of justice,** said the judge. *' As your, friend was by 
 me publicly accused of the crime of carrying off ray daughter, 1 think his excul- 
 pation from the charge ought to be public likewise. He wilL be brought 
 from Newgate to the police-office here, and I will publicly proclaim his 
 innocence," 
 
 Dick and Jack looked at et-ch other, but they did not say anything, although 
 if the tru^h were told they felt very uneasy at the idea of. this public exculpation, 
 and would have rather met Claude at the door of Newgate, and been off with him 
 at once to the country. 
 
 " Our friend," said Dick, " is very much obliged, and I am sure he viiW be 
 just the man to appreciate such a very delicate attention from you, sir ; but as I 
 know he has friends in the country, who are so anxious concerning him, I feel 
 assured he will esteem it a great favour to get away from the police-office as 
 quickly as may be consistent with your feelings on the subject.*' __ ^
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LlFfi ON THE ROAD. ..705 
 
 CHAPTER CLXV. 
 
 THE POLTCB OFFICE. — AN AWKWARD RE-ENCOUNTER. 
 
 The judge replied to Dick in the most courteous manner in the world, and 
 made a gratuitous off. r of his own carrifto'e to convey any or the whole of them 
 where they pleased, as soon as they had been at his hous3 for some time and 
 
 SEIZURE OF CICELY AT THE rARM-HOUSE. 
 
 refreshed themselves, and he had fully arranged with them what he could do 
 for them, out ot gratitude for the immense service that they had rendered to 
 him. 
 
 There was, under the very peculiar circumstances of the case, no such thing as 
 gainsaying what the judge thought proper to do. Had Claude been actually 
 
 z;^
 
 706 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 there and then with his friends, the police office business might easily have been 
 avoided ; but as he was not, but, on the contrary, had to be fetched from New- 
 gate, both Dick and Jack f«?lt how utterly helpless the^ were just then. At one ' 
 moment entertaining the desperate expedient of making the judge a confidant at 
 that the eleventh hour, as it were, and letting him know exactly who aud what 
 Claude waa, came over Dick ; but he did not like to do that while there was a 
 chance of the affair settling itself comfortably and safely another way ; so he let ; 
 things take their course, comforting himself w'ith the idea that the explanation in 
 the police-office would not last many minutes, and that then it would be much 
 better the judge should know nothing more than he did know, and that was little 
 enough. 
 
 A glance at the countenance of Jack wag sufficient to tell Dick how full of 
 apprehension he was for Claude ; and indeed he, Jack, was so much affected at 
 this iabomiiiable idea, as he theught it, of going to Bow Street, that the judge 
 conld not help observing it, and said kindly to him, — 
 
 " You seem indisposed, my friend ?' 
 
 *' No," said Jack, making a desperate attempt to rally his spirits, and smiling 
 in a very strange and grave kind of way ; " no, thank you, sir, I never felt better 
 in my life, I assure you — never better." 
 
 Dick gave him an admonishing kick to say as little as possible, on the good 
 old principle that the least said is the soonest mended ; and then the judge's 
 cdifh drew up at the door of the Bow Street police-oMce. Poor Jack could not 
 suppre s a groan as the vehicle stopped. 
 
 " I am certain you arc not well," said the judge, " but the great natural 
 courage of your character will not permit you to admit as much. Is it 
 not so ?" 
 
 *' Oh I dear, no," said Jack ; *' I — ^I am quite well and delighted ; only 1 
 am go much attached to my friend, who is about to be liberated to-day 
 fr->m his unjust imprisonment, that I own I feel a little nervous aud excited.* 
 
 "The feeling does jou honour,*' said the judge, as they alighted. 
 
 The cflR^en and other official persons about the police court soon found out 
 that it was one of the judges that had come; and they were painfoUy profuse 
 in their attentions both to Dick and Jack, as well as to him ; for they could 
 not bat see the very friendly and familiar terms upon which the old Judge treated 
 his two companions, different as they looked from liim. 
 
 '* Tf vbare be no immediate recognition," thought Dick, ** all will be well, and 
 we shall pass threagh this rather troublesome affair wil^ Hying eolours ; but 
 from n.y heart i do wish it were all well over." 
 
 The judge waa acccBttnodated with a seat on the bench, and both Dick and Jack 
 would, if they had chosen, likewise enjoyed that honour ; but their natural modesty 
 must hav s'ood wonderfully in the way, for they both, peaitively declined j and 
 far from wishing to make themselves at all conspicuous, they took up a very 
 retired position near the door of the court. 
 
 ** I don't like this at all," whispered Jack to Dick. 
 
 "Norl, Jat'fc. But what are we to do, old fellow P We are in for it now, and 
 we must jiist go throQgh with it.* 
 
 * Yes ; but n ally it'« very uncomfortable.* 
 
 '• Kaiher so. Hu<h! There's Claude coming Tin a"* a coach sloppinf. I 
 hope, now, that five minutes more will see us all out of this confounded place, the 
 very nir of which appears to me diflGcult to breathe." 
 
 " It's the same to me,'* said Jack. *' I feel as if I were half choaked," 
 
 *' Hush ! d^n't siy any more. There's a fellow with as long ears as a donkey, 
 trying might and main to listen to what we are saying." 
 
 '* The d— 1 he is ! Can't you » 
 
 "Tn.otile him .P" 
 
 " No— nc. Can't you say something a little louder to allay any suspicion ?*' 
 
 '• It ain't w^rth while. Jack, Here is our friend. Hush— hush ! It will soon 
 be all right now, I lope."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 707 
 
 Claude was brought into the court by two of the official personages from New- 
 gate, and placed at the bar ; but the judge immedintely rose, and said — 
 
 '• No, no. That is not the place for an innocent man. Let me beg that he may 
 not be made to stand there for one moment." 
 
 Claude was removed to where the witnesses stand usually, and then the magis- 
 trate said to him — 
 
 *• It is with peculiar satisfaction that I see you here to-day, John Smith, as an 
 important, a very important communication will be made to you by this gentle- 
 man on my right hand." 
 
 *' My entire innocence," said Claude, in a calm, clear voice, " of the charge 
 brought against rae is fully established ?' 
 
 '* It is," said Judge Manning, rising. " It is more than estab'ished ; for not 
 only, your worship, am I now in possession of ample proof that this gentleman had 
 no hand whatever in the abduction of my daughter, who is now most happily re- 
 stored to rae, but I am satisfied that in the most gallant manner he rescued her 
 once from the real criminal, and protected her well up to the moment when low 
 cunning and most unheard-of villany got the better for a time of truth and justice." 
 
 Claude bowed. 
 ' •* I have come dowu here purposely," added the judge, " to make my retrac- 
 tion of the false charge against Mr. Smith as public as I can, and I feel, at the 
 same time that I declare his entire innocence, that I owe him every reparation and 
 apology, as well as a heavy debt of gratitude, for tie gallant manner in which, 
 while it was in his power, he protected my daughter, who is now safe and well at 
 my house.'* 
 
 ! " You have found the real criminal, sir ?" said the magistrate. 
 j ** I have ; and to-morrow, w1ien ray child is sufficiently recovered from her alarm 
 and her fatigue, she will be able to appear before your worship to depose to such 
 facts as wilt bring him within the grasp of justice." , 
 
 j " So much lor Phillip," said Dick to Jack. 
 
 I '* Well," said the magistrate, " this is one of those gratifymg occasions which 
 very seldom occur in the course of magistrate experience. When we are forced 
 to discharge a prisoner, I am sorry to say that, in the vast majority of cases, it is 
 not from any doubt of his moral delinquency, but because the circumstances atten- 
 dant upon his crime are net such as tt) bring him fairly within the operation of the 
 
 law ; but in this case it is to me a sincere'pleasure to say that you, John Jones ' 
 
 "Smith," whispered' the clerk. 
 
 *' Yes. John Smith leave this court without a blemish upon your character. 
 . and you are discharged forthwith. Mr.— a— a— Smith, I have very great pleasure 
 I indeed in discharging you." 
 
 'i "Sir, I thank you,'* said Claude, "for the kind expression with which you 
 accompany this act of justice. The consciousness of my innocence, and the firm 
 I conviction that it would very shortly become apparent, have supported me during 
 ;my most unjust incarceration in Newgate; and I beg to assure you, sir," turning 
 ! to' Judge iVIanninu-, "that the pleasure I feel at hearing that your amiable 
 daughter is restored to you, is much greater than my satisfaction at my own re 
 lease from imprisonment." 
 
 I The judge stretclied out his hand and shook hands cordially with Claude, while 
 ;the magistrate nodded his head, and smirke ■ and smiled in the most amicable way 
 I he could command at a short notice. Everything seemed to be going merry as a 
 'marriage bell upon that really pleagant and auspicious occasion. 
 "Fully discharged," said the magistrate. 
 *' And nothing to pay," said the clerk. 
 
 ^Now then," said Judge Manning, ''allow me the pleasure of calling you my 
 friend, and of conducting you to my house, where my daughter will herself thank 
 you for your chivalrous conduct towards her." 
 
 The la>t few words which the judge uttered were nearly drowned in the sound 
 of some riot that was taking place at the door of the court. It seemed as if|
 
 708 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 the officers were trying to keep some one out who would not be kept out on any 
 acco\int, and a loud voice cried — « 
 
 ** I have been robbed — robbed on the highway. Robbed of all I had in the 
 world, and now I am a miserable wretch again. I want to see the magistrate. — 
 I want money. — I wan't justice. — I wan't somebody to be hung for robbing me. 
 — Let me in, I say. — I will have justice. — I'm a miserable wietch now, for I have 
 lost all my money, and I will come in." 
 
 *' What is all that, officers ?' cried the magistrate. " What is all that ?" 
 
 ** A man who wants to lodge a complaint, your worship ; but we thought he 
 would be intruding just now, your worship.'* 
 
 "No — no. This case is over. Let him come in, and put a stop to all that 
 clamour at the door, will you V* 
 
 His hair in disorder — unshaven, and his clothes in a state of the greatest neg- 
 lect, who should rush into the court but Tom Brereton, who had been so success- 
 fully stopped on the highway by Jack and Dick, so short a time before. He 
 made his way up to the magistrate, gesticulating furiously as he came, and ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 "My money — my money. It was all I had, and nobody knows what I had 
 to go through to get it, 1 want justice. I want my money, cr to see somebody 
 hanged for taking it !" 
 
 ** Well, well, eir," said the magistrate, ** T will take your complaint in a 
 moment. Don't make such a noise in the court. I have the honour, my lord 
 judge, to bid you good-day — silence there — and you too, Mr, Smith. Good-day, 
 —Silence ! This is a most delightful occasion, I assure you, Mr. Smith — 
 
 *' Smith !" cried Tom Brereton, as he pointed with botn his forefingers at once 
 in the face of Claude. " Smith !* 
 
 " Yes," said Judge Manning ; " Mr, John Smith, my friend." 
 
 *' And an innocent man,*' said the magistrate. 
 
 *' Who has nothing to pay," said the clerk 
 
 " Smith ?' rave(f Tom Brereton. ** Smith, your friend, sir ? — An innocent 
 man, your worship ? — Who has nothing to pay, you idiot ? Why — why this is 
 the notorious highwayman/Claude Duval !" 
 
 Judge Manning staggered back to the seat on the bench that he had occupied, 
 and sunk into it with a groan. The magistrate turned as white as a sheot, and 
 propped himself up against tha wall; and the-clerk put his head under the table, 
 and pretended ro be looking for something in the waste basket, while in reality 
 he thought he was keeping out ol danger, 
 
 *' Yes," roared Tom again, ** that's Claude Duval, and I shall get the reward, 
 and make up all my losses. Ha ! ha ! 1 shall get the rewajrd. That is the 
 notorious Claude Duval. Seize him, or he will murder all of us rather than be 
 taken. Lay hold of him. Ha ! ha ! I shall get the reward, I must have the 
 reward ! Ob, what a lucky liog I am !" 
 
 Haifa dozen officers made a rush upon Claude ond laid hold of hiro, but he 
 raised his voice, speaking quite calmly as he said — 
 
 •• Hold off! I am indeed Claude Duval, and I am notorious. I did not think 
 to be ever taken with a breath of life in me. 1 did not mean that it should ever 
 be so, but then I did not calculate being in the toils like this. It would be sui- 
 cide now to resist to death, and that is the cowards resource. I yield, and proclaim 
 myself, as yon shri iking coward names me, Claude Duval !" 
 
 •' Alas ! alas !' cried Judge Manning. 
 
 " Hold him tight,** cried the magistrate—*' hold him tight. Ah, something 
 kept running in my head that his name was not Smith, For the love of goodness 
 hold him tight.'* 
 
 '* You need not be afraid," said Claude ; " I shall make no foolish attempt to 
 escape. I congratulate you, Tom Brereton, upon your cleverness ; and remember, 
 you don't get all the reward until I am hanged." 
 
 " And you will be," answered Tom, " soit*s as good as in my pocket, Duval. 
 I'm as pleased as possible that after the way you have served me out at different
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 709 
 
 times, I am able to be down upon you at last, that I am, and especially as I shall 
 make a geod thin^j by it, too." 
 
 " Well," said Claude, " of what am I charged wUh ? Is it of robbing this man 
 while I was a close prisoner in Newgate /" 
 j *• Ko," said Tom Brereton, ** but it was some of yojr sort." 
 
 *' This may be all wrong after all," said Judge Manning; * where are the two 
 ifrien(ls of the prisoner whom I brought wiih me in my carriage?" I 
 
 I " Officers," cried tha magistrate, " take them both into custody, and bring 
 them before me at once." 
 
 j The most active search was made for Dick and Jack, but neither of them were 
 to be found. Upon the first appearance of a recognition of Claude, on the part of 
 Tom Brereton, thpy had made their escape. They felt that they could possibly 
 do something for him while they were at libeity, but shut up with him in separate 
 cells in Newgate, they knew that they could do nothing. 
 
 I *' They have escaped,'' said Claude. " Misfortunes have all some bright side, 
 i f we will but look for it." 1 
 
 " We will soon have them, your worship," said one of the officers. *' We wil 
 be off after them at once, and soon have them both in custody." 
 
 Claude smiled faintly, and then turning to Judge Manning, who was evidently 
 very much affected by what had taken place, he said — 
 
 *' Do not fancy, my Lord Judge, that because this cross accident has happened 
 I am, or shall be indifferent to the kind and honourable motives which prompted 
 you to bring me here this day. You could not know that this was an atmosphere 
 dangerous to my liberty and life, and in the public capacity which you stand, I 
 had no right to perplex you, and place in opposition your duty and your feelings 
 by any such confidence. What is done is done ; and, at all events, come what may, 
 I am delighted to think that your daughter is restored to you." 
 
 Judge Manning wrung his hand as he said— 
 
 "Oh, if you had been anything but what you are — if you had been ever so 
 lowly or ever so poor, I could have done much for you ; but now my hands are 
 tiet', though my heart continues open, and I can do nothmg — nothing." 
 
 " I know it, my lord, and feel it keenly," said Claude. " There is a gulf now 
 between you and I, which you dare not and I cannot cross ; but from my heart 1 
 still thank yen, sir. That is all I can say ; and I will not, let the issue of this 
 adventure be what it may, I will not regret the cause of it, since it has restored 
 Grace to your arms." 
 
 The old judge seemed upon the point of saytn^r somethinj, but he suddenly 
 checked himself, and merely bowing to the magistrate, he at once left the court. 
 
 *•• A-hera !" said the magistrate, clearing his throat, " it is my pleasing duty, 
 John Smith — that is to say, Claude Duval — to commit you to Newgate, until I 
 can have an interview with the Secretary of State, and ascertain from that dis- 
 tinguished perfonage in what manner you are to be disposed of. I say it is my 
 pleasing duty. Clerk, make our a warrrant of committal to Newgate. A-hcm ! 
 It is my peculiar and pleasing duty." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXVI. 
 Claude's danokrous position.— judge manning's gratitude. 
 
 Claude stood in the place assigned ta witnesses still, and of all the persons in 
 that now crowded court, he really looked the least concerned or interested. 
 
 No one would have fancied his life at stak*, 4nd that he was the person around 
 whose fate the whole of the agitation of thos* who were so fully betraying such 
 agitation revolved. And yet there was not one present who would not have 
 wagered .€100 to £l that he would be a dead man within fourteen days fr^m 
 thence.
 
 710 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 And there he stood in the very prime of life, looking so calm, so thoughtful, and; 
 80 full of real courage, that he enforced the unwilling admiration of many a 
 one who would not have expressed the feeling. The coarse and vulgar exulta- 
 tion of Tom BreretoA became loathsome. i 
 
 *' Ha — ha!" he cried, '* He's nabbed now, and I shall see him lung with all 
 the pleasure in life, though ha is now a sort of relation of mine bv marriage. 
 You would hardly think it now, would you, to look at him and to look at me, 
 that we were relations at all ?*' j 
 
 " No,*' growled an old officer. " I should as soon think of a relationship be- ' 
 tween a monkey and a fine old English mastiff. Can't you hold your stupid 
 tongue ? We ain't all such curs as you are. If a knight of the road is taken at 
 last, he meets his fate and there's an end of it. 1 never heard much very bad of 
 Claude Duval yet, and between you and me and the post, I thi-.k he ivas hunted on 
 that last affair when he went to Southampton.'* 
 
 •♦ And so do I," said another. ** I wouldn't a -gone on that job for I don*t 
 how much, and I'm glad it turned out a failure." i 
 
 " So am I." I 
 
 " Silence in the court," cried the magistrate. " Now, officers, get a coach, and' 
 take your prisoner to Newgate as quick as you can. Keep an eye upon him, for 
 they say he is as slippery as an eel, and has as many tricks as an old fox.*' 
 
 '* Now, Duval," said the old officer, as he touched Claude or. the arm, "If 
 you are ready for a start, we are." 
 
 "Quite," said Claude. " They will stare to see me again at the old jug, I 
 think, (iood-day, Tom Brereton ; you and I will settle the reckoning of to-day 
 some other time." 
 
 " Pish !*' said Tom Brereton, snapping his finger.^-, " I don*t value you that, now 
 yeu are taken care of. 1 could find it in my heart to give you a good kick, if 
 they would let nie." 
 
 " Well.'* said one of the officers, " I have heard o* a ^ass kicking of a dead 
 lion. Haven't you, Morgan ?" - 
 
 ** Often — often," said Morgan, as he trod^heavily on Tom Brereton's toes ; 
 "often. Lor, my little man, I hopp. as I haven't sma-hed you, really!" 
 
 "You are a set of rascals," growled Tom, **and you are all out of your 
 minds almost with rage, because none of you will get the reward, and I shall. 
 That's it." 
 
 Tom Brereton was so delighted with this discovery of the selfish motives 
 of the officers in sneering at him, that if they had said ten times more to 
 him than they had, it would have produced no effect upon Lim ; and it was truly 
 ludicrous, now that he had an expectation of filling his pockets by the reward he 
 would be entitled to on account of Claude's apprehension, to see him arranging^ 
 his hair and rubbing his chin with an idea of getting shaved. ' 
 
 " It's i\\\ right,'* he said. " It's all right. I shall make a capital thiHg'>of it 
 now; and what is as good, I shall get rid of that abominable fellow, Duval, who 
 has really been quite, as one may say, a kind of ogre to me, for I don't know 
 how long'. Wherever 1 went, I wa? perpetually frightened of him, and at every 
 corner I ever turned, I used to shake at the idea of coming face to face with 
 him ; but now he's in Newgate, and done as brown as a cinder; 
 
 I Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the old stone jufr, ; 
 
 I And its massive walls so strong. ! 
 
 I . ■ Who picks his way to the outer day, I 
 
 \ His nails must be rather long. 
 
 Upon my life, I am becoming quite a poet, and I didn't know it. I shall be rich 
 as a Jew, with guineas not a lew ; and to be sure I'd no call, to let off Claude 
 Duval." 
 
 i In this happy frame of aind, Tom Brereton left the pohce-office, after registering 
 his address in the clerk's books. Whether he found any very continuous cause 
 for so much self-felicitatign, will be quickly showa as we proceed with a narrative
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 711 
 
 of the events of this most eventful and extraordinary portioa of the life of Claude 
 Duval. 
 
 In the courBe of the next half hour he was an in'nate of one of the strongest 
 cells of Newgate, and the whole prison was full of gossip upon the extraordinary 
 way in which he had been discovered and denounced to justice. 
 
 Some of the turnkeys were almost ready to tear the hair out of their heads, at 
 the thought that Claude Duval, for whose blood, as it were, there was such a hand- 
 some reward olfered, had actually been for days within the walls of the prison, 
 and they not to know it. It was realy almost enough to make a turnkey weep, 
 and after that, ii might very well draw tears from a stone. 
 
 " The idea," said one fat man, wiping his bald head. "The idea of me letting 
 of him out at this very lock, and thinking as he was John Smith only, when he 
 was as gO0d as £1500 to anybody as could only have laid hold on him and said, 
 * I have got you, Claude Duval !' " 
 
 All the others groaned in unison, so that upon the whole, there was anything 
 but a feeling of exultation in Newgate at the capture of Claude, for, as one officer 
 said — 
 
 " He'd a thousand times better have got away, because then he would still haye 
 been to be nabbed by somebody in the * purfession;' whereas, now the game was 
 up, and that prize was drawn out of the wheel of Fortune." 
 
 The number of extra pots of beer brought into Newgate that day, was something 
 prodigious, and previous to the vanishing of each of them, some very elaborate 
 maledictions were heaped upon the head of Tom Brereton. 
 
 The fat turnkey whispered to the officer who had made the speech we have 
 recorded — 
 
 " Sup with me in the larder to-night, off of some tripe, and we will talk it over. 
 I'll have Bill Flukes, and Soloman Bones, and iVI organ, to meet you. We will 
 talk it over then. It's a robbery." 
 
 " So I think, Mungo. But can anything be done?" 
 
 " Mum is the word ! We will talk it over. Why should the * purfession' be 
 dor.e brown in this sort of way ? If anybody had shot him, we must have grinned 
 and borne it; but he aint dead yet. He's alive, and kicking, Mr. Wilks." 
 
 He's alive, certainly ; but about the kicking, I don't tliiak he'll find kicking 
 of much use against the stone walls of Newgate. However, I'll come,and as you 
 say, we can talk it over. Mum's (he word !" 
 
 *' It is — it ie. I feel a little better now." 
 
 They separated with mu'ual winks and nods, and what all this winking and 
 nodding mean', we shall find out when we introduce the readers to the supper in 
 the larder of Newgate. This was a kind of indulgence that the turnkeys did iiot 
 often treat themselves to, as it was rather against the rules; but, then, the go- 
 vernor was ill, and confined to his house, so that a great many little liberties were 
 taken by the lower officials of the prison. 
 
 Dick and Jack no sooner four d that the game was up for the present, as 
 regarded Claude, than they left the court at the Old Bailey, and in tliat noiseless 
 manner, vvithout beiuij missed until they were actually asked for, they made the 
 best of their way to the quaker's, in Dean Street, Soho. To him they related 
 all that had happened, and he listened with a face of grave apprehension. When 
 '.ley had come to an end, he said, — 
 
 "Truly, iriend Dick and friend Jack, I consider the situation of our friend 
 Claude, as rather critical." 
 
 *' Rather critical ?" said Dick; " is it not fatal?" 
 
 " No, friend." 
 
 " I only wish you could give me anything like a substantial reason for that," 
 replied Jack. "You would be conferring upon both me and Jack no 
 insignificant favour, if you could convince us that there was anything like a rational 
 hope of Claude's getting over this affair. If you have anything cheering to say 
 to us, pray say it at once, Mr. Franklin, if you please/ 
 
 " I will, friend Dick. In the first place the greatest exertions will be used to
 
 712 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 fet Duval hung, for he has many enemies on account of his gallantry to the ladies* , 
 Ivery husband— erery father, and every lover vvho has suffered a pang upon 
 that account, will prosecute him to the death. Moreover, he has robbed a bishop ;' 
 and churchmen never forgive anything or anybody." i 
 
 *' Why,*' said Jack, '* you are giving us all the reason you can for despairing , 
 of Claude's life," | 
 
 *' Yes, friend Jack, I am ; but I shall come to the other part of the question 
 directly. I think I have said all that need be said about the great jeopardy in ' 
 which Claude stands ; and now, on the other side, he has a great friend in ' 
 Judge Manning, who will do all that he legitimately can do, to save him ; and he 
 has a great friend in Grace Manning, who will do all that she can do, legitimately ' 
 or otherwise, to save him. Then, the whole of the officers wilf be as mad as 
 fury at his being caught by any one out of their profession ; and then he has you ' 
 two, and then he has me to befriend him ; and he has a couple or three thousand 
 pounds to pay his way to liberty, if that amount should be wanted, and should 
 be likewise sufficient for the purpose." I 
 
 "What," cried Dick, *' two or three thousand pounds ? What do you mean by 
 that? He has not a tithe of the money, altliOUgh I and Jack may be likely enough 
 to get him a good round sum by our exertions on the road/' j 
 
 ** There is no occasion, friend Dick, for any exertions on the road just now. They 
 would be dangerous ; and neither you, friend Dick, nor you, friend Jack, are in a 
 fit frame of mind to follow the business just now. I will produce all the money 
 that can possibly be wanted ; and I will tru%t to the honour of all of >ou to repay 
 me when it may be convenient." 
 
 ** We are indeed immensely behalden to you,'* said Jack ; " you stiall not lose 
 a farthing by the transaction if 1 live. And so you really think that there is a 
 hope of rescuing Claude even yet ?' 
 
 " I do. At present I make it a particular request that neither you nor Jack 
 will attempt anything or stir out of this house, f will now go forth and get all 
 the information 1 can about Claude's position. I will even find out to a square 
 foot in what part of Newgate he is placed, I will know who attends upon him, and 
 what he says, and how he looks, before I see thee again." 
 
 Both Dick and Jack could not bui stare at the quaker to hear him talk in such 
 a strain ; but they well knew that in his case it was no boasting or vain assumption. 
 The extent of his resources they had had reason to believe were extraordinary; 
 and if he had said " I will bring; you back Claude Duval to supper/' they would 
 have been templed to have believed him ; although they knew that the massive 
 locks aad walls of Newgate were between them and the realisation of such an 
 event. But the quaker never promised more than he could perform, and "when he 
 said what we have worded, he had certain means of getting the information he 
 desired. • 
 
 Truly, gold will do wonders in this world. It melts the hearts of gaolers — it 
 opens prison doors with its master key— and it throws down stone walls without 
 so much as touching them. I 
 
 Mr. Franklin did not d.^lny a moment longer, but very calmly faking his broad-! 
 brimmed hat fr.)m a peg in the hall of his housf, away he went, leaving Dick 
 and Jack in a state of puzzled expectation. I 
 
 There was now but one other person upon whom the discovery and identity j 
 of Claude and his consequent committal to Newgate produced ^ powerful effect; 
 and that person was Judge Manning. We have recorded how abruptly he left 
 the court, ai^d when he did so, he hastily entered his carriage, and ordered the 
 coachman to drive him home. 
 
 On his route all he said was — 
 
 " I must save this man ! I must save this man !** 
 
 • The moment he reached his own house, he repaiied to the library, and then 
 summoning Grace to his presence, he said to her — 
 
 " My dear, now sit down by me, and from first to last, give me as clear and 
 etailed an account as you possibly can, of the -whole of your recent adventure.
 
 '".< 
 
 bENTLEMAN ACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 713 
 
 I want particularly to know every word that this Mr. Smith said to you and I 
 want a very minute detail of his actions towards you. ' 
 
 Upon this, Grace related all to her father, and the whole narrative said so much 
 for the courage, and the chivalrous honour and delicacy of Claude, that the old 
 judge was compelled to rise and pace the room to and fro to recover his equanimity 
 and at last pausing before Grace, he said— 
 
 
 CLAUDE RETALIATES UPON TOM BRERETON. 
 
 " And this man— and this man, Grace, who rescued you from Phillip iii the 
 green lane— this man, who with the utmost delicacy brought you to town— this 
 man, who protected you all the way, and who only left you at the door for a mo- 
 ment because he would spare my feelings too sudden a shock from the joy of 
 your recovery— this man, my dear, did all this at the risk of dvmg on a scaf- 
 
 vr^. A/%
 
 7U GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 fold, for he is no other than Claude Duval the celebrated highwayman; and now 
 stands committed to Newgate, from whence he will only step forth to death, and 
 a terrible death, at the hands of the hangrcan !" 
 
 Grace uttered a cry of despair, and sank fainting on the floor. 
 
 "Nj! no!" cried the judge, "rise my child. Comfort yourself. It must 
 not be, it shall not be ! He who has done so much for you, shall not suiFer 
 death in such a shape. It is our duty to save him." 
 
 *' Ah, father, and you will ?" 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " I bieathe again. Oh, would it not imbitter the remainder of our lives to 
 think that because he was so self-denying, so kind, so generous to me, he 
 met with death. No, no, it must not, shall not be. You will save him 
 father?" 
 
 " I will, my child." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXVII. 
 
 THE OFFICIALS OF NEWGATE BUP IV THE LARDER, WHICH IS IMPORTANT TO 
 
 CLAUDE. 
 
 That night at ten o'clock, when all the cells were closed and the most active 
 business of the day was over, the old larder in Newgate was worth looking at. 
 
 This larder was a place of some extent. The unhappy wretches who are to 
 expiate their crimes upon the scaffold, are brought through it on that, to them, 
 fearful morning, when they find no sympathy within Newgate, and when they 
 know that there is a glaring crowd without waiting lo see them die. But upon these 
 occasions they do not absolutely see the larder. 
 
 No, a portable partition, for the reception of which there are grooves in the 
 ceiling and on the floor, converts their progress, instead of being through a room, 
 into one through a narrow passage, and then they step out to die, without 
 having taken a last look, in their immediate progress, of pots and kettles, and 
 coffee stew-pans, and all the etceteras of a large kitchen. But upon this present 
 occasion the larder is in all ita integrity and beauty. A rousing fire is in the 
 ample grate, and some most appetizing steams fill the ambient air. You would 
 not suppose yourself in Newgate at aU wereyoH there, which proves satisfactorily, 
 that one kitchen is very like to another. 
 
 We have before stated that this supper in the larder was contrary to rule, andj 
 that it would not by any means have been ventured upon, if the governor had not' 
 been known to be confined to his bed, or all but that; so that he could not; 
 pounce upon them at unawares ; and as regarded each other, and the minor, 
 officials, they had too good an understanding among them to fear any treachery 
 at ail. I 
 
 By a quarter pest ten, then, they were assembled — only five of them j but then' 
 that five consisted of men who, if they pleased, could do something in Newgate, 
 and from their looks it was pretty clear that something they meant to do. The 
 cook was acustomed to these little gatherings in his domain ; and as they always 
 resulted in providing him wi:h ^an unlimited amount of strong drink, he never 
 made any kind of objection to them, but bustled about, and took good care that 
 the solid portion of the entertainment should be none of the meanest the prison 
 stores could afford. 1 
 
 Now, this cook had a failing, which was decidedly to take what folks call the 
 other glass, which is generally considered to be the glass which is over and above 
 that one at which a man may still preserve the equilibrium of both mmdand body. 
 Upon this occasion it was the special object of the officers and turnkeys to give 
 him that other glass as speedily as possible, for they had matters of deep moment 
 to consider of which it would not be wise to trust to cooks. ! 
 
 '• Come, Bill," said Morgan, as he pushed a dish of exquisitely stewed oyster a 
 towards his friend, **you don't eat, man," i
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 715 
 
 " Don't I ?" replied Bill. " It's Jukes who takes nothing ; and as for our good 
 friend here, the cook, he is the most abstemious man in the world, and won't 
 drink." 
 
 i "Ha ! ha!" laughed the cook, ns he pushed his white night-cap up upon his 
 brow," don't I drink. Come, Mr. Morgan, pass the bottie, and I'll drink to your 
 very good healths, all of you. Here's lots o luck, and may business never fail. 
 Ropes will be cheap when all the world grows honest, I think." 
 
 " When all the world grows honest, they won't want cooks," said Bill. "But 
 you don't eat anything." 
 
 "Why, as to eating," said the cook, "I can't say I do in a regular way 
 eat much. I now and then take a taste of one thing, and a taste of another ; but 
 what with the fire, and the smother, and one thing and another, I don't give way 
 to eating." 
 
 j " And the bottle P" said Juke'?. 
 
 j *' No— no, Mr. Jukes. There you do me an injustice. I take a little, only a 
 little, to keep me up agoing, that's all, gentlemen ; so here's good luck again; and 
 all I can say is, that you are as welcome to a quiet little feed in the larder as can 
 be. You have only to tell me before-hand that you are coming, and it will be 
 all right. So here's to all again, and — and I only wish you all luck — 1 — luck, I 
 — do. This is not bad brandy, wherever it came from. Hurrah for the Road, 
 That's a Highwayman's chaunt ain't it, Mr. — Mr. — Ju — Ju — Jukes V i 
 
 I "Yes, to be sure." ' 
 
 I " I — I thought 80, and as I was saying, here's better luck still. God bless you 
 all — all the lot of you. I'm a poor fellow in my way, but 1 know — I — I — know 
 — yes, that's it, I know. It's enough to make anybody cry it is. I — I — God bless 
 you all." 
 
 " That will do," said xMorgan, as the cofok suddenly, losing his equilibrium, fell 
 into a corner. *' That will do. \nd now friends and mates, lets to business.' 
 
 "Ay, ay — to business," said the other. 
 
 " What do we live by ?" I 
 
 *• Why, by grabbing the gentry and the cracksmen, to be sure. By the family, 
 take 'em all in all, we live," said Bill, "and tl at's a fact. Now the idea of a 
 parcel of rascals, out o' the profession, grabbing of a cove is ' promiscous ' — it is. 
 They might as well grab us. I tell you what it is, mates— Claude Duval must 
 get on the road again." 
 
 I The others nodded. 1 
 
 I " He's the chap for OS. He belongs to us," said Morgan. "It's a robbery 
 for anybody to meddle with him but us, and they shan't. The profuse rewards 
 belong to the profession. I'm not a chap to say, let me have everything, but 
 I don't like to see things go out of the profession. Are we agreed, comrades — 
 are we agreed ?" i 
 
 I " Wc are— we are." 
 
 ! " That's all right. Suppose Claude Duval escapes from I^ewgate? It will be 
 no more than o'.her folks have done before him ; and if we choose to wink at things, 
 why off li3 is. He's just the sort of chap to make the try at it." I 
 
 "He is." ' . . ' 
 
 "And if he can be given ever so slight.a hint that, on some particular night 
 we shall all be remarkably blind and deaf, don't you think he'd be likely to take 
 advantage of it ?" 
 
 ; " To be sure he would. Why not? If ever there was a man in Newgate likely 
 to get out his own way, it's Claude Duval ; and if we choose to say yes to it, it's 
 as good as done. How is it to be managed ? that's all we have got to consider 
 now. Who is to let him know ? for, after all, it must be only a broad hint." | 
 
 I "That's all. But Duval is no lool. I will see him when I am on duty to- 
 morrow, and I'll be bound he will quite well enough understand then ^ivhich way 
 the cat jumps. Only, of course, he mustn't get out by the regular way." 
 I " Confound it all I" said Bill, "we are making a trouble about nothing at all. 
 I Trust him, I say, and take him clear out, and give him a fair start. It can easily
 
 716 [GENTLEMAN JACK; OB, 
 
 be done through the chapel, and over the wall, by the corner of Newgate Streeti 
 if he has anybody to help him. I know it can't be done otherwise; but I will 
 see him off the first regularly dark night, if you like." 
 
 " But what can you say to him T 
 
 " Say to him ? Why, the exact truth. If we don't, Claude Daval is the man 
 to guess at it; and it is always better to tell a fellow what you really mean, than 
 leave him to find out, and know it when you have said something else to him.*' I 
 
 The others seemed to think this rather a bold proceeding on the part of Bill; 
 but the more they considered of it, the more they felt induced to come into it ; 
 and at last it was fully and completely agreed that upon the first occasion when, 
 it could be done, Duval was to be offered his freedom from Newgate upon the 
 express ground that he had been taken by one who was not in the profession; an 
 argument which, knowing the amount of rewards offered for him, he would be 
 able fully to appreciate. | 
 
 How far this might have the effect of interfering with Tom Brereton and his 
 claims to the reward they did not stop to inquire. It was for them sufficient 
 that Claude should once again be in " the market." j 
 
 i3y the light of the lantern that swung above their heads they saw that their 
 friend, the cook^ was still in the land of dreams ; and then haying made a very| 
 tolerable clearance of the supper, they left the larder to the cook and to repose. I 
 
 If the reader will now please to reject for a moment or two, he will not fail to 
 perceive in how singular a situation Claude is placed, and how strangely that 
 situation contrasts with his position but a short time previously. | 
 
 Here was the man who had been hunted almost to death— who had not been 
 permitted to leave for ever the scene of his crimes, and lead a different life in ' 
 another land — who had been interrupted in every way — whose life had been 
 a darling object to extinguish— a man who had been pursued by fire, and secared 
 at last in the very grasp of the authorities — enclosed within stone walls, and yet 
 how many now were plotting and planning his rescue ! 
 
 Truly may we say 
 
 " All the world's a stage, 
 
 And men and women merely players ;" 
 
 for who could have supposed or expected for a moment to find the very turnkeys of 
 
 Newgate and the officers of the police to come out in so very different a character ? 
 
 But it all only goes to prove what Claude had himself, upon more than one 
 occasion, asserted, namely — that he was simply aad only pursued for the price 
 that was set upon his hfe. It became a matter of business to hunt him down. It 
 was now equally a matter of business to let him go. | 
 
 Of course Judge Manning, who was as truly anxious as any cue could possibly 
 be for tho release of Claude, felt and acted from pure motives of deep, heartfelt 
 gratitude towards him. He had, perhaps, promised his child more than his cooler 
 judgment could tell him there was a possibility of performing, when he said that 
 Claude should be freed ; but if that promise be qualified bv saying that he would 
 do all that he possibly could to bring about such a result, there is no doubt but he 
 will keep it, both in the spirit and to the letter. j 
 
 But the struggle in the mind of the judge between his sense of public duty was 
 long and severe. The feelings of the man and the father, however, triumphed 
 over those of the judge, and he said to himself— I 
 
 ** I will, if it be in my power so to do, rescue him who was the champion of my 
 child, and then it will be fit that I retire from the performance of those public 
 duties which my private feelings have stepped in to nuUify." 
 
 After once coming to such a conclusion as this, it may be very well guessed 
 that the judge would not allow any circumstance to prevent him from doing his 
 very utmost in the case; and accordingly, within one hour after the conversation 
 with his daughter, which we have recorded, we find him closetted with a small, 
 prim-looking man, dressed in most plain black, and with such a quiet manner 
 about him, that one would have supposed him quite incapable of anything in the 
 shape of either mental or bodily resistance to anything.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 717 
 
 This individual was the private solicitor of Judge Manning, and one upon whom i 
 he knew he could thoroughly depend. The subject upon which he had summoned 
 him will be quickly apparent, although to judge from the faint look of surprise 
 upon the attorney's face, one would fancy it was something much more out of the 
 common way than it really was. j 
 
 I "And, my lord," said the attorney, *' you really mean that you will do any- 
 thing to rescue this man V I 
 " I do mean it, Mr. Sago. I do mean it ; and I sent for you to entrust you 
 I with the afRiir. Mind, I do not mean to be so absurd as to say that I will force 
 I this business on you. Far from it. If you have any disinclination to it, say so! 
 candidly and at once, and 1 will seek some other less scrupulous practitioner.'' 
 ' " My lord — my lord/' said Mr. Sago, placing his hand upon that part of his' 
 waistcoat, beneath which he presumed his heart was situated, " it is quite im- 1 
 possible you could find a less scrupulous attorney than myself. I am strictly and 
 entirely professional." I 
 Just the faint ghost of a smile crossed the face of the judge as he heard these 
 words from the lips of the attorney — words which he so well knew how to in- 
 terpret ; and then, after the pause of a few moments, he said to him — 
 
 " We perfectly understand each other, then, Mr. Sago, upon this case. You\ 
 will do your very best in it, ard you will charge me with the expenses, together! 
 with £500, for your own professional services." 
 
 The attorney bowed, made some important remark about the weather ; and 
 then, without once again recurring to the subject, he took his leave of Judge 
 
 [Manning. 
 
 When he was alone, the judge leant his head upon his hands for a few mo- 
 ments, and then said, in a deaponding tone of voice — | 
 
 I "I ha\'e done all that I can do, and more than I ought to have dared to do| 
 I may be successful, and yet much do I doubt it. Time — lime alone will show.' 
 I will now tell Gace that 1 have set this matter in motion." 
 
 It was strange that at the very same time that the judge was in consultation 
 with his solicitor, concerning the saving Claude Duval in any way, both Dick and 
 Jack were in deep and solemn converse with Franklin the quaker upon the 
 same subject, and the turnkeys and officers of Newgate had as good as agreed 
 
 I that the highwayman was to bs free in a short time. 
 
 I Franklin had, with amazing tact, found out all that there was to know about 
 
 .Claude's present position. He could tell the two friends that he in whom they 
 
 .were so deeply interested, was committed to the prison of Newgate for safe 
 
 [keeping, until the authorities had fully decided upon what was the course they 
 should think proper to pursue towards him. He could further tell them that 
 
 I Claude was in a strong cell, but that he was not ironed, although, no doubt, he 
 
 I would be, and that he would be carefully watched. He could not, however, with 
 all his cleverness, and all his means of information, tell them that there was 
 actually a conspiracy within the very walls of Newgate to set him (Claude) 
 free. 
 
 I '* We then," said Jack, ''are utterly hopeless ; for, alas! what can we do in 
 
 the matter ?" 
 
 I ** Little enough," said Dick. '* All we can hope to do is to convey to Duval 
 
 some tools which may help him to make an escape from Newgate, or to attempt 
 
 j to do so." 
 
 I " We will easily enough let him have tolls," said Franklin. "I wi 1 hand 
 
 them to him when I see him in his cell." 
 " When you see him ?" 
 
 ** Yes. There is no difficulty in that. I will show you how I can procure an 
 nterview with him, if you will be guided by me." ,
 
 718 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 I I 
 
 CHAPTER CLXVIII. 
 
 CLAUDE, BY GENERAL CONSENT, COMMENCES HIS ESCAPE FROM NEWGATE, 
 
 ** You rather astonish me," said Dick. 
 " And me likewise," said Jack. 
 
 "Oh, pho!" said the quaker ; *^ nothing can be easier than that. You know 
 that the oply person from without who is allowed to visit a prisoner in Newgate, | 
 without hinderance, or being well searched at the lobby, is the solicitor whom hej 
 may pitch upon to conduct his case, and who must produce a written retainer| 
 from him.'* 
 j «' Yes— yes." 
 
 ! •* Well, then, you. Jack, or you, Dick — it don't matter which—must write to 
 |Duval in Newgate, urging him to send a written retainer to a Mr. Alfted Jones, 
 addressed to this house. With that in my hand, and properly made up, I will 
 present myself at the gate of Newgate, and I have no sort of doubt but that I 
 shall at once get au interview with Claude, and of course I can then carry him in 
 anything I please." 
 
 j " But will they if I write," said Jack, ** deliver to him my letter ?" 
 ! ^ ** They must, as it will contain nothing but what is perfectly unexceptionable 
 in every way." 
 
 ! ** Then let it be done at once," said Dick, " and you, Jack, can write it more 
 perfectly than I, as you are by far the oldest friend of Claude ; and wbenycu go to 
 hitti, Mr. Franklin, you can tell him all the news, and bow gladly we would do 
 anything in the world that he can think ot to procure his freedom." 
 " Truly, friend, I will," said Franklin. 
 
 The letter was speedily written by Jack, and although it contained not one word 
 that could be construed by the prison authorities into anything that it would be 
 improper or imprudent to communicate to the prisoner, yet, from the style of it, 
 \ Claude would have no difficulty in seeing that Jack wished him to send the written 
 [authority to Mr. Alfred Jones, for a very special reason. 
 
 i The address, too, to the quaker's house, which would be sure to strike him, 
 I would of itself be sufficient to assure him that the missive came direct from his 
 friends, and meant more than met the eye. 
 
 In two hours the answer came back. It merely contained a few lines to Jack, 
 and kind remembrances to all friends, and the order of retainer to Mr. Alfred 
 Jones, solicitor. 
 
 " Now my friends," said Franklin, *' you may wait here while Ipay a visit to 
 Newgate, and tell me before I get ready what out of all this box of tools and im- 
 plements you think will be most useful to Claude Duval.*' 
 
 As the quaker gpoke, 1 e dragged from under a tableasnriali chest, which, upon being 
 opened, disclosed a beautiful collection of housebreakers cools of all kmds and 
 descriptions, most of them being^of the most exquisite workmanship and the 
 most ingenious design. 
 
 Dick and Jack made some selections, and handed them to the quaker, Dick 
 saying — " There, if you can manage to give him only these five tools he will no^ 
 be kept in Newgate by the power of locks, or hinges, or fetters, I'll be bound." 
 
 " He shall have them, friend. He shall have them. I do not in the smallest 
 degree anticipate any difficulty, for the name of Alfred Jones, as a solicitor, ap- 
 ; I peareth in the law list, and it is most unlikely that they should know that indivi- 
 I : dual at the gate of Newgate; but as in all human enterprises, friend Jack, 
 I ' there is some little chance of failure, I will risk that much." 
 I I With this the quaker went of! to Newgate capitally dressed in black, and 
 looking so cool, and so collected, that no one for a moment could possibly have 
 j i suspected him of any ulterior designs, or of being anything but what he repre- 
 I I sented himself. With that easy confident air, which a man has who goes upon 
 1 an errand that he knows and feels he is all right regarding, Franklin ascended 
 i I the steps of Newgate and rapped smartly at the half-door.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 719 
 
 *' Well, what now?" said the man who was on the lock, as it is technically 
 termed. 
 
 " Open the wicket," said Franklin, with an air of authority. " I am a solicitor. 
 Open the wicket.'* 
 
 The turnkey mechanically oheyed, and when he was in the lohby, Franklin took 
 out a large pocket book, and after a pretended search among its multiferious papers 
 that nearly exhausted the patience of the turnkey, he affected, at last, to find the 
 written authority from Claude, constituting Mr. Alfred Jones his solicitor. 
 
 •' Oh, here it is, at last," he said. " Ke so good as to get some one to sbow 
 me to Duval quickly, for my time is of importance." 
 
 *' Oh, This here oui^ht to go to the governor," said the turnkey. 
 
 ** Well, be quick about it." 
 
 " Yet, I daresay it's all right. Joe, look at this. You are more of a schollard 
 than I is. Is th's a proper tornefs thority ?'' 
 
 Joe looked at the paper as wisely as possible, and then in a very oracular kind 
 of manner, declared his opinion that it was as right as ninepence, and that he'd 
 better show the gemman the way. 
 
 "That's the thing, my good fellow," said Franklin, "and if ever I am in here 
 for anything, I'll he as liberal among you all as a prince." 
 
 ** Ah," said Joe, " catch you lawyers a- coming here, 'xcept on a visit only, 
 that's all. You knows how to manage things, you does. This way, sir, this 
 way. We hasn't no objection to drink your health, though, for all that." 
 
 "I always do things regular," said Franklin. " Wait till my client has paid 
 me something, and without it I don't come again, I can tell you, and then I'll 
 stand a crown." 
 
 " Ah," said Joe, with a look of admiration, '' I never seed you here afore, 
 sir, but you is one of the deep ones,- 1 can can see that any way. This, here's the 
 way, sir. Hilloa, Foxey. Here's a lawyer come to see Duval. Just show him in." 
 
 Foxey, who was enjoying a quiet snooxe in a little watch-box sort of place, 
 jammed up into a corner of a narrow passage leading to the range of cells in one 
 of which Claude was confined, awakened, and growled out — 
 
 " What is you arler now ? Can't a man shut his eyes for a matter of a minute, 
 but you are forced to come with your larks and botherations ? Be off." 
 
 " Not till I have seen my client, Mr. Foxey," said Franklin. ** Then I shall 
 be off as quickly as I can, but not before." 
 
 "Eh? oh, eh? I begs your parding sir. I thought as it was only a bit of 
 I Joe's gammon, that's all ; 'cos, you see, sir, they often pokes fun at me, pretend 
 ing as I'm give to going to sleep, when all the while there ain't a wider awake 
 follow than me in the whole stone pitcher." 
 
 Foxey led the way to Claude's cell, and opening the door, he said — 
 
 ** A wisiter," and (hen he banged it to again upon the quaker, who stood a 
 few paces within its threshold. His first act was to place his ear against the 
 massive door at which the officer had departed, to be sure that he was gone, and 
 then being quite clear upon that head, he turned to Claude, saying— 
 
 " You know me, fiiend?" 
 
 "Ah," said Claude, springing up, "Mr. Franklin?'* 
 
 " The same, Dick and Jack are at my house. I find I have been misinformed 
 regarding your condition." 
 
 '• Misinformed ? As how ?" 
 
 " You are in fettera, and I was told that such was not the case.'* 
 
 "They only put theui on a quarter of an hour ago, because they found me ex- 
 amining the stanchions of the window, and they have a perlcct horror of my 
 escaping." 
 
 " And yet it may be done.'' 
 
 •' 01" course it n-ay. What has been done may be always done again> and 
 many things that never v/ere done at all will be done in the fulness of time. But 
 tell me — how is Jack, and how is Dick, and what has become of Phillip Man- 
 jning? Grace is, of course, in perfect safety with her father ?"
 
 720 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " Jack is well/* said tbe quaker, answering all the questions of Claude in the 
 most methodical manner ; '* and Dick is well. Phillip Manning is in this build ing 
 and Grace is happy with her father,** 
 
 "Thank God." i 
 
 " Your own situation is now of the greatest importance. Do you despair, or 
 do you hope, Claude Duval V ' j 
 
 ** Despair ? Who that knows anything of me ever found food for the opinion ' 
 that 1 should despair ? Who that ever lieard of Claude Duval, accused him of 
 abandoning hope even under the most cheerless circumstances ? Do not, Mr. | 
 Franklin, ask me such a question. Something seems to whisper to me that my 
 time has not yet come.* 
 
 ** I do not think it has." 
 
 *' I thank you fcr that thought. No, 1 shall, I think, sniff the night air again, 
 and breathe the soft odour of fruits and flowers; I do not think that I shall only 
 pass from this cell to death." 
 
 " Nor do I. I have promised Jack and Dick that all that man can do to sare 
 you, I will do, and I will keep my word. Here is a plan of Newgate, accurately 
 laid down, for your information ; and here are such tools and implements as no 
 doubt you know well how to use." 
 
 '* Let me see them." 
 
 Claude ran over with an eager eye the five exquisitely made tools that the 
 quaker had brought him, and then with a deep sigh, he said — 
 
 ** Yes, these will do much, but there is yet something wanting.* 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " Hope. I can do nothing without a good coil of rope. If I had that I do 
 think that, favoured a little by fortune and a dark night, I could really now bid 
 adieu to Newgate." 
 
 **YoureaIly think so?'* 
 
 " From my heart I do." 
 
 ** *Tis well, friend," said Franklin, suddenly, as at times only it was his humour 
 to do, adopting the quaker phraseology. " Tis well, friend ; and truly it giveth' 
 unto me some gratification to be able to say to thee, friend Claude, here is the ' 
 rope that thou seekest.'' I 
 
 As he spoke, he unbuttoned his top-coat and exhibited, nicely wound round his 
 waist, a complete coil of rope, of evidently many yards in length. j 
 
 "Thee will find, friend Claude,'' he said, "that this is a bit of good stuff, 
 and will not fail thee. Double, ay, treble thy weight and mine together, might hang 
 to it without fear, slender as it looks ; and now what dost thou tbink of thy 
 chances?" , 
 
 *' Think ? Why I think I can almost say, that I know I shall get out of Newgate. 
 Have you any small grapples or hooks to give me to fasten to the end of the 
 rope ?* . 
 
 " Yes, friend Claude, I have not forgotten those; and it sttiketh me that thou 
 art as well provided as any man can well be, friend Claude. What thinkest 
 thouT ,! 
 
 " I think, Franklin, that I shall owe my life to you, and that the time will 
 come when you will not look back with any regret upon having done me this 
 favour," I 
 
 - *' Then, friend Claude, 1 will bid thee good day, and remember I am Mr. Jones 
 thy solicitor ; and if thou shouldst want to see me ajgain, pray send to me in 
 that name at the address in Dean-street, which thou kaowcst. And now, dost thou 
 want money ? for if thou dost, thou hast only to name the sum, and it is now at 
 thy disposal." j 
 
 " No," said Claude. *' I think I will try this escape quite unaided by any one ! 
 in the prison. If a trial to bribe a man fails, one's situation is only much worse, ' 
 for he gains information, and that begets increased cau:ion, and perhaps they might 
 find somewhere to place me which would preclude the possibility of getting away 
 at all."
 
 « 1 m ^.oiaM— <■■ ■ ■ ■* I 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 72 1 
 
 *' Thou art right. I wish thee all manner of luck, friend, and wish thee good 
 day." 
 
 The qiiaker tapped at the door, which had been locked upon him ; and as the 
 sound reverberated through the passage that communicated with the cells, the 
 turnkey heard it, and came up with his huge bunch of key?. 
 
 CLAUDE PAYS HIS DEBTS AT NEWGATE, AND MEETS TOM BRERETON. 
 
 <' Your client, Mr. Lawyer," he said, as he preceded Franklin along the pas- 
 sages to the lobby ; " your client is hooked, I take it." 
 *' Very probably," said Franklin. 
 **Ha ! ha ! He will dance upon nothing." 
 *< Yes, friend, I do not think that either you or he need fear drowning, even
 
 722 [GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Me ? What do you mean ? Why should I be hanged 1' 
 
 "That, friend, is best known to yourself; but I have had such immense pro- 
 fessional experience, that I am enabled to say at a glance whether a man is bound 
 for the gallows or not/' 
 
 *' But— but you don't mean to say that I look like it V* 
 
 '* No, friend, not like it, but it itself. I don't entertain the smallest doubt upon 
 the subject." 
 
 " The devil !» 
 
 " Yes, the devil is the ultimate distinction, but comfort yourself, it may be a 
 year or two yet." 
 
 " A year or two? What a comfortable idea, to be sure ! Confound you, I wish 
 you would keep your mighty cleverness to yourself. Who asked you to be so 
 wonderfully prophetic P" 
 
 By this time they had reached the lobby, and Franklin then saw a small thin 
 man who was conversing with one of the officials, to whom the quaker heard 
 him say— 
 
 " You will perceive that this is an order from Judge Manning to permit me to 
 see the prisoner Claude Duval. Pray satisfy yourself that it is al! regular." 
 
 *' Oh, I dare say it's all right enough,'* said the turnkey. " Here, Foxey, you 
 have been once to the cell ; just show this gentleman Clau !e Duval's lodgings, if 
 you please." 
 
 '< Humph!" said Franklin, as he passed out of Newgate. <*That, then, is a 
 messenger from the judge. What does he want, I wonder ?*' 
 
 CHAPTER CLXIX. 
 
 MR. ikGO HOLDS OUT PROMISES TO CLAUDE, AND DOBS A LITTLE BUSINESS 
 
 FOR HIMSELF, 
 
 Claude was rather surprised at Mr. Sago's appearance, and he looked all the 
 surprise he felt. The manner of the cautious attorney was certainly not in any 
 way calculated to decrease that surprise. The first thing he did upon getting into 
 the cell was to place himself in a crouching attitude, and to listen attentively to 
 the retreating footsteps of the turnkey. He even went the length of counting 
 thena upon his fingers as the man slowly tramped down the narrow stone corri- 
 dor into which the cells opened. Then he went all round the waTls, examining 
 them up and down with the greatest attention. 
 
 " Pray, sir," said Claude, for the attorney had not spoken one word to him, 
 " pray, sir, is it usual to send lunatics into the cells of Newgate, to annoy 
 prisoners %' ' 
 
 *♦ Hush !" cried Mr, Sa|ro. « I really do think that it is all right and safe, I 
 do, indeed." 
 
 ** What is all light and s&fe ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, I mean that I think there are no ear-trumpets, or peep-holes, ftom 
 this cell." 
 
 '* Ear-trumpets and peep-holes ! Are there are such things in Newgate !'* 
 
 " Bless your innocence, yes. Lots of 'em ; but, I say, I don't think that there 
 are any such here^ so we may speak freely, although iu a low voice — mind you, 
 in quite a low voice. We cannot be too cautious in these sort of communica- 
 tions, and when I have anything very particular to make you acquainted with, I 
 will use this." 
 
 As he spoke, the attorney took a little slate from his pocket, and a pencil, and 
 then he sat himself down opposite to Claude, and rubbed his hands together 
 like a man thoroughly satisfied with himself, and with what he was about. 
 
 " Lfy" said Claude, *• it is all the same to you, sir, I should be glad of some 
 little hint as to what you mean by all this."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 723 
 
 *' My dear sir, you shall have not only a hint, but the fullest and most coni- 
 plete information. Do you know -— — — — >" Here he wrote the name of 
 Judge Manning upon the slate, which Claude replied to with a nod. " I come 
 from him, my dear sir, eo fai as an order to see you goes, and he wishes me to 
 tell you that situated as he is, he don't see how he can do you any good." 
 
 "Nor 1 neither,'* said Claude. '* Pray give my best respects to him, and say 
 that I feel I ought not, and cannot, expect anything from him in the way of aid, 
 situated as he is with regard to his public office.*' 
 
 *' Grood, my dear friend ; but I — I — ." Here Mr. Sago put his finger by the 
 side of his nose. '• I have an idea.*' 
 
 " You don't say so V said Claude. *' Pray, what is it, sir ? I shall be much 
 obliged by your letting me know it as quickly as possible, so that I may have the 
 pleasure of bidding you good day, as I prefer being alone." 
 
 '' Good. Of the two 1 am a man who generally prefers being alone ; but my 
 idea is, that for a consideration I could put you in a way of bidding good-by to 
 Newgate, and you will recollect that in so doing, you include the gallows in the 
 tender adieu." 
 
 ** True,*' said Claude. 
 
 " Well, sir, about the consideration. Can you manage the insignificant sum 
 of five hundred V 
 
 " It gives me great pleasure,* said iCiaude, *' to hear that five hundred is to 
 you an insignificant sum ; and if you will tell me in what way you prefer assisting 
 me to escape, I will give you an answer." 
 
 •* I shall open the front door for you, my dear sir, and let you walk out at your 
 
 " Indeed V 
 
 "Yes. That is the way I will manage it. I will find some one, for a con- 
 sideration, who will come here and let you go out in his clothes. For a con- 
 sideration I will so blind the eyes of the turnkeys with gold dust, that they will 
 suspect nothing until you are off and away upon the road again; but it will, to 
 pav everybody, take about fiv(3 hundred." 
 
 '"' I will think of it," said Claude. 
 
 ** Very good. My name is Sago. I will call upon you to-morrow at this hour, 
 and then you can give me a definitive answer upon the subject. Remember, if 
 you cannoi find the money at once, I will advance it, until, from the profits of 
 your business,fyou can conveniently repay me ; for I really do think that to hang 
 a man for doing a littlo business on the highway, is nothing better than murder. 
 You will easily comprehend that ray feelings alone h^ive prompted me in this 
 affair. I do not, of course, expect to get for myself one penny piece of the 
 money. But no matter : while I have the approval of what is here — "Mr. Sago 
 gave his chest a thump — " I shall be satisfied." 
 
 "You are quite a remarkable man," said Claude. " Be assured t'nat I shall 
 be in a situation to give you an answer to<^morrow at this hour, if you can get at 
 me." 
 
 " Humph ! I will try that. My dear sir, I wish you a very good-day, indeed. 
 Keep up your spirits, and ^hope for the best, my dear sir. I have been keeping 
 an eye upon the walls of this cell, and I really do believe it is a genuine one, and 
 that there are no ear-trumpets or peep-holes about it." 
 
 With this Mr. Sago left the cell, rather congratulating himself upon the idea 
 that with what he would get from Judge Manning, and what he would j^et from 
 Claude, he should be able to make a pretty good job of the escape from Newgate, jl 
 always provided the officers were not such miracles of virtue as to resist br bery. 
 When he reached the lobby again, he took from his pocket rather an elegant 
 snuff-box, and handed it to the man on duty at the wicket gate, for him to take 
 a pinch from, at the same time saying — , 
 
 ••I think there are seven of you altogether, on and off duty, about the lobby 
 here, and the stone passags leading to Duval's cell ?" 
 
 " Exactly seven," said the man, *'and werry good snuff this is, sir,"
 
 7 24 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 "Seven," added Sago. "Hamph! seven times twenty makes one hundred 
 and forty, which, in guineas, has a nice bright look. 1 am now going to the 
 Ram's Horn and Cartridge Box, opposite, to take a quiet glass. I shall be there 
 for half an hour; and if you and the others have a fancy that twenty guineas 
 apiece will be pretty for merely dozing a little, and running any risks, why one of 
 you can come over, and say as much to me there. Ask for Mr. Sago." 
 
 The turnkey, with a grin, as he opened the wicket to let the attorney go, said — 
 "It's about Duval ?" 
 
 Mr. Sag© nodded. 
 
 The turnkey nodded ; and then they both winked; and Mr. Sago, as he walked 
 over the way, said to himself-— 
 
 " It's a done job, and very cheap, too; very cheap, indeed. Well, I rather 
 think I shall make a good thing of this; and everybody will be so much in- 
 terested in keeping the affair snug, thai the judge will never be a bit the wiser. 
 Sago — Sago, you are a genius, that you are ; and you always were, from the first 
 day that you began life by sweeping out the office of Shark & Co., in Gray's Inn; 
 and studied law by listening at the- key holes to their private consultations." 
 
 We need not follow the officers — two of whom went within the ensuing half 
 hour to the public house — in their bargaining with Mr. Sago. Nothing pleased 
 them better than to find that some one was willing to pay them for what they had 
 made up their minds to do for nothing, namely — to set Claude Duval at liberty. 
 
 With their motives for so doing gratuitously, the reader is already fully ac- 
 quainted ; so that, what with one thing and another, Claude found himself 
 thoroughly surrounded by persons not at all anxious to keep him in Newgate ; 
 but plotting and planning in every shape and way for the best means of getting 
 him comfortably and quickly out of it. The only thing the officers made as 
 a special bargain with Mr. Sago was, that they were to have the twenty pounds 
 apiece, provided Duval got clear away, let it be done how it might. They had 
 their own reasons for preferring a different mode to that which Mr. Sago pro- 
 posed. They much preferred a regular prison-breaking to the substitution of 
 another person for Claude in his cell, in whose power they might all be to an in- 
 convenient extent. 
 
 It was ihe gentleman named Bill, who, about two hours after the visit of Mr. 
 Sago, made his way into Claude's cell, and gave him a hint of what he might, if 
 he chose, set about ; and as Mr. Bill's mind and perceptions were not of the most 
 delicate or highly cultivated order, the bint was a pretty broad one. 
 
 ♦' I tells you what it is, Duval," he said ; *' you haven't be#n najj^ed in the 
 riglar way, and fair play is a jewel whether in or out of Newgate ; so, you see, 
 if so be as you thinks as there is a chance of giving the old stone jug the go-by, 
 don't say that me or any ©f my mates stood in your way, nor don't say that any 
 of us stood out of it either, that's all I have got to say to you." 
 
 '* I understand," said Duval. 
 
 " Very good. A nod is as good as a vlnk to a blind oss. In course, you'll 
 want tools. Well, perhaps this here bag will be left here by me quite promis- 
 cuous. Perhaps you will want to know the vi;ay ; well, it's through the chapel, 
 which is at the end of this here passage, then into the yard, and over the wall by 
 the corner of Newgate-street. But, perhaps you will say, how are you to get on 
 the wall and down on t'other side ? Well, perhaps you'll find a rope a-hanging, 
 and when you climbs up by it, you can pull it up and let it down on the other 
 side. But don't be fancying that I am telling you how to get out of Newgate;" 
 
 '* Oh dear, no," said Claude. •' That would be very absurd. You may depend 
 upon it I shall not take anything so ridiculous into my head as a consequence ©f 
 your visit." 
 
 " Aid you never will, so help you, let out a word about it?" 
 
 "Upon my life I will not. There's not a man living \\ho can say Claude 
 D uval ever broke word or paltered with it in any shape or way." 
 
 ** I believes it," said Bill, giving the fable a thump in the enthusiasm of the 
 moment; " I believes it. Look you here, Duval. You are took — nabbed—^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 725 
 
 grabbed — flummaxed— and nailed ; but it was not in the fair and regular way of 
 business. I hate that sneaking rascal as peached upon you at Bow Street. It's 
 a wrong thing, and we of the purfession is biled at it, and can't btarid it, and won't 
 stand it, as you see, Duval ; we have made up our minds that you shall go to 
 the road aga'n, for yea haven't been took off of it in the proper way, not by no 
 manner o' means.'* 
 
 "I quite understand you," said Claude, "and know your sentiments. Only 
 tell me one thing. Will Tom Brereton get the reward ?" 
 
 '* He will." 
 
 ** I am sorry for that." 
 
 "So am I; and so are all of us; but we can't help it. It's only a clear five 
 hundred pounds for lodging you in jail. He'd get a thousand pounds more if you 
 were turned oif some fine morning, but that he'll lose. The five hundred pounds 
 though he'll have, and nobody can help it." 
 
 " Then listen to me," said Claude. •' When I am free, as I suppose now I 
 may conclude I shall be, I will haunt Tom Brereton like his shadow. He can't 
 get rid of #fe hundred pounds all at once, and I'll have it from him again as sure 
 as my name is Claude Duval ; and wben I get it, I'll come to the lobby of New- 
 gafte and share it among you, if you will pass me your word that I may do so with 
 st.03ty." 
 
 *" bone !" cried Bill. " If anybody lays a hand upon you, or says a dangerous 
 w'rd about you when you come, they shall walk through me to do it." 
 
 **I am satisfied," said Claude. 
 
 "Werry good," added Bill. ''Perhaps you'd set to work as soon as it's 
 eleven o'clock to-night ? You have got a ticker in your fob, and will know the 
 time." 
 
 "I have. All's right." 
 
 '•Good again," said Bill ; and having thoroughly concluded his mission in 
 what he called a highly satisfactory manner, he abruptly left the cell. 
 
 " Truly," said Claude, when he was alone, " for strangeness, this beats all my ; 
 adventures put together. Here, I may say in a manner of speaking, I am almost 
 jostled out of Newgate and forced upon the road again, whether I will or no. i 
 Alas ! alas ! what a world is this ! Here am I made the puppet of circumstances, ! 
 all because a price is put upon my head. The very thing which was intended to j 
 crush me, and destroy me, conspires now with other circumstances to save me. | 
 Yes, Cicely, I shall see you once again. Fate has not entirely separated us in | 
 this world. My own Cicely, if now, after this escape, I could but find a means j 
 of quitting England for ever we might be happy; but no— no. Fate, after all, , 
 is but a dream. Fate has in too unequivocal a manner pronounced a negative i 
 upon my adopting such a course. I must remain in England and fulfil my des- j 
 tinv, let it be what it may."* ! 
 
 From this time until eleven o'clock at night, the minutes seemed to lag very | 
 slowly with Claude. He did not think proper to make any attempt to move | 
 from his cell previous to the arrival of that hour ; for he knew that the officer j 
 must have had some suflUcient and ample reason for naming it ; but he employed . 
 the time in freeing himself from his fetters, which, with the admirable tools brought \ 
 to him by the quaker, he found no difficulty in doing. i 
 
 The only thing he took from the basket of tools left him by Bill, was a small | 
 wrought-iron crow-bar of about fifteen inches in length ; and theiJ, for fear of acci- \ 
 dents, coiling the rope the quaker had brought him round his waist, he waited for 
 the hour of eleven to come. 
 
 CHAPTER CLXX. 
 
 CLAUDE MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCB IN NEWGATE, AND THEN ESCAPES, 
 
 St. Sepulchre's clock struck eleven. Even in his cell, so still was the prison, | 
 Claude could hear the faint drowsy echo of the chimes, and then the more full i 
 Bound of the hour striking. j
 
 * 
 
 726 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, I 
 
 '^ It is time," he said. | 
 
 For fear of an accidental visit from any one, Claude had kept his fetters in 
 such a position that they did not look to have been disturbed at all ; but now that 
 the hour for action bad come, he at once shook them off, and they fell with a ' 
 chtter to the ground. j 
 
 He then took up one of the tools that had a sharp point, and, upon the wall of 
 his cell, he wrote the following lines : — 
 
 " ClauJe Duval was in Newgate thrown, 
 But he laughed his fill at iron and stone ; 
 He broke many locks, and he cleared the wall : 
 Heigho for the saddle ! says Claude Duval." 
 
 "There/* he added, "that will be something of a memorial of roe in time to 
 come ; and may it put heart to attempt his hberty into any poor devil who may 
 occupy this cell after me." ...a... 
 
 Among the things brought to him by the quaker, were matches €MpK>8phorus, 
 then pretty well understood by what was called *' the family," i. IFcracksmen 
 and knights of the road ; and those matches, together with a small lantern which 
 he could darken at a moment's notice, were likely to be eminently useful to him 
 in kis progress through the dark passages of the old prison. 
 
 " I almost regret," he said, as he lighted his lantern, " that these rascals of 
 turnkeys and officers have made up their minds to wink at my escape ; for I should 
 have liked to get away in spite of them all, which I do think I could have done ; 
 but, perhaps, it's as well as it is, for I am now, in a manner of speaking, sure of 
 my success." 
 
 His first task now was to unlock his cell door, and this he did not find to be a very 
 difficult task, for he had the very finest tools for such a purpose that London could 
 furnish him. The door soon yielded, for as Bill had been his last visitor, he had 
 forgotten (?) to put up an iron bar that was behind it. 
 
 With his lantern in his hand, Claude traversed the corridor in which he now 
 found himself, and he was upon the point of commencing an attack upon one of 
 the double-doors leading into the chapel, when he was arrested by hearing some 
 one weeping. The sound appeared to have come from one of the cells opening 
 from the corridor, 
 
 " What shall 1 do ?" said Claude. '* Ought I to trouble myself about any one 
 else at such a time as this ? or ought I to reflect that I have it, perhaps, in my 
 power to restore some one to life and liberty, who may either be wholly and com- 
 pletely innocent, or not very guilty 1" 
 
 Such a discussion was not likely to last very long in the mind of such a person 
 as Claude. His feelings soon carried the day against his judgment. He 
 made his way to the door of the cell from whence the sobs issued, and placing 
 his mouth to the key-hole, he said, in a low but distinct voice— 
 
 «' Who are you V* 
 
 The sobs suddenly ceased, and all was perfectly still, until Claude repeated his 
 question, and then a voice replied — 
 
 «' I am a most unfortunate person indeed. Who is it that speaks to me in such 
 a place as this f 
 
 «« One who can give you your freedom," replied Claucle, *' only he is not qui(e 
 sure that you deserve it.*' 
 
 " Oh, do not say so," replied the voice ; " I am merely placed here out of spite 
 on account of some family differences. There is not in all the world, I assure 
 you, be you whom you may, a more innocent person than I am ; and if you can 
 only restore me to freedom, you will earn my everlasting gratitude." 
 
 " I have no means,'' thought Claude, "of testing the truth of this man's asser- 
 tions, but I will run the risk, and let him go with me as far as the street, poor 
 devil." 
 
 With this determination, Claude took down the bar of the cell door, and speedily 
 unlocked it. When he flung it open, he said —
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD 727 
 
 " Make as little noise as you can, and follow me ; I am, like yourself an escap- 
 ing prisoner, and we shall require all our skill and caution yet to succeed." 
 
 The inhabitant of the cell now came crawling out upon his knees in the most 
 abject manner. The light of the ksntern fell upon his face, and Claude recognised 
 Phillip Manning ! At the same moment the wretched man caught a sight of, and 
 recognised Claude Duval. 
 
 ** Mercy ! mercy !'* he cried. 
 
 "Villain !'* said Claude, " had it been any other man in Newgate I would not 
 turn ray back upon him, but you——'* 
 
 ** Oh no — no — no ! — Spare me. Take me with you ! Only free me Irom this 
 dreadful prison, and I will be your servant — your slave. Oh, have mercy upon 
 me !" 
 
 Claude turned away in disgust. 
 
 " Duval, Duval, do'not leave me here. My uncle is cold, and stern, and harsh ; 
 he" has made up his mind, notwithstanding all the exposure and all the relation- 
 ship, to leave me to my fate and to the law. Oh, take me with you. You are 
 bold and vigorous, and the stone walls of Newgate cannot hold you. Have pity 
 upon me.*' 
 
 '* No," Phillip Manning, " £ght your own battles. Remain where you are, for 
 me.* 
 
 "But 1 cannot fight my own battles. I have already written a letter to my uncle 
 threatening him that if I am put upon my trial, I will insinuate so much against 
 the purity of Grace, that it shall stick to her while she lives, and he took no notice 
 of the letter at all. Oh, save me ! save me !*' 
 
 " You consummate scoundrel ! To your cell again !"' 
 
 «« No— no. I have once left it, and I will not return to it. If you will not 
 save me by letting me go with you, I will raise the whole prison by my crir s, and 
 swear — for I am am ready at any time to swear anything — that I caught you in the 
 act of escaping, and that you were tiying to persuade me to go with you and rob 
 on the highway.*' 
 
 Duval had only just patience enough to hear the end of this speech, and it was 
 truly wonderful that he had so much, considering his temperament, but the last 
 words were no sooner out of Phillips lips, then clapping the lantern to the 
 floor, Claude sprung upon him, and lifting him bodily up with both hands, 
 he flung him into the cell again as though he had been some piece of old 
 lumber, and then banging the door to, he put up the bar again in a moment. 
 All was stiil. Master Phillip had in all probability been too much stunned by 
 the vengeance with which he was sent back again into his old quarters, to 
 give any immediate alarm of what Claude was about. 
 
 Claude was really much more annoyed at this little incident than he chose 
 to confess to himself, and he muttered as he set to work upon the door at 
 the end of the corridor — 
 
 *' Confound it, who would have thought of lighting upon that one rascal 
 out of all the folks, good, bad, and indifferent, in Newgate ? But it serves one 
 right for at such a time meddling with the affairs of anybody one did not 
 know.*' 
 
 The door he was engaged upon soon yielded, but that immediately behind 
 it, which opened into the chapel, was secured by two strong bolts, one at the 
 top, and one at the bottom of the door, so that he had his work before him 
 to get that one undone. 
 
 It was only by boring a hole right through the door, and with the powerful 
 tools he had, sawing a piece out of it both at top and bottom, that he suc- 
 ceeded in overcoming this obstacle of the bolts, and then having previously 
 shot back the lock, he found himself within the chapel of Newgate, whi9h, by 
 the uncertain light of his lantern, looked of treble its usual size. 
 
 He knew that he could much easier leave the chapel, by a door immediately 
 opposite to the one at which he had entered, than he had entered it, for now 
 the bolts weie upon his side, and be could withdraw then in a moment. The
 
 728 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 locks readily yielded, and he then found himself in a corridor, very similar to 
 the one from which his cell had opened. It was at the far end of this corri- 
 dor that he expected to find a door that would lead him immediately into 
 the court-yard that he sought, and which was bounded by the wall, close to the 
 corner of Newgate Street. 
 
 He found the door without any difficulty, but to get it open was rather a serious 
 task. The lock was one of a peculiar character, and none of the implements that 
 he, Claude, had, would in any way touch it as regarded opening it. He felt Uiat 
 there was no resource hut to set to work getting the lock off bodily j and without a 
 moment's delay he commenced operations. By dint of great labour, he succeeded, 
 in the course of a quarter of an hour, in getting the wedge-end of the wrought- 
 iron lever he had with him about an inch beneath the plate of the lock. 
 
 Slowly and cautiously he applied his strength to the other end of the crow b 
 and it was pleasant to him to hear the creaking and springing of the yielding 
 lock. Then with a sudden bang, like the mufSed report of fire arms, the lock- 
 plate came off, and there was no longer any difficulty to contend with, as regarded 
 opening that door, so far as the lock was concerned. Duval did not expect that 
 that door had any other fastening, and he was most disagreeably surprised to find 
 that it did not yield. By a little shaking at it, he found out that there was a bar 
 across it. 
 
 This was a serious obstacle, not as. regarded the difficulty of removing tlie 
 bar, but as regarded the time it would take to do so. There was no eartb*y 
 resource but to absolutely saw through it, and that he immediately set about. 
 Fortunately there was just sufficient spate between the door and the wall for him 
 to introduce one of the fine and exquisitely- tempered saws with which he was 
 provided, so that he could begin the work at once. 
 
 Rapidly the sharp teeth of steel cut into the soft iron of which the bar was 
 very injudiciously composed, and at length the last obstacle was removed, and 
 the door creaked open upon its massive hinges. Then came a rush of cold air, 
 which was sufficiently convincing to Claude as regarded the immediate proximity 
 of the court-yard. 
 
 " Now," he said, '* I have but the wall of Newgate to surmount, but tha is 
 not the easiest thing in all the world. 1 must trust to good fortune, however, 
 and a stout rope. I wcnder if the officer has been as good as his word, and left 
 a rope hanging from the spokes conveniently ?" 
 
 Claude thought it v,as expedient to put out his lantern; for although the 
 night was dark it was not so dark bu'; that with a little practice he could see 
 ot)Jects generaVly in the prison-yai d, and there might possibly be some official 
 who, not being in the plot, would consider it a wonderfully meritorious thing to 
 discover him. Besides^ if a rope were there at all, it must be hanging close to 
 the wall, so he could not miss it. 
 
 The court-yard was small, and Duval soon reached tne wall, but scarcely had he 
 done so, when he was somewhat startled by the ringing of a loud bell in the pri- 
 son. Hg paused a moment to listen to it, and then suddenly from the deep shadow 
 of an angle of the wall there came a man, who in a low voice, said— 
 
 " Quick, Duval, quick. Why, isn't you off 2" 
 
 **lsit you,Bill?" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure ; Tve been awaiting for you this half-hour. Don't you hear 
 the alarm-bell a-going? Somebody has found out that you are missing. Five or 
 six minutes ago, they said there was a shouting from one of the cells, but that 
 can't have anything to do with you, surely?" 
 
 ** It's Phillip Manning," thought Claude, ** who has given the alarm." 
 
 lie did not think proper to say as much to Bill, but in the same cautious tone 
 in which he spoke, he said — 
 
 " Show me where the rope is, and I'll be off, if I break my neck in the 
 venture." 
 
 *' This way — this way." 
 
 Bill led Claude to the rope, and then holding the end of it, he said —
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE EOAD. 729 
 
 ** You get up it as fast as you can. I'll steady it here below, which will be half 
 the battle. Confound that bell.'* 
 
 The alarm-bell was pulled by one who was not at all nijjgardly of his labour ; 
 and from various closely-barred casements that looked into the court-yard, lights 
 began to flash, while the murmur of loud voices carac plainly upon Claude's cars. 
 
 a HE ATTEMPT TO CAPTURE CLAUUE IN SMITHFIELD. 
 
 He sprang several feet up the rope at a bound, and then with great agility com- 
 menced climbing hand over hand to the top of the wall. 
 
 It was a capital rope for climbing, thick enough, so that Duval was at the top of 
 the wall in ai incredibly short space of time. There he found that two strong 
 hooks at the end of the rope had taken a'capital hold of the chevaux de frise that 
 was upon ihe top of the wall. It was a'dizzy thing to look down upon the lights
 
 730 GENTLEMAN MCK; OR, 
 
 in the Old Bailey, and to see from that height and that frail, very frail, standing- 
 place, the long perspecti^/e of lamps down Skinner Street and up Holborn Hill. He 
 had to hold on to the complicated iron-work as best he could. To cross it was a 
 matter of great danger and difficulty. 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXI. 
 
 CLAUDE ASTONISHES TOM BRERETON AND PLEASES HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 That was not exactly the time for reflection ; and Claude, after shading his eyes 
 with his hand, and taking one long look upon the streets below, from which rose 
 up to him the roar and the clash of life in the countless crowds of Londoo, pro- 
 ceeded to let the rope down on the outer side of the wall. 
 
 He tore his clothing and gave himself some slight scratches from the spiked 
 iron-work at the top of the wall, and then he succeeded in fairly launching him- 
 self on to the rope. All he required now to do, was to keep himself from any too 
 rude concussion against the wall, and that he managed tolerably well, by pointing 
 his toes against it. In the course of two minutes he was in the Old Bailey. 
 
 A man having the dress and appearance of a porter, was the only person passing 
 at the moment, and he, after pausing for a moment with a look of astonishment as 
 Claude descended and reached the pavement, suddenly rushed forward and seized 
 him by the collar, saying— 
 
 *' Hilloa, my jail bird, you are taking tw your wings, are you ?" 
 
 *'*Yes^" said Claude, " and my claws likewise." 
 
 Drawing in a full breath as he spoke, he struck the man such a tremendous 
 blow in the face that he fell to the ground as though a cannon'shot had felled him. 
 Duval started off then at a brisk trot, and making his way down Skinner S treet 
 he soon gained Holborn-bridge. As he ran he heard the sound of the great bel! 
 of Newgate, as though it were pursuing him, but he was resolved to go the 
 nearest way he could to the quaker's in Dein Street, and without deviating from 
 his path in the least, he ran up Holborn Hill. 
 
 ♦*Stop him !*' cried a voice. " Stop thief!" 
 
 Claude glanced behind him and saw some men running. He had his doubts 
 whether they were after him or not, but he did not think it worth his while to 
 throw a chance away» and being close to Southampton Buildings he darted down 
 that turning, and then taking the first turn he came to, to the right again he 
 emerged into Chancery Lane. Not wishing then to make his way into Holborn 
 or down the lane to Fleet Street, he thought his best plan would be to get through 
 Lincoln's Inn, and so on by a back route to Soho. 
 
 Claude knew that the Inn was closed to all but its inhabitants after nine o'clock, 
 but he crossed pver the road and boldly knocked at the old gate. 
 
 In the course of about a minute the wicket was unbolted, and a surly-looking 
 man with a nightcap on his head and a lantern in his hand, made his appearance. 
 A sharp scrutiny Into Claude's face sAtisfied the porter that he, Claude, did not 
 belong to the Inn, and he said in a tone of passion — 
 
 ♦' What the devil do you want here ? You can't come in, I tell you." 
 
 ** But you can come out," said Claude. 
 
 As he spoke he darted in his right hand, end seizing the porter by the throat, 
 he dragged hina through the wicket and hurled him into the middle ef Chancery 
 Lane. To step into the Inn and to bolt the wicket on the inner side was Claude's 
 next step. 
 
 "Daniel!*' cried a woman's voice from the lodge. *' Daniel, what's the 
 matter ? What's the matter, Daniell" 
 
 " Nothing," said Claude. " You be quiet, or I'll soon make you." 
 
 Without waiting for any reply, he darted across the old square and so on to the 
 new, and then making his way up Cook's Court, he was duly let out by the porter 
 there, for it is a rule after hours at the Inn to let everybody out but nobody in.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 731 
 
 The cries of the men in Holborn, whether they had been directed at Claude oi 
 not, had long since died away, and he walked with a deliberate step through the 
 silent purlieus of Clare Market. Drowsy watchmen calling the wrong hour, and 
 asserting the weather to be anything that came uppermost to their minds, were 
 the only persons he met, with the exception of some nymph of the pave who occa- 
 sionally applied to him an endearing epithet or an abusive one, as her humour at 
 the moment dictated ; and so, in less than half an hour after leaving Newgate, he 
 stood upon the quaker's doorstep in Dean Street. 
 
 Instant admission was granted him, and he found his hand grasped in that of 
 Jack, who cried — 
 
 '' Claude, Claude, this is indeed a happy meeting. Both Dick and I said we 
 vould meet you, but our friend Franklin declared you would be safer by your- 
 self!" 
 
 *' Thank you all," said Claude, " I am safe enough, and glad to see you all.— 
 I don't think either— indeed, I may say, I am sure that there is no one upon my 
 track, so all is rignt so far," 
 
 "Then, fiiend, Claude," said the quaker, who had been fastening up the street- 
 door, "let us to supper, for we have waited for you. I said you would be here, 
 friend, at half-past twelve, and it is now not above twenty minutes to one. Didst 
 ihou meet with any cross accident ?'* 
 
 " Nothing to signify," said Claude ; V but you shall have all the particulars 
 while we are at supper. I feel as though I could do justice to it ; let it be as 
 good a one as it may, Mr. Franklin." 
 
 ** Friend, there are four roast ducks, and a Westphalia ham, together with all 
 sorts of varieties in the way of drink." 
 
 ** Good ; and now can anybody tell me what has become of my horse ?' 
 
 " I can," said Dick ** He is all right, and as fresh as a daisy on a Spring 
 morning, Claude. You have certainly got the better of the Philistines this time, 
 and no on© can rejoice at it more than 1 do." 
 
 " I thank you all," said Claude ; " and does Cicely know nothing i'* 
 
 ** She knows nothing," replied Jack ; " but suspects much." 
 
 ** Then, that shall be seen to after supper ; I will ride to the farm, and set her 
 heart at rest. Oh, how I long to be in the saddle again, and among the trees and 
 meadows. God, 1 think I should die soon in the city. Short as has been my 
 stay in Newgate, there have been times when I felt as though I should have gone 
 mad ; but that is past now, and in good truth I don't think they will take me 
 again with the breath in my body. This time it was an extraordinary accident, 
 or they would not have had me within the walls of Newgate." 
 
 They were now seated at the supper-table, and they all did ample justice to the 
 good cheer of the quaker, after which Claude related to them what had taken 
 place in the prison, regarding the interview he had had vrith S. go, the attorney, 
 and the singular determination that the officers and turnkeys had themselves come 
 to, to let him escape. 
 
 " Friend," said Franklin, " thou wert in luck's way. 1 know that Sago very 
 well, and thou needest not trouble thyself about any arguments or promises with 
 him. I will give him a call." 
 
 *' Thank you; but can any of you now tell me anything of Tom Brereton, for 
 I am resolved to keep my word with the officials of the prison, and whatever I 
 can wrest from him of the reward I will take to them. It may serve me in good 
 stead at another time, or a friend, if not myself, may profit by having well-dis<> 
 posed people to me within the four walls." 
 
 "That is true, friend," said Franklin; "and I very much applaud thy resolu- 
 tion; I can tell thee where thy old acquaintance, Tom Brereton, is^* and I can 
 likewise tell thee that he has only.received £750 for thy capture. The Secretary 
 of State raised a quibbile wth him that thou^wert already in custody, and kindly 
 added, ' that if he did not like to take the £750 in full, they (the government) 
 were quite willing to meet him in any Court of law upon the subject, for the term 
 of his natural life ;' so, with a rare wisdom, Tom Brereton took the money."
 
 733 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Claude laughed, and then he said—" And where may I have the pleasure of 
 finding the rascal ?" 
 
 *' He has taken a lodging, friend Claude, at the next house to the corner one of 
 the Edgeware road, and there, most undoubtedly, thou will find the rascal ; for 
 he makes no secret of his name or his whereabouts, as he looks upon thee as most 
 comfortably bestowed in Newgate, and that thy first appearance in the open air 
 therefrom will only be to be hanged." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to him," said Claude, rising. *' It will be quite a 
 charity to undeceive him, Mr. Franklin, I am extremely obliged to you ; and for 
 myself and my friend?, I feel myself very much your debtor, indeed, I will 
 take good care that you lose nothing by your share in these transactions," 
 
 " Friend, I am quite satisfied/' said Franklin, rubbing his hands together. 
 <' Business is business, and I am quite sure that I shall see thee all again very 
 often. I wish thee all manner of luck, friend.*' 
 
 The servant of the quaker made his appearance, and casting up his eyes in a 
 sanctimonious manner, he said—" Truly, the three animals are at the door." 
 " What the duce does he mean ?" said Dick. 
 '« He means," said Franklin, " that your horses are ready." 
 " And, am I, Dick," said Claude, " to have the pleasure of your company ? 
 Jack, of course, I counted upon." 
 
 *' Even so," said Dick, *' I am something like you, Clawde. I am half dead 
 for want of a sniff of the country air. I am for the road, again, and will ride 
 with you some miles ; I then think of going a good many miles off, and trying 
 some of the fir«t-class road-:, some hundred miles at least from London. I think 
 there' is some fair business to be done." 
 
 «* Probably enough," said Claude ; " but don't let me keep yeu off Hounslow 
 Heath, if you have any fancy to it." 
 
 '« No, thank you. 1 shall try the great north road, for a few weeks, and then 
 who knows but we may meet again. However, I will now ride with you as far as the 
 Edgeware Road, for 1 presume that is the direction in which you purpose 
 going now ?" 
 
 " It is ; and I will drop in upon my friend, Tom Brereton, as I go along. I am 
 very anxious to get that little piece of business comfortably settled ; and I don't 
 think it will take me very long to do it." 
 
 *' Truly, friend," said Franklin, " you will find him in the first floor of that 
 house that I have named to you ; and as he certainly does not expect thee, the ] 
 surprise will be all the greater, and, of course, quite an agreeable one." 
 " Very agreeable," said Jack. 
 
 They all mounted, and the only person who watchtdthem do so was the drowsy 
 looking guardian of the night, who threw the glare of his lantern upon them, and 
 then as they were just moving off, cried — 
 
 *' This is an odd time of night to ride. Who is you ?" 
 
 *« Just run on a few miles, and we will tell you," said Claude. «' You can hold 
 on to my horse's tail." 
 
 The watchman was waxing very wroth, as they trotted down Dean Street, and 
 then emerging into Oxford Street, they went on at a brisk canter to the west. 
 
 •• Ah," said Claude, '* this is life, again. Now, indeed, I feel that the blood 
 circulates in my veins. What a different creature to be sure 1 feel upon my gallant 
 steed in the pure open air. That infernal cell of Newgate would have killed me 
 in another week. Why, I can smell the fresh and beautiful vegetation of the 
 country, already." 
 
 ** Yes," said Jack, '* so can L I love the trees, and the fields, and every sight 
 and sound of the open country. When death comes to me, let it come far away 
 from the smoke and the din of London. But here we are, Claude, at the Edge- 
 ware Road, Do you still hold to your intention of dropping in on Tom Brereton, 
 to night?" 
 
 " Certainly I do. The sooner the better. By to-morrow at noon the news of 
 my escape from Isewgate will be all over London, and upon the very first intima-
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 733 l\ 
 
 tion of such a thing, he will assuredly be off, and 1 don't want a tedious dance 
 after him. It must be to-night or never that he and I come to a reckoning/* 
 
 " Here's the house, then," said Dick, as they all three paused opposite to the 
 house that had been mentioned by the quaker as that in which Tom Brereton 
 had taken a lodging, upon the snength of his seven hundred and lifty pounds. It 
 .was a respectable enough looking building, and the first floor was adorned by a 
 pretty balcony, that ran all along the front of the house, and around the wooden 
 rails of tvhich some creeping plants were rather tastefully trailed and trained. 
 The most profound stillness reigned in and about the place. 
 
 ** I have an idea,'* said Claude, *' that by standing on the saddle of my horse I 
 can reach the balcony." 
 
 *' Of course you can," said Dick, *' and it will be, by all means, the best way 
 of getting into the house. We will take care of the horse, and see that all is 
 right below here." 
 
 " Thank you. I don't anticipate the smallest trouble in the affair. I know 
 my customer pretty well/* 
 
 Claude walked his steed to a spot exactly under the edge of the balcony, and 
 then admonishing it by his voice to be still, he got upon the saddle and found 
 he could reach the balcony easily enough. After, then, trying some of the bars, 
 to see if they would stand his weight, and finding that, so far, all was right, he 
 drew himself up in a moment, and was fairly in the balcony, somewhat to the 
 detriment of some plants in pots that were placed there. 
 
 " All right ?" whispered Jack, from below. 
 
 ** Yes — yes ; you need not keep the horse there, or stay there yourselves ex- 
 actly by the house; it may attract attention, and when I have done all the affair I 
 can jump down." 
 
 Jack took Claude's horse by the bridle; the creature knew Jack very well, and 
 would go with him; and then he and Dick walked off some twenty or thirty yards, 
 and waited the issue of Duval's adventure in the lodging of the man who had 
 placed him in such peril. 
 
 There were two windows to the room which opened from the balcony, but as 
 they both belonged to one room, it was of no sort of consequence which one he 
 Claude, opened ; so he began operations upon the one that happened to be the 
 nearest to him, and soon found that the fastenings were singularlv insufficient. 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXII. 
 
 TOM BRERETON FINDS THAT LIGHTLY COME, LIGHTLY GO, IS A TRUE PROVBRB. 
 
 It was a French casement, and in the course of three minutes Claude had 
 open one of the h-alves of it, and stepped into Tom Brereton's drawing-room 
 noiselessly. 
 
 It showed what an amount of confidence both Claude and |his friends had in 
 the accuracy of any information that might come from Franklin, the quaker, that 
 he 'should make his way thus into a house, and not feel the least doubt upon the 
 subject of his being upon the right track to find the man whom he sought. And 
 he was quite right in this great confidence that he bestowed upon the word of the 
 quaker, for he was sure enough then and there in the lodging of Tom Brereton, 
 who would as soon have expected a visit from the Pope of Rome upon that night 
 as from Claude Duval. The room was very dark, for it was the most obscure 
 portion of the night ; but Claude had with him some of the matches which he had 
 used in Newgate upon the occasion of making his escape from that prison, so a 
 small blue flame quickly made itself visible in the drawing-room of Tom Brereton, 
 and illu'.nined by its faint radiance every object. ' 
 
 Thef. rsi tlin- :lat met Clrude*3 'prze, upon the table in the centre of the 
 room, was a decanter half full o! ^ ir - , .Mth an overturned glass by the side of it.
 
 \} 
 
 784 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 Two candles, very roughly put out, were likewise upon the table, so that there 
 were pretty evident tokens that Tom Brereton had been enjoying himself a little 
 freely during the evening. 
 
 Claude lit one of the candles, and then seeing a door a few inches open, which 
 he judged rightly enough led into the bed-room, he cautiously and very noiselessly 
 advanced, and pushing the door wide open, entered the sleeping-chamber of the 
 man <vhom he had eome to seek. 
 
 Claude need not to have been at all careful in his approach to Tom Brereton's 
 bed-side, for that individual had taken sufficient wine to steep his senses in for- 
 getfulness ; and he was snoring at a furious rate, as he lay upon his back with 
 a flush of unusual colour upon his vulgar and most menacing face. 
 
 Claude placed the candle upon the dressing-table, and then sat down very com- 
 posedly by the bed-side, Tom Brereton had a nose in the full acceptation of the 
 term, and it looked so convenient and handy a means of awakening him, that 
 Clauda reached his hand towards it, and taking hold of it with his finger and 
 thumb, he gradually tightened his grasp of it. 
 
 Tom Brereton moved uneasily, he coughed, shook his head, tossed his arms 
 about, and finally opening his eyes, he beheld, seated by his bed-side, his arch 
 enemy. It is doubtful if he would not rather, at that time, have seen 'sttting 
 by him the arch ewemy of mankind, than Claude Duval, with his stern composed- 
 looking face glaring at him. 
 
 Claude let go his nose, which was squeezed perfectly flat, and seemed as though 
 it would never recover its former rotundity, and then in quite a casual sort of tone, 
 he said— 
 
 "Well, Tom Brereton. Here I am, you see.*' 
 
 Tom Brereton rubbed his nose, and rubbed his eyes. He got half up upon his 
 elbow, and then he rubbed his nose and his eyes again. 
 
 *' A dream ?" he said. 
 
 " Look again," said Claude, " Do I look very visionary ? Were those fingers 
 that compressed your nose those of a vison ? I repeat, Tom Brereton, that 1 am 
 here to pay you a visit and to square accounts with you." 
 
 The agonised coward fell back upon his pillow, and uttered a cry of horror and 
 alarm, Claude drew a pistol from his pocket, and placed the cold muzzle of it 
 right within vhe cavity of Tom Brereton's ear, as he said — 
 
 ** Another such cry, and it is your last in this world. You know me, and that 
 I keep my word. Answer we what I shall demand of you, and speak in a low 
 tone, but clearly and distinctly ; and as you value your wretched existence let me 
 have no prevarication." 
 
 " The Lord help me !" groaned Tom. '* I'm a dead man now — Our father 
 which art in Heaven— For what we are about to receive the liord make us truly 
 thankful — Amen V 
 
 •' Peace, id ot!" 
 
 " Yes— yes. I — I — am — peace. Oh, dear! Oh — oh!*' 
 
 " How much did you get for denouncing meat the police oflice?'* 
 
 " How— -hov? much ? Oh, my dear sir, you can't believe how very unhappy I 
 have been ever since I had the misfortune to say it was you. Oh, dear, I re- 
 gretted it so very much, for you know how very fond I am of you. I could quite 
 cry, I could to think of it.*' 
 
 "My patience," said Claude, " is fast leaving me. I ask you how much you 
 got by way of reivard for denouncing rac at the police office ? I worn you now. 
 My finger is upon the trigger 6f the pistol, and if you tempt me too far by any 
 lies, you are a dead man, and the wall there will be plastered with your brains, if 
 you have any." 
 
 ** Oh, gracious, I got seven hundred and fifty pounds. Here's a horrid fix." 
 
 " It is a fix. Where is the money V 
 
 ** Where is the money ? Oh, don't I wish it was here, I'd give it all to you in 
 a moment. It's in banker's hands." 
 
 " What banker ? Quick — quick."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 735 
 
 "What banker? Oh — why, it's in the hands of — of Smith and Company 
 I assure you, in Lombard Street, No. 22 and a half, next door to a cake-shop. 
 Oh, dear." 
 
 " Tom Breretsn !" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, sir. Yes, I am paying all the attention in the world.'"' 
 
 *' You have told me o lie about the money." 
 
 **0h, no — no — upon my honour — upon my soul. I have told truth." 
 
 "Well, I am sorry for it. I have come here with a determination to have that 
 money or your life — do you hear that ? — or your life, Tom Brereton, and I will 
 keep my word. Do you understand that, Tom Brereton ?' 
 
 *' Oh, don't— oh, don't. Look in the carpet-bag. Look in the carpet-bag. It's 
 hanging up behind tliat cupboard door. Only spare my life. I have not had time 
 to repent yet. I know I'm a sinner. We are all sinners, my dear Mr. Duval ; so 
 spare my life do — Amen !'' 
 
 ** If I find the money I will," said Claude. " But first let me secure this pistol, 
 the muzzle of which is in your ear, in such a way with a piece of whip-cord to the 
 side of the bedstead, that if you make any movement it will go off, and blow your 
 brains out. 1 shall so myself escape being your executioner." 
 
 '* Oh, don't— don't. Oh, dear. You will find the money, all but about twelve 
 pounds, in the ba^, indeed you will. I'm a miserable sinner." 
 
 Claude saw upon the dressing table a large pair of steel snuffers, and an 
 extinguisher of the same metal. The latter he pushed into Tom's ear, the largest 
 part forwards, so that it felt like the barrel of the pistol, and he wedged it with 
 the snuffers pretty tight. 
 
 " Now," he said, *' your life is in your own keeping not in mine, and we will 
 see what is in the bag behind the door." 
 
 Tom Brereton lay flat upon his back with his mouth wide open, and almost 
 afraid to breathe, from the idea that the pistol was ready to go off, and blow his 
 head to pieces upon the smallest amount of provocation so to do, while Claude 
 hastily examined the carpet-bag, in which he found a pocket-book containing 
 notes to the amount of seven hundred and twenty pounds. The defiency was 
 not of much consequence. 
 
 *' Hark you, Tom Brereton," said Claude. "Your life is spared because 1 have 
 been successful in finding the money. If I had not, you must have died. I shall 
 now leave you to your own reflections." 
 
 ** But you don't mean to take it all ?" groaned Tom. 
 
 " No. I shall leave you the remainder of the thirty pounds. You will then 
 have had much more then I intended to give you." 
 
 With this Claude blew out the light, and was proceeding into the other room 
 in order to leave by the balcony in the same way that he had made his way into 
 the house, but Tom Brereton called out to him in the most piteous manner, say- 
 ing— 
 
 " Oh, gracious ! You are not going to leave me here with this horrid pistol 
 sticking in my ear, that may go off when I least expect it ? Only take that away 
 with you, and you may rely on my not making the smallest alarm : indeed you 
 may, my dear sir. Oh, take it away !" 
 
 '• Ah," said Claude, as he shut the bed-room door ; " very likely," 
 
 He was not a moment now in reaching the balcony ; and then swinging him- 
 self over it, he dropped easily to the pavement below. Both Jack and Djck made 
 their way up to him, leading his horse. 
 
 ** Is it all right ?" said Jack. 
 
 ** Quite," replied Claude. '• I have got £720 of the money, and left Tom 
 Brereton in such a fright as he will hot get over for some time now, I think, and 
 it has all been done without giving the least alarm- I shall be off now to the farm 
 where Cicely is." 
 
 **AndI,'' said Dick, " will bid you good night, or rather good morning, 'for 
 I see a faint light in theeast at this corner, Claude, I dare say fortune, good or 
 bad, as the case may be, will throw us together again some day."
 
 736 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " I hope 80," said Claude, as he wrung his hand. 
 
 " At all events," added Dick, ** if I ever hear that anything has gone amiss 
 with you short of ^r getting a bullet in your brains, I will come to yoo, and do 
 you all the help I can." 
 
 ** And I promise the same," said Claude, " if there should be a thousand miles 
 between us. There is no doubt now but that Jack and I will keep company upon 
 the road together, and you may count upon us both at any time, Dick. We shall 
 be only too happy to do you a service." 
 
 " 1 know it," said Dick, as he waived his hand. " Farewell !" 
 
 They parted, Dick pursuing his route alone up the Edgware-road, and Claude 
 and Jack trotting together through Tyburn-gate, and making their way towards 
 Notting-hill, then a very rural district indeed. 
 
 There is something indescribably painful in parting for an indefinite period of 
 time with any one with whom we may have been upon a footing of social inter- 
 course ; but when danger such as had hovered about the career of Dick Turpin 
 and Claude Duval bad been shared together, and when, under circumstances 
 affecting their lives and mutual fidelity, and a mutual friendship had been relied 
 upon, to say *' Farewell !" became, indeed, a saddening and a painful thing. 
 
 Claude and Jack rode a good mile before they exchanged one word with each 
 other. It was Jack who broke the silence. 
 
 " It's very like death," he said, ** to part from a friend in this way,* 
 
 " It is," said Claude. " And yet something seems to tell me that I shall see 
 Dick Turpin again, and that he and I will have yet together some strange and 
 moving adventures. I am seldom wrong in these kind of presentiments." 
 
 " Success and good fortune attend him," said Jack ; " and who knows, after 
 all, but that he, and I, and you, and Cicely, and Mr. Mark Brereton, may not all 
 get off comfortably from England, and be quite happy somewhere." 
 
 Claude shook his head. 
 
 " You doubt it, Claude ?" 
 
 ** No, Jack, I do not doubt it. I feel certain now about it. Fate — destiny-^ 
 the will of Heaven — give the necessity whatever name you will — compels me to 
 run out my allotted course in England. I have tried to get away, as well you 
 know, Jack. 1 have tried as no man ever yet tried, and I have been foiled. -You 
 knew I have been cast back as if by the hand of fate. Yoa know that I have 
 been held to England as though by some chain, the firm though invisible links of 
 which are around every limb." 
 
 " Yes, it was so,'* said Jack, mournfully. " I admit that it was so." 
 
 ** I will not try it again. Jack.'* 
 
 ** Well then, we will run our race here, Claude. For myself I care little, so 
 that we run it together ; but yet I will confess, it has been often a pleasant day- 
 dream to me, to think that some day, with Cicely, you could sit down and be serene 
 and happy, and free from the constant alarms of this kind of life ; but if it cannot 
 be, why there is no help for it.*' 
 
 " None whatever. Jack. So don't let us make ourselves gloomy about what 
 cannot be helped. I am free, and we are once more upon the road together, so 
 let us be as light-hearted as possible. It is the parting with Dick that put ns 
 both into this serious strain of thinking, but we will yet hope that this parting 
 will not be for long. We are sure to hear of him, and a dash across the country 
 now and then, to shake hands with him and ask him how he is, althowgh it may 
 cost a hundred mile canter, will not be a very great object.'* 
 
 ** I should never grudge such a ride, Claude." 
 
 ** Nor I ; but here we are at the old farm. It's an unlikely sort of hour to 
 rouse people up at, but I know that here I am welcome at any time I like to show 
 myself." 
 
 We need not particularise Claude's reception at the farm. We need not say 
 that Cicely was delighted to see him, although his cheek was a little pale. How 
 little did she guess that he owed that transitory loss of colour to a residence in
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 737 
 
 Newgate ! We need not say how very welcome Jack was made for Claude's 
 
 During the remainder of the night, Claude gave to Cicely^ complete history 
 of all that had happened te him since he had seen her, to which she 
 listened with a breathless and souUabsorbing interest, ^At the mere mention 
 of the dreaded word, Newgate, her colour fled. 
 
 XilUDE COMES ACROSS AN OLD MiSEIt IN THE riNE-APPLB INN. 
 
 had I 
 
 " Ah, Claude," she said, " how truly wretched I should^ have been 
 only guessed one half of this. 1 should have gone distracted." •' -t . 
 
 * ' There you see. Cicely, how much you have been spared by not knowmg " ; 
 but the result ought to teach you never to give way to despair, let you neer 
 what you may of me ; for you will be able to say to yourself, * Was he not w a ceii
 
 738 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 of Newgate one night and was he not the next night restored uninjured to 
 my arms?'** *> 
 
 '* Yes, yes," said Cicely, as she sank sobbing upon his breast ; " and liow cao 
 I be suflSciently thankful to Heaven that you are here, Claude?" 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXIIL "^^^r?--". 
 
 THE ROAD AGAIN. — A REMARKABLE ADVENTCRE. 
 
 The morning was misty, but yet fresh and beautiful, and Claude, as he sat at 
 breakfast in the ample kitchen of the farm-house, could not help contrasting with 
 a sigh, his mode of life with that of one who, apart from the din and turmoil of 
 huge cities, lived a life of primitive simplicity, and was content to be a waiter upon 
 Heaven's bounty, in the produce of the earth, for his chief good. 
 
 *' I have often thought, my Cicely," he said, *' since fate, or fortune, call it 
 what you will, forbade us to leave England, that we might yet find some quiet 
 rarely -visited spot, where we might almost fancy ourselves amid the wilds of 
 nature, and there live a life of rural peace." 
 
 " Ah, Claude," said Cicely, " if such a dream as that could only once be 
 realised !" 
 
 " Do you like th2 picture ?'* 
 
 " Yes, Claude ; with you, it would, indeed, be happiness ; but, alas ! how is such 
 joy to be ours ? Should we not live a life of continual apprehensioii ? Would not 
 any chance passenger, who should look at our abode, humble though it were, with 
 more than usual interest, be to us an object of dread?" 
 
 «'Yes. Yes." 
 
 *' That life of uncertain peace I almost think would be worse than the present 
 one with all its terrors. And yet, it might endure until we both sunk into the 
 grave, where at least we should know peace." 
 
 *' 1 will think of it," said Claude. * I will think of it. But now I have yet 
 sometliing to do, which must be done at once." 
 
 "What is that, Claude?" 
 
 " Nothing of danger, dear one, but something of honour ; and there is Jack, I 
 see, coming from looking at our horses. Pardon me a moment. Cicely." 
 
 Claude left the room, and met Jack upon the lawn in front of the house. 
 "Jack," he said, *' I must go to Newgate with the money that I took from Tom 
 Brereton, and which is justly enough due to the officers, because I promised it to 
 them ; notwithstanding, I will admit that their assistance in my escape was little 
 ©r nothing.' 
 
 "I approve of the payment,'^ said Jack, " and yet " 
 
 " I know what you would say, Jack. You don't like the idea of my going to 
 Newgate with it ?" 
 . *' In truth, I do not." 
 
 " You think that that there is danger, but I differ from you," said Claude. 
 " While, of course, I shall take what precautions 1 can as regards putting on an 
 efficient disguise, in case anyone should see me who is not in the plot, I do not 
 think if I went as I am that one of those to whom I really shall take the money 
 would denounce me." 
 
 *' I don't know," said Jack. " My faith in the fine feelings of police-officers, 
 Claude, is not great." 
 
 *' And I, Jack, have no faith in their fine feelings at all, but I have some faith 
 
 in their cupidity and in their judgment. If they were to play any tricks with me, 
 
 the affair would altogether come out in some way ; but 1 will be well upon my 
 
 guard. Get the horses ready, and let us be off to London." 
 
 '* So soon, Claude ?" 
 
 ''Why. I don't quite expect to get to London Very quickly, for to tell the troth,
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 739 
 
 I shall loiter on the road with the hope of an adventure ; but be that as it may, I 
 somehow feel that I wish to be on horseback. I will be with you in a few 
 moments." 
 
 " Very good," said Jack, *' I will bring the horses round, and if we must be 
 off— why we must, that's all. But, Claude — " 
 *' Yes, Jack." 
 
 " Would it not be the wisest plan to adopt some disguise at once, so that you 
 would get into London without any news of your being in its neighbourhood 
 ; getting ahead of you.'' 
 
 i ** 1 hope to be able to pick up some disguise on the road, Jack. The only 
 
 I person I have much to fear is Tom Brereton. He, I have no doubt, by his 
 
 clamours will raise a pretty hue-and-cry at my heels; but I hope to outwit him yet. 
 
 He is too contemptible to fight and kill, or that would long since have been his 
 
 fate, Jack. I cannot bring my mind to do it." 
 
 "You are generous to your enemies, Claude, and ever were ; but it will stand 
 you in better stead in the long run to be so, than to kill all who stand in your way, 
 I feel assured." 
 
 ** 1 think so too, Jack." 
 
 Claude took a brief farewell of Cicely, assuring her, that now he was not going 
 upon any undertaking of danger, but merely to pay a little debt that he owed, 
 which would be thankfully received ; and then, after a hearty shake hands with all 
 at the farm, he mounted, and with Jack by his side, took the London road again. 
 Suddenly Jack laid his hand upon Claude's bridle, saying — 
 "Just look down the road, Claude. What crowd of horsemen is that that 1 
 see yonder ?" 
 ** Crowd of horsemen — where?" 
 
 ** Don't advance. We are under the shelter of the trees here now. Do not 
 advance another step, or they will see you. There are some ten or twelve of 
 them, and they are apparently in deep consultation about something." 
 
 " It is necessary, Jack, that I should see who and what those men are. Hold 
 the horse a moment, while I scramble up upon this bank and have a good look at 
 them." 
 
 Jack held the horse, and Claude having dismounted, got up upon the bank 
 that was close at hand, and being so elevated, he was able to take a good look at 
 the party of horsemen, who certainly, as Jack had said, appeared to be in deep 
 consultation about something. From the glances they repeatedly cast towards 
 the farm-house, and from several of them actually pointing in that direction, 
 Claude had very little difficulty in convincing himself that it was their destina- 
 tion, and such being the case, whom could they seek but himself? 
 
 It gave him a pang to think that that place of refuge for Cicely should have 
 been discovered ; and it was an additional pang to him to fancy that some evil 
 consequences might possibly fall upon those kind friends who had fr«m time to 
 time, in some sort, jeopardised themselves by giving him shelter. 
 
 *' Jack," he said, "we have been dogged. Some active enemy has been 
 upon our track. We are not abroad a bit too soon this morning. Thoisg men are 
 after us, or, I should rather say, they are after me. Jack." 
 
 " No. Say us, if you say anything, Claude ; for your fortune shall be my 
 fortune — your prison shall be my prison ; so, if they bode harm to you, it is to 
 me likewise. Thank the fates we are out of range of their vision here." 
 
 *' I think we are. But it will be prudent to keep a little back among the trees. 
 Ah, they have d>itermined to go by the meadows to the homestead, and they are 
 leading their horses through a gap they have made in the hedge-row yonder. — 
 Now, I'll be bound but those fellows think they ^have the reward for Claude 
 Duval in their pockets already virtually," i 
 
 '* Not a doubt of it, Claude, and you may owe tbia speedy pursuit, you ujay 
 depend, to Tom Brereton," 
 *' Of that I feel assured. Dismount, Jack; They are looking well f^n4 s^iarply
 
 740 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, (^ 
 
 about them, and they may chance to see your head among the trees if you cou- 
 liniie mounted." 
 
 Jack was off his horse in a moment ; and Claude, although he still wanted to 
 watch the movements of his foes from the top of the bank, crouched so low among 
 the blackberry bushes that grew in great luxuriance upon the top of it, that it 
 was next to an impossibility that they should see him. 
 
 *• They near the house, Jack," he said. *' They near the house now. They 
 place sentinels around it. I can see the flash of arms. They have cutlasses and 
 pistols. Ah, how sure they now make of their prey," 
 
 *' Come down. Come down, Claude." 
 
 ** Nay — no— no — not yet. Yet a little. Jack." 
 
 ** Oh, come down. Mount and fly. When they find you are not there, they 
 may be upon your track, and a mile between you and them may be worth your 
 life. Come away, Claude, oh, come away ; I implore you now at once." 
 
 " Jack ! Jack ! Cicely is there." 
 
 " 1 am answered, Claude — I confess it, I am answered. We will stay. I had 
 forgotten. Yes, Claude, Cicely is there, and we will stay until you see them 
 leave. Then you will feel that all is right. You will fly then Claude — will you 
 not? Say that you will ?" 
 
 '* I will. Jack, Hush! They have surrounded the farm-house on all sides. 
 They place their sentinels two together ; and now four of them climb the gate, 
 and get into the yard. Ah, the dog flies at them ! They have killed the crea- 
 ture! Oh, that I were there ! It fondled upon me but a brief hour ago !" 
 
 " It is a cowardly act, Claude. What are they doing now ? Tell me, or I 
 shall go mad down here with the horses. What are they doing now, Claude ?" 
 
 *' Hush — hush — don't be at all anxious ; I will tell you all. Jack. They 
 proceed through the farm-yard. There — there — now they turn the corner of the 
 large wheat stack you recollect, and I can see them no more. They are 
 gone." 
 
 " And those who keep watch ?" 
 
 "They are are still in their places, but evidently full of fear. They seem to 
 e}^pect that at a moment we may pounce out upon them. Jack ; and then V\l 
 wager my head to a groat, but they would run one and all of them as hard as their 
 legs would carry them/* 
 
 *'They would, Claude, they would; no doubt of that. But do not keep your 
 eyes off them for a moment, Claude, I beg of you.*' 
 
 ** Trust me, Jack. Ah ! what is that ? By Heaven, Cicely is out with them ; 
 one of them threatens her. Bravo I bravo !' 
 
 •What is it? What is it, Claude ? 
 
 * Only one of my friends at the farm has knocked the fellow down with a 
 pitchfork, that is all — that is all. It was well and nobly done. How can they 
 think of taking Cicely prisoner ? they can have no power to do that. Jack, my 
 duty now is to rescue her. They are evidently bent upon taking her in charge ; 
 they cannot have any sort of authority for so doing, and I " 
 
 •* Hilloa ! hilloa !" cried an angry voice close at hand. '* Do you know, fellows, 
 that you are trespassing ?" 
 
 Claude looked down frond the top of the bank on which he was, and saw a 
 stout man with a florid bloated-looking face, and a scrupulously cut coat of parson's 
 black, a bob wig, and in fact the whole accredited costume of a churchman of the 
 period. 
 
 " Hilloa !'* he cried again, " Are you aware that you are trespassing upon my 
 land ? Why the devil don't you keep the high road ?" 
 
 *• We shall be off directly sir," said Jack. 
 
 " Ay, ay, I daresay you will be off directly, you vagabonds; but that won't 
 
 suit me. I believe that you are no better than you should be, either of you, if 
 
 indeed you are not highwaymen. Of course you will be off" directly if you can, 
 
 but we will see about that, I don't exactly let fellows off directly that I find 
 
 I some twenty paces witMn one of my preserves, I can tell you, I ara in the com-
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 741 
 
 miisio n of the peace, and I order you both to folio wr me to my house. We will 
 soon see who you are." 
 
 Claude jumped down from the top of the hedge, and looked curiously at the 
 parson. He walked quite round hiro once, and then suddenly sliding up to him, 
 he placed himself back to back with him, and gave him a sharp rap on^the [back 
 of his head with his (Claude's) head. 
 
 " Tbe very thing,*' said Claude. " This is providential." 
 
 " You infernal rascal !" cried the parson, stamping with fury ; " what do you 
 mean by all thi« mummery !" If you think that impudence will serve your turn, 
 you are very much mistaken. " I'll pretty soon have you both laid by the 
 heels." 
 
 "Stop him, Jack." 
 
 Jack placed himself in the parson's way, so that when he turned off to go in 
 quest of assistance, he fell right into Jack's arms. 
 
 •* Gently, Jack," said Claude, *' respect the church. I look upon this cs a 
 most providential occurrence, reverend sir." 
 
 " A providential fiddlestick, you rascal. How dare you detain me one mo- 
 ment ? Do you know the consequences ?" 
 
 '• Yes,'* said Claude, " the consequences are of course all the mischief you can 
 possibly do ; and as for the right — 1 confess it is just now, as is too often the 
 case, the right only of might. Bat you would be wise to submit, seeing that 
 you are in a decided minority here." 
 
 " I will call for help — I will make myself heard. Help ! help I hel— murder ! 
 murder! don't.*' 
 
 Claude had clutched him by the throat, and held him with a grasp that rather 
 interfered with the reverend gentleman's breathing functions. 
 
 " Will you be quiet ?'* 
 
 "Yes, yes; but don't choke me— don't choke me. I will be quiet. Take 
 your hand ofl my throat.* 
 
 ^.} CHAPTER CLXXIV. 
 
 CICELY IS RELEASED, AND CLAUDE PROCEEDS TO LONDON. 
 
 K " Certainly I will," said Claude, as he released the parson from the hold he 
 had taken of him. •' There is no sccasion for more choking than is just suffi- 
 cient, my dear sir.* 
 
 " What — what do you want ? Be off with you, both at once. I don't want 
 to have anything further to say to either of you. Be off." 
 
 " Not quite yet," said Claude. " Bring him along, Jack, further among the 
 trees. This place is rather too open," 
 
 '* If you intend to murder me, I may as well resist here as further on in the 
 preserve. I may as well chance my life here, and cry again for what help I can 
 hope to get.'' 
 
 •* Hark you, sir," said Claude, "I am no murderer. I am not a man to do 
 any deed of violence, unless much pushed to it by those who are imprudent 
 enongh to force me to it. You will not have a hair of your head injured, but 
 peculiar circumstances make it a matter of necessity that I should borrow your 
 wig. and your hat, and your coat, and possibly your breeches." 
 
 The parson's mouth opened to a ludicrous extent. 
 
 " What !" he cried. *• Rob me of my clothes P" 
 
 **0h, dear no, my good sir. I'd as soon rob a church, and walk off with the 
 pulpit on my back. I will only borrow them for the occasion, and you may depend 
 upon having them again. Bring him along, Jack, gently. Mark me, sir, you 
 are in no personal danger unless you wilfully create it for yourself." ' . 
 
 The parson seemed to think that submission was now decidedly his best policy. 
 He was in the hands of two strong well armed men, and from the language used 
 
 . _ i . ^ , i. , .. . — T i i.j i u, I ii TT . 1 1 I I I, i j iii ' ! Ill .1 J ■ «' ^u- ^ gJt'^^^ |l ■L.l^,lJ ■ x ■ ( i ^ i ii » ij^jjje^L->„.,j - .j i< ;j.. ' .t; ' -'--.-Ju' ^
 
 742 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 by one ot them it was quite clear, 'whatever might be his companions mode of 
 operation, that he was not to be trifled with. 
 
 *' My good fellow," he said, "^if this is a joke it has been carried far enoutjh. 
 I promise yea upon the word of a gentleman that I will take no notice of what 
 has passed,^ but you must permit me to go at once.' ' 
 
 "Sir," said Claude, "I would take your word in a moment, but I really have 
 an use for the things [ mention. All I can promise is that I will take them in 
 as little offensive a manner as I can." 
 
 By this time Jack had led the parson some paces further into the preserve, 
 which was uncommonly well wooded. The two horses followed of their own 
 accord. The example of Claude's horse was having a great effect upon the 
 civilization of Jack's steed. Claude then hastily divested himself of all his upper 
 clothing, saying as he did so— 
 
 " Now, sir, pray make your choice : shall my friead here help you off with 
 your things, or will you oblige us by taking them off yourself? Time is precious. 
 Jack, open the vallise, and get yourself into your groom's clothing." 
 
 •* That's soon done," said Jack. 
 
 "The deuce take it," cried the parson. " How naiany of my things do you 
 want, sir ?" 
 
 " Only your coat, waistcoat, cravat, wig and hat; I have a dark silk pair of 
 breeches on that will answer the purpose. Be quick." 
 
 Rather sullenly the parson took off the required articles, and flung them to the 
 ground. In a few moments he was divested of them, and Claude, who was just 
 about his size, looked amazingly well in them. The wig and hat completely 
 altered the whole character of his ph/siognomy; and Jack having procured his 
 groom's coat and hat from the vallise, crammed Claude's other clothes into it, 
 and was quite ready to personate a respectable domestic. 
 
 "Now, sir," said Claude, *' when you tell this story, as of course you will have 
 the impudence to do, do not say that we used the smallest violence of an unneces- 
 sary character to you. From the moment of your submission not a hand has 
 been laid upon you except in courtesy." 
 
 " Confound your courtesy !" 
 
 " As you please ; but it is now necessary that for one hour I should not be 
 interfered with in ray movements. How am I to know that ydu will not, the 
 moment my back is turned, emerge from this wood, and raise a Ime.and-cry 
 after me ?" 
 
 ** Don't you expect me to do so V 
 
 "Certainly I do, butifyou will give me your word of honour, as a gentleman, 
 that you will not, I will take it." 
 
 " Oh, Claude,*' said Jack, in a] low tone, close to him, " are you going to 
 trust a parson ?" 
 
 " I think me may, Jack." 
 
 *'Let me go at once,'* said the parson, *'and I give you my word of honour, 
 that I will say nothing of what has happened here," 
 
 " I hope I shall not be deceived in you," said Claude. " It will be the worse 
 for some unlucky man upon sonie'other occasion, if you break your word.* ' 
 
 "I will keep it. But will you tell me who you are ?" 
 
 " Yes, if you wish it. I am Claude Duval." 
 
 " By Heaven, I thought as much. Your secret shall be safe with me, Duval. 
 You stopped a coach once in which was a lady of my family, in delicate health. 
 She told you as much, and you behaved with great forbearance. A fright would 
 have killed her, but you did not alarm her. You may depend T will not say a 
 word about you, and if I had bat known it was you, I should not have interfered 
 with you at' first." 
 
 "Very well, sir," said Claude. "I am rejoiced that we pan upon such good 
 terms. Take your road home, sir." 
 
 *' And with a price upon your head, you will really run the frightful risk of my 
 
 ; „• I • .■ •~ i "~rvTr . -r . i i -irrrri i T-r; ■■ - . "v i ig^firnwiW-ii'Lia i j ii rri i i ii r l u i n miiniwrn .j iw i i ' i i i rwwipjj i., . - ,,. m ■ ; . ;-. .. -,ri. .. - .ii ■ r" t -fr • i, ._ .ii iM.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD; 743 
 
 raising niy servants, and the whole country about you, in the course of a quarter 
 of an hoar ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Claude, with true dignity. " I feel and I know that I owe my 
 safety lo running such risks. 1 am in the habit of trusting all sorts and conditions 
 of people, and to that trustfulness I owe that I am now alive." 
 
 •* It may be so. Good-day. Ah, what ihrong of persons is this comifig this 
 way. ' 1 can see them in the road, through the trees, yonder.'* 
 
 *' Go home, sir," said Claude, "and keep faith with me. I have some business 
 with those people." 
 
 The parson made a slight bow, and in his shirt-skeves, went a roundabout 
 way to his house, where he knew he could pass through a private garden to his 
 study without being seen by any one of his household. 
 
 "Come, Jack," said Claude. "Those with whom we must exchange a few 
 words, are upon the road, I think, now; Do you not hear them ?" 
 " I do, Claude, I do." 
 
 Claude and Jack led their horses to the margin of the road, and then they 
 mounted. Jack, as he was bound to do, to be in keeping With his character of 
 groom, fell back about fifty paces in the rear, and at a sober trot, Claude advanced 
 to face the horsemen, who were the same that had by this time searched the farm- 
 house foV him, in vain. 
 
 What la pang it was to his heart to see that two of them were dismounted, and 
 that they had Cicely between them, who had hastily thrown a shawl over her 
 shoulders, upon being told that she must accompany the party. 
 
 Close by her, came the young man who had struck one of the officers with a 
 pitchfork. He was guarded by two of the party; and following the whole came 
 some members of the family, who were resolved to see the issue of the affair, and 
 justice done to Cicely and their own reation. 
 
 One and all appeared thoughtful, though they rejoiced that Claude had got 
 clear of the premises before the arrival of such a force to capture him. 
 
 When Claude appeared upon the road, thejparty came to a halt. Cicely and 
 her friends knew him by his horse ; but as they saw that he was disguised, they 
 had the prudence to forbear from making any exclamation, or giving their captors 
 the least idea that he was known to them. 
 
 Claude, when he saw that he was fairly seen, put hfa horse to a canter, and 
 came directly up to the party. 
 •* What is all this V he said. 
 
 Ore of the men, a London officer, and as it appeared, the only real officer 
 among the whole, for he had merely got those who were with him to assist for 
 the occasion, rode up to Claude, and touching his hat respectfully, said— 
 " I presume, sir, I am speaking to the Reverend Peter Rickman ? ' 
 " Well, sir ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Oh, very good, sir. I was coming to your house, sir, which they told me was 
 near at hand. We have had a hunt for the famous Claude Duval, sir." 
 ** And have you found him ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to say, sir, that we have not. We had certain information that 
 he was concealed in a farm-house, sir, close at hand to here, and we made sure 
 of him, but, somehow ; he eluded us.'* 
 ** Who gave you the information 2" 
 
 " Why, you will hardly believe it, sir, but it was Dick Turpin." 
 *• Dick— Turpin !" 
 
 Claude at the moment nearly fell from his horse, so great to him was the 
 shock of this information. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Here is the note. It came to me in London last night, and I, of 
 course, acted upon it, as you see, sir, but missed the rascal. Of course, sir, I 
 should not show the note to anybody but you, but it is quite at your service, sir. 
 Here it is." 
 
 *' Oh, certainly, certainly. Let me see.'* 
 
 Claude took the note, and read the following words : -
 
 744 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 •« Duval is at a farm on the Uxbridge road called Shaw Hill Farm. You will 
 find him there for a surety. •• Dick Turpin.*' 
 
 " Ah," said Claude, as he put the note in hit pocket, *' so I see ! exactly ! 
 Well, what do you want me to do now ? You have not caught him, you say, so 
 I can do nothing at all in the matter." 
 
 •* No, sir, we have not got him, but we have got his wife, sir." 
 
 " Is she a highwayman likewise?" 
 
 " Oh dear, no, sir ; certainly not." 
 
 ** Then why have you taken her into custody?* 
 
 ** Whjr, your worship, you see, I thought it would be just as well to commit 
 her to prison for a week or two, and see if we could not get out of her, by frighten- 
 ing her, where Claude Duval was likely to be nabbei. That was my idea,'*sir ; 
 and besides, they say he is precious fond of her, and having her in the jail at 
 Guildford would be sure to keep him ia the neighbourbood.'' 
 
 •* A very good plan, my friend, only illegal." 
 
 «* Oh, sir, the London magistrates, with such sort of gentry, don't much mind 
 whether they are on the right or the wrong side of the law. You know they 
 are not the sort of people to bring their actions for false imprisonment a nd all 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 •' And do you tancy, sir," said Claude, in a tone of indignation, ** that I am 
 going to make Guildford ^aol an Inquisition ? Do you fancy I am going to 
 expose myself to the censure of the Secretary of State by so glaring an act as 
 sending a woman to prison because she was the wife of a man against whom I 
 suppose you have a warrant ?" 
 
 *' Oh, yes, your worship ; I have a warrant." 
 
 "for the apprehension of Claude Duval, but not for the apprehension of his 
 wife, 1 presume." 
 
 " No, sir. I— -I—certainly. A-hem ! And your worship, then, thinks it's 
 a mistake to take the— the female ?" 
 
 " A mistake, sir ? It's a villany. Release her directly. I order it. It's 
 something new in this country, that the wives of felons are to be apprehended, 
 merely on account of that connexion." 
 
 " Y'es ; but, your worship, you know it is felony to aid, and abet, and comfort, 
 and so on, any one who has committed a felony." 
 
 •* Why, who in the name of all that's wonderful, should comfort a man if his 
 wife don't ? Have you got a wife, sir ?" 
 
 *'Yes. l-I " 
 
 ** Release that woman directly, and let her go where she likes. Of cout^e she 
 will go back to where you took her from. What has this man been doing, that 
 you have him a prisoner likewise ?* 
 
 ** Why, sir, one of my party— that one with the handkerchief round his hea£.i— 
 only just laid hold of the arm of the wife of Duval, and said in quite a qmet 
 way, * Come along with us, and we will soon see how the air of Guildford goal 
 agrees with you,' when this young man ups with a pitchfork and knocks hi«i 
 down ; so of course we took hira, your worship." 
 
 '* Then, my friend, of course you must let him go again, for your man who gjot 
 the crack on the head with the pitchford was in the commission of an illegal act, 
 so it served him right. I order that man's release." 
 
 " But, your worship— Really,, your worship !" 
 
 *' No words, sir. If you dispute my authority, you are perfectly at liberty to 
 do so. Carry your prisoners where you like, and take the consequences of doing 
 so. I am quite willing." 
 
 " Oh dear, no, sir. Your worship's authority is, of coarse, sufficient, I am 
 only very sorry I have done anything that your worship disapproves of ; "bttf I 
 will >e more cautious another time.*' 
 
 I
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 745 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXV. 
 
 CLAUDE ASTONISHES THE VESTIBULE AT NEWGATE, 
 
 The whole of this discourse was listened to by Cicely in a perfect fever of 
 apprekensioH lest Claude should be discovered, tt seemed to her as though it 
 would be impossible that Claude could, in so very hazardous a conjecture, possess 
 
 THE SCUFFLE WITH THE TWO OFFICERS. 
 
 nerve enough to outface a dozen men with such a deceit. But even Cicely, well 
 as she thought sh9 knew him, yet knew not the amazing eourage and coolness 
 which he could exercise. 
 
 Most emphatically we may truly say, that Claude was never below the occasion. 
 
 " Very well," said Duval, *' You will say that you met me, and that will be 
 sufficient. There can be very. little doubt but thai Claude Duval is upon the
 
 746 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR. 
 
 Guildford road somewhere, and as I really feel strongly regarding his capture — 
 indeed, I may conscientiously say that no one can possibly feel a stronger interest 
 in his apprekension than I do, except it may be his wife here— I will give fifty- 
 pounds among you if you catch him within twelve hours." 
 
 "Fifty pouads, your worship ?'* 
 ^ " Yes, I have said it ; and there are quite witnesses enough to hear me, should 
 they be required. But, mind— you must have him within twelve hoursjfrom now." 
 • J ^°°^^ ®" •" ^^^^^ th® officer. " We are very much obliged to your worship, 
 indeed. He can't be very far off, and if we don't have him it won't be my iaiilt ; 
 I am considered one of the most wide awake officers in London, your worship, 
 though I say it myself, who, perhaps, should not. But it's well known that it's 
 quite impossible to take me in." 
 
 ** You don't say so V 
 
 " les, your worship. I have cut my eye teeth; I wish your worship a good 
 morning. Come on, my good fellows. We shall make a good morning's work of 
 this yet. Let the prisoners go. We don't want to be encumbered with them 
 now. We all wish your worship good day, and hope we may come to speak to you 
 of that little affair of the fifty pounds.'* 
 
 The men whom the officer had in his service, were all pretty well mounted, 
 and it was quite a sight to see how they all rode off now, leaving behind them the 
 very man, of all others, whom they would have galloped twenty miles to see ; and 
 notwithstanding all his couiage, Claude, even with the assistance of Jack, could 
 have had but a poor chance in the open road against so many. 
 
 With what a look of joy Cicely regarded Claude as all her foes thus galloped 
 off upon a wrong scent, leaving to him the mastery of the field. When their 
 horses' hoofs begaa only to sound faintly in the distance, and when it was quite 
 out of the question that any of them should see what was going on amid the 
 little group of friends they had left behind them, Cicely sprung to Claude, ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 " You are saved 1 You are saved !" 
 
 " Yes, Cicely, for this time I am, and you too." 
 
 " Do not think of me, Claude. All the danger is to you. But do not linger 
 here. You cannot possibly maintain this disguise for long ; and those men, who 
 are in too great force to cope with, may return yet to your detriment. Oh, fly »— 
 fly I'* 
 
 " Yes, can well imagine," said Claude, *' that this neighbourhood is not 
 just now the safest for me, nor is it to you. Cicely ; for when it is found out that 
 you have been liberated without authority, there is no knowing what injustice 
 may be perpetrated against you. I must leave here, but you must leave with 
 me." 
 
 *' That is true," said Jack. 
 
 '* We will protect her with our lives," said the 'people who belonged to the 
 farm. *' You know, Claude, that we will protect her to the utmost stretch of our 
 power so to do." 
 
 " I do know it, my dear friends," said Claude, " and that is yet another reason 
 why I should not bring ruin and trouble beneath your roof by your being good 
 to me, and to mine. Will you come with me. Cicely V 
 
 *' To the world's end, Claude." 
 
 '* We shall be very loath to part with her," said the young farmer. « Will you 
 come back again v^hen the danger is blown over, which it soon will ?" 
 
 " Yes," cried Cicely, " I will come back again, and when I shall return here 
 I shall feel myself happy, for the happiest and serenest days I have known have 
 been spent beneath the roof of yon farm-house. I am ready, Claude." 
 
 "If It must be so, then" cried the young farmer, *« why it must, and I can't 
 deny the reason of the thing. 1 will go and get a horse for Cicely from the farm 
 stables, and then— Ah ! To your arms, Claude.— Who have we here?* 
 
 A single horseman wrapped up carefully in a very capacious cloal^ rode among 
 the group.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 747 
 
 " You are more bold than prudent, sir," cried Claude, as he dashed towards the 
 imtruder, out then he suddenly cheeked himself, for the horseman let fall the por- 
 tion of his cloak that covered the lower part of his face, and disclosed that he 
 was the very justice from whom Claude had borrowed the suit of clothes that he 
 then wore, 
 
 " What, sir, is your errand here ?'* said Claude. " I am very unwilling indeed 
 to quarrel with you." 
 
 '* There is no occasion. Am I right in supposing that the group of horsemen 
 who have just now passsed me on the road, after some rather nude scrutiny, have 
 taken you to be me?" 
 
 *' They have, sir," said Claude, " but I am very happy to find they have not 
 paid you tie doubtful compliment of taking you for me.'' 
 
 *• That they certainly have not. Will you confide in me so far as to tell me 
 what you have said and done in my name V 
 
 "Willingl}-, sir." 
 
 Claude then in a very few ^vords told the justice what had past, including the 
 offer of the fifty pounds', and saying how he thought it necessary to take Cicely to 
 town in consequence of what had taken place. 
 
 " You can do that or not do it," said the justice, " as you see fit ; 1 have 
 already told you that on account of a near and dear relation of mme, I owe you 
 a debt of gratitude. I will make an attempt to repay it by taking upon myself 
 all that you have said and done in my name. The arrest of your wife is surely 
 illegal, and conseq^uently the assault committed in her defence is no offence. So 
 far, then, in your favour, I can go, and after that remember that I know nothing 
 whatever of you. I now leave it quite to yourself to decide whether you need 
 take your wife to London or not, only 1 hope you will be sufficiently careful of 
 yourself, as to keep me from being called upon for that fifty pounds you have so 
 liberally promied for the capture of Claude Duval." 
 
 Slightly touching his hat, theo, and without waiting for one word in answer to 
 this generous speech, the justice at once rode avf ay from the spot, leaving them 
 all quite astonished at his conduct. 
 
 *' What an injustice that man did himself," said Claude, '' upon our first in- 
 terview together. How much of the gentleman it is evident he can really be. 
 May I trust him ? What is his character in the neighbourhood ?" 
 
 " He is considered," said the young farmer, " a violent but not altogether an 
 unjust man. He is passionate in the extreme." 
 
 " That will do," said Claude, " I will trust him, then. Cicely, I now, with 
 the permission of our kind friends, urge your stay here, where you know and are 
 known, in preference to concealment, with all its troubles, in London." 
 
 *' Your will, Claude, is my law. I will stay, and you will come to me as soon 
 as may be ?" 
 
 •' Trust me. Cicely. I will, I feel that I ought to place it beyond a chance, that 
 the justice should not have to pay the fifty pounds ; so, for fear our friends on 
 horseback should chance to have any kind of misgivings, and come back again, 
 Jack and I will be off at once at a good pace." 
 
 Claude stooped froya his horse and kissed the brow of Cicely ; and then smiling 
 an adieu to his friends of the farm-house, he cried to Jack — 
 
 " Oflf, and away, [Jack ! Let us place a mile or two of ground between us 
 and those who are so anxious to be better accjuainted with me this morning than 
 suits my convenience." 
 
 ''Ready," said Jack, 
 
 They both put their horses to a gallop, but not a distressing one, and off they 
 went. 
 
 "The parson did not ask for his coat again," said Jack, as they slackened 
 their pace about a mile on the country side of Tyburn-gate. , 
 
 " No, Jack ; and do you know I begin to like that fellow," 
 
 '< It's the first parson, then, Claude, that ever you did like." 
 
 ** Yes, and it only shows us how careful we ought to be in condemnhig whole
 
 748 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 classes of men, even if the great majority should happen to be no better that 
 they should be. That parson has, no doubt, a bad temper ; but the great dis- 
 tinction between a bad-tempered man and a bad-disposed man, should never be 
 forROtien. Pay the toll, Jat-k." 
 
 Jack paid the toll at Tyburn-gate, and they passed on to Oxford-streef. As 
 they got into that even then populous thoroughfare, they thought it advisable to ' 
 keep up to a greater extent the difference between them as regarded the appear- 
 ance of master and man. 
 
 " I will take my place," said Jack, with a smile. *' I will, however, be suffi- 
 ciently near to be of assistance in case of anything happening amiss.'* 
 
 " Thank you, Jack. You have only to say the word at any limei.and you 
 know I shall be quite willing to play the man while you play the master.'* 
 
 •* Pho ! pho ! Claude. I hope we understand each other better than that. It 
 is all right. Push on, ahd for my part I don't care a straw what part I play, so 
 that we are as soon as possible clear of London." 
 
 " I shall not linger in it a moment longer than may be absolutely necessary 
 Jack." 
 
 With this, Claude at a steady canter, still attired in the very respectable costume 
 of the country clergyman, made his way down Oxford Street, and Jack kept at 
 the orthodox distance from him that a groom ought to observe, and by the steady 
 demure look which he put on, made himself in all respects a suitable attendant 
 upon a gentleman of his master's presumed cloth and standing in the church. 
 
 To be sure there were several persons who knew a little of such matters, who 
 paused to cast a glance, of admiration at the superb horse which the supposed 
 clergyman rode, and then to admire likewise the animal upon which his groom 
 was mounted ; but none of these had the least suspicion that they were either of 
 them other than they looked. 
 
 In this wise, then, Claude and Jack reached Holhorn, and keeping to the high- 
 way for the whole distance, they arrived at the corner of the Old Bailey. There 
 Claude paused, and Jack in a moment was by his side. 
 
 " I think, Jack, I will dismount here, and walk t» the gate of the prison.*' 
 
 *' Oh, Claude," whispered Jack. *' As I came along Holborn, the danger, and 
 X might almost say the folly of this desperate expedition has come strongly across 
 ray niind. Up to this point, I do believe, although we have terribly ttmpted our 
 fate, that we have come safely; but now I beg you to go no further." 
 
 ** Nay, Jack, I must keep my word with the turnkeys, and the officials of New- 
 gate—they must have the money." 
 
 " I don't speak for the money, Claude ; but for you. Let them have the money ; 
 I think, under all the circumstances, that it is much better that they should ; but 
 you really expose them to too much temptation by going with it yourself. — I will 
 take it.'* 
 
 " And what will they think. Jack ? Why, just that I was afraid to go myself 
 with it ; and if once the feeling gets abroad that Claude Duval was afraid of any- 
 thing, it will be soon all over with me. No, Jack, don't think that there is any 
 danger. You wait here, with the horses ; and you may depend 1 will cut the in- 
 terview as short as I possibly can." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXVI. 
 
 THE OLD COAL'HOLE IN FINSBURY. — STARTLING ADVENTURES, 
 
 Jack knew well enough, from old experience, that when Claude had made up 
 his mind to anything, no appeal to his fears was at all likely to have the least 
 effect in turning him from his purpose ; so when he spoke so decidedly. Jack said 
 no more, but, with a sigh, took the horse by the bridle and prepared himself to 
 wait with what patience he might the return of his friend.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 749 
 
 And now, who that had seen Claude upon that occasion — and there were many 
 who saw him — cou[d for one moment have supposed that he was going upon so 
 hazardous an expedition ? Who could have thought that there was the man, who, 
 with almost incredible courage and skill, had so recently escaped from Newgate, 
 and who had now ridden a dozen miles to come and tap at its wicket, and with a 
 certainty of heing known too? — for he did not mean to attempt to deceive the 
 ofRcers who might be in the lobby with regard to his identity. 
 
 But a little consideration will show that in the very boldness of this proceeding 
 lay its security. No one but the officers to whom he intended to make himself 
 known could dream that he was there ; and, as cupidity and personal interest is 
 well known to be the main-spring of action, it was quite clear that their best 
 plan was to take what Claude now brought them, and let him go again, making 
 sure of him, as they did, at some other time, when no charge of betraying their 
 trust, or of being paid by Claude Duval, would be brought against them ; whereas, 
 if they now were to betray him, of course he would relate the whole affair, to their 
 discomfiture. 
 
 Thus then was it, that, viewing the whole affair, Claude did not think that he 
 was running a great risk. 
 
 When he reached the wicket-gate of Newgate he had to pause for a moment 
 to allow some one to come out. It was a gentleman, very plainly dressed ; and 
 the glance at the face that Duval caught convinced him at once that it was Judee 
 Manning. 
 
 An irresistible desire to speak to the father of Grace came over Claude, and 
 stepping after him, he slightly touched his arm, saying — 
 ** Have I not the honour of addressing Judge Manning?" 
 At the sound of his name, the judge turned, and bowing slightly, he said — 
 " I regret that I have not the pleasure of recollecting you, sir; 1 am the person 
 you name." 
 
 '* Is my disguise so good," said Claude, " that the father of Grace does not 
 recollect Duval?' « 
 
 The judge started .is he said— 
 
 *' Good God ! what do you do here ? — can you be]tired of your life that you lin- 
 ger in this neig'r.bourhoood ? 1 was in hope that by this time you were far away 
 from London. Do you want money t Command me if you do so ; or in any 
 other way that I can be of use to you.'* 
 
 " Many thanks," said Claude ; " but I can manage very well. I hope your 
 daughter is well." 
 
 " Quite well ; and full of gratitude to you and your friends for her preserva* 
 tion. Let me beg of you to come to my house, and speak with me about your 
 future prospects. I think something may be done for you to withdraw you from 
 the mode of Ufe you follow, indeed 1 do." 
 ** Alas ! sir, 1 fear not." 
 
 ** Nay, you are apt enough to think, that because you have been long in sueh 
 a line of life as this, that there is no resoHrce for you in any other ; but in some 
 other country, surely you might find peace and happiness, and honest prosperity." 
 *' Sir, I thought so once." 
 " And why not now ? You are young." 
 
 "Once, sir, I made the attempt to leave England, but I was hunted back, even 
 from the coast ; and in the attempt my wife — she who has consented to share my 
 varied fortunes — nearly lost her life. The occurrences con nected with me at Win 
 Chester must have reached your ears V 
 
 ** Yes, I certainly heard that by the courage and skill of the officers, you and 
 some gan^ of accomplices were prevented from carrying off the sacramental plate 
 from the old cathedral." 
 
 A bright flush of colour came to Claude's face, as he said— 
 
 " And IS that the story told of that affair, sir ?" 
 
 ** It is indeed, and it was most industriously circulated by the authorities. I
 
 750 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 recollect it made no little noise at the time; but if you say it is not so, I will 
 believe you." 
 
 " Sir, I thank you for that much. It is a base calumny. I had but one object 
 in going to Winchester at all, and that was to make an attempt to leave England 
 for ever ; but a price was set upon my head, and I was worth too much to the 
 officers and the blood-hounds of the law to be let escape them so easily. They 
 hunted me back again, sir, and the consequence is that I am what 1 am, and 
 what I ever shall be while. life remains tome." 
 
 •* Do not despair. Only say you will call upon me." 
 
 '* I will, sir. Name your own hour." 
 '<' " This day if you can. Now come home with me if it is conveni^t to you ; I 
 wish to do all that I can to repair the involuntary injury that I did you, by taking 
 you to the police-office, and so giving the opportunity to your foes of declaring 
 who and what you were. Will you come with me now ?" 
 
 '•I have a little business to transact in this neighbourhood, sir, and when that 
 is done I will be with you." 
 
 " Enough. I will take such measures that you shall both come and go with 
 perfect safety," 
 
 " Expect me, then, sir, if nothing happens to stay me. Mine is an eventful 
 life. The hands of many men are raised against me, and but few for me, so that 
 in a great measure I am the slave of circumstances ; but I will come to you, if 
 nothing of a serious charactei happens to prevent me." 
 
 With this Claude and the judge parted, and the former once more made his 
 way to the wicket-gate of Newgate. He ascended the steps, and tapped at the 
 entrance. 
 
 " What now ?" said a turnkey. 
 
 " Is Joliffe within ?" said Claude, naming one of the officers whom he knew was 
 in the plot for farouring his escape from the prison. 
 
 " Perhaps he is and perhaps he aint. Come in and we will soon see. Come 
 in if you pleases. This here way, sir." 
 
 The highly respectable appearance of Cla^jde induced an amount of unusual 
 respect upon the part of the turnkey. The little gate was opened, and Duval was 
 once again in the lobby of Newgate, and the key turned upon him. A couple of 
 the officrals of the prison were lounging about, and in one of them Duval recognised 
 the man who was usually called Bill, and who had been the one t]«at had come 
 to his cell to give him a hint that he might escape if he would. Upon this Claude 
 touched him by the arm, saying — 
 
 *' I think there is quite enough present for the transaction of business. I have 
 come to settle a little account." 
 
 "A little what?" cried Bill. 
 
 *'A little account. Don't you expect something among you all from one 
 Claude Duval V 
 
 "By all that's outrageous, it's him," said Bill, staggering back. *f Why, 
 Duval, you have got the courage of ten men and a half, to come here in such a 
 way. What do you expect we are to do ?" 
 
 *' Take your money to be sure, and not make fools of yourselves. All that Tom 
 Brereton got was seven hnndred and fifty pounds. There's seven hundred pounds. 
 Take it all, and don't, then, say that I was worse than my promise. Divideit equit- 
 ably among you, and when we do meet again, perhaps you will remember that 
 Claude Duval is always as good as his word, and at times a little better." 
 
 The prison officials glared at him as though he had been same apparition. The 
 idea of a man with such a price upon his head calmly coming to Newgate, was 
 beyond their comprehensions ; and the additional idea of his voluntarily parting 
 with such a sum of money was to them quite staggering. 
 
 ** Now," added Claude, " as I don't at all admire the architecture of this place, 
 nor its air, I will bid you good morning.** > - 
 
 '* Duval," said Bill, as he flung open the wicket, *' you are a regular game 
 one. This here is a story that it won't do to tell; but we shan't foj-get it for all
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 751 
 
 that. You is a trump, and if you are brought into the jug again, and 1 m in 
 the land of the living, you will find a friend here." 
 
 "But," said the man on the lock, "ought we— dare we— I say, BilU 
 blue murder to let him go agin. It's " 
 
 Bill sprang at the turnkey and held him by the throat, as he cried— 
 
 " Cut it, Duval. Cut it while I throttle him. Cut it at once, afore some 
 other wagabone wants to nab you." 
 
 Claude darted from the lobby ; but it so happened that some one was ascendin 
 the little stone steps leading from the pavement to the wicket-gate at that mo 
 ment ; and Claude came out with so much force and precipitation that he en 
 countered the person; and at once upset him, and rolled him over steps and pave 
 ment into the not over salubrious kennel of the Old Bailey. 
 
 *' Murder • Murder !" 
 
 *' The devil !* said Claude. *' I ought to know that voice." He glanced at the 
 fallen man, and at once recognised Tom Brereton, who at such a very inopportune 
 moment had arrived at Newgate to hold a consultation with his friend, the 
 Governor, about the loss of the money that Claude had taken from him, and just 
 made so liberal an use of. 
 
 *' Confound you," said Claude. 
 
 " Murder ! Murder ! Help !" 
 
 '' Be quiet, idiot, will you ?" 
 
 Probably Claude would have said something more threatening to Tom Brereton ; 
 but several people began to collect ; and others from the opposite side of the way 
 began to cross over, so Claude thought it prudent to get away as quickly as he 
 could ; for although he had not as yet been recognised by Tom Brereton, he did 
 not know a moment when he might be ; for that personage knew him rather in- 
 conveniently well. 
 
 Accordingly, then, Claude, with rapid steps, made tor the corner of the Old 
 Bailey, by Newgate Street, where Jack was, with^no small amount of impatience, 
 waiting with the horses. Jack, from where he was, could see that there was 
 some sort of bustle at the door of Newgate ; but when he observed Claude coming 
 towards him, he felt it as a great relief to find that he was not >in it in any way ; 
 but this was an opinion which he soon found the most ample cause to co^rrect. 
 
 Tom Brereton, after rolling a sufficient time in the kennel to give himself the 
 lively appearance of a man who had taken a mud-bath, rose full of ire and indig- 
 nation ; and the mob that had, with the marvellous rapidity that mobs collect in 
 London, giving way before so muddy an assailant, permitted him to rush after 
 Claude at a furious rate. 
 
 "Stop! stop! you villain!" cried Tom Brereton. "You shall pay for my 
 coat — you shall ! Stop him ! stop him !" 
 
 Claude sprang into his saddle. 
 
 *' Good Heavens 1" said Jack. ** What is all this about ?" 
 
 " Nothing particular," said Claude. « He don't know me. Push on' towards 
 Smithfield, Jack, He may recognise us yet." 
 
 " Stop him !" still shouted Tom Brereton. " Him on the black horse. ^ Why 
 — why that's Claude Duval's horse, the famous highwayman- Murder ! That's 
 Claude Duval!" 
 
 '' Who— who ?" cried the mob in chorus. 
 
 " Claude Duval, the highwayman. Murder 1 murder !" i 
 
 Tom Brereton was knocked down, and trampled over by at ^east twenty people j 
 in a moment, and a whole chorus pf voices shouted^ — 
 
 " Stop him ! stop him! A highwayman! Stop brm ! Them he goes— a high- 
 wayman ! Stop him !" . 
 
 ** We are rather in for it, now. Jack," said Clau'de. 
 
 " We are lost !" 
 
 " Not at all. Push on, and follow me. This way— thaB way# Don't look 
 behind you, and if any one should touch you or your JaoVse, down with him
 
 762 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 with the loaded handle of your whip. We will show them see spat r et.or 1 
 am much mistaken." 
 
 At a smart hand-gallop. Claude and Jack made their way up Giltspur Street, 
 and dashed into Smithfield. The alarm had been so sudden, and the escape so 
 quick, that the people on each side of the way looked about them in a scafed 
 kind of way, aot knowing what it was all about. 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXVII. 
 
 THE thieves' ken IN REDCROSS 8TBEET.— -A NARROW BSCAPE. 
 
 Jack kept as close to Claude as he possibly could do without impeding him in 
 his flight, and so they got through the area of Old Smithfield with incr^'dible 
 rapidity. Jack had now — as, in fact, he always had — the most unbounded con- 
 fidence in the resources of Claude, and so, when he found that they were really 
 distancing the crowd rapidly, much of the fear that at first had taken possession 
 of him dissipated. He held his bridle more firmly in his left hand, while in his 
 right he brandished the heavy riding whip with which Claude advised him to clear 
 his way. 
 
 •• On-^on 1" cried Claude. 
 
 Some man with a metal badge upon his arm, and whose general ruffianly 
 appearance without that would sufficiently have proclaimed his connecdon with 
 the market, which was then almost as gigantic a nuisance as it is now, oiade a 
 sudden, rueh at Claude from among the sheep-pens, crying, as he clung to his 
 bridle — 
 
 " I have him !— I have him ! He won't shake me off in a hurry.'* 
 
 Crack went the loadad handle of Claude's riding whip upon his skull, and down 
 the fellow went as though he had been shot. 
 
 • One fool less in Smithfield, I think," cried Claude. *' On, Jack, ou ! Follow 
 me closely." 
 
 ** I am here, Claude." 
 
 Claude kept an even, onward course, and before three minutes could have ex- 
 pired from the moment that the horse sprang from the corner of Newgate Street, 
 he and his master were in Barbican 
 
 *• Ah/' thought Jack, I know where he is going to now. Claude, you will go 
 to Stevem's?" 
 
 " Yes. Push on." 
 
 But now, the first panic and surprise of the people on the route of the two 
 flying men had, in some measure, subsided ; and they were able fully to under- 
 stand what was amiss. The cry of * A highwayman ! a highwayman I* came 
 from at least a hundred throats ; and in that extraordinary manner that a whole 
 population will, at times, without knowing very well why or wherefore, hunt 
 some one person, the greater number of people in the streets joined ni the race. 
 
 But still, the great advantage Claude and Jack had was, that they were suffi- 
 ciently in advance to come continually upon fresh people who, althougli they 
 heard that something was amiss, did not, until the two hunted men had passed, 
 positively connect them with the tumult; and so they dasted on down Barbican 
 and turned into Redcross Street. 
 
 The moment they turned the corner of ihat street, they were out of sight 
 of every one who, with distinct notions that they were the parties to be appre- 
 hended, were pursuing them; and then it was that Claude felt that if anything was 
 to be done for their safety, it must at once be attempted. 
 
 About half. way down Redcross Street was a small shop where cigars, then 
 rather a rariiy, and pipes, and various tobaccos, were sold, or pretended to be 
 sold. The doorway of ithis little shop was rather lofty, although not so lofty as 
 to attract any attention of a particular character to it. But it had its uses.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 753 
 
 Casting around him a rapid glance, which assured him no one was observing 
 him, Duval rode his horse full at the doorway of the little shop, and in he went, 
 horse and all. 
 
 Jack followed him. 
 
 «* Hilloa, Stevens !" cried Claude, 
 
 ** Here 1" said a man, half-dressed, rushing from a back room with great pre- 
 cipitation. ** Here !" . 
 
 "Is it all right?" 
 
 " As a trivet, master. That will do." 
 
 Stevens darted past the two horses and banged shut his door in a moment, 
 and shot a couple of bolts to it. Then taking the bridle of Claude's horse in his 
 hand, he shouted —
 
 764. GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 'fAnal Ann I Annl" 
 
 ** Here ye is/' said a dirty -looking girl, making her appearance, and holding 
 on her clothes, for they had the appearance that if she were to leave go of them, 
 they would all tumble off together, leaving her like beauty unadorned. 
 
 " Take the horses to Phillips. Be quick. Ah, 1 hear cries. Why, captain, 
 they are hard and fast on your track. Be off, Ann— no faster than you can." 
 
 Both Claude and Jack dismounted, and Ann took the bridles of both of the 
 steeds in one hand, and in another moment disappeared with them down a long 
 gloomy looking passage. 
 
 ** A highwayman ! a highwayman!" cried the mob in the street, "Stop 
 him I stop him 1 A highwayman !' 
 
 ** Is them your friends, captain ?" said Stevens. 
 
 " I suppose so," laughed Claude. 
 
 '* Ah, the poor deluded wretches! Bat, howsomdever, there^s no sa]^ing but 
 somebody may have seed you come in here, so come on, and I'll soon take yer 
 bjr the old move to the Pine Appk. Lord bless you captain, you would hardly 
 thmk how many gentlemen on the road, and off the road, have made fiieir way 
 to the old crib through my shop, &wi aobody none the wiser. If the hole in the 
 w^ was only better kiv^^iped vp %%m it is, they would have found it ocU: long 
 ago." 
 
 " You still use the water ^fe^t, Stev.ei3i»?" 
 
 *• Bless you, yes." 
 
 •' It*8 a good plan." 
 
 ** Lor, captain, there's nothing ekal to it. You V now, sir,* addressing Jack*^ 
 " there's a big opening in the wall of my yard that goes ban^ through ii^ th« 
 yard of the old Pine Apple inn, where the stables is, and agin the hole on my side, 
 I put the water-butt, and they does the same on their side; but a hin/asff^ QQSk!^ 
 move 'em away in a minute ; and the grabs have never touchy 'em^ thouj|||b t^e]^ 
 have been here on the hunting lay twenty times." 
 
 ** What's least hidden, is often best hidden," said Jack. 
 
 " 1 believe you, sir. I do think if they was to come every day, wulill was to 
 live here ia the old crib till I was as old as Metkusela, they wouM go aiiaj agnt' 
 as green as they come." 
 
 " I don't doubt it for a moment." 
 
 Into the back parlour, where not the most savory odours «co|se from Sfe. 
 Stevens's cookery, he led the way, and openiag the window, he sprung out ol 
 the room into a dirty yard. Claude and Jack followed him instantly, amd there 
 they met the young lady named Ann, who came back from disposing of the horses 
 m the stable of the Pine Apple. 
 
 "Don't touch the water-butt, my duck and a half," said Stevens. '^'The 
 captain and the other gentleman is a going through. Is old Figgius at home?' 
 
 ** Yes," said Ann. " He wanted to know who it was, very had." 
 
 ** We will soon satisfy him," said Claude, as he placed a guinea in Ann's hand. 
 *' Stevens, I shall gee you soon at the crib." 
 
 ** Yes, captain. It s a long time since you pissed an evening in the old Ken ; 
 and there's many an old and many a young hand that will we glad to see you. 
 You might do worse than stay a bit." 
 
 *' You are right, Stevens, i ought to call upon old friends sometimes ; aod I 
 will stay at the ken till an honr after midnight. Then 1 must be off." 
 
 " Very good, captain. We shall make a night of it, I'll be bound- Be off with 
 you, for some one is knocking at my shop doer like mad." 
 
 « The deuce there is. Good-by." 
 
 Claude and Jack passed through the hole in the wall ; and Stevens and Ann 
 quickly replaced the old water-butt in its place, from whence it did not look to have 
 been moved for the last twenty years. 
 
 The inn-yard in which Claude and Jack now found themselves was tolerably 
 extensive, A kind of gallery ran along one side of it, which could be reached 
 by an old well-worn flight ot wooden steps ; and from that gallery opened a
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAB, 766 
 
 number of bed-rooms belonging to the inn. About the yard there was the usual 
 amount of litter and confusion contingent upon a not very well ordered, but 
 rather extensive range of stabling; but the two horses of our friends had com- 
 pletely disappeared. 
 
 In the course of a few moments a man came rather timidly down the stairs, 
 from the gallery we have mentioned, and with a look of curiosity upon his face, he 
 approached our friends. 
 
 ** Good gracious ! is this possible? Duval," he cried, **is it you?" 
 
 *^ It is, Figgins,*' said Claude, as he held out his hand. *' Is your father well?" 
 
 " Quite. Quite. But if he were not he would be so glad to see you, that I 
 think it would restore him. Was that riot I heard in Barbican anything to do 
 with you ?" 
 
 *' A little. They hunted me across Smithfield, that was all ; and so I thought 
 of the old crib, and Stevens's shop, and in I popped, 
 
 *' Right. Right. You could not possibly have done better. Who is your 
 friend ?" 
 
 " I will tell you that, or he will himself, I have no doubt, before we leave ; but 
 in the meantime you may be quite sure he is my friend," 
 
 " That is quite sufficient. Follow me, and I will take you to the old man. 
 He would have come himself, but as I tell you he is not very well, and when he 
 is at his best he is not now very good at getting up and down stairs.* 
 
 ** Our legs fire young enough yet," said Claude, " to enable us to wait upon 
 him. I long to see him. for I do not forget what a true friend he has been to me 
 on more than one occasion." 
 
 Both Claude and Jack followed the young man up the old tottering staircase, 
 and then having passed through several rooms they at last reached one which was 
 very comfortably furnished, and in which sat au old man, whose hair was perfectly 
 white, and whose face was a sufficient evidence that something a little stronger 
 than pump-water had been in the habit of trickling down bis throat for the last 
 fifty years. 
 
 « Who is it, Dick ?" he cried. « Who is it ?" 
 
 " Duval, father," said the young man, 
 
 *' What, Claude?" cried the old man, rising from his chair quickly, and then 
 sinking into it again with such a howl that both Claude and Jack started back in 
 amazement. 
 
 «' Don't be frightened," said Dick. " It's only the gout." 
 
 " Only the gout ! You hideous horrid rascal," cried the old man. ** Only 
 the gout! 1 only wish 1 had anything handy here to throw at your rascally head 
 for saying, only the gout ; . but you will have it some day yourself, and that's a 
 comfort. Duval, I am really glad to see you." 
 
 " And I to see you/ said Claude, as he shook the old man by the hand. *' Will 
 you forgive me for not coming oftener ?" 
 
 " To be sure, I will. Business, my boy, is business, and you can't be always 
 making calls. But who is this you have with you ? Is it an old friend or a new 
 one, Duval ?" 
 
 *' Look well at mfe^" said Jack, as he placed himself in the light, " Look 
 well at me, Mr. Figgins, and I think you will know me again." 
 
 "Again ?" said the old man. 
 
 " Yes, you knew me well enough once." 
 
 The old man shaded his eyes with his hands for a moment or two, and looked 
 in Jack's face. Then he suddenly said — 
 
 *' It must be true, though I didn't believe it when they told it to me. It must 
 be true after all. You are Sixteen-string Jack." 
 " I am." 
 
 *' Then you were not hung after all ?" 
 
 *' Yes, I was ; but brought to life again, all of which I will tell you, at length, 
 before I leave ; and now, old friend, give me leave to shake hands with you
 
 755 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 and to tell you how glad I am to see you once again, although you don't look so 
 young as you did twenty years ago/* 
 
 *' No/* said Figgins, '* you are right enough there, Jack. I do not look so 
 young as I did twenty years ago ; but it seems at this moment to have knocked 
 oflF one-half that time to hold your hand in mine once again. Why, 1 can 
 —Murder !'* 
 
 " Good God ! what's the matter ?" 
 
 '* Oh," said Dick, " it's only the gout. Father forgot it again, and was going 
 to get up. It's only the gout in his toe," 
 
 ** Oh, you willain,* cried the old man. " Duval, can you lend me a pistol to 
 shoot this insulting scoundrel with, or can you, Jack? Only the gout, indeed !" 
 
 " Never mind him," said Claude. " Let us sit down here quietly, and talk 
 over old times a little." 
 
 " Ay, we will ; and Dick, my boy, go to number forty-two in the cellar, and 
 get up a couple of bottles of the old madeira, my boy; and when you speak of 
 the gout again, call it the gout ; and not only the gout — Oh, don't — I wish you had 
 it for an hour or two," 
 
 " Thank you, father." 
 
 Dick, the old man's son, soon brought the two bottles of the old madeira , and 
 notwithstanding the gout, he (the old man) continued during the next hour to 
 drink his fair share of the wine. 
 
 Durifig this time, too, Jack told the old man the whole of his truly wonderful 
 story, with which the reader is sufficiently familiar j and then, when there was 
 a proposition on the part of old Figgins for two more bottles of the old madeira, 
 Claude negatived it by saying — 
 
 " You know, old friend, that my avocations are not favorable to much repose ; 
 and, therefore, whenever I do find myself fairly housed for a few hours, 1 think 
 it is throwing away my opportunities not to indulge myself with a nap." 
 
 " Certainly— certainly." 
 
 "Then, with your permission, as I mean to make my appearance in the Ken 
 to-night, I will lie down for a few hours first, and, I dare say, Jack will be gld 
 to do the same." 
 
 *' I shall, indeed," said Jack, 
 
 •' And you really will then pass some time in the Ken ?" said Figgins, *' That 
 will be glorious. I'll go, and at once— Murder ! Oh, you rascal ! Dick, why 
 don't you put me in mind of the gout, you villain 1 But you never do. You 
 never do !" 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXVIII. 
 
 A FIGHT UNDEBGBOUND.«»TH£ DEATH OF THE OPFICSB. 
 
 KioHT under the bar-parlour of the old Fine-apple Inn, and extending for a 
 considerable distance back beneath the stable-yard, was a large vaulted room or 
 hall. The flooring was composed of flat red tiles, laid down very nicely, and the 
 walls were of plaster, with, here and there, a i)lank placed in it flat-wise for the 
 purpose of keeping it up. as immediately behind the plaster was nothing but 
 earth. 
 
 Along the ceiling of this large apartment hung at regular intervals six hoops of 
 tin,ipade each of them to hold a dozen candles, so that whea the whole were lit, 
 the place had a tolerably brilliant effect. Right down the centre of the place 
 was a range of tables, and, at least, a hundred seats of various sorts and sizes 
 were upon the floor. 
 
 This was one of the most celebrated Boozing Ken in the City of London. It 
 could only be reached by going through the bar-parlour, and then there were two 
 more playing the part of sentinels, who had to be satisfied regarding the pro- 
 priety of admitting aay one before they were allowed to go on, so that it was next
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. m 
 
 to' impossible for anyjofficer or spy to make his way into the place ; and it was in 
 such places that daring robberies were concocted — that assignations for burgla- 
 ries and highway peculations were made ; and, in fact, all the business of the 
 London thieves was conducted at the Boozing Kens, of which there were in 
 London about six, and all of them perfectly well known to the police. 
 
 To those who are unacquair.ted with the mode in which Police business was 
 then carried on in London, it may appear rather extraordinary that such nurseries 
 of crime were allowed to exist ; but the thing was a regular system, and the 
 officers went upon the idea, that if there were no thieves, there would be no need 
 of officers ; therefore. Boozing Kens, as nurseries for thieves, or Family Kens, as 
 they were sometimes called, were no bad thUgs in their way. 
 
 It was very seldom indeed that any of the regular officers intruded into such 
 places, but they had, no doubt, their spies in most of them, so that when any 
 gentleman Was wanted particularly, they could dog htm from one of the Kens and 
 pounce upon him without his being aware that he was watched from his baccha- 
 nalian orgies in the Family Ken. 
 
 It was about one hour after dark that Duval and Jack made their appearance 
 in the bar-parlour in order to go into the Ken, where there would be many that, 
 no doubt, would know them both well, and where from all they would be sure to 
 receive the welcome that their celebrity warranted. 
 
 Old Figgins had managed, by smothering up his gouty leg in many bandages, 
 and then keeping it from the floor, by the aid of a long piece of list going round 
 his foot, and then round his neck, to hobble, by the help of his son, down the short 
 flight of twelve steps that led to the short passage at the end of which was the 
 Family Ken. ^ 
 
 A large blanket hung before the entrance, and it had hung long enough to have 
 assumed a colour more resembling the back of a chimney than a blanket, but it 
 was liked better than a door would have been by the frequenters of the place. 
 It never made any noise, and it was always closed of itself, easily, silently, and 
 closely. Its hinges and its lock were never out of order j and, moreover, it smo- 
 thered noises much better than any door would have done, let it have been ever 
 such a good one. 
 
 Already a sufficient number of persons was assembled to make a confused 
 murmur of noises come upon the night air, even through the blanket'entrance to 
 the Ken. The two sentinels stepped respectfully aside, when they saw old 
 Figgins. 
 
 ** Getting better, Mr. F. ?" said one. 
 
 "A little. Bill, a little." 
 
 " Oh, you will be all right again, soon," said the other. " They say the gout 
 is a very healthy thing to have, and shows a man is in good condition." 
 
 " Do they ? I should like to be out of condition a little then, so that I might 
 give it the go-by. Open the curtain, these are friends of mine." 
 
 " Then they are of the right sort." 
 
 The blanket was pulled aside, and the roar of voices and the steam of tobacco 
 smoke that came from the Ken were for the moment quite overpowering, and per- 
 haps, to Claude and to Jack, who were much used to the pure air of the open 
 country, the loaded atmosphere of that place was much more ojffensive than to any 
 inhabitant of the city of London. 
 
 Neither Claude nor Jack, though, let those about them see that they shrank in 
 the least from the atmosphere of the Ken. It would not have been policy so to do. 
 
 But little notice was taken either of Duval or of Jack on their first entrance into 
 the Ken, but old Figgins, turning to his son, said — 
 
 " Now, Dick," and the young man, who was very powerful, at once lifted his 
 father on to the end of the table nearest to him. Upon this he was seen by all 
 in the Ken, consisting of about forty persons, and a loud shout arose, of— » 
 
 «« Figgs— Figgs ! Old Figgs is on his legs." 
 
 "It's a lie," shouted Figgins. *'Iam only on one leg. I only wish you all 
 had a touch of the gout, that's all,"
 
 758 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 "Thank you, Figgs." 
 
 '* Stop a bit, that wasn't what I came to say to you all. Nothing at all like it. 
 1 came to announce ' Duval.' *' 
 
 " Duval /" cried all the company at once. 
 
 ** Yes^ Claude Duval and Sixteen-string Jack." 
 
 "Stop— stop," said Jack. " Don't announce me, 1 am supposed to be dea^, 
 you know." 
 
 '* Yes ; but I'm very happy to be able to assure everybody here that you are not. 
 Claude Duval, my faraiiy kids, and Sixteen-string Jack. Hurrah !" ' 
 
 A wild shout burst from the lips of all present, and the candles in the tin hoops 
 shook again with the concussion of the air in that strange place. 
 
 " Sixteen-string Jack, poor fellow, suffered at Tyburn," cried a loud voice. 
 " and ic ain't the thing for any new hand to pick up an old pal's name." 
 
 "Ain't it? Weill—" 
 
 *' For the love of Heaven say no more,'* whispered Jack. ** I do not wish to 
 be known to be in the land of the living, save to the few that I call my particular 
 friends. Let the subject drop, I pray you." 
 
 " Very well— as you please, Jack." 
 
 '* You will much oblige me." 
 
 " It shall be so. Now, my family men, I leave Claude Daval with you, and 
 hope you will have a pleasant evening.** 
 
 Another shout rose from the throats of the strange and motley assemblage, 
 and Duval, turning to Figgins, said-' 
 
 <' A dozen bowls of punch as soon as convenient, old friend.*' 
 
 ** And he has ordered a dozen bowls of punch,** added Figgins, in a loud 
 voice. 
 
 If anything had been wanting — which, in good honest truth, it was not— to 
 add to the popularity of Duval, this would have fully supplied the dedciency. 
 The shouting became quite prodigious ; and it was not stilled until Claude raised 
 his hand, and getting a brief silence, said — 
 
 *' My friends, I beg of you not to create undue attention to the Ken to-night. 
 I have many enemies, and I do not want them to fancy I am here. I know your 
 good feelings towards me, and all I can do is for a few hours to take a glass with 
 you, and then be off.** 
 
 " To the road V* cried a voice. 
 
 '* Yes,*' added Claude ; " to the road I*' 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah l" 
 
 Another cheer was given, and then all was comparatively still. Claude and 
 Jack went up to the farther end of the Ken, and a chair being placed upon a table, 
 Duval was made to occupy it, whether he felt inclined to do so or not ; and then, 
 in the course often minutes, in came the steaming hot punch, which was welcomed 
 with another shout of exultation by all present. Again Claude held up his hand, 
 asking for silence, and the roar of voices again subsided in obedience to his 
 wishes. 
 
 At this moment some ten or twelve new comers added to the boisterous hilarity 
 of the scene, and the fun and frolic was at its height, when one suddenly cried— 
 
 « Bill Jinks is nabbed 1" 
 
 There was a stillness for a moment or two, as though death had stopped the 
 current of life-blood in the breast of every one present, and then a murmur of 
 conversation arose, and another voice cried — 
 
 ** Ned Soames has been shot, and left a blessed wiider and eight babbies I" 
 
 *' Let's have a collection, then," cried another. " We can give a shilling a-piece 
 now, and a promise of future favours, can't we ? Will you go round with the 
 bag, Jerry 2" 
 
 " That's your sort,'* said a tall man with a profusion of bright red hair. *' I'll 
 go round and collect the bobs. Now for it. Here's the bag. Anybody may put 
 in what they please, but nothing short of a bob. That*s the ticket. I knows the 
 face of ^erybody here, so I shan't make any mistakes."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 759 
 
 This individual produced a coarse canvas bag, and he then went from one to 
 another of the company collecting the subscriptions, and giving the bag a shake as 
 he came to each one, and making some jocose remark about the means of the 
 party, which generally had the effect of extracting more than the shilling from 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped before a short stout man, profusely marked by the small- 
 pox, and in a puzzled tone said— • 
 
 " Who the deuce are you ?" 
 
 *♦ Oh, don't you know me I" said the man. *' I am called Ticklish Bob." 
 
 '* Are you ?** 
 
 ** Yes, to be sure. There's a bull for the bag. Cut along." 
 
 " And pray what are you when you are at home ? A cracksman, or a toby- 
 hunter, or a knight of the road, or what ?" 
 
 •' Anything in a small way. I am a family man.'* 
 
 *'Hil]oa! who knows this one ?" cried Jerry, raising himself up to his full 
 height, and indicating the man with his thumb. 
 
 Everybody looked at him, but there was a general shaking of heads consequent 
 upon the examination. It was quite clear that the man was not known, and it 
 was equally clear — contingent upon that circumstance — that he was in a situation 
 of some considerable personal peril. 
 
 " Oh, this is all stuff!" he cried. " Some of you must know me. Why, I've 
 cracked a crib or two in my time. It's tod bad to pretend not to know an old 
 pal. — It's really too bad." 
 
 Some half-dozen strong men got cautiously between the suspected person and 
 the door, or rather the blanket that did duty for a door, and one cried out — 
 
 " If anybody does know him, let them say so. If they don't, why in course 
 he's a sneak." 
 
 f Me a sneak !"^cried the man, ** Oh, that is too bad ; but if you don't like 
 my company, I will be off at once. Gentlemen, I will go if that will be more 
 pleasing to you. Only say the word, and of course I am off directly, gentlemen." 
 
 "We isn't gentlemen," said Jerry, "but we is family coves. Don't insult us 
 by calling of us gentlemen, I begs ; and as for going, old fellow, that's a thing as 
 you'll do, when we knows something more of you. Does anybody know him V 
 
 *' No ! no !" shouted the crowd of eager faces that crowded round the man, 
 who now turned ghastly pale, and with a sickly smile upon his face, glanced 
 around him, upon that throng of faces, in which he could not see one that bore 
 to him a friendly expression. 
 
 " What have I done, pals," he said, " that I should be picked out to be made 
 a butt of? How came I here, if 1 don't belong to the family ? Come now, I'll 
 stard another couple of bowls of punch. Only let us have harmony." 
 
 ** That's just what we wants," said Jerry. " Lay hold of him, coves. Lay 
 hold of him." 
 
 A couple of men seized the now trembling man, and Jerry striding up to him, 
 said — 
 
 ** Now, what have you got in your pockets, old chap. You say you are a 
 cracksman, and if you are, perhaps you have got some of your tools about 
 
 is this guinea, and I am quite willing to spend it, and make an end of this 
 •. It will get a couple of right good bowls of punch, won't it, Mr. 
 
 you. • 
 
 ««No — no. I am on no lay to-night, and so I have nothing with me. All I 
 have 
 affair. 
 Figgins r 
 
 " I can't go for to take upon myself all for to say," said Figgings. *' It all 
 depends upon circumstances, you see, old fellow. We shall know more about it 
 in a little time." 
 
 ♦^Now," said Jerry, " I flatter myself that lean search a fellow as well as ^ny 
 officer in England. In course, when I talk of searching, none o* this here 
 honourable Family Ken knows what I means, bat if you all looks you will all 
 see '
 
 760 GENTLEMAN JAClC. 
 
 A peal of laughter followed this joke of Jerry's, for to tell the truth, the 
 honourable company were one and all admirably acquainted with the process of 
 searching, very few of them having been exempt from that operation^ at some 
 time or another. 
 
 The unknown m»u now looked as though his last hour was come, but he did 
 not make any opposition, for that he knew would be utterly and entirely useless. 
 He only looked unutterable things. 
 
 " Let's see," added Jerry, as he proceeded with his search, and laid the various 
 articles on the table, close at hand, amid roars of laughter from the whole Ken. 
 '* Let's see — a snuff-box, good — a handkerchief, one constable's staff, one pair of 
 darbies, one pistol, one warrant. — Humph, when I was quite a little boy, my 
 father and mother forgot to teach me to read. Here, Bill, what does the warrant 
 say P" 
 
 '* How do you know it's a warrant, Jerry V* 
 
 ** Why, one day, a gentlemam in a red waistcoat showed me one, and it looked 
 just like this here, and arter that he wished me to stay a month or two in a very 
 large house, and arter that some coves said, * Not Guilty,* one day, and out I 
 toddled again, that's all I knows about it. What does it say. Bill V* * 
 
 *' It directs all Justices, Keadboroughs, Constables and others, to assist Mathew 
 Mouldy to apprehend one Claude Duval 1" 
 
 A shout of rage rose from the Ken, and the ofl&cer, for officer he really was, 
 grew faint with terror. 
 
 '* Let me go," he said. " It's of no use denying it now. I am an officer, and 
 I came to look at Claude Duval, and to follow him and nab him if 1 could. I 
 hid here in the daytime, under one of the tables, and only slipped out when the 
 candles were lit, and now let me go. What good will it do you to do me any 
 harm?" 
 
 " Mr. Mouldy," said Jerry, "your werry humble servant. I rather thinks as 
 you is in for it now, and that you'll be blue mouldy afore anybody outside sees 
 you again." 
 
 ** You don't mean to murder me ! You surely can't mean to murder me V* 
 
 " Oh, dear no ; we will only—' 
 
 •* Stop I" cried Claude. ** I do not deny but that this is an affair that con- 
 cerns you all ; but still, yon must confess that it more particularly concerns me.* 
 
 *' Anything but letting him go, Duval," said Jerry. 
 
 " Listen to me. He has come here for the purpose of having a good look at 
 me, so that he might dog me when I leave, and take me. Let him have his look, 
 and keep him here till I go ; then, if he likes to come oui with me and try his 
 luck, I am quite willing." 
 
 " Knock him on the head here, at once," cried a voice. 
 
 *' If you do," said Duval, "this is my last appearance in the Old Ken, and I 
 leave it on the moment. Let him be here until I go : don't let him leave before 
 me • that's all I ask of you, and then the danger is over." 
 
 '* I give up the whole affair," cried the ofScer; " I give it all up. I swear to 
 you, that I wouldn't touch Duval now if I saw him on the steps of Newgate.— 
 Spare my life, and I will give up the whole affair!" 
 
 '* No, no !" cried twenty or thirty voices. *' Death to the spy ! Death to the 
 sneak 1" 
 
 •' It shall not be !" said Duval, in a voice of thunder. 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXIX. 
 
 THE officer's pate. — THE DISPOSAL OP THE BODY. 
 
 The tone of voice in which Duval spoke was one that quite convinced at 
 who heard him of the complete seriousness of his intention to protect the officer, 
 ^d a feeling of great disappointment came over the family men in the Boozing 
 Ken upon that account. • A dead silence prevailed for several minutes.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 761 
 
 " Listen to rae, my friends," added Claude. " I should be the last man in the 
 world to say anything or to do anything contrary to your general wishes or intents ; 
 but it is beneath any of us to do anything to this man short of killing him, and 
 that it would be base to do," 
 
 « Why base ?" 
 
 Claude's surprise at the fire on hounslow hbate. 
 
 "Because, my friends, we are nearly fifty to one." 
 
 The officer shrank as close to Claude as he could. 
 
 '• What will you do with him then, captait 1" said a voice. , 
 
 •* Let him come out with me, ancj^if he plays the traitor I pledge myself to 
 bring him back again.*' JS^' 
 
 " Good, good," cried several; "lip it be so. The captain knows best. Let 
 him have his own way in the matter."
 
 7.62 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 ' I. .1. ,1 - , , .,. -^ 
 
 "My friends," said Claude, '* I sincerely thank you for this confidence in me. 
 Be assured that v;hat I do, I do for the general good ; and if I saw occasion that 
 this man should die, my hand would be the. first to strike him as my voice vrould 
 be the first to condemn him. But let us all steer clear of murder if we can. It 
 looks like murder for so many to take the life of one." 
 
 *' So it does — so it does. Claude Duval for ever ! Hurrah !'' 
 " You are safe for the present," said Claude to the officer ; " beware how you 
 tamper with that safety. I may not be again able to stand between you and those 
 who feel strongly concerning you." 
 
 "Thank you," said the officer. " Can you tell me if that clock there, on the 
 Hall, is right or not?" 
 
 '' 1 think it is." 
 
 The clock, which for the special convenience of the frequenters of the Ken had 
 been put up on one of the walls, at this moment began to^ strike twe Ive, and 
 naturally enough all eyes were directed to it. When it had finished striking 
 the officer suddenly scrambled on to the table that was the nearest to him, and 
 cried out— 
 
 " As you have been all of you so generous as to spare my life all of you, I 
 should like to say a few words, if it is only to let you know how truly grateful I 
 am for the favour." 
 
 *' Hold your row," said Joe. 
 
 " Get down," shouted a dozen voices. '< We don't want any gammon." 
 
 A great many^ however, seemed to wish to hear what the officer could possibly 
 have to ?ay, and shouted to him to go on ; and amid the tumult, Claude said to 
 him— 
 
 " Why, you must be next thing to an idiot to court so much attention towards 
 you. Have you as many lives as a cat?" 
 
 " Perhaps I have," he said. 
 
 " Well, the consequences of your own folly be upon your own head. I wash 
 mj bands of it." 
 
 '* Gentlemen," cried the officer ; « gentlemen, I—'' 
 
 •' Call us prigs," shouted a voice, " We aint no gentlemen here.'' 
 
 " I will call you anything you like, if you will only permit me to say ho 97 
 grateful I am to you all ; and, as a proof of it, I here produce a pistol, which you 
 missed in your search of me. It is loaded ; and to show you the entfee confidence 
 I have in your nietciful intentions, I here deprive myself of it, my only defence, by 
 discharging it against the wall." 
 
 To the surprise of everybody there, who saw no occasion for sucb an exhibi- 
 tion of confidence, the officer discharged his pistol against the earthen wall of the 
 Boozing Ken. 
 
 There was a pause of a few moments duration ; for, somehow,, there was a 
 general feeling, that this &hot was but the commencement of sometbang in which 
 they might all be more or less interested ; and then, the landlord's so«ii rushed into 
 the Ken, crying— 
 
 *' Douse the glims 1 The grabs are all round the house. Douse f the glims, and 
 cut it!" 
 
 ♦' Bravo!" cried the officer, and he made a spring at the throat of Claude. It 
 was a daring act ; but Claude caught him round the neck with has open right 
 hand, and, in a moment, clasped his throat, as though it had beesn in a vice. 
 Claude saw the officer's face turning blue, and then every light in the place was 
 extinguished. 
 
 The darkness in the Ken was most profound, and the Babel of voices was 
 most prodigious. The members of the *' family" were availing themselves of 
 all their knowledge of the localities of the place, to make their escape, and the 
 riot was terrific. 
 
 It appeared that at the sound of the officer's pistol, which was an agreed upon 
 signal between him and a strong force of officers on the outside, ia case anything
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 763 
 
 should go wrong in his original arrangement, they were to storm the place with 
 the hope of capturing Claude Duval by a rush. 
 
 That rush was now being made, and everything in the puhlic-house was being 
 upset by some fifteen well-armed officers, in their attempt to reach the Boozing 
 Ken, where they only cared to make one prisoner; but that one was Claude, and 
 in their estimation, worth all the rest. 
 
 Duval still held the officer by the throat, until he felt quite sure that he was no 
 longer in the land of the living ; and then he flung him a considerable distance 
 from him. 
 
 Suddenly, Claude felt his arm clutched, and the voice of the son of the land- 
 lord sounded in his ear, saying — 
 " Follow me.'' 
 
 ''Anywhere you like," said Claude. 
 " Hush !" 
 
 At this moment, as Claude followed wherever the young man chose to lead 
 him, he heard the doors above in the house— doors that had been closed to keep 
 back the officers, being broken open, with a crashing sound, 
 
 *' Our friends are in earnest," whispered the young man. '* Take hold of 
 my coat, and keep as close to me as you can. We will baffle them yet, I 
 think.*' 
 
 *' I hope so." 
 
 Claude had not the least idea of where he was being led to ; all he was at all 
 aware of was, that the places through which he passed had a very peculiar earthy 
 smell, as though damp and mildew had for long marked them as their own. - 
 But he knew that he could well, and truly, keep implicitly to his guide ; and he I, 
 felt a confidence, that not ten times the reward that A^as offered for him would !; 
 induce either the old publican, or his son, to betray him. j 
 
 " Don't speak," whispered the young man, " until I tell you that we are effec- . 
 tually out of all possible earshot of our foes. Then say what you like." | 
 
 Claude upon this was profoundly silent, and continued to follow his guide ; 
 wherever it might please him to go. 
 
 The gloomy, earthy smell of the passages continued, and at length the publi- |; 
 
 can's son said — \\ 
 
 " All's right, I think, now. You are safe, Duval." ji 
 
 " And I have to thank yon. Where are we ?" j i 
 
 " We are in the cellar of a house three doors off from our own ; of course, we || 
 
 must be tolerably careful not to create any ;.larm, although, by this time, the ;• 
 
 inhabitants of the house are, of course, in bv.d." ji 
 
 "Then, you don't know the people V ;l 
 
 '' Oh, no— only by sight and name. They have not the remotest idea that ;j 
 
 their cellarage is one-half so extensive as it is, nor that there is a narrow commu- jj 
 
 nication between one dark corner of it and the Ken. The fact is, this house once | < 
 
 belonged to a man called Slashing Tim, who suffered at Tyburn." 
 
 " I have heard ot him." 
 
 " Well, he and my father were old pals, and they made the communication be- 
 tween the cellars here and the Ken themselves ; but that was long ago, in the old 
 man's young days." 
 
 " So I should think. But how still everything is." 
 
 " Yes, expect the officers have met with a little disappointment. They have, 
 no doubt, by this time found their way, with lightp, into the Ken, and are rather 
 astonished not to see you. They will not interfere with any one else ; for, 
 luckily, the only two or three they would have pouncea upon, are not here to- 
 night.'" 
 
 " In truth, I am glad of it ; for it would have been ray presence alone that 
 would have brought the danger upon them ; and now, the sooner I get off and 
 away, and on the road, the better I shall be pleased. There is one thing, how- 
 ever, that gives me uneasiness." 
 **Whatisthat?"
 
 764i GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 '' My horse. I expect it is tolerably w -11 known to some of the ojQficers ; and 
 if they should chance to hunt your stables through, and find him there, they will 
 guess that I am not far oflF.'* 
 
 *' Make yourself quite easy about that, Claude. Has your horse three white 
 feet and a white star on his forehead?" 
 
 " Nothing of the kind." 
 
 "Yes, Claude, he has, and if you were to see him now ia our stables, you 
 would find all those distinctive marks upon him." 
 
 "Ah, I understand you. You have beea so good as to whiten him a little to 
 prevent prying eyes from saying — * That is Duval's horse.' " 
 
 "Exactly so; and now will you exercise your patience^ little, ahd stay where 
 you are, while I go and see what is going on at the bar j 1 will not be away one 
 moment longer than may be absolutely necessary." 
 
 ** A thousand thanks. Don't hurry on my account." 
 
 Claude, in another moment, found himself alone in the cellars, and go profoundly 
 dark were they, that he literally could not see his hand before his face, and it was 
 only by cautiously feeUng all round him, that he satisfied himself he was not 
 quite close to some wall, against which he might hurt himself, if he moved a 
 step. 
 
 Suddenly a faint starlike light broke the intense darkness of the cellar, and 
 from quite another direction to that in which the son of the old publican had dis- 
 appeared, there came a figure which filled Claude for the moment with astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 A very little, old, decrepit man, attired in a miserable dressing-gown and car- 
 rying a candle-eid stuck in a piece of cleft stick came tottering into the cellar. 
 He was muttering to himself as he came, and Claude could just catch the 
 words — ' 
 
 " Ay, ay, it all helps. It all helps. Who knows but I may get old some 
 day ? — I ain't at all old now. What is seventy-seven > Nothing— nothing, and 
 it all helps. — Only another guinea, but it is' another, that's a comfort. It is 
 another. — Ay, ay — it all helps." 
 
 The old man repaired direct to a particular portion of the cellar-floor, and then 
 with a knife, which he took from his pocket, he began digging, until at only a 
 couple of inches or so from the surface, he dug up a small iron box. This he 
 dug up and held in his trembling hands with quite a religious veneration. 
 
 CHAPTER CXiXXIX. 
 
 DUVAL IS ON THE ROAD AGAIN, AND STOPS TWO PASSENGERS. 
 
 Claude was quite astonished at the conduct of the old man, but when ke saw 
 him open the little iron box, and by the light of his caudle-end, gloat over the 
 sight of some gold that was in it, he fully comprehended that he was one of those 
 miserable beings who submit to a hundred privations to accumulate gold, lest 
 by some freak of fortune, they should be compelled to submit to two or three. 
 
 " All safe— all safe," muttered the old miser. " Here is my money and no 
 human eye looks upon it but myself. Yes, all is very safe indeed, here." 
 
 How little he suspected that one of the most celebrated highwaymen of 
 the age was within twelve paces of him ! 
 
 "Yes, yes," he continued, "all's safe, and here goes the other to add to the 
 store. Ab, my glittering beauties !" 
 
 Claude felt someone touch him lightly on the arm, and upon turning, he found 
 it was the landlord's son. They both looked on with no small amount of amaze- 
 ment at the miser's proceedings. 
 
 " It would almost be a charity," whispered the son, " to take his gold from 
 him." 
 
 R
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 765 
 
 " It would kill him. You had bcuer take his life." 
 
 '* I will take neither; but yet a knowledge of this S3cret of the old man may 
 be useful some day.'* 
 *' Hush ! he is listening." 
 
 The old miser thought evidently that he had heard something, for as he knelt 
 upon the cellar-floor, he put himself into a listening attitude ; but as both Claude 
 and the landlord's son reraaiued novv profoundly quiet, he thought he was deceived. 
 "It is nothing/* he said. " Nothing; or, if anything, only some rat. Ha! 
 — ha! I have no objection to the rats looking at me— it is rats on two legs that 
 I dread. Ha !— ha ! All his safe." 
 
 After thi« the old man covered up his little iron box of gold, and having pat- 
 ted down the earth above if, he took up the little notched stick, in the cleft of 
 which the candle-end was nearly expiring, and hobbled from the cellars. 
 "All is right ii the Ken," said the young man to Claude. 
 " What, have the officers left V 
 
 " They have; and what is more, they have left without noticing the dead body 
 of their comrade, which had rolled under one of the old tables and lay there quite 
 hidden." 
 * '* He is dead then ?" 
 
 *' Yes. You, 1 suppose, managed that for him, after all." 
 " I fancy I did ; and after the trouble I had taken to save him, it was per- 
 haps more my business to do so than any one's else in the whole Ken. I am 
 sorry he brought such a fate upon himself, but he amply deserved it. It was the 
 fortunft of war." 
 
 "It was. Follow me, Claude, and you shall soon see the night sky again." 
 "It will be very welcome. I assure you that if I am many hours without 
 breathing the open air, I get unhappy; and the air that is loaded with the damp 
 smell of vegetation, amid trees and flowers, is the most welcome of all to my 
 senses." 
 The young man led the way from the cellars of the house into a small area, 
 ad then forcing a door, that had upon it a very flimsy bolt indeed, they found 
 themselves fairly in the house. They then lit a dark lantern, and saw that it was 
 a kitchen into which they had made their way. 
 
 After this, although the kitchen-door was locked, the difficulty of getting to 
 the passage and street doors was not by any means great to persons so accus- 
 tomed to overcome that class of obstacles as Claude and his friend were. 
 
 The street-door being made fast upon the inside, of course, opposed no obstacle 
 whatever to their progress, and Claude, with his friend, soon stood in the open 
 street. 
 « My horse !'* said Claude. " Oh, for my horse !" 
 *' It is here," said the young man. 
 
 As bespoke, a lad, leading Claude's horse, made his appearance; and the trans- 
 formation created by the white marks that had been made upon the animal, was 
 so complete, that even Duval himself, with all his intimate knowledge of the ani- 
 mal, would have hesitated to pronounce him his. 
 
 *' If I were as well disguised," said Claude, " I should think nothing of calling 
 at Newgate or at Bow Street to aak them what the time of day was. Will it 
 come off?" 
 " It is onlj whitening and gum." 
 
 " Good. I will let it be until I get to the country. But where is Jack ?'* 
 *' Here," said Jack, slepping up. " I am all right, Claude ; for Heaven's sake, 
 let us be off". I have a horrid tale to tell you of that poor devil of an officer as 
 we go along." 
 " But he is dead ?" * 
 
 •* Yes, now." 
 
 Jack shuddered as he spoke ; and then he mounted his horse, which he himself 
 had, and Claude mounted his ; but before they trotted off, Claude shook hands 
 with the landlord's son, saying —
 
 766 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Remeber me to your father, kindly." 
 
 "I will; but the old man has a dismal presentiment upon his mind that he 
 will never see you again in this word, Claude Duval." 
 
 '^ Has he ? I will soon knock that out of his head. Wait for rae a moment. Jack." 
 "What would you do?" 
 
 " Nothing particular. I will be back in a moment ; I am only going to disprove 
 my old friend's presentiment, that he will not see me again in this world, that's 
 all ; and if all the officerB in Lcndoa were in the way I would shake hands with 
 him yet, and wish him good night, or rather early morning." 
 
 Despite the fears of Jack, that he would be running into the greatest danger by 
 so acting, Claude must needs call upon the old gouty publican ; and springing 
 from his horse at the door of the house, he strode in, anxious to conclude the 
 interview as shortly as possible, 
 
 ^* This way," said the son. " Father is this way.* 
 
 ** All's right," said Claude, as he ran up stairs after him ; and then in another 
 moment, he was shaking hands with the old man, and saying — " So you thoughfe 
 you would see me no more, did you old friend ? but here I am after all." 
 *' Oh, why did you venture ?'* 
 "To see you." 
 
 " But it is madness. I am certain as that I live that the officers are hiding 
 in the house even now, and if they see you, or if they suspect that you are here, 
 you are lost — lost !" 
 
 " Tm off in a moment. We are not all lost that are in danger. Good-by, 
 old friend. You and I will meet again, depend upon it." 
 "No — uo, I have a presentiment that we shall not." 
 
 '* And I," said Claude, " have a presentiment the other way; so I am resolved 
 that mine shall come true. Farewell." 
 
 Claude had only taken two steps towards the door, when it was slammed shut 
 violently from without,* and locked, and then a loud voice cried — 
 
 " I have him ! I have him ! He is in this room 1 Come on ! I have him ! 
 Here ! Here! I have him at last ! This way, comrades,! have locked the door !" 
 *• Have you really," said Claude ; " but you forgot the window." 
 The window was a Firench casement, and opened on a low small balcony. — 
 Claude was on that balcony in a moment, and Jack saw him. 
 " My horse,** said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, yes," cried Jack. He understood fully what Claude ineant, which 
 was, that the horse should be brought under the balcony to facilitate his descent. 
 Jack placed the obedient steed in the required position, and in an instant Claude 
 disappeared on to the saddle. 
 " All's right," he cried. 
 
 *' Thank the fate?, it is,'* said Jack ; " and now, let us be off out of London, 
 Claude ; for the risks of the last few hours have made me sick at heart. Off 
 
 __off " 
 
 " In a moment, Jack. Now for it." 
 
 In another instant, Claude would have been off, and would soon have distanced 
 all pursuit ; but suddenly, a man appeared at the door of the public house with 
 a thick holster pistol in his hand; and, levelling il at Claude, he cried, as he 
 fired it— 
 
 " Take that ! I don't miss often !" 
 
 The bullet struck Claude upon the left arm, producing a strange stunning 
 sensation, but, at the time, nothing more, and in an mstant Claude drew one 
 of his pistols from the side of the saddle, and firing it at the man, cried— 
 " I never 'miss, where I mean to hit!" 
 
 With a yell, like the last cry of some wild animal, the officer fell back into 
 the passage of the public-house. 
 
 " That's done," said Claude. '" Nov«^ Jack, for a trot.'* 
 They clapped spurs to their horses, and went at a rapid pace into Finsbury 
 Square ; and then, turning their horses* heads westwards^ off they went at a gallop
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 767 
 
 that soon left all cliance of pursuit far behind them. The horses were perfectly 
 fresh, and had been well looked to at the public-house, so that they did not flag 
 in their pace in the least. The long straggling thoroughfare of the New Road 
 was passed ; nor did Claude materially slacken his pace until he -"ound himselt 
 in the green lanes, and among the meadows, which now form the site of Cam- 
 bridge and Oxford Terraces. 
 
 All danger from any pursuers had long since been passed, and it was with a face 
 full of satisfaction that Claude novf once again, after so many perils, found him- 
 self once more in the open air ; and as the light of the early morning shone upon 
 the tall trees in the hedgerows, and the wild birds began to sing their early 
 songs, he felt that glow of the imagination which all true lovers of nature feel 
 when in the midst of her glorioui and beautiful works. 
 
 " I breathe again, Jack," he said. 
 
 *' And I, too," replied Jack. *' London is something to me very like a large 
 prison, Claude." 
 
 *' U can be compared to nothing else, Jack ; for amid its wilderness of bricks 
 and mortar, are you nrt shut out Torn all that is bright and beautiful in nature ? 
 How chose who can fly to country sights, and country sounds, voluntarily submit 
 themselves to the tiresome artificialities of city life, is to me inconceivable.'* 
 
 '« And to me. Hark at that [" 
 
 A thrush was sitting upon a blackthorn bush not far from them, and waa pour- 
 ing out a gush of melody. 
 
 " Yes, that is better music than any over-dressed crowd ever heard in the 
 healed atmosphere of a concert-room." 
 
 " It is, indeed; but where do you think of going to, Claude, now? We are 
 rather too near town to be quite safe." 
 
 *' We shall never be quite safe, Jack. But I intend to keep on the western 
 road a little while, and do what business I can. I look upon the route from 
 Tyburn Pike to Guildford as my manor, and I take toll of who I can. I am not 
 over rich, and you must recollect ihat now I have all the responsibilities of a 
 married man upon me. Ha ! Who comes here? Don't you hear the sound 
 of horses' feet. Jack ?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 They both rode a little on one side, and in the course of a few minutes a couple 
 of mounted men came up. One of them was a thick-headed bully of a fellow, 
 but the other had all the primness and neatness of a gentleman in his clothing-, 
 although a certain air of vulgar religious fashion about his clothing very much 
 detracted from his general aspect. Upon observing Claude and Jack, he rode up 
 to them, and said in a canting nasal sort of tone — 
 
 *'My friends, have you been long hereabouts P" 
 
 "No," said Claude, "not above a couple of hours." 
 
 " I do not wish to offend you, but I have had information that the notorious 
 Claude Duval will be in this neighbourhood shortly, and if you have no objection 
 to a fifty-pound^note, and will assist me to capture him, you shall have it." 
 
 " I have not the least objection to the note, buc is not this notorious Claude 
 Duval — I suppose it is the highwayman you mean P — a very desperate fellow?" 
 
 *' He is, but here aie four of us, and although he has a companion with him, 
 I think we may capture him." 
 
 " How came you to know he would be hereabouts?" 
 
 *' Why if you must know, it was Dick Turpin told me." 
 
 " Dick Turpin ?" 
 
 " Yes. He^ you know — or you may have heard — is no better than he should 
 be, and he gave me the information. How he got it I don't pretend to know." 
 
 " And pray where is Dick Turpin ?" 
 
 "On the road here somewheip. I and my man took htm prisoner ; l)ut upon 
 his giving us the information regarding Claude Duval, we let hiai go, for, you see, 
 no reward is offered for him." 
 
 ** Quite a sufficient reason, I grant, quite sufficient. I should Hke to see this
 
 76S "^'^l GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 Dick Turpin, though ; but as it is, I consent of course to your terms, and only 
 hope you have the money with you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have it, and as soon as Chude Duv&l is taken and I have a good 
 hold of him, you shall have it, you may depend. This is your servant, I 
 suppose V* 
 
 *' Yes, he is, and he will assist us very much. Of course, you will give him 
 something, likewise V* 
 
 " I don't mind a ten-pound-note if we are successful ; but mind you, I give 
 nothing unless I have fairly hold of Claude Duval. Then the money is due, and 
 you shall have it on the instant, for if he gets away after I have got a grip of him, 
 I will give him leave, and say that he is the better man." 
 
 As he spoke, he stretched out a large bony hand, which certainly might, if its 
 owner had courage as well as strength, be of some service in holding any one 
 tolerably tight. 
 
 *' Well," said Claude, '* 1 have not a very long lime to spare, and I must be 
 getting on a little, so let us walk our horses westward. If we meet him, well and 
 good. If we don't, of course it can't be helped ; but somehow, it comes across 
 me that we shall." 
 
 " So it does me, my friend. I dreamt it, last night, and my dreams generally 
 come true." 
 
 " So do mine. Do you know, I dreamt that 1 met an idiot, who handed me a 
 fifty-pound-note for nothing at all.* 
 "And idiot, sir?" 
 
 ** Yes, to be sure, and you are the man. Jack— Jack.'' 
 "Yes. I am here." 
 
 " Look to that fellow behind, and blow his brains out at once, if he stirs an 
 inch. Now, my friend, your dream has come true, for 1 am Claude Duval ; and 
 my dream will come true, for you will hand me the fifty-pound-note j so you see 
 what wonderful and providential things dreams are, at times." 
 
 The man glared at Claude, as though he had seen a spectre, and he repeated 
 the words *' Claude Duval !" as though they had only come to him floating on 
 the air, and he had not the least idea in the world as to who had given utterance 
 to them. Then, suddenly, in a screaming voice, he called out— 
 "Jenkins, catch the other one, I've got this !' 
 
 The great, bony hand was stretched out, and Claude's collar was fastened upon 
 with no despicable grasp. 
 
 " You would be wise," said Claude, " to take your hand away." 
 " Catch the other one, Jenkins 1 Catch the other one!" 
 ?' I have got him,'* growled Jenkins. 
 " Call out murder, Jenkins ! Call out murder, Jenkins !" 
 " Murder,'* said Jenkins, in one of the quietest tones in the world j then Claude 
 darted forward his right hand, and caught the sanctified-looking person by the 
 throat", with a grasp that seemed to be something superhuman. 
 * Let's see," he said, " who will hold on the longest." 
 
 The face of the would-be captor of the.highwayman grew red, and he shouted— 
 " Jenkins — Jenk— Jen— Je^-— '* 
 
 Claude's fingers compressed his throat too closely to enable him to speak, and 
 the hold he had taken of Claude's collar gradually relaxed, and finally fell off 
 altogether. 
 
 " Fool !" cried Duval, as he gave him a shake, and then letting go his throat, 
 he slid oflf his horse to the ground. *' Jack, where are you ? Is it true that you 
 are a prisoner ?" 
 
 •'Not exactly," said Jack. "This fellow is as quiet as a lamb. I never 
 met with a more favourably-inclined man." 
 
 ** Who are you ?" said Claude, riding up to the bullet-headed looking man, 
 who was quietly seated on his horse, looking at Jack, who had levelled a pistol 
 at his head. ** Who are you, fellow ?" 
 •' Take it easy.'*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACR; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 769 
 
 " But who are you ?" 
 
 " Jok Jenkins; I always takes tilings easy. You are tbe biggest, so I lets you 
 have your way. I always cives in to »he strongest and biggest, I does. If I was 
 to come across some little boy, I could whack him ; but otherwise I takes things 
 easy.'* 
 
 THE HORROR 0F CLAUDE AND PARTY AT FINDING LUCY A CORPSE. 
 
 '* Why, you are quite a philosopher, Jenkins." 
 
 ** Anything you like, sir." v . 
 
 " Well, I will trouble you to dismount, and to. take your master thil"*, and 
 throw him into yon ditch with the duck-weed upon it." 
 
 "Certainly, sir ; oh, certainly. Take it easy. Of course, sir. Anyth'ng you 
 like ; you are a great deal the biggest, sir, as you will see when I ^et down. Then
 
 770 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 don't you see, Vm bound to do jost what you like, you see, in an easy way, sir: 
 Throw master in the ditch ? Oh certainly." 
 
 *' Well," said Claude, ** you certainly are the droUest fellow ever I came near. 
 Before our friend here goes into the dkch, Jack, just lighten his pockets of any- 
 thing that would not benefit by a damping." 
 
 Jack rifled the half-insensible man's pockels, in a few minutes. He was slowly 
 recovering from the insensibility that had been induced by the squeeze Claude 
 had given his neck ; and \>hile jack was »fling his pockets, he glared at him with 
 a stupid half-stunned sort of look, not kffowing very well what was going on. 
 Claude started both the horses, and they went off at a good canter down the green 
 lane. 
 
 " Now," said Claude to Jenkins, " you can do what I told you." 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 He lifted his master from the ground easily enough, for Jenkins had a good 
 quantity of brutal strength about him. 
 
 "Help, help!" cried the sanctified-looking personage. " Help, murder, what 
 are? you about, Jenkins?" 
 i j *• Take it easy. They are both bigger than we are, master. Take it easy ; 
 1 1 anything for a quiet life, you know. I am only going to throw you in the ditch. 
 
 I That's all, master. Take. things easy." 
 : •' In the ditch ? Murder— murder !" 
 
 i I "I must. Look at him. Big he is ; and so it's (juiteijfiglvt, and it must be done. 
 
 I I It's of no use your kicking, master; there you go." 
 
 i! Splash! The sanctified-looking man was struggling in the ditch amongthe 
 r duck-weed, and it was well for him that he had recovered so far as he Had, or he 
 ! would inevitably have been drowned, for all Jenkins would have troubled him- 
 1 1 self in ttie matter. 
 
 jj ''Ah !" said Jenkins, as he saw his master gradually struggling up the bank. 
 I , " Ah, he don't look nice, but it had to be done. We must in this world give way 
 1 to the biggest." 
 
 i *' Murder !' screamed the unfortunate wretch who had made in his mind so 
 i sure of capturing Claude, *' Murder, I am smothered.'* 
 j! The duck-weed had stuck to him in the most eccentric manner, so thai he 
 
 seemed as though, by the. touch of an enchanter's wand, he had been changed to 
 
 green, including his face and hands. 
 
 '* Is he to be (>ushed in again, sir V* said Jenkins to Claude. 
 
 *' No," replied Claude, as He mounted, " I think he has had enough for this 
 
 once; and I leave you now, Mr. Jenkins, with the most profound admiration for 
 
 your philosophy." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXX. 
 
 THK ENCOUNTER WITH THE MOCK DICK TURPIN, 
 
 '* Come on. Jack,*' said Claude. 
 
 Oflf they both wentat a sharp trot from the scene of the late encounter. There 
 was not the least likelihood of either Jenkins or his master following them, seeing 
 that those two worthies were now on foot, but still Claude and Jack thought it best 
 to place as speedily as they could a few miles between them and their late ad- 
 versaries. At length, with an explosion of laughter, which he could no longer 
 resist, Claude drew up, and turned round to Jack. 
 
 '* Did you ever, Jack," he cried, " in all your life and experience, meet with 
 such a fellow as that Jenkins ?" 
 
 '•Never,'' said Jack. *' He is the most extraordinary original I ever encoun- 
 tered. I wonder if that odd manner is natural to him, or only assumed as a 
 result of a general feeling of disgust at society at large." 
 
 •* Oh, it is natural, Jack."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 771 
 
 " Can you really think so? It sounded to me like the most exquisite piece of 
 grave irony that I had heard for a very long time indeed ; bid extremes meet, 
 Claude, and we can only say that our friend, Jenkins, is either a'i,great fool or a 
 great philosopher. When I held ray pistol to his head, and told him to stir upon 
 risk of death, he replied, ' Just so,' and from that moment did not make the 
 smallest effort to take any advantage of me." 
 
 I '* He is, in truth, an oddity." 
 
 i '* Most surely. But look at the pocket-book, Claude, that I took from his 
 master. I have not had time to examfne it. I hope there will be something 
 in it to make it worth the trouble of taking." 
 
 Jack handed the pocket-book to Claude, who opened it with all due gravity. 
 The first thing he took out of it was a very carefully folded, but terribly Tvorn, 
 silk nightcap : the second thing was the unpaid bill of some laundress, amount- 
 ing to two shillings and four pence ; and that was all. 
 
 j Claude looked at Jack, and Jack looked at Claude, and then the latter again 
 burst out into an uproarious fit of laughter, while Jack pulled rather a long face, 
 and quietly said— 
 ** We are done." 
 
 *' Yes, Jack, we are done ; and upon my word this, to me, has been a most 
 amusing adventure. I don't think the poor devil had one farthing in the world, 
 and the offer of thefifty-pound-nole to me for my own apprehension was only a 
 magnificent piece of bombast to secure some efficient assistance. There is 
 only one thing that I do not comprehend in the whole affair, and that, to tell the 
 
 j truth, does disturb me very much." 
 
 I **And that," said Jack, '*! can guess, is the use that has been made of the 
 name of Dick Turpin.* 
 
 I "True— most true. I would stake my life upon the good faith of Dick ; but it 
 does puzzle me to find that, for the second time, information of my whereabouts 
 is by two distinct people attributed to him." 
 
 i " But you don't believe it, Claude ?" 
 
 I *' No, upon ray life, i do not, and until I have it from the lips of Dick himself 
 I will not believe it. But come on, Jack, We are most magnificently done as 
 regards the pocket-book, and the poor devil who owned it is very appropriately 
 punished. Let us push on over Wormholt Scrubs here, and who knows but we 
 may meet with better fortune V 
 
 I " Don't you think it would lie advisable to change your costume, Claude ?" 
 
 I ** Why hardly yet. Jack. I flatter myself that in this present dress I look very 
 respectable, and like some gentleman of independent meWs, while I must confess 
 your getting up as a first-class groom is exquisite. I do not think that we have 
 any enemies close upon our track who know of this disguise, and to fresh foes 
 it will carry us through anything." 
 
 " There is reason in that, Claude ; so let us, as you say, push on over the 
 Scrubs." 
 
 j Wormholt Scrubs was then a very much wilder and more country-looking 
 neglected a spot than it is now that a slashing railway passes through the middle 
 of it ; and when Claude and Jack came upon it, they could, in the wide expanse 
 before them, see no si2;n of any human being save themselves. They took a 
 direct route across the Shrubs in the direction of Hounslow, where upon a 
 more mature consideration Claude intended to dine. 
 
 About three hundred yards to the left there was a small dump of fir trees, and 
 it was about the only shelter for the space of a mile or more ; and just as they 
 passed this litilc clump of trees, there issued out froai it u horseman, attired in 
 a faded sky-blue coat with tarnished silver lace upon it. Huge jackboots were upon 
 his feet, and he wore likewise a slouching hat with a very large buckl^. His 
 horse was rather a smart-looking animal enough, aad ^ke him fur ^U in all, he 
 looked like some unattached drunlfeu subaltern o^oer in the ferniy, who upon 
 slender means contrived to cut a sorty du§h afisun|% wot 'VQjy or^ditaWa vim of
 
 772 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 society. Such characters — now happily exlinct^^or an officer is forced to be a 
 gentleman — were very frequent even fifty yeais ago. 
 
 He came prancing on, with a devil-may-care sort of look, and as Claude had 
 passed on, he encountered Jack, to whom he said, in an authoritative voice — 
 
 •• Who is your master, sirrah ?" 
 
 *' A gentleman," said Jack. 
 
 *' But his name and calling, sirrah ? Answer me." 
 
 '' He it just before you," said Jack; *' and you had much belter ask him your- 
 self. Information is always best from the highest scource. Here he is." 
 
 *' B Sir, ril remember your insolence. Hang it, sir, how dare you speak 
 
 to me in this way ?" 
 
 Hearing the altercation, Claude turned his horse's head, and trotted back. 
 
 ••' What is all this about ?" he said. " Is the gentleman out of his mind ? or 
 has he lost his way on the Scrubs ?'* 
 
 " No, sir," said the fellow, •* tliis gentleman is neither mad, nor has he lost his 
 May upon the Scrubs. Confound my blood, sir, I am a gentleman, and in want 
 of a little ready cash ; do you understand that, sir? — Cuise everybody — 2h,sir?" 
 
 " Yes," said Claude, " I understand it, as well as your ridiculous and stupidly 
 profane oaths will permit me." 
 
 " Oh, oh, you belong to the church, do you ? Well, well, my fine dressed gen« 
 tieman, we will borrow a few guineas from you. In a word— your money or your 
 life!" 
 
 "What ! Are you really, then, a highmayman?" said Claude. 
 
 •' Call me what you like ; but stand and deliver!" 
 
 The fellow produced a pistol nearly as large as a small carbine, which he 
 levelled at the head of Claude, who, however, took no more notice of it than as 
 if it had been a bit of stick ; but turning to Jack, he said— 
 
 " Here is a highwayman, if you never saw one before. He is quite a curiosity 
 in his way. Let's ride round him and have a good look at him. How often I 
 have wiahed to meet with a real live, bragging, bouncing, c /ardly rascal, such 
 as this." 
 
 As Claude spoke he walked his horse slowly round the fellow, who, with a 
 growing fear upon his face, kept turning ar^d facing him, still keeping ihe im- 
 mense pistol presented at his head all the while. 
 
 " Come, come," he said, " these tricks won't do for me." 
 
 " Nor for me," said Claude ; " so go your way, and I will go mine, I have 
 seen quite enough of you, my friend." 
 
 "But I have not seen enough of you, my friend ; and so, I say again, your 
 money or your life I I am one too accustomed to say * Stand and deliver !' to be 
 trifled with." 
 
 " Do you mean seriously to say that you want my money ?" 
 
 •* Ay, broth3r ; and your watch and jewellery too. Ha ! — ha !" 
 
 •' If you will stand on your head for five minutes I vvill give you a shilling, 
 but not otherwise, my fine fellow." 
 
 " Then you and your servant may as well say your prayers, for your two lives 
 are not worth a minute's purchase. Perhaps, when 1 tell you who I am. you will 
 come to a different conclusion. I am Dick Turpin !'* 
 
 A sudden light broke over Claude's countenance. Here then, at once, was 
 the mystery unravelled. This fellow was personating Dick Turpin in th» neigh- 
 bourhood ; and not a doubt remained in the bosom of Claude but that it was from 
 this man that the gentleman in the iliich had obtained his information. 
 
 <* Dick Turpin ?" said Claude. 
 
 ** Yes. You have heard of me 1" 
 
 '* Oh, surely. Really, this is one of the pleasantest adventures that I ha ve 
 met wi h for a very long while, indeed. I am Claude Duval !" 
 
 The fellow reeled again in his saddle, and the gigantic pistol fell from his pal- 
 sied fingers to the ground, Cla«de sprung upon him, and clutched his arm.
 
 j LIFE ON THE ROAD. 773 
 
 I " Stir a step, and you are a dead man. I will blow your brains out with as 
 little compunction of conscience as I would those of a mad dog." 
 j *' Oh, spare me ! I — am — only a poor fellow I'* 
 
 " I know it ; and a pitiful fellow are you into the bargain, you vagabond. Tell 
 me this moment why you assumed the name of one who is as different from you 
 as Hercules is to a sick child ? Speak, dolt ! Jack, keep an eye on him. Pitch 
 him off his hor&e, or he will give us a race after him yet." 
 
 Jack charged against the fellow, but he anticipated the shock by slipping off 
 his horse on to the ground, and leaving the animal quietly to crop the scanty 
 herbage on the common. 
 
 "Spare my life,'* he moaned, **and ask me what you like. I will tell you 
 everything. Only spare my life !" 
 
 " Why did you assume the name of J'urpin ?'* 
 
 ♦'Because — I — found — that it frightened people, and so they let me rob them 
 when otherwise they wouldn't." 
 
 '' How comes it that you have given information concerning me to several 
 people?" 
 
 *• I — only — slightly— mentioned " 
 
 j "Come — come; let us have no prevarication. You gave certain information 
 concerning my movements : why did you do so ?" 
 I *• I will tell the truth. I was afraid of meeting you about this neighbourhood, 
 
 and thought it would be a good thing lo frighten yon away to some other road 
 
 that was all." 
 
 '* But your information — how did you procure it, for it. has been strangely 
 correct?" 
 
 " There is a girl named Lucy — you knew her once ?" 
 
 « Ah l" 
 
 '* Yes ; she was your girl once, you know, Claude Duval, and when you cast 
 her off, you thought she came by her death ; but she didn't, and she is now with 
 me ; but she don't, and she won't forget you; and she says she will never rest 
 until she sees you hung. She dogs you as much as she can, and when she 
 knows anything she sets the officers after you. 1 warn you to beware of her, 
 ClauJe Duval, for the passion of a jealous woman knows no bounds. This 
 that I tell you you may rely upon. It is the whole truth.'* 
 
 *'By Heaven," said Claude, "it must be so! Il has the aspect of truth 
 about it. Tell me — what does she know of me ?" 
 
 *' She knows, she says, that you are married, though I tell her that it is not 
 
 very likely, because " (Claude made an impatieat gesture.) " Well, she 
 
 says you are married, and I believe, if she could get at your wife, she would take 
 her life." 
 
 Claude staggered a little. 
 
 *' Do you hear that. Jack?" he said in a whisper, 
 
 ** I do, Claude ; and a bitter thing it is to hear.'* 
 
 "Very — very, Jack. What can I do P'* 
 
 ** Above all things, Claude, do not let the man ?ee that you are so keenly 
 touched by. what he has told you.'* 
 
 " But you believe it, Jack ?" 
 
 '• I do. There is, 1 think, something about truth that carries conviction with 
 it. I do not think he has deceived. In his fear he has spoken out the exact 
 truth, Claude, and it is well that you know it." 
 
 " And yet I was happy in knowing it not. But no matter— no matter. He 
 has, by truth -telling, disarmed mc of all resentment against him now. I will 
 speak to him again." 
 
 Claude turned away from his brief conference with Jack, and again addressed 
 the man. 
 
 " My friend, I believe that which you have told me ; and because I do believe 
 it, I hold no enmity against you for what has passed. I advise you, fur the 
 future, not to take the name of Turpin, for he is a man of rather sudden and
 
 774 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 fierce temper, and should he encounter you, and know that you have played him 
 such atriclc, I would not give much for your life. So much I say to you in the 
 way of advice." 
 
 "I thank you, Duval. I will no more personate Turpin. I am very much 
 obliged to you. I was not always the disreputable devil that I am now." 
 
 ** I don't chink you wero. Your language has a smack in it of something 
 better." 
 
 ♦' You are right. There was a time when — But, no matter. I am what I am, 
 and to think even of the past, is like planting daggers in my heart. I have no 
 friend in all the world now." 
 
 *• You may make one in me if you like." 
 
 " May I indeed ? Do you really mean it ?" 
 
 '* From my soul I do." 
 
 A change came over the face of the man, and he was evidently too much 
 affected for some few moments to speak. Then he held out his hand, and in 
 choking accents, he said — 
 * Will you take it?" 
 
 ** Freely,", said Claude, as he clasped it in his own. •' Most freely. And now 
 that we understand each other, tell me how I can serve you ?" 
 
 ** No way at present, Duval ; but I can, I hope, serve y oi by keeping such a watch 
 upon Lucy, that she shall have no opportunity of doing any harm to one whom 
 1 can easily imagine you value before all the world. That I think I can dp for 
 you, Claude Duval ; and this, so help me Heaven, I will do for you." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXI. 
 
 CLAUDE SEEKS THE RETREAT OF LUCY.— THE LONE HUT ON THE HEATH, 
 
 Claude looked very serious for a few moments, and then he said — 
 
 "I have that degree of faith in what a madly jealous woman may do, that I 
 shall not be easy until I see Lucy myself and speak to her." 
 
 " That you can do," 
 
 " Tell me, then, where I may be sure to find her." 
 
 " I will so describe the place to you that you cannot miss it. There is upon 
 Hounslow Heath a pond, and near to it an old barn, with the roof blown oflF." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 ** Well, a few paces from that barn there is a cottage with a very small patch 
 of garden-ground reclaimed from the heath, and there you will find her. But I 
 would like to know when you purpose coming, for 1 would take care she shall 
 be at home to receive you." 
 
 *' I beg you," said Claude, *« not to givfiiher the slightest hint of my coming, as 
 that would spoil all." 
 
 " Depend upon me, I will not." 
 
 "Then to-night, during the hours between twelve and one, expect me. If I 
 get the girl's promise to rid herself of her wild resolve, I shall be s^ftisfied, for 
 1 do not think she would break such a promise made to me." 
 
 *• I am afraid, Duval, you do not know her so well as I ido. While she thought 
 herself yours, no doubt her hehavour to you was gentle enough ; but now she is a 
 very devil incarnate." 
 
 ♦' Well — well, 1 will see her, and try what kind words will do, and if they will 
 not, my duty to others calls upon me to adopt some course that will protect her, 
 who is best of all entitled to my protection.'* 
 
 Duval and Jack very shortly then took leave of their new friend ; and when 
 they were alone again. Jack said, with much earnestness of manner — 
 
 *' Take care of yourself, Claude, when you visit that girl, lor at the sight of you 
 in th§ bittf meis of ber ra|« she may try to do you a mschief,"
 
 LTTPE ON THE ROAD. 775 
 
 " I will be careful. Jack. I must confess that her threats against Cicely fill me 
 with uneasiness. But I will come to some conclusions upon that matter to-night. 
 Ah, whom have we here now P" 
 
 Two persons on horseback, a lady and a gentleman, approached. The lady 
 was young and handsome, but the gentleman in every partof his attire, and even 
 in the manner in which he sat on his horse and held the bridle, showed the 
 coxcomb. As he approached Claude and Jack, he put an eye-glass to his eye, 
 where, by a curious contraction of the muscles, he held it fast, and glared at them 
 both for a moment or two in silence. 
 
 Jack was, or this exquisite fancied that he was, in his way slightly, so he drawled 
 out — 
 
 ** Fellow, get out of the world, will you ! Don't answer me — I can't hold any 
 conversation with the lower classes. I think they ought all to be put out of the 
 world. Out of the way, fellow." 
 ** Did you addi'ess me ?" said Jack. 
 
 '♦ Ah, he speaks. Out of the way, fellow, and don't let me hear your horrid 
 low class voice.'* 
 
 •' Don't be angry, Jack," said Claude, laughing as he saw the colour mounting 
 to Jack's cheek. *'Dont be angry; he is only a curiosity. You should never be 
 annoyed at any animal following its vocation, and its natural impulses. Jack. 
 Men are men, apes are apes, as you see by the specimen before you." 
 
 **Good God," cried the exquisite. *' I shall have to finish this fellow. Stand 
 aside, my dear Helen, while I send him into another world." 
 
 With this the conceited personage drew a remarkably slender sword, and made 
 a flourish with it in the air, no doubt fully expecting that Jack would start back 
 in alarm; but when he found that such whs not the case, but that with his hand 
 raised, Jack watched him steadily, he said — ■ 
 
 *' Fellow, I will spare your lite. It my be useful to you, fellow, so I shall 
 spare it. Pass on, pass on, fellow. Low man, you are spared." 
 
 •Claude was very much amused at what was going on, and probably much more 
 so on account of the evident rage that Jack was in ; a rage which he had the 
 greatest diflticulty in keeping under, but of the existence of which the dandified 
 personage who had provoked it, did not seem to have the least idea. 
 
 "Are you going to get out of the way, fellow 1" 
 
 *' No," said Jack. 
 
 •* Oh, ah. 1 hen I shall go round, for nothing can be so very horrid, after all, 
 when one comes to think, as to touch a low person, even if one has his own 
 gloves on." 
 
 "You really think so?" 
 
 " Come on, Frederick, come on,'' said the young lady, most imploringly. 
 *' Why will you thus insult quiet people on the highway ? Gentlemen, think 
 nothing of it. Come on, Frederick, came on." 
 
 *' But I do think something of it," said Jack. 
 
 <• For my sake, I hope you will not,'* added the young lady; "now, Frederick, 
 I hope this will be a lesson to you." 
 
 *• For your sake I will forego," said Jack, " my just resentment in its full 
 extent ; but unless this coxcomb asks my pardon, he shall not pass me with his 
 head on.'* 
 
 "My—head? Ah!'* 
 
 " Yes, your head. I don't expect to find anything in it, Ibu Fll knock it off 
 if you don't ask pardon." 
 
 *' Oh, I couldn't— I shall have to slaughter you, fellow, after all. I shall have 
 to send you to another world." 
 
 With this the coxcomb made another intimidating flourishing of his sword, 
 and Jack dashed at him, and took it from him in a moment. The young lady 
 screamed, and Claude, as he hurried up to her, cried out— 
 ; " Moderation, Jack, moderation."
 
 776 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 Upon which Jack only brok^ the sword in two.'and flung the pieces in the 
 owner's face. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed,'* said Claude to the young lady, " but you will act very 
 injudiciously if you lay your commands upon my friend not to humiliate 
 Frederick. Is he your brother V* 
 
 *No— no." 
 
 ** Not your husband ?" 
 
 " Oh no — nor never will be. He is a cousi.i.*' 
 
 " Oh, very well. Now, Mr. Frederick, 1 am quite sure all that my friend 
 requires of you is to dismount, beg pardon on your knees, or else I assure you he 
 is just the man to blow your brains ont.* 
 
 ** Which I would rather do at once,*' said Jack, "and have no more bother 
 about it." 
 
 ♦* Murder ! — blow my brains^^ut ?" 
 
 " Yes, if you have any. You prefer it, I see," added Jack, and he took a pistol 
 from his pocket, and began to examine the priming very carefully indeed, upon 
 this, the dandified gentleman was so stunned, that he slipped off his horse, and 
 plumped down upon his knees in the mire of the road, crying— 
 
 *' Oh, ah ! I beg pardoii." 
 
 *• Very good," said Jack. ** Now, as far as I am concerned, you may pass on. 
 What my friend may have to say to you is quite another affair, sir.*' 
 
 ** I am hot at all offended," said Claude, " and shall merely treat the gen- 
 tleman professionally. Your money, watch, and jewels, sir, if you please, unless 
 you prefer rae taking them from your insensible carcass, after I have placed a 
 couple of slugs in yosr skull." 
 
 " A high^payman, by Jupiter !" gasped the dandy. 
 
 •' Exactly so," said Claude. '*Be quick, sir.'* 
 
 In a moment a well-filled purse, a watch, and som* rings, were, with an amount 
 of nervous trepidation quite ludicrous to behold, handed ^to Claude, and the 
 young lady said— 
 
 "I have nothing but a small watch, which is not of much value. Here 
 it is, sir." 
 
 Claude bowed, as he said — 
 
 ** I pray you not to do me the injustice of supposing that I could take it from 
 you. I am only vexed to find so much beauty in such indifferent company." 
 
 " You are Claude Duval }" said the young lady. 
 
 ** I am ; but I do not know how you could be aware of that fact. I do not, 
 however, deny it.'* 
 
 " I guesssd it from your manner, sir. A lady of my acquaintance was per- 
 mitted by you to retain her watch in the same way that you permit me to keep 
 mine, and so I made a guess which turns out to be correct. I hope I may ask of 
 you the favour to let this young man go without any injury or any practical joke 
 being played off upon him." 
 
 " Certainly. He is free as air. Jack, you have done with your friend, I 
 suppose, now ?** 
 
 •* Quite so," said Jack. "He is too contemptible to have anything farther to 
 do with. Let him go." 
 
 *' 1 would prefer," added Claude, as he bowed again to the young lady, 
 " that the knowledge of my name should remain in your own breast." 
 
 A glance at the exquisite let the young lady know what Claude meant, and she 
 bowed in acquiescence. 
 
 " Now sir," said Claude, *' mount and be off, for we don't want your company 
 on the road any longer." 
 
 Upon this, feeling quite happy to get off so well as he was, the dandy mounted 
 again, and minus his sword, watch, purse, and rings, left the spot, accompanied 
 by the young lady, who at the last moment looked her thanks for his being let go 
 so easily, cocsldering all things. When they were gone, Claude, despite the many 
 anxieties that were then passing upon his mind, could not help laughing very
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 (77 
 
 heartily attlie scene that had taken place ; and after a lime, Jack, although he 
 really at the moment had been very muck provoked, could not help joining in 
 the laugh. .,. , ,, 
 
 •* Well, Claude," he said, " it was ridiculous. . ', , 
 
 " Most essentially so. Jack, and 1 reallytbelieve that if I had not been here to 
 
 CLAUDE riRED AT BY THE CORPULENT LANDLORD Of TJIE ROAD-SIDE INN. 
 
 cry out moderation to you/you would have ac'uilly demolifhed thi-t uarortunate 
 young man, who, after all, was more ridiculous than noxious." 
 " I ought only to have laughed at him.'' _ 
 
 " Nay, Jack, I will not go quite so far as that. I thmk that in lr..>aking his 
 feword y^u served him quite right, but that was enough. And now until the time 
 shall come for me to keep my appointment with our new friend, w! o will em b e
 
 778 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 noe to have a meeting with Lucy, I will go to the farm and pass a short time 
 with Cicely. We are sure of a cordial welcome there." 
 
 *• With pleasure," said Jack. 
 
 The fact is that Jack always lived in the hope that the time would yet come 
 when Claude would find a means of quitting the perilous and roost nervous pro- 
 fession, if it might he so called, in which he was engaged ; and he, Jack, thought 
 that if anything more than another could put such thoughts ^^to Claude's head, 
 and keep them there, it would be often to seek the society of Ocely. Thus, Jack 
 was almost more than willing to encourage Claude in turning bis horse's head 
 towards the farm. 
 
 They both knew the bit of country in which they were amazingly well, and 
 it was after all but a sharp trot of half an hour to bring them to Ealing Common, 
 in the immediate neighbourhood of which was the place they sought. With great 
 joy and alacrity, Claude dived down the little shady lane, which would take him 
 by the back and unfrequented route across the meadows to the farm, and he and 
 Jack soon passed through a well-known gap in a hedge, and made for the friendly 
 shelter of that roof, beneath which poor Cicely found as much comfort as could 
 possibly be hers in this world, considering the many anxieties that must 
 naturally continually possess her upon Claude's account, knowing as she did the 
 perilous life he led. 
 
 If Cicely had not chanced to be, as she was, the companion of Claude, during 
 some of the most perilous of the scenes connected with hia attempt to leave 
 England, she would have been much more urgent to him than she now even 
 was to abandon a course of life which was so full of perils. But whenever she 
 did say much upon the subject, Claude had a ready answer by saying — 
 
 ** Cicely, did I not try, and do you remember the result?'* 
 
 Too well she remembered that result ; and when he did so speak, the gloomy 
 aisles of^Winchester Cathedial would rise up before her imagination, and she 
 would shudder at the recollection of the awful scenes of bloodshed and misery 
 she had then gone through. 
 
 Hence, then, was it that poor Cicely led a life of continual an!Jcieties, beset by 
 doubts and fears, and not knowing whether to urge Claude to make yet another 
 attempt to leave England, or to let him be for awhile, until some opportunity 
 might arise to promise him a complete emancipation from his course of life, 
 without any of the perils he had encountered in attempting before to leave it. 
 
 She had not seen him now for some days, and she had got naturally anxious 
 to know of hii welfare. When, therefore, upon glancing from one of the upper 
 wmdows of the farm-house, she saw him and Jack leading their horses though 
 a little gate from a small paddock into the farm-yard, her heart leapea 
 for joy. 
 
 *' He is yet safe," she said. *« He is yet safe. Heaven has heard my prayers, 
 and he is guarded from death. Once more I behold him free and unharmed !" 
 
 So intense w ere her feelings of gratification, that it was some few moments 
 before she could go down stairs to welcome him, and previously to doing so, she 
 had opened the window and called to him and waved her hand. 
 
 [CHAPTER CLXXXII. 
 
 THE GREAT PERIL OF CLAUDE AMONG THE GIPSIES ON HOUNSLOW HEATH. 
 
 Claude Duval had some happy moments of his life. One of them cer- 
 tainly was when he saw Cicely's face at the window, radiant with delight at \ 
 seeing him. 
 
 *• Well ?" he cried. "Well?" 
 
 *' Yes, Claude; and you?" 
 
 « Oh, yes !"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 779 
 
 She disappeared from tVie^window, and in the cou.se of the next few 
 moments was in his arms, and sobbing upon his breast. 
 
 " So you are quite well, Claude, and you are not hurt — you are sure you are 
 not hurt ? You have perhaps been in great danger thoLgb, while I was safe and 
 secure. Ah ! no I was not secure. I never am secure except I am thus— thus, 
 Ciaude, close to you, and with the full assurance at my heart thai; you are not 
 snatched from me by any unexpected blow of fate.'* 
 
 " And I, Cicely, am never happy except when I can look into your eyes, and 
 know that I am with you ; and feel that you are all my own." 
 
 "And you will, neither of you," said Jack, *' ever be quite happy until the sea 
 rolls between you and England," 
 
 *' That is true,'* said Cicely. " Do you hear it, Claude ?'* 
 
 •' 1 do hear it ; and well I kaow that both you and Jack wish for nothing in 
 the world so much as my happiness and safety j but we will not talk of this now. 
 Neither time nor place are fitting." 
 
 " Come in, then," said Cicely, '' come into the house. There is an old friend 
 there waiting to see you." 
 
 "A visitor?" 
 
 "Yes; one who has come on purpose to see you, but who would have left this 
 evening without doing so if you had not chanced to come." 
 
 " Tell me who it is. Cicely. I hope you have not been indiscreet enough to 
 take any artful stranger into your confidence ? There are many who if they did 
 but know where to find you, would come to you under the pretence of knowing me." 
 
 " But this one really knows you. It is my brother." 
 
 " Mark Brereton ?" 
 
 ** Yes. It is he, Claude, and with him you know you are quite safe. Is it 
 not so ?" 
 
 '* Yes, indeed; but I thought that he was very far away by this time, 
 indeed." 
 
 " And so did I, Claude, and so did everybody; but here he comes himself to 
 speak to you, and you may see by his looks how very glad he is to see you. It 
 is partly for my sake, Claude, and partly because he says he cannot help liking 
 you, whether he would or not. Mark, here is Claude," 
 
 These two men, with such dissimilar habits and pursuits, met and shook hands 
 most warmly ; nothing attaches men so much together as having passed through 
 serious dangers in each others company, and Heaven knows that Mark Brereton 
 had by the merest accidents and freaks of for une, been thrown into many 
 strange situations with Claude Duval, ;.!1<1 he had had, consequently, opportunities 
 of observing what a fine spirit was los: t » somj worthy career when he, Duval, 
 took to the road. 
 
 ** And so you are among us again ?" said Ciaude. 
 
 " I am. I could not rest until I had seen you and Cicely ; and believe me I 
 am not a Utile pleased to see that you are so well, as you seem to be." 
 
 " I am quite well. And you ? I fancy I see an improvement in your looks. It 
 is so, is it not V 
 
 *'Uh, yes. My health is better. I have been travelling, and that, I find, is 
 always beneficial to me. But I really began to think that I should have great 
 trouble in finding you. I consider your dropping in here to be quite providential." 
 
 " Ah, Mark, if you had chosen to stay here a little longer, you might be sure 
 of seeing me here. 1 only stay away when I cannot help it, and as soon as 
 I feel myself with some hours of liberty upon my hands, my thoughts fly here, 
 and I fly after them." 
 
 " I do not doubt it." 
 
 They all entered the house together, and then the farmer and his family began 
 to Welcome Claude in the warm and kind-hearted manner with which they 
 always greeted him ; and in answer to his inquiries, they said that 'since the 
 liltle fracas with the parson, of which Claude was quite cognisant, they had net 
 met with any annoyance from any quarter whatever, but lived in perfect peace
 
 780 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 and security, feeling quite sure that the reverend gentleman had so far kept his 
 word towards them. 
 
 All this was pleasant enough news for Claude to hear, and turning to Brereton, 
 he said — 
 
 *' if all the world would be kind enough to forget me, and allow me to live \u 
 such a place as this, the quiet life of a lover of the country and of country pur- 
 suits, I should be one of the happiest of men. But they w ill not. No ! Nothing 
 makes the world so angry as any attempt to escape from it ; and if you do but try 
 it, slander will be busy with the past, and there are hundreds who will raise the 
 hue-and-cry after you from very wantonness and mischief- loving." 
 
 •* That is but too true," said Brereton. 
 
 ' I have found it so, my friend," added Claude. " But we will not sadden 
 
 anyofthejoy of this happy meeting by such reflections. The evening is but 
 creeping on^ and it will be midnight before I need leave you." 
 
 "Leave at midnight ?" said Cicely. 
 
 " Yes, dearest, I have an appointment with a friend which I hope will not 
 occupy me more than two hours, and if not, I will return here again, But I 
 cannot swear to be back to night again." 
 
 *' Ah, Claude, your visits are indeed to me like angels ; few, ahd far between." 
 
 *'Na'y,*' said' Claude, with a smile, "but what I am going upon is real busi- 
 ness, which ought not to be neglected, as I will convince your brother. Mark, 
 when I tell him ; and you will not ask me what it is, I know. Cicely, if 1 do 
 not freely volunteer to tell you.*' 
 
 " No, Claude, I will not.'* 
 
 *♦ A model of a wife." said Jack, with a sm.le. '* There is but one Cicely in 
 the world, or I think that, tattered by fortune as I am, I might almost yet venture 
 upon matrimony. What say you, Mr. Brereton ?" 
 
 *' You might do worse, Jack." 
 
 Claude stepped apart with Brereton, and told him evidently what he was going 
 about at midnight, upon which Brereton replied that he ought not to go alone, 
 and at ©nee proffered his own services to accompany him, adding, that he and 
 Jack would be company for each other while waiting for him, Claude, and that 
 in case of any treachery or unforeseen danger, they could be close at hand t» 
 render him effectual assistance. 
 
 " I do not anticipate," said Claude, " the slightest peril, for I have ample 
 faith in the man who gave me my information, and who might with the greatest 
 ease have withheld it from me. But if you choose to come, I will not say 
 no. You have a horse here, I suppose ?'* 
 
 " Yes, and a good one too." 
 
 *' Be it so then ; and Jack, who, as a matter of course, will follow me, will be 
 glad enough of your company, and for the matter of that we can all ride together 
 to the common." 
 
 *• We can, and I sincerely hope, for all oursakes, you will be able to ward off 
 anv threatened danger from the desperate woman you mention. The passions of 
 such persons are dangerous alike to themselves and to others." 
 
 ** It shall be done," said Claude. 
 
 We must not follow the conversation that took place at the farm-house now, 
 further than to say that it was of a most friendly and affectionate character 
 among all these assembled, until Claude, upon hearing the old kitchen clock strike 
 twelve, rose and said it was his time to go. 
 
 Upon this, both Brereton and Jack rose likewise, and although the cause of 
 his absence at such an hour happened to be one which Claude did not like to 
 explain to Cicely, she felt tolerably satisfied upon finding that Jack and her 
 brother were going with him. He promised to get back with all the expedi- 
 tion in his power, and the fact of Mark Brereton accompanying him was of 
 itself sufficient to assure her that it was no perilous, marauding adventure he 
 was going on, for had such been the case she well knew that Brereton would 
 have nothing to do with it. ^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 781 
 
 The night was more than usually dark, and neither Claude nor his companion 
 could have had much chance of reaching the high road, had not one of the family 
 from the (arm* house come with them as a guide that far. The young man who 
 accompanied them led Claude's horse, and the rest followed until they were on the 
 high road that gees along Ealing Common. 
 
 *• Ah," said Duval, " I know where I am now. I could find my way where I 
 am going blindfolded, if it were at all necessary, so well do I know every inch of 
 it, and every tree, and every turning and winding it can take." 
 " Then I will leave you now/* said the young man, 
 
 ** You may, my friend, and I thank you for coming so far with me. I hope to 
 be back at the farm in two hours. Now, my friends, a sharp trop will very soon 
 take us to Hounslow Heath," 
 
 They all three set off at a trot that got over the ground very (^uitkly, for the 
 horses had been well seen to at the farm, and were consequently in first-rate con- 
 dition. It seemed as though they reached Hounslow Heath in an incredibly short 
 space of time ; and when Claude suddenly cried out— 
 " Here we are." 
 Brereton said, "Where?" 
 •' Why, on the heath," said Claude. 
 
 " Indeed ! You must have brought us by a very near route in good truth, 
 Dival," 
 
 *' Yes, both Jack and I know the way pretty well. But now, my friends, I will, 
 if you please, go forward alone, and you can easily keep quietly in the neighbour- 
 hood of the spot to which I am bound. Jack, you know it well enough ?* 
 
 " I do," said Jack ; '* but let us agree upon some signal, which if we hear will 
 be a hint to us to ride up." 
 
 "Very well. If you hear a pistol shot, you may safely enough conclude that 
 your presence will not be amiss. But I do not for one moment anticipate any 
 danger, only I grant always that it is best to be prepared for the very worst that 
 may happen." 
 
 " Unquestionably," said Brereton ; " so we shall listen for the signal with the 
 hope of not hearing it, for it will be much better if you are able to settle the 
 aflfair amicably, Claude," 
 
 •* Much, indeed. Farewell now for a brief space, I think, only. Yonder lies 
 my route." 
 
 With this Claude rode off, and was in avery few moments completely lost to all 
 view in the dense obscurity of the night, that seemed to hangover the heath like 
 a funeral fall. 
 
 Before he had proceeded very far on hig road, which be had to guess at more 
 by instinct than anything else, he became conscious of a dullish red light some 
 short distance ahead of him, and apparently just in the direction he was going, 
 for it shone faintly upon the ruined barn which had been mentioned to him by 
 the man who had personated Dick Turpin. 
 
 Claude could not conceive what this light could be, and it was so very near to 
 tbe earth, too, that upon that account it still more puzzled him. While, however, 
 he was straining his eyes to make something more of it, ic suddenly disappeared. 
 " This, I suppose, is one of the mysteries of the heath," he said, *' which pro- 
 bably my new friend may be able to tell me something about, when I am so fortu- 
 nate as to see him." 
 
 He did not in the least relax in his speed on account of this phenomenon, and 
 he soon felt conscious that he must have reached the old barn. He accordingly 
 slackened the speed of his horse. He dismounted, and reaching out his hands, 
 distinctly felt the wall of the old barn, and after a little time he found a place to 
 which he could attach the bridle of his horse ; and having done so, he went care- 
 fully on, on foot, until he suddenly, upon turning the angle of the barn, came 
 upon the^cottage, whieh was clearly enough observable by the light that streamed 
 out from its little casement. 
 " All's ri^ht," he said, !* that is the place.'*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 He advanced rapidly, and tapped at the door with the handle of his heavily 
 loaded whip. In a moment it was opened, and the man whom he had expected 
 t meet stood upon the threshold. 
 
 "Ah, I am glad to see you," he said. 
 
 " Thank you/' replied Claude ; *' is she here ?" 
 
 •* No, but walk in ; 1 don't know what has come over her to-night, she has 
 been in and out a dozen times at the least. She will be back very soon, I feel 
 assured. 
 
 *• Why, where has she got to go to ?'* said Claude, as he slipped into the cot- 
 tage. " I don't know of another habitation within a good haU-mile of this upon 
 the heath." 
 
 '' Nor I ; but there are some gipsies' tents in the neighbourhood, and she seems 
 to have struck up some sort of acquaintance with them." 
 
 ** Nothing more likely," said Claude. *' She always used to make a kind of 
 joke of saying there was gipsy blood in her veins, and I suppose it was true 
 enough. But I will wait for her, and talk to her, poor girl. I hope she will come 
 soon," 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXUI. 
 
 CLAUDE IS ATTACKED BY THE GIPSIES, INCITED BY LUCY. 
 
 The place in which Clause found himself now, was by no means one of the 
 most inviting in the world. In fact, a hut more destitute of common comforts 
 than that was, could not have been imagined. 
 
 With the meanest and poorest habitation the world ever saw, there is always a 
 something to be done, if there is one to do it, that will give it an air of home 
 comfort ; but then again, it requires some one who loves a home to do that, and 
 not so brooding and strange a spirit as that of the young girl whom Claude had come 
 to see. What cared she if the cottage looked squallid or not? iier own cruel 
 passions were all that occupied her thoughts ; and having an undisguised contempt 
 for the man who was the sharer of the wretched abode with her, it was not likely 
 that she would even make an effort of the slightest description to bestow an air of 
 home comfort upon the place ; on the contrary, she took a gloomy and misan- 
 thropical satisfaction in it being what it was. 
 
 The walls were marked with unwholesome damps ; a glimmering fire was upon 
 the hearth, and the sole furniture consisted of a broken-down deal table, and some 
 apologies for chairs. In one corner was some course pieces of boaid nailed up 
 so as to make something resembling shelves, upon which some cracked and 
 chipped pieces of ©rockery were placed ; and another corner had partially hiding it 
 a kind of curtain hi^ng to a cord, but it was so blackened by age, that its material 
 could not be defined. The floor was sanded, and as that had been freshly done, 
 the material being in abundance upon the heath, that portion of the wretched 
 dwelling looked better than any other. 
 
 *' This is a sorry place, Clauda Duval, to introduce you to," said the man. 
 
 ** It certainly is not a palace, my friend. You don't seem to find the road very 
 profitable?" 
 
 " I don't know. I dare say it's as good to me as most, always excepting such as 
 yourself. But she won't let me be comfortable. Oh, she's a hard bargain." 
 
 ♦* Why don't you leave her, then V* 
 
 *' Well, somehow or another, I have got used to the girl, and when I do come 
 here, I like even to have her to talk to, in preference to nobody. But she might 
 make the crib a little tidier." 
 
 *• Truly, she might, my friend. What is that ?" 
 
 A Jaint low whistle had sounded from without, and Claude rose from the rather 
 insecure chair upon which he had seated himself at the request of the man. 
 
 * It's some of the gipsies, I'll be bound. They are, as I mentioned to you,
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 
 
 Claude Duval, in the neighbourhood, and it's odd but that they are up to some 
 game or anether. 1 will just pop out for a few moments, and see what they ar e 
 about, if you like.'* 
 
 "Do so; and if you can see Lucy, tell her that I am here, and would fain 
 speak with her.*' 
 
 " I will.'* 
 
 Any one less confident in his own resources, and more suspicious of foul play 
 than Claude Duval, would have hesitated about permitting the man to leave the 
 hut so immediately upon an apparefnt signal being made from the outside ; bat 
 Claude took no notice of such little matters, unless he had very good reason in- 
 deed to feel this importance, nor was he wrong in the confidence he put in his 
 new friend, as will quickly enough appear. 
 
 *' For the sake of Cicely, whose safety is so very dear to me," said Claude 
 to himself, as he glanced round the wretched hut, '• I must say all I can][say to 
 the poor girl who calls this her home. I would that I could see her. Ah 1 
 that whistle again. What can it mean ?' 
 
 The door of the hi'.t was opened a little way, and the head and face of a man 
 looked in. It did not require^more than the most hasty glance to let Claude see 
 that he was one of the gipsies, 
 
 " Izra,** said the stranger. ** Where are you now, girl ?" and then observing 
 Claude by the miserable light that was upon the table, he shaded his eyes for 
 a moment with his hands and cried — " Who are you? You ain't the usual 
 fox that is in the old lair?'* 
 
 " Do you wish particularly to know who I am V* said Claude ; " for if you do 
 Bot I prefer keeping that news to myself." 
 
 With a short impatient growl the stranger withdrew hii head, and banged the 
 front door shut again, 
 
 Claudej as a measure of ordinary precaution, looked at his pistols, for well he 
 knew the extreme jealously with which the gipsies looked upon any one whom 
 they could have the slightest reason to suppose was a spy upon them"; and that 
 they held human life under such circumstance cheap enough, he was likewise 
 well aware. The man upon whose good faith he placed reliance, had been gone 
 rather an unreasonable time, and Claude was upon the point of thinking he 
 might as well sally out into the night air to make his own observations, when the 
 door of the hut was hastily opened, and the man appeared. 
 
 " Have you seen her ?'* said Claude. 
 
 ** I have — she comes. At the mention of your name she was furious, and I 
 thought she would have struck me to the earth. §he vows that she will have 
 vengeance against you." 
 
 ♦'Pho! pho'/' 
 
 "You do not fear her?" 
 
 '* I fear her ? My friend, you know less of me then 1 thought you did, if you 
 fancy that I fear her. 1 have come here to subdue her— to frighten her ; aud I 
 will do it." . 
 
 "If you do frighten her, * said the man, *' you will be a match for any one, 
 be they ever so mad. But hark t I hear her footseps on the heath. She 
 comes r* 
 
 " Tell me,** said Claude quickly. ** Has she seen the gipsies since you told 
 her I was here ?'* 
 
 " One man she has seen and held some discourse with, but I know not the 
 subject of it." 
 
 •• Well, it niatters not. Leave us together for a short time, my'friend, when 
 she comes here, but be within call, and you may b« within hearing' too. Indeed, 
 I would rather you were.'* 
 
 *' She don't know I am here. I will hide behind yon curtain if you like." 
 
 " Do so, Juick ! I hear her coming.*' 
 
 The footpad, for such was his real vocation, had only just time to conceal 
 himself behind the curtain in the corner of the hutj when the door was flung
 
 violently open, and Lucy sprang into the HtfJI room. Claude never moved 
 from his seat which he had occupied again, but he let her come right up to him, 
 'and waited patiently for what she might choose to say. Her anger and im- 
 patience soon found words, and in a voice of fury she shouted rather than said— 
 
 ** So, Claude Duval, you have come here to make me a present of your life, 
 have you ? Fool ! Where is your boasted cleverness now ? Idiot, you are at 
 my mercy now ! Ha ! ha ! Yes, the famous Claude Duval is at my mercy ."* 
 
 Claude slowly pointed to the open door of the hut« and in a cold, calm voice, 
 he said— 
 
 "Shut that door!* 
 
 ** What!" she cried. ** You dare to address me in such a tone ! You dare to 
 doit!" 
 
 "Shut that door!'* 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! You order me !" 
 
 '* Shut that door, woman I'* 
 
 She shrunk baelf: evidently cowed, and with a forced laugh she said, as she 
 closed the door— 
 
 ** Well, perhaps one don't want all the world to hear vi^hat one says— that's 
 all. There, the door is shut. What do vou want with me, Claude Duval ?*' 
 
 "Much." 
 
 '* Say it, then. Oh, I ain't to be cowed and beaten down by you. No. Those 
 times are past long since, I should think. I will have my revenge. Come, speak 
 to me. What do you want, now that you have taken all thif trouble to find me 
 out?" 
 
 "Trouble I have not taken," said Claude. *' I wa? told where you were, aud 
 I came, so that it has not cost me any trouble. Sit down, Lucy." 
 
 "No, I will stand." 
 
 '^ But I say you shall sit down. Do you dare to stand whe n I tell you to sit 
 down?" 
 
 She dropped into one of the miserable seats, and with a growl she added— 
 
 ••There, then, I am sitting down. What do you want now ?" 
 
 " Is it true, or is it false, that you have uttered threats against my wife V 
 
 "Your wife — wife! Ha, ha! That is good, indeed. So you come here to 
 try to persuade me that you are married, do you V 
 
 "It is true ; and if you contradict me again, I will send your head through that 
 wall. Answer me that which I ask of you. I want none of your comments. 
 Is it true that you have uttered threats against my wife ?* 
 
 "Yes: and what then ?" 
 
 "Why, then, you shall rt tract ihem, and upon your knees you shall take a 
 solemn oath (I know that you are superstitious) that you will never raise hand to 
 do her harm. That is mv errand here, and I will fulfil it." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Yes, Lucy. I thought you knew enough of me to be aware that I was a man 
 likely to keep my word, even in so small an affair*!a3 this." 
 
 The girl looked at him for a few moments in silence, and then, in a deep, solemn 
 tone, she said — 
 
 " Will you swear to me, by all your hopes here and hereafter, that you are 
 really married V* 
 
 " I will. But I think my word ought to have amply sufficed. Yet I most 
 solemnly swear it." 
 
 She shook as if moved by some strong convulsions, and then in a high croaked 
 tone she spoke— 
 
 " Claude Duval, there was a time when you affected to love me— when you 
 told me that no eyes were so bright as mine— when you cajoled me to be yours 
 by the promise that our union, although it was not ratified by the ceremony of 
 the church, should be eternal. There was a time when I was to you everything 
 —when at my request you would come and go, aad be as kind as a summer's day 
 was long."
 
 - - - " ■» ' ■* ■ "»■'- -. -i i J^ I, T . r.rr — I ,1 I . _ - 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK j OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 'tbT' 
 ^'Welir* " """" ■ """^ 
 
 . W Vi- y°",^f ^ ***^ *a^j^ in such a strain, Clauae Duval, and say nothluff but 
 ' Well in reply to me ? Can you sit and look upon my ruined facef and look ?he 
 while so calm, when you know you made me what I am ?" 
 - Lucy, you know that that is false ; I did not make you what you are. Do 
 
 CLAtJDE AND .TACK MAKT5 THP.IR ESCAPE rROM THK GLOVBR's, 
 
 not attribute ik to me: You know well that I lifted you from much misery and 
 degradation to make you my companion. That you did not continue to ]>e such, 
 was o'vmg wholly to your own stormy passions. But this is a profitless discussion, 
 and one that it is folly for us to engage in. I came for another purpose.'' 
 
 '! P^" ^ '^^^ y?"» ^"v^'* that you will not accomplish that other purpose." 
 «• So you say l*^ t f
 
 786 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " Ay, and so it will be. 1 have sworn that I would be revenged upon her who 
 has taken you from me, and I will be so revenged. But for her the time would 
 have come when 1 might again have been with you ; but your marriage places all 
 that aside, and I know that it may not be. Therefore it is, that as I am wretched, 
 you shall be wretched." 
 
 " Miserable woman, can you possibly find any sort of gratification in such in- 
 sensate raving ?" 
 
 •* It is not raving. It is the triilh." 
 
 " You know that it is not. You know well that I am not one to be trifled 
 witl), and that if I for one moment really thought there was any danger to her 
 whom I love to be apprehended from you, I would take such measures as would 
 thoroughly prevent you from being such an enemy to yourself, as to carry out your 
 foolish threats. Well yoa know all that, and now 1 say to you, Lucy, make raethe 
 solemn promise that you will bear no such malicious thoughts about with you.'' 
 
 ♦*1 will not." 
 
 " Reflect again, foolish girl. Reflect that by my coming to ask you so much I 
 show you thai I have still some esteem left for you. Reflect, I say, before it be 
 too late, upon my words," 
 
 " I have reflected until my brain has been on fire. I have thought until 
 thought, too, became madness ; and I tell you, Claude Duval, that if I live I must 
 have my revenge. You can kill me if you like to do so. I do not deny your 
 power to kill a weak girl ; but my death shall sit far heavier upou your soul than 
 Hiy present threats." 
 
 " I give you another moment for thought." 
 
 "It is useless; had Ian age for thought, the result would be the same; 1 
 could not— I would not alter my determination. It is made, and it is fixed as 
 though it held to my heart with iron grappiing-hooks. I will have revenge !" 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXIV. 
 
 CLAUDE FINDS HOUNSLGW-HEATH TO BE WELL PEOPLED. 
 
 r Up to this point, it would almost seem that Claude had had some faint hopes 
 of being able to turn the infuriated girl from her purpose ; but now he looked upon 
 that hope as gone ; and he could not but see that she was madly wedded to it. 
 The idea of taking her life, or of doing her the least bodily mischief, never came 
 into his imagination for a moment, but he had concocted a plan of operations as 
 regarded her, if he found her in the temper that he did, which, however, reluctant 
 under ordinary circumstances he would be to carry out, he yet felt was his only 
 resource. He knew that there was not far from the high-road of Hammersmith 
 a private mad-house, the keeper of which was unscrupulous enough to detain 
 every one who was well paid for, without being particular either as to the amount 
 of madness, or the natute of the authority under which he held them ; and it was 
 to that establishment that Claude thought himself authorised to take Lucy; pro- 
 vided he found her in such a state of mind as would be decidedly iaimical to the 
 safety of Cicely. 
 
 It would seem, however, as if the poor creature had seen by the expression of 
 his eye, that he intended something that would be prejudicial to her .life o" liberty, 
 for suddenly starting up belore he could move from his seat, she darted from the 
 cottage, saying, as she went, something in the gipsy tongue, which to CJaude was 
 perfectly incomprehensible. 
 
 The man came out from his place of retreat behind the curtain, and said at 
 once — 
 
 ** Go, Claude, from her. Make speed and insure your safctj'. /Tliere is upon 
 the Heath, a large jarty of gipsies, and if she gets them to sid/with her, they 
 are capable of coa^mitting any act of desperation or of blood I'*^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 isr 
 
 ** I will not leave her thus." 
 
 "Nay, what more can you say or do now, than you have said and done al- 
 ready 1 Leave her to me, Claude Duval, and I may find perhaps some oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to her, when she is calmer. Besides, you should always 
 reflect that an angry woman says much more than she means." 
 ' 1 *'I have reflected upon that. But tliis girl is mad, I can see she ik, or why at 
 I such a time as this, when all sort of connection with me has long since been for- 
 i l^otten, should she become so furious ?" 
 
 I As Claude spoke there came upon the night air a strange lojv moaning sound, 
 ' and he looked at the man for an explanation of it. 
 
 I **It is the gathering of the gipsies,*' he said. *' I know their habits and feel- 
 ings well, for I have lived with several of the largest tribes. Heaven only 
 knows what that maddened girl may say to them, to stir their hatred against you. 
 I tell you, Duval, 30U are anything but safe here." 
 " And yet I shall remain." 
 *' It is madness.'* 
 
 " No, not so, I have friends within call whom I can summon to my side. 
 When I begin an adventure I like to go through with it, and this one is anything 
 but s?,tisfactorily settled as yet. I am not without hope of getting Lucy 4o a 
 better disposition. * 
 1 ♦* You do not know her then so well as I do. As well might you attempt to 
 make the stoutest oak of the forest bow before your breath, as get that girl to 
 listen to reason, when her passion tells her to be unreasonable." 
 I ** She is changed, but yet she is human." 
 
 I •* Hark ! The moaning sound continues. It is the peculiar sound made by 
 ! the gipsies, when they are meeting under the impulse of some strong excitement. 
 ' Again I urge you to seek safety in flight. Come this way. . I can lake yoa out 
 by another way from the hut, and you can seek your friends." 
 I " Urge me no more. I cannot think there is much danger. Surely the law- 
 \ less people who live such a life of wandering and defiance of the rest of tiie com- 
 munity cannot feel much more than sympathy with one of my profession, and 
 they have §ense enough, I should fancy, not to pay much attention to the ravings 
 of a jealous girl. I should scarcely forgive myself^ my friend, if I were to fly from 
 such a danger as this. Compose yourself and trust to me, that so far as regards 
 my personal safety, all will be well ; at the same time, let me thank you for your 
 kind solicitude and assure you that f feel it deeply." 
 
 i "^7' is so much ray doing your being here at all, that I should feel mpelf 
 almosl like your murderer should anything disastrous happen to you. But since^ 
 you will stay, remember that 1 will stand or full by you, and that you may de- 
 pend upon me, let the emergency be what it may." 
 ** I know it, and will do so. They come.'* 
 
 A strange half-suppressed kind of shout now arose in the night air from the 
 6utside of the hut, and through the chinks, which were sufficiently numerous, in 
 the walls, there came the red glare of torches. Claude took care to keep as near 
 the centre of the place as possible, so that he might not be taken by surprise by 
 any one, for the walls were quite frail enongh to enable anybody who might wish 
 to get into the wretched building in that way to push right through at any part. 
 It did not at the moment occur to Claude that the roof might be in worse con- 
 tion still, and he was at the moment rathar startled to hear a sudden crash 
 accompanied by a rushing noise, and to find a man alight close to him from the 
 old thatch. 
 
 The gipsy's features, the long black dishevelled air, and the sparkling eyes, at 
 once told Claude that it was one of the lawless race that stood before him with a 
 knife in his band. 
 ! '* Die/!" died the gipsy. '* Die, enemy of the child of our race." 
 i Claude sprang upon him in a moment. 
 
 *' My friend," he said, " you mistook the roof for the door, and I never allow
 
 7«8 GEJ^TLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 any one to come in where I ani, without kno eking first. Pray tell your friends 
 outside as much, if you please." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude made one of those tremendous efforts of Btrength, which 
 at times only, and under extraordinary circumstances, he thought proper to 
 exert. He lifted the gipsy to the height of some six feet from the floor, and 
 then dashed him like a shot head-foremost through the little casement of the hut, 
 and the force with which he went was so great that it had all the appearance as 
 though he had been projected by some powerful mechanical means. 
 
 The gipsy raised a loud shriek as he went thas unceremoniously out of the 
 hut, that he thought he had so very cleverly got into. 
 
 <* You have killed him 1" said the man. 
 
 ** Possibly, but those fellows take a deal of killing. I very much doubt if he 
 is other than a little hurt by the broken glass of the window, and you may depend 
 that he alighted on his feet. Gipsies and cats alwaysdo— begging the pardon of 
 cats for the association." 
 
 ** You are a strange man, Claude ; but look to your arms.'* 
 
 " All's right, I have a couple of pairs of pistols that I know I can depend upon. 
 How are you provided in that particular ?" 
 
 " Very well indeed. But you spoke of your friends ; are they far off, or can 
 you summon them at a moment or two's notice ?" 
 
 *' They are close at hand. At the first pistol shot that is fired by either party 
 they will make their appearance ; I shall not fire it unless urged by some un- 
 common necessity so to do, and I beg that you will be as feeling as you can.*' 
 
 * I will— I will !" 
 
 The low shout of the gipsies agaJB came upon their ears, and in the course of a 
 few moments some one tapped at the door of the hut. The man was about to 
 answer it, but Claude said, "Permit me," and then in a clear unembarrassed 
 voice he cried— 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 ** One who demands admission,*' said a voice. 
 
 <'Take it then. The door is on the latch. What hinders you, ekcept fear ? 
 The fear that always besets men upon a bad errand. Why do you not come 
 
 in 
 
 >'» 
 
 The door was opened, and a tall dusky-looking man in a tattered cloak appeared 
 upon the threshold. 
 
 ** Claude Duval," he said, " we know you." 
 
 «*Then you have the advantage of me,** said Claude, *' and I do not at all 
 envy you it, for I am not by any means solicitous for your acquaintance." 
 
 « Peace,'* said the tall gipsy. *' This trifling as ill becomes me as it does 
 you. 1 come with a demand." 
 
 *' Make it then." 
 
 ".You must repudiate her whom you call your wife, and you must take again 
 to your home and to your affeciions, by such ceremonies as we may think proper, 
 her whom you have discarded, and who is one of our people. That is the sen- 
 tence of our tribe ; and if you refuse, the bitter consequences must fall upon your 
 own head." 
 
 «* And pray what may those consequences be ?" said Claude. 
 
 «* Death!'* 
 
 **Then my dingy -looking friend, I differ very much from you ; and if you are 
 the ambassador of your tribe, you can go back to it, and say that I am mai ried 
 already, and that if I were not^ I should at' once and most unhesitatingly decline 
 any of their ceremonies or any of their people. If, as I suspect, you are all 
 allowing yourselves to be stirred up to this folly by a girl who calls herself Lucy, 
 I can only say, that you don't any of you know her half so well as she is knowa 
 upon the pave of London ; and the very best and most creditable thing you cto 
 all do concerning her, is to disown the connection, for it will briDg upon you all 
 nothing but disgrace and trouble." 
 
 " False wretch !" cried a female voice, and an old woman with long mii|i«d
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 789 
 
 hair and a tattered red cloak about her, rushed into the hut. *' False villain ! she 
 whom you speak of is my child, and she is as virtuous as she is beautiful. It is 
 you only, who have led her into the paths of vice ; and repugnant as we are to an 
 union with a stranger, you shall, according to our forms, wed her." 
 
 " Madam," said Claude, '* the less we say of the virtue of your daughter, the 
 better. The subject is a very ticklish one, and I sincerely advise you to drop 
 it." 
 
 ** You shall wed her ! She has decided that she will be satisfied if you repudiate 
 your wife, as you call her, and wed her. You will then be pardoned your many 
 iniquities towards her, and from time to time we will receive you as one of us. 
 So, rejoice— rejoice — rejoice !" 
 
 Claude could hardly help laughing at the inflated manner of the old woman ; and 
 when she told him, with the air of some ancient priestess, striking a grand atti- 
 tude at the same time, to rejoice, she certainly got the better of his gravity alto- 
 gether, and he laughed outright. 
 
 The old gipsy woman gave a perfect yell of rage at this, but Claude raised his 
 hand, and cried in a clear voice — 
 
 ** Silence, woman ! Your ridiculous denunciations and absurd inflation of 
 language, may go down very well in some hovel, but permit me to say that I am 
 rather a matter-of-fact personage, and that consequently, your raving has by no 
 means the effect upon me that no doubt you wish it to have. If the foolish 
 young woman, Lucy, is your daughter, the best advice you ttieln possibly, as a 
 mother, give her, is, to be quiet, and to do her best now to quell the tumult that 
 she has been the absurd cause of raising." 
 
 ♦' He dies ! he dies !" cried the old woman. ** His death shall be upon his own 
 head ! He dies ! he dies !" 
 
 •• Yes," said Claude, '* when my time comes I shall certainly die ; but not yet, 
 I think I have a well-grounded expectation of living some time, yet. And now, 
 in all seriousness, T warn you, aqa your tribe of ragamuffins, that I am a man 
 fond of a joke in its way, but I do rot like it to be carried too far, and when I 
 begin to be serious, it is rather apt to be a serious thing for other people. This 
 man who is with me can tell you as much of me ; so I waru you, and it will be 
 well for you and all your tribe, Lucy included, if the wai:ftiDg be taken in good 
 tijne." 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXV. 
 
 CLAUDE CAPTURES LUCY, AND TAKES HBR TO THE ASYLUM. 
 
 The manner of Claude Duval during this most perilous adventure, probably 
 had more eflfect upon the gipsies than anything he said or did. They were 
 perfectly astounded to find, for the first time in their lives, a man who, alone, 
 laughed at their practitional appetite for revenge ; and in replying to their high- 
 flown threats, only treated them to a little common-sense, such as they well knew 
 the truth of, but most certainly were not in the habit of hearing. 
 
 And all that he said, too, was said in such a calm, quiet, confideat air, as if 
 their power against him was really nothing, while his against them, one would 
 have thought was infinite. 
 
 The woman, in particular, who had thought to bear him down by hird words 
 and an assumption of the stage-priesteis style, was evidently cowed, and if she 
 had but had the candour to say so, she would have admitted that for once, if it 
 were only for once, she had met her match, in meeting with one who knew how 
 to treat with cool contempt those empty threats which only borrowed a little force 
 from the lofty language in which they were couched. 
 
 Claude Duval knew much more of the gipsies, and of their strange habits and 
 traditions.than they were aware of; and among other things that he knew of them, 
 h« well knew that they dreaded nothing go muoh as a collision with the law* It was
 
 790 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 quite a principle with them to put up with a general injury done to thcin, ratlier 
 than provoke the regard of public opiiion, and of public persons ; for leading the 
 strange vagabond life that they did, they lived in constant dread in so highly 
 civilized and carefully cultivated a country as England, of being put down, if we 
 may be allowed the expression. 
 
 The old gipsy women, however, although it was quite clear that she trembled 
 before Claude, made yet another effort to obtain the mastery over him, mid so 
 accomplish her object, which was now to get rid of him as quickly as possible. 
 
 Throwing herself into an attitude as though she were quite an inspired per- 
 sonage, she cried— 
 
 " Ah ! the spirits of another world speak to me. The dim future, like the 
 course of some mighty river, seen from tne mountain top, unfurls itself before me. 
 My children, we will spare this man.** 
 
 A yell of disappointment from the dark throng of gipsies at the door of the hut 
 was the response to this announcement. 
 
 " if es,'* added the old woman. " It must be so. Go in peace, stranger, from 
 our people. Go in peace, I say, and never let us look upon your shadow again. 
 Never — never V 
 
 ** No, no/' cried the gipsies. " Down with him ! kill him, kill him ! Down 
 with him. He has done a deed to bring shame upon our tribe. Down with him ! 
 kill him, kill him !" 
 
 " No," cried the old woman, ** I say no t" 
 
 '* You need not contend about me," said Claude, calmly. " I have come here 
 for an especial purpose, and I will perform my mission.'* 
 
 "Fool !'* cried Lucy, suddenly springing towards him, from the opoi door of 
 the hut, and clutching him by the arm. " How many lives have you that you 
 can pfford to play with them thus ? Let me ask you that, idiot that you are." 
 
 *'Upon my word; Lucy," said Claude, "you are very complimentary ; hut 
 permit me to say, that I look upon yon as the fool, for you are the author of a 
 disturbance here, that in the end these worthy people will not thank you for 
 stirring up/* 
 
 *' They are my people,** said Lucy, liiaking a very faint effort indeed to imitate 
 the manner of the Old woman. 1 
 
 *' They may,'* added Claude, " or jthey may not be your people. You may 
 have gipsy blood in you veins, for all i| know j and this anything but respectable- 
 looking, old lady may be your mother, upon the principle that as unquestionably 
 you had a mother, she may as well fill that situation regarding you as any other 
 person. But I have yet to learn what all that hfts to do with my object here V 
 
 " Your object is defeated,** said Lucy. ** Jliis iamy mother, and those whom 
 you see and hear are my tribe. Your object, I say, is defeated. It was to threaten 
 ige — it was to frighten me from my revenge ; but I will not be frightened from 
 it. 1 will have revenge upon her whom you have taken to you heart, after once 
 placing me there!'* 
 
 Claude smiled. 
 
 '• You laugh ? A knife—a knife ! I will kill him myself! He laughs at my 
 seared and broken heart. A knife, I say! I will myself kill the man who has 
 liiade me what I am, and who how scorns the gipsy's child ; -will no one give me 
 the means of present vengeance ? Is there no brother of my tribe who will give 
 it to me?'* . i 
 
 A long glittering knife was thrown en to the floor of the hut, within t few ! 
 paces of where Lucy stood. With one stride Claude put his foot upon it, as he 
 siaid in a loud clear voice— 
 
 "if the roan who threw this knife will come here, I will throttle him for his 
 pains/ 
 
 No one come, and the dark throng of persons at the door of the miserable little 
 place rather drew back than otherwise^ 
 
 ** Give me the knife,** said Lucy. •; 
 
 •* Phol girl,*' cried Claude, ?'you are a fool ; you overact your part.**
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 791 
 
 He seized her by one wrist, and, although he by no means held her with any 
 painful pressure, yet she found it as impossible to escape from that grasp as if it 
 had been one of iron, 
 
 ** He holds me !" she cried. •* He wants to kill me !'* 
 
 •* Not at all, Lucy," said Claude, *• for if such a foolish idea had ever entered 
 my brain/ 1 could and would have done it long ago. But 1 will, now that I have 
 got you, bold you fast." 
 
 " Help ! help !" 
 
 *' Oh, you may shout for help as much as you please. I will take care that 
 you shall come to no more harm, at all events, than your own obstinacy may 
 bring upon you ; but if any of your dark-skinned 'relations interfere with me, let 
 them look to it, for 1 shall not be very particular how I retaliate.'* 
 
 *• Mother ! mother !" cried Lucy. 
 
 *♦ Let her go," said the gipsy-woman. **We will bury the past in deep 
 oblivion. You shall be adopted into our tribe, and Lucy, according to the mystic 
 rites and ceremonies of our anc'.enc race, shall be you wi'e." 
 
 ** I decline the honour," said Claude. 
 
 «• You decline V 
 
 *' Yes; I am already married, according to what probably you would call the 
 mystic rites and ceremonies of ray own people ; and if I were at all inclined for 
 a plurality of wives, I should not come here for the second one ; so, with a great 
 appreciation of the honour, I despise it." 
 
 *' He contemns us!" cried the old woman. 
 
 '* Vengeance ! vengeance !" cried those without the hut. 
 
 '* Hark, you," said Claude ; ** if this girl will, even now, in the presence of your- 
 self and of her people, which she calls the savages outside, retract her mad threats 
 against one, whom it is my inclination as much as it is my duty to protect, and 
 will make a solemn oath that, by word or deed, she will not seek to injure her, I 
 will depart in peace." 
 
 *« No — no !" cried Lucy. 
 
 The old woman spoke, in the patois of the gipsies, to some of those who were 
 upon the threshold of the door, and turning to Claude, she said — 
 
 " It is done — it is done. Now go." 
 
 "What is done?" 
 
 ** You may go in peace, with an assurance that nothing will be attempted 
 against the person of whom you spoak," 
 
 " Is this so, Lucy ?" said Claude. 
 
 '* No!" cried the girl, with vehemence. "If my lips were to utter as much 
 my heart would not, I call upon my people to avenge me upon you, and 1 will 
 avenge myself upon her who stands between you and me," 
 
 " That is quite enough, ' said Claude. 
 
 " She knows not what she says," cried the old woman. " Passion is in her 
 heart and brain. In a calmer hour she will think differently ; I will in the mean- 
 time be answerable for her, you can take my word." 
 
 *• I wish I thought I could," said Claude, *' but I have always found that I 
 could take any onts's word for mischief much sooner than I could take it for 
 good. If Lucy herself had acceded to my conditions, 1 would have left her, for 
 I should have felt that I had no right to ask more ; but as she has not, I hold her 
 as my prisoner." 
 
 ''Your prisoner'^" 
 
 *' Yes; my prisoner. Do I not speak plainly? I say, I hold her as no; V)*' 
 soner, and I will not let her be at liberty to carry out her threats, in thg Binair'j-t 
 particular. My determination is to take her now away with me, dead jpr a'; v© i" 
 " Save me ! save me I" cried Lucy. 
 
 *' There will be murder done," whispered the footpad toClaudp|; "for ;i.B ■: -i > 
 sake, let her go* now." 
 
 " No— not while I have life to hold her. — I give every one fair warning. If 
 any of you interfere with fsc I will blow your brains out. I am well armed, jin^
 
 70« GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 I will do it. My mind is wound up to my ot>j«<;t) and I will carry it out, so help 
 me Heaven I" 
 
 The tone of voice in which Duval uttered these words for a few moments 
 struck absolute terror into the hearts of all who heard him. Even Lucy, nerved 
 as she was by strong passions, shook a^ain. The old woman stamped with rage, 
 and advanced two steps, crying — 
 
 ** You would drag my child to a prison T* 
 
 **No," said Claude. •' But I will take care of her. If she is so vciy fond of 
 me as she pretends, why all this fuss about going with me V 
 
 " You do not take her in affection.* 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 «• Then she shall not go. My children — brave spirits of our ancient tribes ! 
 I let loose your wrath against this man. I withdraw all interdiction. I no lon- 
 ger say to you, spare him. But I tell you to kill— kill — kill V 
 
 A loud howl of delight came from tliose on the outside, and one dark figure 
 darted into the hut and made an attempt to cast himself at Claude's feet, and 
 seize him by the ancles, which, if he had succeeded in doing, would have embar- 
 rassed Claude very much, and indeed, in all probability would have defeated him ; 
 but Duval was well aware that that mode of fighting was practised by the 
 gipsies, and he was prepared to resist it in the only manner in which it can and 
 ought to be resisted. 
 
 With one of the heavy riding boots that he had on, he gave the gipsy 
 who tried the cunning manoeuvre, such a frightful kick in the face, that with a 
 yell of pain, he rolled right out of the hut, among his companions. 
 
 "Come on," cried Claude, *• 1 am quite prepared for that species of attack 
 Come on, cowards — come on !" 
 
 It was all very well for Claude to say ** come on," but after the reception that 
 their comrade had met with, the gipsies did not exactly see the amusement of 
 coming on. The old woman suddenly said a something in a loud voice, and then 
 rushing from the hut, she slammed the door of it shut. 
 
 "What are they going to be about now ?* said Claude to the footpad. 
 
 ** I cannot imagine. I don't know what the old gipsy said. Their language- 
 is only very slightly known to me. What do you mean to do, Claude, with the 
 girl ?» 
 
 ** Take her with me, of course. She has fainted. Excess of passion has got 
 the better of her at last, and before she recovers 1 shall, I hope, have her in a place 
 of safety. We muse manage to leave the hut, my friend, as quickly as pos- 
 sible." 
 ^**They are barricading the door." 
 
 « Indeed I What can that be for V* 
 
 "Hush! hush! Ah, now I guess.'* 
 
 *' You* guess what ? " 
 
 '* That they are going to burn us out. Etnt^t the old woman is raving away 
 at a great rate. I think they are about tc do something that she disapproves of. 
 The fact is, they care nothing for this girl, for they do not at all acknowledge her 
 as one of them; but Uie old woman has a certain amount of authority among 
 them, which they allowed her to exercise until their own passionrgot the upper- 
 hand of them." — ^ 
 
 "Now, then, you think it is- merely an affair of private vengeance against mc, 
 do you?'* 
 
 " Yes, the manner in which you have treated two of them has made them 
 almost mad, and they will think nothing of sacrificing Lucy, if, with her, they caa 
 sacrifice you." 
 
 *' Do you really think so V* 
 
 ** I am sure of it. They keep repeating tli0 word • fire * in their own tongue^ 
 and I believe that they will set ^ight to the thatch of the hut." 
 
 "Ah, there is very little doubt but what that will be their game. Now yoil' 
 mention it, I can easily imagine that it is just the sort of thing that would sug-
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 793 
 
 rest itself to them j and the old woman opposes it on account of Lucy, no 
 
 ioubt." 
 
 « ghe does, 
 
 *• Put out the light, my friend. Without it we shall he better able to judge ot 
 what they are about. The turf upon the hearth will give us sufficient light to 
 
 DICK TUBPIN VISITED BY ClATTDE AND JACl?. 
 
 prevent us being taken by surprise through the roof, or by any other extempora- 
 neous modes of entrance." 
 
 The footpad put out the light, and then, as Claude had said, there was a dim 
 twilight throughout the little hut from the glowing turfs on the health. A very 
 strange and unnatural stillness was without, and as Claude felt no doubt of the 
 genuineness of the faint of Lucy, he placed her upon two chairs and waited the 
 
 No» 100.
 
 794 GENTLEMAN JACK j OR, 
 
 result of the gipsies' proceedings^ with a most admirable cooloess and self. pos* 
 session, that was much envied oy the footpad. 
 
 ** Are you sure," he said, ** that the girl is not playing you a trick?" 
 
 *' Quite. You mean, do I think »lie has really fainted V* 
 
 " Yes ; that is it. She has played me so many games and tricks, that I am 
 suspicious-of her." 
 
 ** I know her well, my friend. But you don't seem rery much cut up at the 
 idea of parting from her?" 
 
 " I cut up? — oh, no. Quite the reverse. Her temper was tolerably vielent be- 
 fore, but now, I expect, after all this, if she were to stay with me, I should never 
 have one moment's peace ; so I beg that you Will take her, and let me get rid of 
 her in any way. I should go in fear of ray very life." 
 
 •*I should not wonder. But go to the window, ray fiiend, and both look and 
 listen. You know something of the dialect of the gipsies, and 1 do not. If you 
 can come to any correct informaticm m to what (hey are about, I sliaii be glad 
 to hear it." 
 
 ** I will, Claude. You keep an eye on the girl, and likewise keep both ears and 
 eyes open to be on the alert in case of those rascals trying Uny ot their trick?. 
 They are quite as artful as so manv Savages.* 
 
 *• I know it. 1 will be careful.'' 
 
 The footpad listened at the windotfr, and in a few momeniA he cami^ to Claude, 
 and said, in a low tone — 
 
 ** 1 am certain some one of them is on the roofi*' 
 
 " I was thinking the same thing,** said Claude. 
 
 *' You have heard him then?*' 
 
 " I have ; but you look td the general safety while I adopt a mode of meeting 
 the fellow. Where is my hat ?— oh, I have it. That will do. Have you a 
 stick ?" 
 
 •* Yes. Here is one." 
 
 "Very good. Do not say a watd now." 
 
 All was profoundly still, and Daval took one of the glowing red hot torfa and 
 placed it upon the crown cf his hat, taking the precaution previously to place a 
 cold turf under it, so that it should not in a moment, as it othitwiae trottM have 
 done, burn through the crown. He then placed the stick in the hat/',and held it 
 behind his back, and waited under ^the large hole that was in (the] roofj^l&r the 
 gipsy. 
 
 CHAPTER CtXXXVI, 
 
 CLAUD* HEARS OF DICK TURPIN'S AAREST, AND UStEflMlNSS t0 SAVE flIM. 
 
 As he stood in the hut under the hok in the little miserable thatched roof, 
 throughfwhich it will be recollected that'one of the gipsies had madi an attempt 
 to eome down upon Claude, and been so summarily ejected agaia^ ht «oteld just 
 see some portion of the night sky and one stw. 
 
 That star would rapidly, no doubt, have passed over his plane of vision, but 
 he kept his eyes iixed upon it, and in the course tf about hall a ntiiltlte it was 
 suddenly obscured by something black being thrust before, it. 
 
 Claude did not doubt for one moment but that that something Was the face of 
 a gipsy on the roof, and it was for such a contingency that he had the little 
 piece of apparatus ready that we have noticed at the conclusion of our last 
 chapter. 
 
 The turf was glowing hot, and in one instant, by the aid of the stick m the 
 hat, Claude|thrust it up with sharp and sudden vehemence into the face of the 
 gipsy. A yell of pain and rage, and a shower of red hot sparks from the turf on 
 to.the^floor of the hut, testified amply to] the, success of the plan. Then there
 
 S0SBZ 
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 795 
 
 was a rolling sound over the roof, and the unmistakable indication of a heavy fall 
 outside. 
 
 *' I rather think/* said Claude, '* that 1 have singed that gentleman's whiskers, 
 if he had any to singe.* 
 
 " You must, indeed,*' said the footpad, *• have punished him severely." 
 
 " Serves him right. He had no business there.*' 
 
 " None in the least. But I should not have thought of such a plan, if I had 
 puzzled my brain for twelve months upon the subject. Of a truth, Claude Duval, 
 you have a most fertile imagination." 
 
 " One needs it, my friend, when one has to deal with such a set of demi- 
 savages as these gipsies.** 
 
 "They are quite savages when they are enraged ; for then they forget that they 
 are in a civilised country, and encompassed by the restraints of the law." 
 
 *'Ah, they begin now,*' 
 
 " By Heaven ! they do. They have fired the thatch, and the old hut will soon 
 be about our ears. What on earth is to be don^now, Claude Duval V 
 
 " Don't be alarmed," said Claude ; '* all willT)e well yet," 
 
 "Think you so?*' 
 
 ** I feel assured it will. The walls of this hut are not very strong, my friend. 
 Perhaps you know the weakest part. Break through it, and then we will leave 
 the place. No doubt, it is the door that is most looked to by the gipsies.'* 
 
 ** Yes ; but they are all round the hut.'* 
 
 *' Never mind that. All will be well. They arc people who deal in threats, 
 but nothing else." 
 
 "I will soon open a way to the heath," said the footpad. ** Nothing is much 
 easier to do than that, Claude, in such a place as this." 
 
 *» Quick, then," 
 
 The footpad set about opening a hole in the wall at the back of the hut, and by 
 the rattling of the falling rubbish of which the wall was composed, Claude could 
 hear that he was being speedily successful. 
 
 And now the hut presented both from without and from within, a very strange 
 appearance indeed. Tiie thatch was all on fire, and blazed up rather freely, while 
 the inside was tolerably cool and comfortable, fot the artificial cui rent produced 
 by the flames brought in at every crevice, as well as by the broken window, a strong 
 draught of cold air ; and no doubt, from without, the appearance was that the 
 whole place was in one blaze. 
 
 Claude picked up Lucy, and flung her over his right shoulder, as he said, in^a 
 low tone — 
 
 " Are you ready T* 
 
 '' Quite/* said the footpad. 
 
 ** Very good. Follow me, if you wish to get away ; or, possibly, you would 
 rather remain, since it is not agamst you that the rage of the gipsies is invoked V* 
 
 ** No. It is not against me specially, but yet I feel that this is no place for 
 me now. When you are gone, they will want some one to be revenged upon, and 
 they may just as well light upon me as not. I will go with you, Claude, if you 
 will permit me." 
 
 *' Certainly. Come on/* 
 
 The opening that the footpad had made in the wall was just wide enough to 
 admit of one person only to pass out of the hut by it ; and Claude took the 
 lead. In his breast he had placed a pair of pistols in such readiness that he could 
 avail himself of their services at a moment's notice, and in his right hand he held 
 the powerful stick — which was more like a hedge stake than anything else — which 
 he had used to thrust the hat, upon which was the lighted turf, into the gipsy's face. 
 Claude did not run, or make any undue haste, but he coolly and boldly sallied 
 out into the night air. 
 
 The footpad was right enough in saying that the gipsies encompassed the but, 
 for the moment Claude made his appearance he was seen by the light of the 
 blazing thatch, and a dozen voices cried—
 
 796 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR. 
 
 *' Down with Irfm ! Down with him !" 
 
 *' My child ! my child ! Where is my cliild ?" shouted the old woman. *' He 
 will kill her!" 
 
 " I have him !*' said a man, darting forward ; but in a moment he lay prostrate 
 upon the heath with one blow of the stick that Claude carried. 
 
 "Take that," said a voice; and the sharp repoit of a pistol immediately 
 sounded. The ball went through Claude's hat about a couple of inches only clear 
 of Ikis forehead. He saw by the flash the gipsy who fired it, and in an instant he 
 returned the shot ; and after a spring into the air, and a shriek, down went the 
 gipsy dead upon the heath ! 
 
 The wild yell that upon this argse from every throat was really something 
 awful to hear, and might have appalled many a stout heart ; but Claude kept the 
 gipsies yet at bay, although, now that matters had got so serious, he did not 
 attempt to advance. He well knew that the pistol shots would have the effect of 
 bringing his friends to the spot, and he was, therefore, content to wait until they 
 should arrive before he attempted anything else. 
 
 The footpad was close behind him, and he whispered — 
 
 *' Blood has been shed now, and th^y will murder us !'* 
 
 ' Oh, no— no. Not at all." 
 
 ** They will — indeed they will. Why do you not try to rush through them ? 
 Throw down the girl, and make one bold push for your own safety, Claude— I 
 implore you to do so." 
 
 *< All is well. Do you hear that ?" 
 
 The footpad listened, and the sound of horses' hoofs came plainly upon his 
 ears, patting the heath with a rapidity of sound that showed they were rapidly 
 approaching the spot of the contest. 
 
 "Ah," he said, "I had forgot that you told me you had friends at hand. 
 Why did you not summon them sooner V 
 
 "Blood! blQodl'* cried the gipsies; and by the light of the now nearly ex- 
 piring thatch, Puval could see that almost every one of them was armed with a 
 knife. They were evidently collecting in a strong body, with the intention of 
 making a rush at Claude and the footpad. 
 
 On came the horsemen, and they were close at hand before the gipsies, in the 
 state of excitement iri^ which they were, heard anything of their approach ; and 
 when they did, a momentary feeling of consternation induced them to pause. 
 That moment was everything to Claude, foi during it Jack and Brereton and the 
 young farmer rode up. 
 
 " Where are you V cried Jack. " Is all right ?" 
 
 " Yes, all right,'* said Claude ; " only these gentlemen think of murdering me, 
 that's all." 
 
 ♦* We will be in at the death," cried Jack, " at any rate, I rather think, Claude.* 
 
 In an iiB^»Mat the three horsemen dashed through the throng of gipsies, and 
 reached the side of Claude, having upset some half dozen of the more violent of 
 the gang in their way. 
 
 " My horse V cried Gl|Lude. " Is he with you ?" 
 
 " Yes. Here/' said Jack ; " I have him by the bridle." 
 
 " That* s right, Jack. Will you take care of this young lady ? she is an old 
 acquaintance of yours." 
 
 " Who is it— Lucy 1" 
 
 tc Yes,*' 
 
 " Give her to me," said Jack ; "I'll hold her tight enough. I have a lively 
 recollection that she used to have some Uttle peculiarities of disposition that she 
 called a temper." 
 
 " And she has them still. Jack. But she has fainted, so will give you no 
 trouble. All's right now. Ah, pop away !" 
 
 As Claude mounted, another pistol was fired at the party ; but althoHgh the 
 bullet must have come right among them, it did not seem to have done any 
 damage to them.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 797 
 
 " Now," said Claude, " one charge with vigour will carry us through this mob 
 of desperadoes, and you must not be at all particular where your horses tread, or 
 whose toes come under their hoofs:, for they will use their knives against the 
 animals if they can." 
 
 " And what's to become of me ?" said a doleful voice. 
 
 '* Really, my friend," said Claude, " I hope you will forgive me for forgetting 
 you for a raomenr. ^Get up behind me. My horse will carry double fare as far as 
 we want to go, at any rate." 
 
 The footpad was thankful enough to scramble up behind Claude Duval, and 
 then the whole party was ready ; and what had been said and done during the 
 time that they were getting ready had not occupied one quarter of the time that 
 we have been compelled to take in the telhng of it. 
 
 '* Charge.l" cried Claude. 
 
 Every one put his horse to a gallop, and as they each had rather heavy riding- 
 whips, and Claude still retained possession of the hedge stake, they did not make 
 much of the foe that only made a straggling attempt to opposa them. In the 
 course of half-a-dozen seconds they were quite through the throng of gipsies, 
 leaving some half-dozen of them sprawling upon the heath. 
 
 " On — on," cried Claude. " Follow me." 
 
 He took the lead, and rather to the surprise of the friends who were with him, 
 he did not take his way to the farm-house, whither they had naturally enough 
 concluded he would go first ; but he galloped across the common in quite an oppo- 
 site direction, keeping on at such a pace that none of them could ask him a 
 question as to were he was going to. 
 
 He did not continue this speed for long though, and then Jack called out to 
 him— 
 
 " Claude, where are you going ? This is not the route to the farm." 
 
 '*No," said Claude, '" but that is the last place to which I should think of 
 taking this girl to, Jack. Our friends there have quite enough trouble upon our 
 account as it is." 
 
 "Do not think of that as a reason," cried the young farmer. " We never think 
 anything a trouble, Claude, that we do for you ; so that is of no sort of conse- 
 quence. If you think proper to bring her to the farm, do so." 
 
 "No," said Claude; "it is certainly impossible that you could be always on 
 the watch to prevent her from escaping from you, or perpetrating some mischief 
 that would he worse still. I propose placing her in a private Lunatic Asylum, of 
 which I know something, and where they will take her if they are well paid, and 
 ask no questions." 
 
 *' But she may talk ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, and they may listen, but what she says will have about as much 
 effect upon those who will listen to her, as though she talked to the trees, or to 
 the grass in the meadows. Has she moved. Jack V 
 
 **No." 
 
 '« Indeed! I begin to feel a little uneasy about this long swoon that she has 
 fallen into. Can any of you get a light ?" 
 
 *' Yes, I can," said the young farmer ; " and I have a small lantern hanging 
 by my saddle, if it has not been knocked away in that squabble with the gipsies. 
 No, here it is." 
 
 " Let us pause a moment by these trees," said Claude; " and see, if we can, 
 what is the matter with her. I have half a suspicion now that she is only sham- 
 ming a faint, for these sort of insensibilities seldom last so long as tin's." 
 
 They were tolerably clear of the heath, and upon the verge of a rather dense 
 cluster of tall trees, among which they now quietly walked their horses, and 
 Duval and the young farmer alighted. The latter, after some trouble, succeeded 
 in lighting his lantern, which was a small hand one, with a powerful magnifying- 
 glass, and a good reflector. 
 
 " Now," said Claude, •' we will see what is the matter with this raiher violent 
 piece of goods." ,i:.-.teii*iiM
 
 798 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 As he spoke he lifted Lucy off Jack's horse, and kneeling upon one knee, he 
 supported her upon the other. 
 
 ** Bring the lantern close/* he said. 
 
 " Here it is," said the young farmer, " Won't she open her eyes ?*' 
 
 *' Good God V said Claude. 
 
 *' What is it—what is it?" they all cried. 
 
 ** Poor girl, she will never open her eyes again. A pistol -bullet has gone 
 through the very centre of her forehead, and she is stone-dead !" 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXVU. ': 
 
 LVSY It BURIED AMONG THE TRS£S, AND CLAUDE HEARS M£AVS OF TURPIN. 
 
 Notwithstanding all that bad happened to deprive the little party among the 
 trees of much sympathy with such a personage as Lucy, they could not help feeling 
 something of a shock upon finding that she vras really dead. 
 
 For some few moments not one word was uttered by any one, and as they all, 
 by the light of the little lantern that the young farmer had with him, gazed upon 
 the Ufeleia face, no doubt each was busy with his own peculiar reflections upon 
 the scene. 
 
 ** Thank Gcd," said Claude, breaking the silence, " that no one here present 
 is answerable for this death." 
 
 " No one/* said Jack. 
 
 The footpad stepped forward, and with his hands clasped, he looked down at 
 the corpse. One tear fell from his eyes, and with a deep sigh, he said — 
 
 " So this is the end. Poor girl, 1 don't know now if all thy passion aboHt 
 Duval was real or affected; but whichever it was, you have paid the penalty of it. 
 You are gone now." 
 
 ♦• Yes," said Claude, " and let all her faults go with her. Let u?, if we say 
 anything of her now, poor girl, say that she was wrong-headed but not wrong- 
 hearted. It matters not now if she were only playing a part, or if she really felt 
 all that she said and did. She is gone." 
 
 *• Yes gone," added the footpad. " Peace go with her. I never thought until 
 this moment " 
 
 •• What?" said Claude. 
 
 " That I cared for her a jot !" 
 
 As he said these words, so few, and yet so expressive of his feeling for the dead, 
 he turned sadly away. Claude walked after him, and touching him lightly on 
 the shoulder, he said — " Stop." 
 
 The footpad turned round hastily. 
 
 *' There is something yet to be done, my friend," said Claude. 
 
 " What ? Can you restore her to life again ?" 
 
 ** No, but we can pay proper respect to the dead. Here, in the open country, 
 far away from the feted soil of the crot«rded churchyard, let us lay her to rest. 
 We will hurry her, my friend." 
 
 The footpad grasped Claude's hand, but he said nothing. That pressure was 
 sufficient, and they then walked back slowly together to the spot where Lucy lay, 
 with Jack and the young farmer looking at her. 
 
 " We must bury her," said Claude. " At least, at our hands her remains want 
 £0 much attention. Here amid the trees, where the free air of Heaven will blow 
 over her grave, we will bury her.* 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, <* That is a job I will help at, with all my heart, Claude. 
 Poor girl, she has my pity, and yet she has come to a quieter end than probably 
 ny of us will. Only look at her face, Claude ; she just geems sleeping calmly 
 nd pleasantly." 
 
 *• It is so, Jack."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD» 
 
 799 
 
 ' *'Howi3 it possible," said the voung f«rmer, '* that we can bury her? We 
 cannot dig a grave with our nails.'* 
 
 •* That is indeed an obstacle/* said Jack. 
 
 "And yet," said the footpad *' buried she must be, poor thing:. If it take me 
 a whole day to scoop a grave for her with a hedge-stake, I will do it. It is my 
 duty not to desert even her corpse, whatever you may all think proper to do." 
 
 He spoke in a tone of voice that was harsh with hardly suppressed g-. 
 Claude laid his hand upon his arm, and spoke gently, 
 
 ** Hush, my friend, hush. If we speak of difficultle'?, it is only that we may 
 devise means to overcome them. Do not fancy that we are going to abandon 
 our object. It will be done, let the difficulties be what they may." 
 
 '* Forgive me for a brief impatience." 
 
 " It needs no excuse. Jack ; can you think of any mode of operation in this 
 emergency ?" 
 
 ** Yes," said Jack. *' I think I can go to oar friend's farm here, in less than 
 half an hour, and bring back a couple of spades." 
 
 •* Ah !" said the young farmer, " I did not think of that ; 1 will go, and as I 
 know exactly where to lay my hands upon what 1 want, I shall be able to do it 
 quicker, and likewise to give no alarm to the family. Shall I go at once on this 
 errand, Claude ?" 
 
 " You will please me much, my friend, by doing so." 
 
 The young farmer did not wait another moment, but availing himself of, the 
 loan of Jack's horse, which was accustomed to a sharp run now and then, he 
 set off across the iields at a pace that promised very soon to bring him ^to his 
 destination. 
 
 Nothing of any moment passed during the absence of the young farmer, and 
 he returned in much less time than any one could have supposed it possible for 
 him to do. He brought with him two staved spades, and as he dismounted, he 
 said— 
 
 ** I got the spades from an outhouse we have in the garden, and so had no 
 occasion to go near the house." 
 
 ** Then no one knows you have baen there ?" suggested Claude. 
 
 " No one." 
 
 Claude nodded as though he would have said — 
 
 '* I am, glad of that," and then in a clear voice, he said — 
 
 *' At thii juncture, my friends, let me ask if any of you feel any repugnance to 
 promising to keep this affair a profound secret ?'' 
 
 ''None," said the footpad. ** I feel, Duval, that this is a question that is 
 solely addressed to me, and I promise that not one word of to-night's proceedings 
 will ever pass m> lips." 
 
 " I thank you," said Claude, *' and I tell you frankly ray reason for being 
 pleased at such a promise. It would much vex Cicely, my wife, to hear of it." 
 
 •* No doubt. It shall be kept secret." 
 
 The young farmer took one of the spades, and the footpad took the other ; but 
 Claude, throwing off his coat, took it from him, saying — 
 
 " No, my friend, let me do this last service for the poor girl. You can be a 
 spectator and a mourHcr, and should not bt asked to work at this sad task." 
 
 The footpad surrendered the spade. Indeed his hands shook so, that if he had 
 attempted to persevere in the use of it, it was quite clear that he would have 
 made but very small progress indeed with it, while Claude, with his strength and 
 perseverance, was able, effectually, to aid the young farmer, who had already sys- 
 tematically begun the work. 
 
 They chose a spot beneath a large sycamore tree, whose spreading branches 
 stretched far and wide on all sides, and particularly lo the south, and then they 
 marked out the grave of the wayward spirit that had brought death upon 
 itsi-1 ', 
 
 As they worked, the gray light of the dawn began slowly to make its appear- 
 ance, and they extinguished the little lantern, by the aid of which they had first
 
 g 800 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 begun their labours. The moment they put that out, the coming daylight was 
 much more perceptible to them all, and they paused a moment to look at it. 
 
 *' We must get our work over soon,'* said Claude, *' or the daylight will sur- 
 prise us." 
 
 ** Yes,** said Jack, *' it is coming fast. There — there is a sudden gleam of 
 light from the east. Do you see it among the tiees ?" 
 
 *' Yes, and the grave is finished," said Claude. 
 
 They bad dug about five feet i«to the earth, and now the young farmer and 
 Claude having got out of the grave, they all carefully and slowly lifted the body 
 and placed it in its last resting place. 
 
 " My large cloak, Jack/' said Claude. 
 
 " Yes, it is here," said Jack. 
 
 Claude took it and laid it four times doubled over the corpse, and then they 
 replaced the mould, and as the young farmer had carefully laid aside the turf 
 from the surface, he relaid it again, so that but very slight traces of any inter- 
 ference with the ground was left. The spare mould they scattered far and wide 
 among the trees ; but before the work was quite finished the farmer^approached 
 the footpad, and taking a little volume from his pocket, he said— 
 
 ** I brought you this. Would you like to use it?" 
 
 It was a book of Common Prayer, and, of course, contained the service for the 
 dead. 
 
 *' Yes— yes," he said, eagerly ; *' yes. I thank you for this. Indeed, I thank 
 you for this." 
 
 He advanced to the side of the grave, and holding the book m that the best 
 rays of the gray light that vras irradiating the east fell upon it, he read the 
 service of the dead in a solemn and affecting voice. All present stood uncovered, 
 and listening toil with quiet composure ; and when the last words were spoken, 
 and the book was closed, it dropped from the hands of the footpad. 
 /* " I shall leave England now," he eaid. 
 
 ''* Do you think you will be happier elsewhere ?* said Claude. 
 
 '* Yes, I am sure 1 shall. Besides, I — ** ♦ 
 
 What the footpad was going to add, was suddenly drowned in the echoes of a 
 loud yell, that came from some unseen persons in the immediate vicinity among 
 the trees. 
 
 So entirely unexpected, and so startling was this sudden outcry, that even 
 Claude, with all his presence of mind, and few could equal him in that grand par- 
 ticular, was startled. He recovered, however, in a moment, and cried out — 
 
 " The horses. Jack ! See to the safety of the horses !" 
 
 *'The gipsies are upon us !" said the footpad. 
 
 The words had scarcely escaped his lips, when the old hag, who claim? d, pro- 
 bably upon rather dubious grounds, to be the mother of Lucy, rushed forward 
 from among the trees, with a knife in her hand. She made directly towards 
 Claude, exclaiming — 
 
 ** Thus am I avenged V* 
 
 Had she made a similar demonstration against any other one of the party, it is 
 likely enough she might have succeedud in doing what she wished ; but Claude 
 stood as firm as a rock, and when she darted towards him, he caught the wrist of 
 the arm she had raised against him, and with the other hand flung her some dis- 
 tance oif, and she rolled right over the newly covered up grave of Lucy. 
 
 " Let her be," cried Claude. «* She is mad, I do think." 
 
 It would appear that the gipsies had relied upon the old hag being successful 
 in taking the life of Claude ; for they had not followed up this sudd^i yell, or 
 war cry, by any attack. No doubt, that was merely for the purpose of petrifying 
 the little parry with sudden fright, so that the old woman might, before the 
 sudden surprise had ceased, plunge the knife into Claude's heart. 
 
 If this had succeeded, it is very probable that the rest of the party would have 
 round it difficult to resist an impetuous at'ack from the gipsies ; but the failure of 
 the hag made all the difference.
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 801 
 
 There was quite sufficient d;iylight now fortke ijipsieuo see perfectly well what 
 had happened, and hovv completely the ha? had failed in her murderous intent. 
 They just hesitated long enough to enable those whooi they came to attack, to 
 get thoroughly upon thiir guard. 
 
 " Do not run,* cried Claude. " Stay and face then. They are arrant cowards 
 at the best of times. I know them Veil.'* 
 
 CLAUDS AXD JACK WArCHING THE LAN'DLORD OF THE INN IN HIS SLEEP. 
 
 The most available Weapon h^ could use in a cose encounter with the gipsies, 
 80 as to ward off their knives, which were really dangerous, was the spade with 
 which he had assisted the young farmer to dig Lucy's grave; and that in the 
 hands of such a man as Claude Duval- was, in truth, a most formidable imple- 
 nient of oflence as well as of defence. 
 
 The young farmer had the other spade. Jack held a very heavily loaded riding
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 whip in both hands, one blow from which he well knew was enough to knock 
 down any man. Mark Breretou.had a sword by his side, which he now drew 
 and put himself upon the defensive-; so that our party, although small, was well 
 prepared. 
 
 I They had not> however, very long to wait, before, with a wild scream of rage, 7 
 about thirty of the most desperate-looking fellows of the gipsy race that could 
 well be conceived, made their appearance from among the trees, and tried, by one 
 sudden rush, to overcome all opposition, and crush their foes. i 
 
 I This was not so easily done, however. Our friends stood shoulder lo shoulder 
 in a small half circle, and well they sustained the sudden shock of the gipsies* 
 assault. Claude, with his spade, knocked no less than four of them prostrate in 
 the course of as many moments. Two othei s fell be lore the young farmer, and the 
 heavy riding whip wielded by Jack, did great execution. 
 
 I One athletic fellow, who made a dash at Mr. Brereton, was run right through 
 the body in a moment, and Brereton had to put up his foot to throw him off his 
 I sword. I 
 
 I This reception certainly staggered the gipsy crew ; and seeing more than a 
 third of their number put hors de combat in about a minute and a half, they' 
 I wavered. One voice then cried out — j 
 
 j "Forward! kill them — they are exhausted now — kill them all! They have ' 
 murdered the girl ! Blood for blood ! " |i 
 
 I The sound of that voice seemed to animate the gipsies ; and collecting all their 
 strength and all their ferocity, they made another dash at the little party ; but as 
 lour friends had not received any injury whatever worth the mentioning, and none' 
 at all that they felt at the moment, they stood firm, and the result of this second, 
 I attack of the gipsy crew was something very similar to the first. Some half-; 
 j dozen more fell to the ground, either dead or totally insensible from serious 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXVIIl. 
 
 I 
 
 CLAUDE TAKES A HASTY RIDE TO OXFORD. | 
 
 After this second check, the gipsies were by far too much red*oe4 »P number 
 to hazard a third attack. With a yell of rage and disappointment, tlicy set off in 
 full retreat among the trees; and in the space of a moment or two not one was to 
 be seeOj except such as lay upon the ground at the feet of their victors. 
 
 ^* T^is is pleasant !'* cried Claude. 
 
 *' Very/' said Jack. 
 
 *< Is anybody hurt of us ?" 
 
 "All right," cried the young farmer and Mark Brereton. 
 
 In a moment, then, the footpad answered^ — 
 
 *' A slight scratch,*' he said, as he appeared stanching the blood that flowed 
 from a kuife-wound in his arm. "A shght scratch, that is all." 
 j ** How did you get it?'* said Claude. 
 
 I " Why, I saw that you all had enough to do in front, so, knowing well what 
 the gipsies are, I kept an eye on one man, an^||[|s rewarded by seeing a fellow 
 stealing along, with a knife in his hand, to wP y«u all behind. I closed with; 
 him, and he gave me this bit of a scratch, thars all." 
 
 '* And where is he ?" 
 
 " Lying over there. It strikes me his head had two or three hard knocks 
 against that bit of root of the chesnut there, that sticks out of the ground so sin- 
 igularly, and is as hard as iron." _ 
 
 V*' It strikes me so too,'* said Jack, who stepped for a moment over to where thef' 
 man was lying. *' Nobody can deny that the fellow had some brains." 
 
 "How do you mean. Jack ?" said Claude. 
 
 *' Why, they are lying principally on the groimd by his side." 
 
 \
 
 I LIFE ON THE R0A]5> . 803 
 
 ! " Well, I shouldn't wonder," said the footpad. " He would be rather trouble 
 some, so I was forced, in a manner of speaking, to do the best I could with him." 
 ** VVhere is the old woman ?" said Claude. 
 *' Dead, 1 think," said Brereton, as he wiped his sword ia the grass. "She is 
 lying on the grave here, quite gone; I think." 
 
 '• Nobody hurt her," said Claude. " I was careful only to throw her ; and a 
 fall upon the green sod here could no'; kill her. If she be dead, passion has nSore 
 to do with it than violence." 
 
 i As he spoke, he approached the grave upon which the old hag lay, in exactly 
 the attitude she bad fallen in when Claude cast her from him. He stooped 
 slightly over her, baying — 
 
 "Foolish woman, we have no animosity against you. If you live, go and join 
 your people in peace, so far as we are concerned." 
 The old woman moved slightly. 
 " Oh, she is all right,'' cried Claude. 
 *' You will let me go ?'' she said, faintly. 
 " Certainly. Get up and be off with you. I can assure you we are none of us 
 solicitous of your very agreeable company." 
 
 "Be careful of her, Claude," cried the footpad, who, v»ith the assistance of 
 Jack, was binding a handkerchief round his wounded arm. " Be careful of her. 
 She has as many tncks as an old fox." 
 " Thank you," said Claude. 
 
 . He only slightly turned his head towards the footpad to say these two words, 
 and on the moment, seeing her opportunity, the hag was on her knees in a moment 
 and made a stab at his breast with the knife which she had, despite her tumble, 
 retained, and cunningly hidden. 
 *' Now I am avenged !" she cried. 
 
 The knife broke off short by the hilt against Claude's breast, as though it had 
 been made of iron. In another moment Mark Brereton had seized the old 
 woman round the waist, and held her tight. 
 
 "How is this, Claude V he said. "Do you wear armour ?" 
 .** Armour?" 
 
 " Yes. The knife broke off your breast as it would off a good cuirass. It has 
 I saved you." 
 
 " But I have no cuirass. I never thought of such a thing." 
 He hastily tore open his vest as he spoke, and then, in a moment, it was seen 
 what had saved him. The point of the knife had happened to come precisely 
 against a rather massive gold watch that Claude had in his pocket, and so he 
 had been effectually saved. There was a clear indentation in the outside case 
 of the watch ; and as he held it up, he said — 
 
 " This is a lucky escape, indeed, my friends. This watch has saved my life, 
 and 1 will never part with it." 
 
 " You ought not," said Brereton ; "but, in the meantime, pray tell me what I 
 am to do with this mad old woman." 
 
 '* I'll soon relieve you of her !" cried Jack. 
 Taking from his pocket a stout cord. Jack now, after some little difficulty, 
 tied the old woman's wrists together^ 
 
 "Now," he said, '< I shall havaH|p pleasure, Hiadam, of effectually preventing 
 you from being mischievous for som^ timeto come, by making you fast to one o* 
 these trees." 
 
 " My bitterest malediction light upon you all !" cried the hag, white- her eye* 
 flashed with passion. 
 
 " Rave away," said Jack, " we like to hear it. Besides, it will keep you ou^ 
 t Trnore mischief. Only remember, that your cursing us has just about as much 
 v.t as if, by your maledictions, you strove to uproot one of these old trees." 
 '* Revenge ! — I will have my revenge!" 
 I " Doubtless you will, when you can."
 
 80(t GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Despite all her struggles — and, at times, they were rather furious — Jack lied 
 her fast to a tree, and there he left her to rave or swear at her leisure. 
 "What is to be done ?'* said Brereton to Claude. 
 
 " Nothing, that I know of,* he said ; " but as a matter of choice, now, to leave 
 this place. All that has happened here, disagreeable as it is, has only been a 
 matter ot force with us. We did not choose it, and so we cannot help it. Let 
 us all go to the farm, and from there we can separate as our different routes and 
 inclinations may lead us. Jack and I are for the road again." 
 
 " And so am I,'' said.the footpad, *' until, by some Ifteky chance, I can get hold 
 of enough to take me from England." 
 Jack shook his head. 
 
 " You won't go, my friend," he said. " We tried it once. There is a destiny 
 in these things.*' 
 '« Think you so ?" 
 
 '• I am sure of it. But help me with the horses here. It is something more 
 than a lucky thing that the gipsies did not find out where we had stowed them, 
 or we should have had to walk, for a certainty, from this place." 
 
 " Yes," said the footpad. " I know them well. They would have gloried in 
 slaughtering them." 
 
 Fortunately, as Jack said, the cattle had been, while the grave was being dug, 
 placed in a secure position among the trees; and now they were brought out quite 
 I fresh and ready for a good start. 
 
 I " I shall never forget this place as long as I live,*' said Claude. "This affair^ 
 will wake a pretty noise when it comes to be known." 
 
 "1 don't think," said the footpad, '* it will ever be known. Of course, the 
 dead bodies will be found ; but as they are all gipsies, it will be considered that 
 they have had some fracas among themselves, and so a number of them have come 
 by death, and everybody with a poultry yard will rejoice accordingly." 
 
 " Then," said Claude, as they all rode off, " you think they will not themselves 
 — 1 mean these who escaped — say anything about it ?" 
 " Not one word." 
 
 « It is better that they should not." 
 
 "But you, Claude, and all of u?, will be marked men by the gipsy tribe; 
 and if ever they have an opportunity ef being revenged upon us, you may depend 
 that they will." 
 
 *' Naturally enough," said Claude. 
 
 *'Do you hear," said Jack, •* what a racket that old woman makes, swearing 
 and cnrsing us at such a rate?" 
 
 •• Yes," said Claude, ** I hear her. She ought to be less dangerous upon that 
 account some other time." 
 
 *' Not a whit," said the footpad. " If she don't follow you up, Claude DuTal, 
 and yet try to place a knife-blade in your heart, it will be simply because her 
 failures vdll take a superstitious hold of her, and she will fancy that you are 
 supernaturally protected— that is the only feeling that will keep her quiet," 
 '* And do you think it a likely one to come over her r" 
 '* I do." 
 
 ♦* Well, I must say, I sincerely hope it may. A man I leally don't mind how 
 many tussles I have with, but with such an antagonist as a viperous old woman, 
 it is one of the most difficult things in the w^tt to know what to do." 
 
 More than once they at intervals paused to glance behind them, to see if they 
 could notice any appearance of the gipsies ; but all was quiet, and they soon 
 reached the outskirts of the farm. 
 
 Claude rode up to the young farmer, and said — 
 
 ** You are pretty certain that no one knew of your visit to the farm for the two 
 spades V* 
 
 " My brother only saw me, and him I cautioned to say nothing. While I was 
 getting the spades, he fetched me the prayer-book, which, it appeared, your 
 friend was well pleased to have." . :.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 xiOS 
 
 " Just so. 1 would not have ihe min<J and the peace of Cicely disturbed by 
 this adventure on any accotnt.'* j 
 
 I ** There is no occasion." I 
 
 I •* Not the least ; and I am extremely obliged to you, for the discretion you 
 have showed in the matter. I 
 
 I ** Do not mention riiat. If I or any of my family can, by any possible 
 means, do you a service, you know what great pleasure it gives us." | 
 
 I ** Yes, I do know it, and 1 feel grateful accordingly ; but here we are at home. 
 I always call this house home, for such is the character of the feeling that comes 
 over me when I reach its threshold." 
 
 " And there is Cicely!" 
 
 " Cicely ! So early up?" 
 
 ** Ah! yes, Duval. She, doubtless, has been a little alarmed at your protracted 
 absence. I warrant she left her chamber as soon as daylight enabled her to see 
 her way." 
 
 •* 1 should not wonder. Cicely — Cicely !'* 
 
 Cicely ran across the farm yard to the little gate at which they had all 
 halted. 
 
 ** Ah, you are safe V she said. 
 
 " Safe !" said Claude, quietly. " Yes, to be sure, Cicely. How could we be 
 otherwise 1 We have not been in more than common daager.'' 
 
 *' What do you call common danger, Claude?" 
 
 ♦♦ Why, have you not heard that ?" 
 
 " 'Tis dangerous to eat, to drink, to sleep, 
 To walk?" 
 
 " Yes, Claude ; but your dangers, I am assured, are generally of a much more 
 stringent character." 
 
 *' And who assures you. Cicely, of that ?" 
 
 " My own heart, Claude." 
 
 This little dialogue took place between Claude and Cicely as they walked up 
 the avenue together of the garden towards the house, for they had left the 
 farm-yard, and had taken a slight round to the homestead. 
 
 " You will now remain for a time }" said Cicely. 
 
 ** Yes, for a time." 
 
 *' How long, Claude ? I like not the tone in which you say * for a time.' You 
 will stay all day ?" 
 
 •* Nay, dear Cicely, that I cannot. I can but breakfast, and then be off ; but 
 if it be at all possible for me to return by about midnight, I will do so. Do not, 
 however, construe this hope of mine into a positive promise." 
 
 " I must." 
 
 " Nay, do not ; for I cannot tell what may detain me. You do not know 
 what adventures befal me at times ; and were X to tell you all " 
 
 «* Why do you pause V 
 
 *• Because I was going to say, were I to tell you all, you would not be able to 
 sleep so soundly a-nights, as, in truth, I hope you do, aiid wish you to do. 
 j Besides, if I were to make positive promises about being here at certain hours, 
 I without leaving myself the smallest latitude ot action, if anything occurred that I 
 I came not, you would picture to yourself the worst that could happen, when, per- 
 haps, it was very far, indeed, from the truth." 
 '* You are right in that, Claude," 
 ** I feel that I am. Let me then go without a promise, and come when I can." 
 Cicely's reason told her, that this was by far the best anangement that could 
 be made ; and after a few moments, she acquiesced in it completely. They all 
 sat dfiwn to an ample breakfast at the farm-house, and at its conclusion, Claude 
 and Jack a^ain sought their steeds, and H?ounting, took to the road; ,^ 
 
 They struck off to the high road to Guiiuford at a gentle trot <ncross the 
 meadows.
 
 806 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 t, 
 
 CHAPTER CLXXXIX. 
 
 THE lawyer's clerk FROM OXFORD, DETAILS TURPIN's PERIL. 
 
 Jack," said Claude. " How do you feel after all this affair of Lucy's ?" 
 Wi)l you let me answer your question by another, Claude ?" 
 
 *' It is an Irish way of answering a question Jack ; but say on. Let us have it.* 
 
 **Then, what is your reason for asking me ?" 
 
 " Why, Jack, you are turning a complete Jesuit. What reason could I pos- 
 sibly have, my friend, for asking you, but to obtain information?" 
 
 ** Then, Claude, I am quite satisfied ; I know that her death hangs heavily at 
 your heart; hut I do-not think it ought to do so. You had literally nothing to 
 do with it ; and although she had threatened abundance of harm to Cicely, you 
 never for one moment dreamt of apy to her.*' 
 
 V That is strictly true, Jack." 
 
 "Well, she, in the frenzy of her evil passions, called up the gipsies to her aid, 
 and she herself fell a victim to the evil spirit she had summoned to do her service, 
 as you will generally find most people do." 
 
 Yes," said Claude, mournfully, " the pistol-shot which killed her, certainly 
 came from one of the gipsies," 
 
 '* And it was aimed at you, Claude." | 
 
 " That there can be no doubt of. Well, Jack, we cannot recall the past, and j 
 I will endeavour to forget the fate of that poor creature. Ill-directed passion 
 brought her to her end, and I cannot help thinking that she had some evil adviser 
 who urged her on to her destruction/' 
 
 " I have thought so myself," said Jack, " for at times, when she seemed to be 
 most violent, her passion did not seem to me to be so natural as it might have 
 been." 
 
 *' The same idea crossed rae, Jack, more than once during the fray. But 
 hush ! I hear the rapid sound of a horse'd hoofs. Some one approaches in a hurry." 
 
 **They do indeed; and yet it is, by the sound, a straggling bad sort of gallop.** 
 
 ** Where are we?" said Claiide, glancing around him. . 
 
 " What, Claude, don't you recognise the road ? It is the old Oxford-road, and 
 we are about eight miles from London. Don't you know it now f" 
 
 *' Oh, yes, most assuredly 1 do. But I should like to stop this fellow who is 
 coming along at such a rate, and know what puts him to speed. Wait where you 
 are a moment. Jack, and I will take the middle of the road. I don't like people 
 to go by me in a great hurry, and I know nothing about it.'* 
 ** Jack laughed, and Claude rode out into the centre of the thoroughfare, whidh 
 was, just at that spot, not very wide, so that when the horseman came up/ he 
 found it would have been rather a difficult thing to pass on. 
 
 ** Out of aiy way, sir,** he cried ; " 1 am at speed." 
 
 " Hold I" shouted Claude. •* As an officer of police, I insist upon knowing- ^ho 
 you are and where you are going? They say that the celebrated Gentleman 
 Jack the highwayman is upon this road,[and how do I know but you may be IteZ" 
 
 Upon' this the horseman pulled up at once, 
 
 " Bless your heart," he said, •' me a highwayman ? Only look at me, and th«n 
 ask yourself if I have any resemblance to one." ^■ 
 
 " I don't know that. What do you maKe yourself out to be, m^ friend, an^ 
 where are you going ?" 
 
 " My name, sir, is Brown. I am clerk to a respectable solicitor in Oxford* and 
 I am going to Bow-strieet." 
 
 •' Humph ! what about ?" 
 • *' Why, you must know that the notorious Dick Turpin has been apprehended 
 at the Pig and Tinder-Box in Oxford, while he was in bed, and we think df 
 hanging him for a highway-robbery, outside that city, committed only three days 
 ago. The Oxford Assizes are on. Only it was thought as he was such a notorio)^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 
 
 807 
 
 criminal, the Attorney-general might come down by order of the Treasury to con- I 
 duct the prosecution." | 
 
 *'01i, indeed." ' 
 
 *• Yes, sir. And now you know all about it. Of course, I very sincerely hope 
 he will be hung, as no doubt you do ; so I beg that you will not impede me any 
 longer, sir." 
 
 " Certainly not— go on. Good day." 
 
 " Good day, sir. \ ou are a very active officer, indeed, and about the stupidest 
 fellow I ever met with," added ihe lawyer's clerk to himself as he rode on, for^he 
 had quite ^mistaken Claude's look of concern, when he heard of Dick Turpin's 
 peril, to stupidity and a difficulty of comprehension. j 
 
 The moment the clerk was out of sight, Claude rode to where Jack was waiting, 
 and told him what had passed. j 
 
 "Why didn't you stop him ?" said Jack. I 
 
 " Because it would have done no good. We should not have liked killing him, 
 and if we had dismounted him, and started off his horse, he could have walked to 
 London in a couple of hours. I did think of stopping him, but upon consideration i 
 I did not ?ee that it would do the smallest good to Dick Turpin ; so I abandoned 
 the idea of it." I 
 
 "You are right, Claude." ! 
 
 "But 1 am not going to abandon Dick, lor all that. What say you to a trot toj 
 Oxford, Jack?" 
 
 " With all my heart, if you think you can do any good ; and if you dont't think 
 so, we may as well go, as something may turn up when we get there.'* 
 
 '* Jack, X thank you for those words ; they show a proper spirit. So let us be off 
 at once. Our horses are fully equal to the job ; and we shall be there in six houis 
 from hence, I think, oi thereabouts." 
 
 " Easy,*' said Jack. 
 
 They'did not pause another moment, but turning their horses' heads in the 
 required direction, oflf they went at a good pace, although not a distressing one, 
 for knowing the distance that lay before them, they were loo judicious to tax tfieir 
 steeds for the first twenty miles, to the peril of seeing them perform the rest of 
 the journey with difficulty. 
 
 " How are you off for money, Claude ?" said Jack, when they were in a lonely 
 part of the road; after having riden about twelve miles or so. 
 
 " Pietty well. I think 1 have somewhere about_^eighty pounds by me." 
 
 ** And I have more." 
 
 "More Jack 1' 
 
 ** Yes ; you forget that you frequently lend me sums of money, saying, * Take 
 this. Jack,' or • Mind this for a rainy day. Jack,' or something of that sort; but I 
 take care of it all ; so if cash will do Dick any good, 1 think we shall have plenty. 
 I speak because we should not allow ourselves to lose any time by crying ' stand 
 and deliver!' to anyone upon the road." 
 
 *• No, Jack, we will let the world go free for once in a way. Oxford is our 
 destination, and we will not turn out of our route or stay upon it longer than will 
 be necessary to give our horses bait a little, on any account." 
 
 << Very good, Claude, 1 think that is the right course." 
 
 " Afrer completing the first twenty miles, tney halted for a whole hour, during 
 which ih.^y refreshed themselves and their horses, letting the latter have a careful 
 grooming, and a light feed, after which they were nearly as fresh as when they 
 had first started in the morning, 
 
 j " I want to do all the rest of the distance now," said Claude, '' without a halt 
 of more than ten minutes or so, once or twice." 
 
 I " That we can do, easily. I should advi^e that after the next five miles we 
 give the horses a pot of old ale each, and then I don't think they will fiag'if we 
 were to ride right through Oxford." 
 I " It shall be done, Jack." 
 I Tney halted at a pretty Jttle road-side inn, to give the horses the ale, and just
 
 808 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ' 
 
 as they had finished drinking it, a corpulent man came to the door of the inn 
 with an immense bell-shaped barrelled blunderbuss in bis hands, and pointing it 
 full upon Claude, he called out— 
 
 " Stop, both of you— I know you; You stopped me once when I was in my 
 gig, and took away one hundred and twenty pounds from me. You know you 
 did. You are Duval, and the other xogue I don't know." 
 
 "Well," said Claude, •• FU tell you. * They call him Blaze-away, and that*8 
 what I'm waiting for you to do, you stupid old pump. What's the use of that 
 blunderbuss to you ?" 
 
 *' I'll soon let you know what use it is of, if you don't stop. Quick, Jem ! 
 Bob ! Get a couple of ropes to tie up these two highwaymen with. I will take 
 them both to London." 
 
 *• Well," said Claude, "I'm sorry that I have not a blunderbuss to nacet you 
 with. If I had, we could make a regular duel with them both; but here is a little 
 pop-gun in the shape of a pistol which will do." 
 
 The moment Claude produced a pistol, the corpulent man cried — 
 
 *' All right, only J like to have first fire ; so here goes.^' 
 
 As he spoke, he pulled the trigger of the blunderbuss, when, instead of dis- 
 charging itself in the proper manner, it burst with a stunning report ; and the 
 last Claude and Jack saw of the corpulent man, were his heels in the air, as he 
 lay upon his back in the passage of the inn. 
 
 *' Come on, Jack." said Claude, " I expected some such an end to this adven. 
 tiire. Those old blunderbusses are really never to be depended upon.*' 
 
 " Really, Claude, you take things remarkably easy. What if it had gone off 
 all right and riddled you with bullets ?" 
 
 " I don't think, Jack, that it's my fate to be popped off in such a way. I hare 
 stood fire so often and never come t* much huit, that I seem now to have a blind 
 confidence in my good fortune. It may fail me some day, though, for all that, 
 and when it does, I shall not complain. Push on. Jack." 
 
 They went on at a good pace, and the effect of the ale they had given to their 
 horses was tolerably manifest, for they did not draw rein again until they reached 
 an inn not above three quarters of a mile from Oxford. 
 
 *' We will put up here, Jack," said Claude, " and no doubt we shall get all 
 the news if we ask our landlord to join us in a bottle of wine." 
 
 •• It's more than likely," said Jack. 
 
 The horses were put up and well attended to— Claude asked for a private room, 
 and then desired that a couple of bottles of wine should be brought him, and the : 
 two best beds kept for them. An order, too, for supper was given, of qui^e an 
 ad libitum character, so that th^ landlord thought two such guests were well 
 worth waiting on himself. 
 
 We should have premised that Jack had doffed his groom's costume and wore 
 rather a dashing suit of brown cloth. Claude still retained about his costume a 
 rather clerical look, and it became him very well indeed. 
 
 After the wine was on the table, the landlord came into the room with many 
 bows and smirks. 
 
 '* I hope, gentlemen," he said, " the wine is to your liking ?" 
 
 " Very good," said Claude. •' Pray sit down and take a glass of it with us, 
 landlord." 
 
 ** Oh sir, you really do me too much honour." 
 
 The landlord, notwithstanding it was too much honour, drew a chair and sat 
 down with his very kind and urbane guests, and after a few glasses of wine had 
 b^n partaken of, Claude said in an easy off-handed manner — 
 
 *' Is there any news stirring in Oxford V 
 
 *' Why, sir," said the landlord, *'at assize time we have lots of news of some 
 sort or other ; but every thing is now taken up with the capture of Dick Turpini 
 the highwayman." j 
 
 " What, the celebrated Turpin V 
 
 " The very same, sir.''
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. 809 
 
 ♦' Why you amaze me ! I always thought timt he was so very bold and deter- 
 mined a fellow, that he would hardly have been taken alive." 
 
 *♦ So did 1," said Jack. 
 
 « Very likely, gentlemen, very likely," said the landlord. *< Perhaps he would 
 not, if they had not caught him in bed.'* 
 
 THE JEW CONCOCTING PLANS rOB THE RESCUE OF DICK TURPIN. 
 
 '• Oh, that was it, was ii?" 
 
 " Yes, they caught him in bed, gentlemen. But I hope you like this wine?" 
 V Ve y well, indeed. 1 think among us we may manage another bottle of it 
 vvhen these two are done ; and in the meantime you will oblige us very much, 
 landlord, by telling us how Turpin was captured, and by whom." 
 
 No. ins.
 
 «ir> GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER CX€. 
 
 TURPIN IS CAST FOR DEATH, BUT DOES NOT DESPAIR. 
 
 The landlord smiled his best smile, for it was not every day that such good 
 customers came to his house. 
 
 " Gentlemen/' he said, *' I can tell you the whole particulars.** 
 
 '*And we should like to know, too/' added Jack, <* what specific offence they 
 iare going to try him for." 
 
 j "That I can tell you likewise, gentlemen, as well as any man. It is for rob- 
 jbing the Provost of Magdalen College on this very road, and not -tsfo hundred 
 yards from this house.'* 
 
 "Indeed?" said Jack. 
 
 "What assurance," said Claude. 
 
 ** Worse than assurance/' added the Isndlord, *' for of course £entlemeD, you 
 are aware, that the Provost is a Doctor of Divinity/* 
 
 "Exactly.** 
 
 " Well, then, gentlem en, the Provost has a quiet little nag that he likes a ride 
 upon every afternoon, and about four days ago he passed this door on his nag, 
 but he did not come home on it.'* 
 
 *' How so ?*' 
 
 ** Why it appears that after he had got some distance past this ho»se , he met 
 Turpin on his horse, although, of course, the Provost did not know him from 
 Adam. Up ride* Turpin to him and says — 
 
 ** ' Sir, can you tell me the exact time ?* 
 
 " Well, the Provost did not much like his looks, but he took out his watch and 
 told him. 
 
 " * Does that watch keep good time V said Turpin. 
 
 *' ' Sir,' said the Provost, who was rather proud of his watch, which was worth 
 -^ hundred guineas, ' sir, it keeps better time than the clock of Magdalen 
 College.* 
 
 *'*0h, then,' said Turpin, * I will trouble you for it, as I often want to know 
 the exact time. You see, sir, I am a highwayman, and have, in consequence, what 
 people call a bad character. Now in this country, if you give a dog a bad name 
 you had better hang him, and as I am often accused of crimes at places I never 
 saiy, your correct watch will be a very handy thing when I want to prove an 
 aUhi.' ' 
 
 *' How cool,'' said Jack. 
 
 '* Very," said Claude. 
 
 " You may well say that, gentlemen. Well, upon this, he took the watch from 
 the Provost, and besides that, he made him give up his purse containing twenty 
 pounds, and then he forced him to dismount from his nag and started it off down 
 the London Road, and because he did not dismout quick enough, Turpin threw , 
 the reverend doctar*s hat and wig into a. ditch/* i 
 
 *' Upon my word,'* said Claude, ** that was too bad/' ] 
 
 *' Very much too bad/' said Jack. 
 
 " Ydu may well say that, gentleman. The poor Provost had to come here to 
 this ho&e on foot, and send for a chaise to Oxford, to take him home ; Jtthd when ! 
 he got to the college, he offered a hundred pouiids reward to any one who would j 
 apprehend the highwayman^who had robbed him, and he gave a good description i 
 of him, so that the police of Oxford all said it could be no other " than Dickj 
 Turpin. But still he would have got clear' ofr if he had only chosen to ride 
 away, but instead of that he came into Oxford and put up at the Three Kings Inn, 
 and the landlord of it gave notice to the officers, and they caugjit him in bed and 
 had him handcuffed before he was very well awake to what was going on," > 
 
 '* Ah," said Claude, "1 understand how it was then. You may depend that 
 if he haa not been caught napping in such a way, Dick Turpin would have given 
 them some trouble.* I
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 811 
 
 " Not a doubt of it, sir." 
 
 "And is he to be tried?" 
 
 " Why, yes, sir. Tlie assizes were on, bo he was committed at once, and as 
 there is always a second gaol delivery durin^: the assizes, he will no doubt be com- 
 fortably hungj for tliey say that the big- wigs, meaning the judges, sir, are quite 
 resolved to get rid ot him." 
 
 *' But they will give him a fair trial ?* 
 
 **0h, yes, gentlemen. Everything will be regular enough ; but you see it's a 
 very clear case, indeed ; and there aint the shadow of a chance for him. He 
 will be hung, and between you and me, gentlemen, he will be a good riddance, 
 for those sort of gentry make the road? unsafe, and do the Inns a deal of harm. 
 Now there's another something like him ; I mean Claude Duval. They tell me 
 that on the London side of Uxbridge, he does just what he likes." 
 
 " Is that possible V 
 
 *' It is, indeed, sir. I am credibly informed of it, I assure you, on the most 
 competent authority." 
 
 " Well," said Jack, " if Duval ever stops me, he shall find out that he has 
 made a mistake." 
 
 *' Oh, but. sir, he has another ruffian with him." 
 
 "Has he?" said Claude. " Then if that other ruffian ever stops me, he 
 shall find out that it shall not be for nothing." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, I only wish you two could meet them both." 
 
 "I fear that is not likely,'* said Claude. "But where is Dick Turpin confined 
 I now, landlord?" 
 
 I *f In the gaolj and he is tolerably safe. They had him in the spinning house 
 for a time, but they did not think that safe enougn. He won't get away, you may 
 depend upon it." 
 
 i "That's a comfort," said Claude, '*at all events. We are very much obliged 
 to you, landlord, for these particulars. We will leave our horses here and take a 
 walk into the city, and then come back to rest, for we are rather tired." 
 
 " Very good— very good gentlemen. The best b^ids shall be at your service, and 
 better 1 am sure are not to be found in the whole county, to say nothing of the 
 city." 
 
 [ " Thank you," said Jack. *• We shall no doubt hh very well satisfied." 
 I They then rose, having made a highly favourable impression upon the Innkeeper, 
 and on foot they walked into Oxford. They soon found upon reaching tiiat 
 place that the sole topic of conversation was of the apprehension of Dick Turpin ; 
 and after a consultation between themselves, Claude said — 
 j ** There is one thing. Jack, that we must raiake up our minds to, let the risks be 
 what they may ; that is, to save Dick. I am quite resolved to encounter any 
 difficulty rather than let him perish." 
 j " And 1 likewise," said Jack. 
 
 I "Very good. From all we can hear of the old jail, it is a crazy enough struc-^ 
 ture, and if Dick were notheavily ironed, I have not the least doubt bur that he 
 would make his escape from it." 
 
 "To be sure he would, Claude. But cannot we, who are not ironed at all. 
 'contrive to get at him in some sort of way?" ' . ■' ■ ■ 
 
 i " You have anticipated my idea. Jack. There are two thirgs, however, necessary 
 j to do before we could, with any chance of success, attempt Dick's rescue from the 
 'jail. One of them is to procure a plan of the prilon, and the other is to ascertain 
 in what part of it he is placed." 
 I "" ** Both rather difficult," said Jack. 
 
 J " Probably so, but not impossible. There is an old work on the antiquities of 
 ; Oxford, in which 1 know there is a plan of this jail, and what can be a mofe 
 lik«ly place to find such a work in, than in Oxford itself,'* 
 
 •' Let's come then," said Jack, " to the best bookseller's in this place, and see 
 if we can get it.* 
 
 We need not particularise the interview of Claude and Jack with a smiling
 
 812 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Oxford bookseller ; suffice it to say, that without any difficulty they got the book 
 they wanted, for v.hich they had to pay two yuineas^and then they both 
 repnired to a private room in an hotel, and studied well the plan of the jail. They 
 found that the cells of any strefiglh were only six in number, and that they were 
 numbered in regular order, and in a part of the prison called *The Inner 
 Keep.' 
 
 " That will do/ said Jack. > 
 
 '♦ Yes, so far. Jack ; and now we must find out some house of entertainment to 
 which the officials ofthe prison are in the habit of going. There is always some 
 such place near to every jail." 
 
 This latter object was much easier accomplished than even the former, and 
 Jack and Claude were soon ssated in tlje parlour of a public-house near the J 
 prison, with a glass of brandy -and-water before each of them. They trusted to 
 their own natural acuteness in finding out the sort of person they wanted. 
 I In the course of ten minutes a burly looking man came into the parlour and 
 ! sat down next to Claude. He got Claude over any little difficulty in opening th^^ 
 : conversation with him, by saying, as he rubbed his hands together — 
 ( " A nice day, sir, out of doors." 
 
 I Those three words " out of doors* were quite sufficient to! convince Claude that 
 the m&n was one of the prison officials, and he said in a cool assured tone, " Ob, 
 yes, my friend. You are off duty, now, I suppose 1'* 
 
 " You mean at the jug ? Oh, yes, I get half an hour three times a day, when 
 I ain't on the outer lock." 
 
 Claude pushed his glass of brand y-and- water towards him, as he added— 
 
 " I hope yoa will keep Dick Turpin safe now you have got him." 
 
 The man took a long draught at the hot steaming liquid, before he answered, 
 and then, with what he thought was a very knowing wink, he said— 
 
 '< I believe you ; catch weasels asleep ? We have got him safe enough," 
 
 " But he is a desperate fellow." 
 
 *^ Let him be." 
 
 *' And he will break out of prison if you don't mmd.' 
 
 « But we wiU mind. We have got him in number six, and if he gets out of 
 that, 1 will give him leave." 
 j •* Number six r* 
 
 ! *' Yes. In course, you don't know, but number six is in the mner-keep, and 
 thereheisas safeas ninepence; and besides, he's got half-a-hundred weight of 
 lirons on him, so vou needn't be afeeid of his getting away. Ha! ha !" 
 
 ••Well, that's satisfactory," said Claude, giving Jack a sly kick under the 
 table. 
 
 ** Very," said Jack. . , , , 
 
 I " It's to be hoped they will hang him," added Claude, as he agam pushed the 
 ^ glass to the man, and then as before, the turnkey took his drink before he replied ; 
 placint; the empty glass upon the table, he said, as he drew a long breath— 
 I ** Hang him? of course. That's settled,'* 
 
 " But he ain't tried." . , ir 
 
 <' No matter, it's settled. Thank you, for me, sir ; I must be off now, my 
 time is just upon up. If vou stay in Oxford a few days longer, for I take it you 
 ■ are only visitors, you will'aee Dick Turpin tucked up." 
 j " We shall certainly stay. Good evening to you." 
 
 '* Good evening, and your servant, gentlemen." n- i i. • 
 
 The official personage who had made the revelation regarding Dick being m 
 number six in the inner- keep, then took himself off, much to the relief of Jack 
 and Claude, who now waited to consult with each other, as to what was to be 
 doRc immediately regarding the preparation for attempting the rescue of Dick 
 from the old prison.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 813 
 
 CHAPTER CXCI. 
 
 A PERILOUS JVIGHT ADVENTURE IN OXFORD. 
 
 From the experience that our readers have had of Claude and his friend and 
 companion Jack, it may be well supposed that in theii cogitations concerning 
 what was to be done for the rescue of Dick, they did not throw aside any pos- 
 sible plan that mighc suggest itself, on account of any dangers that might sur- 
 round it. 
 
 On the contrary, it is highly probable that to those most adventurous spirits, 
 danger was a kind of excitement, that was now in a manner essential to their 
 existence, and there was one thing they felt convinced of, namely, that the most 
 dangerous path was generally the most direct to any object. 
 
 " Well, Jack," said Claude. '* What is your conclusion ?" 
 
 " In good faith,'* said Jack, " I cdnnot come to one ; but if I mistake not very 
 much, Claude, you have." 
 
 ** You are right." 
 
 " Then let me hear it, Claude, not that I may in any shape or way criticise it, 
 but that I may be prepared to carry it out as far as my powers will let me. You 
 are far more more fertile in expedients than 1 am." 
 
 " I don't know that, Jack. But you must have observed that next door to the 
 jail in which Dick is confined there is a glover's shop.'* 
 
 " Yes, Claude." 
 
 " Well, then, Jack, it strikes me that we must get admittance to the prison in 
 some way through that house, after its inhabitants have all retired to lest. It is 
 rather something new to break into a prison, especially when such as you and I, 
 Jack, are concernsd in the affair ; but 1 really think, for once in a way, we can 
 manage it." 
 
 "No doubt of it, Claude." 
 
 " Then you do not think that there is anything extravagant in my proposal, 
 Jack?" 
 
 " Very far from it. When one of our profession breaks out of a prisoa, he or 
 course labours under every possible disadvantage, and such tools and implements 
 as he requires for the purpose he has to get in with much risk and difficulty ; but 
 we being upon the outside, and perfectly free to possess ourselves of what means, 
 and appliances we like, may surely break in." 
 
 ** I am glad, indeed, Jack, that you view it in that spirit. We will, from the 
 plan of the prison we have got, make a careful sketch of our route to Dick's 
 cell, and at midnight we will come into Oxford, and commence our enterprise." 
 
 •' Good," said Jack. " I am willing. What shall we need in the way of tools 
 and implements ?" 
 
 ** A couple of the best ropes we can get, each forty feet in length, some strong 
 grappling hooks, and your picklocks, which you know how to use as well. Jack, 
 as any man breathing, and I will take with me a small crow-bar of iron. 
 Our pistols we will, of course, keep prepared, so that, I think, we may defy any 
 accidents.* 
 
 " I hope so, Claude." | 
 
 "Then come along, and let us make our purchases, and after that we will go to 
 our inn, and get our supper, and, then, if possible, we will get back to the town 
 without our host knowing that we have left the inn at all." 
 
 " That, too, may be managed, Claude." 
 
 They both now left the public-house, where they hod been so signally success- 
 ful in getting the information they sought, and sallied into the prineipal street of 
 Oxford to purchase the various articles they wanted. 
 
 In such a place as Onford they did not find much difficulty in suiting theui' 
 selves with the ropes and the hooks. At a cutler's, too, Claude purchased twi 
 capitally-made small crow-bars, so that they repaired to the inn capitallv pro-
 
 814* GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 vided, although, even under Jack's great coat, the rope was rather a bulky 
 article. 
 
 They found that the landlord had got [the supper for them that they had so 
 liberally ordered, and having, to their great satisfaction, discussed it, they, under 
 the plea of fatigue, retired very early to rest, or rather to their bed-roonas, where 
 they were supposed to be going to rest, but where rest they did not. 
 
 " It's all right," said Jack. " My window looks into tho garden of the inn, 
 and there is only a slight paling to cross to get into a lane tkat runs parallel with 
 the High-street.'* 
 
 *' That will do. Jack." 
 
 It was nearly eleven o'clock, and all sounds had for the last half hour ceased 
 in the inn, when Claude and Jack prepared themselves for their enterprise. They 
 dressed themselves as compactly as they could, so as to leave as little straggling 
 portions of apparel about them as possible, that might impede them in flight, or 
 in climbing ; and each winding round him one of the pieces of rope, to which 
 they had firmly attached the grapples they had bought, they cautiously opened 
 the window of Jack's bed-room. 
 
 " You have not forgotten your pick-locks, Jack ?" whispered Claude. 
 
 " Ob, no — no. You have the crow-bars ?" 
 
 " All ri^ht : and I think you locked to the [priming of your pistols, and you 
 have the file with you?" 
 
 " A couple of as sharp-biting files, Claude, as ever made war against fetters, I 
 have about me. If I can only lay one of these across Dick's chains, they won't 
 hold him Ions'." 
 
 " Good. This little balcony is not above eight feet from the ground, so ^e can 
 easily drop it. I think the moon is getting up, Jack." 
 
 *' I hope not, Claude.'' 
 
 " So do I, for no doubt we shall do better without it ; but it can't be helped. 
 What a cold air is blowing." 
 
 Jack took off his hat, and held his face up to the night clouds for a few. 
 moments, and then he said — 
 
 *' We shall have rain." 
 
 " Think you so ?" 
 
 "I am sure of it. I have been so much in the open air at all times, and in 
 all seasons, that I cannot doubt it for a moment; the signs and tokens of the! 
 coming weather are all familiar now to me. Look how the dark clouds hang! 
 over that light part of the sky, wheie the moon would be if she could only findan| 
 opening through which to show her fair face." j 
 
 ** You are right Jack. Come on." | 
 
 They both sprang from the window into the garden, and then they paused for 
 a few moments to listen, and make sure that they had given no alarm to any one. 
 All was as still as the very grave, and in cautious whispers, Jack ^id — 
 
 '* This way, Claude. This is the way to the little fence. The«C do you not 
 feel the rain upon your face now ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 The night grew very black Indeed, as Claude followed Jack across the garden 
 of the inn. They both vaulted over the little fence Jack had spoken of, and found 
 themselves in a straggling lane. Ft took them two or three minutes observation 
 there, to be certain of the route, and then off they went at a good pace for 
 Oxford. 
 
 When they got some distance from the inn, they conversed a little more freely 
 together, for the road was perfectly quiet, and there did not seem to be a soul 
 stirring in it but themselves. 
 
 " Well Jack," said Claude. " We will take our success so far, as a good omen 
 ofcompkting our enterprise." 
 "I hope we may, Claude." 
 
 " To determine to succeed is one half-the battle. I only hope that no one, hy 
 any foolish opposition to us, will force us to use oar pistols,"
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 815 
 
 "It would be a pity, Claude ; but we have what we believe to be our duty to do 
 as well as they have theirs ; and so no more than they will, must we hesitate." 
 I " You are right, Jack ; and it gives me no small pleasure to find you are in 
 such a spirit." 
 
 Jack's prediction about the rain was now most abundantly verified, for it 
 began to come down in a thick small shower, and with a steadiness, too, that 
 pretty well showed it had set in for the night. Such a state of the weather was 
 considered by both Jack and Claude as highly favourable to their enterpi-ise, for 
 they knew that upon such a night all persons would be indisposed to active 
 watching, and that the interior yards of the prison would, in all probability, be 
 deserted. 
 
 In all the distance from the inn to Oxford, they only met two persons ;, and 
 the rain was falling so thickly and so steadily when they got into the streets, 
 that they traversed several and only met one watchman, and he was snugly en- 
 sconced in his box, and merely mumbled a " Good-night," as they passed him. 
 I Jack answered him. 
 
 ' They then passed a house in whicll some Collegians, who were staying out in 
 defiance of all college rules, were carousing, and singing tipsy choruses. 
 i " That," said Claude. " is jiow our great legislators and statesmen get their 
 wisdom." 
 
 ! *'* Humph !" said Jack, V I rather think that they got it from the rent rolls of 
 their estates'* 
 
 } Claude laughed, but as they were now near the prison, they no longer spoke 
 upon any indifferent subject, and their whole thoughts and inquiries ^become con- 
 centrated upon the object they had in view. 
 
 The glover's shop was closely shut up, and from top to bottom of the house there 
 was not a vestige of a Hght visible. 
 *'Airs right," whispered Jack. 
 
 " Yes, I th nk so. Look well about you, Jack, and see that no one is lurking in 
 the neighbourhood." 
 
 I They both walked about the street for a few moments, but no one was near, 
 and then they dived into the doorway of the glover's house, which happened to be a 
 very deep and old-fashioned one, with quaintly carved door-posts. 
 Jack tried the lock with his skeleton keys. 
 *' How goes it ?'* whispered Clande. 
 
 " All's right. There's only one bolt, and that's below. Give me one of the 
 Jemmies, and I will soon loosen it.' ' 
 
 There was a creaking noise for a moment or two, and then a rather sharp 
 crack 
 ** Done ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Yes. I have cracked this crib, at all events. Cotoe in, Claude, All's 
 right. Nobody is stirring. 1 wish we knew what family there was in the 
 house." 
 ** So do I. Perhaps we shall find out, Jack, before we get out of it again V* 
 « We may." 
 
 They closed the shop-door now again, and in case any officious watchman, in 
 jhis rounds, should take it into his head to try it, Jack shot the top bolt into its 
 socket, advising Claude that he had done so, in case they should have to make a 
 hastj escape, and he (Claude) should chance to reach the door first and find it 
 fast, contrary to his expectation. 
 « Hush, Jack !» 
 
 ''Did you hear anything, Claude?" 
 
 *' At the moment 1 thought I did. It sounded like the sudden dosing] of a 
 door or a window somewhere in the upper part of the house." 
 " The deuce it did." 
 
 "They were both now profoundly silent for the space of about five minutes, 
 during which they listened intently, but not the smallest sound met their ears, so 
 [that they came to the conclusion that either Claude had been mistaken altogethe
 
 : 816 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 in the noise he had supposed he heard, or that it was some accidental sound in 
 the house, which was no indication of any onie really being up and stirring. 
 I *' It's all right enough, I think, Claude," whispered Jack. 
 j " Yes, I think so, too. Come on." 
 
 " We must see our way, first." 
 I Jack ignited a very small piece of wax-taper, and shielding it with his hands, 
 they both looked about them for some mode of getting 'from the shop into the 
 house. A small door, with a little muslin -blind, presented itself to their obser- 
 vation, and they immediately opened it. It led into a parlour, in which lay the 
 remains of a supper. From this parlour a door opened to a staircase and a 
 passage. 
 
 I *• We are right enough now," said Jack. " If we can only find some unoccu- 
 ;pied room at the top of the house, we will soon be upon the roof, for if it has not 
 a trap-door to it, I don't think it will take us very long to make one.*' 
 
 A cat got up from the hearth, upon which she had been sleepingi and looked 
 at them. 
 
 I " Poor pussey," said Claude. 
 I "Fuff!" said the cat. 
 
 I " Oh, very well," added Claude, "don't be friends then, if you don't feel in- 
 iclined. I'm sure I don't want to force my acquaintance upon you; You had 
 better lie down again and fancy it*s all right." 
 
 \ ''Come on," said Jack, "There is not a sound in the house; I have been 
 listening on the staircase. Kill that cat." 
 I ^" No, Jack. Not if the success of all our enterprise was at stake." ^ 
 
 ! ! CHAPTER CXCII. 
 
 j j DICK TUKPIN SURPRISED BY A RATHER LATE VISIT. 
 
 I Jaok looked at Claude for a moment, and then he said — 
 
 •* T forgot that these creatures were great favourites of yours, Claude.* 
 
 " All creatures are, Jack." 
 
 *'I know it. I spoke inconsiderately, and I Should have been the last to like 
 to carry out my own suggestion, Claude. ^ ,'Qome on, all is profoundly still. It 
 will not be prudent to cnrry even this faiiit' light up the staircase, as it may flash 
 under the door of snm^ one's chan.ber, andi betray us." 
 
 " The socks. Jack. ' 
 
 "Ah, true, 1 had forgotten." 
 
 From his pocket, then, Jack produced two pairs of stout worsted-socks, and 
 he and Claude drew them on over their boots, so that their tread was completely 
 muffled, and unless the stairs should happen to creak under their actual weight, 
 they could now ascend them without the slightest noise, 
 
 " Keep close to the wall, Claude," whispered Jack. " Very few stairs make 
 any souad, if you tread there." 
 
 "Yes— yes. I will." 
 
 Out went the little wax taper, and then they commenced their passage up the 
 stairs, holding by the wallas they went, and treading as carefully as it was 
 possible to tread. Luckily for them, the house was old and substantial, the 
 timbers being of solid oak, so that the staircase made none of the complaints 
 that toodern ones are in the habit of doing upon any one ascending thecw . The 
 whole building was only one story above the shop, but from the outside they had 
 seen, that it they could only gain the roof they would be very nearly on a level 
 with the outer wall of the prison. 
 
 Twenty five steps took them to the top of the staircase. 
 
 Jack touched Claude upon the arm, and whispered — 
 
 ** I feel a room door. What do you think will be best to do 2* 
 
 '■^■'— ^ II '■ ,! "" ..... ,. , , , , , , .. . t -.-„ ____ — —
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD. ^ 817 
 
 "Openitcaiefully." 
 « " Very well. I can tell in a moment if any one is there by tlie feel of the air. 
 That was an old trick that was taught me by a friend who is now no more. 
 There is a warmth and a closeness in the air of a bed-room that you may know 
 m a moment.* ^ ^ 
 
 CLAUDE PRESENTING THE IJETTBR TO THE 8HBRIFF. 
 
 "Not a doubt. Proceed, Jack." 
 
 Jack found the handle of the door, and began very gently to turn it, but he 
 found it had a slight propensity to squeak, and with such handles he knew that 
 the safest plan was rapidity of action. In an instant he tamed it, and it made no 
 noise. The door yielded, and Jack put his head into the roo* .. All was dark, 
 but in a moment a female voice said— 
 — '-.\ ^^ • " ' ^ .. '■■ ^^ ■ . _^ _ \ ' "" I f " '■ — — .
 
 818 GENTLEMAJ^ JACK; OR, 
 
 '*John! John ! John!" 
 
 *• What the deuce now,* growled some one kalf asleep, 
 "I'm very uneasy, John." 
 *• You always are !" 
 
 "Yes, but I'm certain I heard something down stairs, and it's really tqq bad 
 of Maria not to have come hom^. John, do you hear ?" 
 •* Oh dear yes. Go to sleep." 
 V But, what, suppose there's thieves, John ?" 
 ''Oh, bother !- 
 
 "Do you wani tf> |i^ye your throat cut ? Would you like that, John ? Tell me' 
 that. I 
 
 I tell you that J ain't afraid. I don't believe thieves now-a-days come any- 
 where at a mere venture; and if they have any in^rmation they know deuced well 
 that there is nothing to be got here.* 
 
 Jack and Claude stepped away from the door of the room very carefully. They i 
 did not dare to shut ^t while the glover and his^ wife were wide awake, bat in 
 their hearts they thought the glover a very se^^ible man, and yriske^ his wife 
 anywhere but where she was. ' I 
 
 «< Another c|oor-lia?i^ie," wh^sPdire^ Jack. ' 
 
 ** Open it then," pid Clau4e. 
 
 '« Hush. You reaUy flpeak incautiously Iqud.^ 
 
 The glove^f's wife kept on talking, which ws^ ^o fortun^^? tl^a,\ H covert any 
 slight noise t^^t Jack might make in opening the door of the other room which 
 he had found. Fearing the look might have the same peculiarity as the other 
 one, he turned it sharply as he had doj^e the ^rst, ^iid then he opened \\i,^ ^|^. 
 The cold air of that room in a moment convince^ Mw that it was imPtY% ^ 
 
 "All's ri^ht," he whispered ^Q(}J^^.i^€. ' ^" ^ -^ * 
 
 " How cIp you mes^i ?" 
 
 *< That nq one is here. Com© iar^ome in. ]p^ m^ and I will s^^^ the dogap. 
 Hash! whsit a odd noise," 
 
 It is the rain upon tlii?^l^?Sj'^ Tjf^^erej Claude, after ^ m^mm\ 9^ \m'» 
 
 "Ah, ^o \t is, an4 ^ I Jive there is % S!ky^gl;^t i^ i^u^ room, which may ^^,^ 
 good service. We must have a ^igbt %m, O\0de. Pipse the door as softlj U' 
 you can hefore I set^ naatch in ^%me."' i 
 
 Claude closed the door caref«lly so as of^tk \o, poduce the smallest soud^, ^«4 
 in 9 moment afterwards. Jack ha4 Kt a phosphwus matph, and a faint blu^ Ug$t 
 shot over the apartmeijt. fie the^ setligiii^Jo theli^t^e hit of taper, an^ ih?y 
 both stood profoundly s^iU for a few momefitsi, vifhile J[%Q^ held it above his fe?ad 
 and glanced around the apartment. 
 
 It was rather a mean looking bed-dumber ; one qf thp.se smothering rpaohi^ics 
 called tent-bedsteads stood agamst ai v?all ; and the appoiuiments altogether wer^ 
 such as showed that nobody of any importance slept in th^t room. i 
 
 The rain, too, was in a monotonous manner, at io terv^i^. of aboi\| ^|^ f^ mu^^^L 
 dropping from the sky-light on to th(?! ftoor of the roo^s^ ^- - ' 'rf 
 
 *• Not a very splendid chamber,' %ai4 Claude. I : 
 
 "No; but just the thing for us. I only hope whoever is the ten^l ^it 
 that they will no^ trouble it to-night. Now, Claude, can you give me a hoiat up 
 to the skylight?" > J B vr 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 By the assistance of Claude, Jack got up i& the skylight, which was slanting, 
 and about the size of a smallish door. He found that it would Open outwards, 
 and then he got down. { 
 
 « We can manage nicely," he said. « Thgt table, and a chair upon it, will 
 make it an easy enough job to get out and in ; and the only thing now we have to 
 dread ia, some one coming to this room. But it is no use now stopping for 
 trifles." 
 
 ** Not a bit, Jack ; so here's the table, and here's the chair.*
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 819 
 
 By judiciously placing the table and chair, they found that they could obtain 
 a perfect command over the glass trap-door. Claude opened it, and then the 
 rain come in in a thick mist, dashing agamst his face, and at once extinguishing 
 the little light. 
 
 ** Can you get out, Claude ?* 
 
 *' Oh, yes, easily. We must feel our way when we do get out through it, for 
 no light will live on such a night as this." 
 *' Be careful, Claude." 
 
 ** Depend upon that. Jack. Follow me as closely as you can." 
 They both got out on to the roof of the glover's house, and so intensely dark 
 was the night that, when they were there, they were for several minutes afraid to 
 move. This wsls not the fear of cowardice though, for there was neither 
 glory nor profit to be got by being dashed to pieces by a fall from a house-top. 
 I *' It would not have been amiss after all," whispered Jack, *• if the night had 
 I been a little finer.'* 
 
 " Never mind," replied Claude. " Only wait a little, and we shall get ac- 
 , customed to the very dim light that comes from the night sky. Already, objects 
 [are beginning to show me their outlines more distinctly. Do you not see some- 
 'thirg very black just before us?" 
 "Yes ; it is a stack of chimneys." 
 " Then, upon the other side is the wall of the prison," 
 
 *' You are right, Claude; and, as you say, objects are now getting each mo- 
 ment more and more distinct. We shall be able after all, I thmk, to see our way 
 j tolerably well.' 
 "Hark!" 
 
 A clock, belonging to bne of the Universities, struck two. 
 I " I had no idea it was so late," said Claude. " We really must lose no time, 
 Jack. Let us creep round the chimney shaft, and have a look at the wall of the 
 Jail." 
 
 j Cautiously, Claude crept over, and Jack followed him. A tile got loose and 
 rolled along the roof, and then fell into the street, with a sudden crash. They 
 ibolh paused for a few moments, but as no notice was taken of the noise, they 
 j concluded it had given no alarm, and they proceeded as before. 
 
 It was not a difficult matter to get round the chimney ; and when they were 
 jupon the other side of it, they found that, rising to the slope of the roof, the wall 
 ,of the prison was not far short of ten feet above them. Still, that height was 
 'not so great but that assisting each other, they could climb it. The great diffi 
 : culty now consisted in the fact that there was some jagged iron work on the toj) 
 !of the wall. 
 
 I " We must be careful," said Claude, ** of those spikes." 
 j "I think it would be better to remove them with the crow-bar," said Jack. 
 j*'They have most probably been up since the jail was built i and so, in all like- 
 ! lihood, are as rotten as possible, being exposed for so long a time to all weathers. 
 j If you will give me a hoist up, Claude, I think I can bring them down." 
 j Claude was quite strong enough to support Jack kneeling upon his shoulders; 
 and so Jack could easily reach ihe iron work, which he found to be even more 
 thin and rotten ihan he had supposed, for a large space of it came away with very 
 little force, indeed ; and Jack handed it down to Claude to place gently against 
 the chimney shaft. By this process, about four feet of the {)rison wall was left 
 perfectly clear for them to get upon ; and the next thing they had to think of was 
 the mode of fastening the ropes, so as to descend in safety on the other side, 
 and so as likewise to leave them in such a state that they could make a rapid 
 ! escape. 
 
 I Their eighty feet of rope gave them plenty to spare ; so after a very brief con- 
 sultation, they resolved to fasten one end right round the chimney shaft, and 
 then carrying the other over the wall and down into the prison-yard beneath, 
 where it would easily reach. 
 This was no sooner decided upont than it was done ; and in sueh «xperienc«d
 
 820 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 hands, it was done well too. In the course of three or four minu tes, Jack had 
 slid down the ro^)e into the prison-yard, and Claude followed him. I 
 
 The darkness in that yard was very great, surrounded as It was by high walls 
 and buildings, and the [rain had reduced it to a most wofully sloppy state, un-' 
 equally paved as it was ; but those little disagreeables were of small consequence. I 
 The great thing was to meet with no prison official, which most probably would | 
 have been the case, had the night been not the boisterous and inclement one that 
 it was. I 
 
 As it happened, not a soul was to be seen. They stood close to the wall for a 
 few moments, crouching down and listening intently, and watching the various 
 windows of the jail. In only one was there the faint vestige of a light. I 
 
 " All's right," said Jack. "Have you the plan of the prison well in your, 
 mind, Claude?" | 
 
 *• Yes ; so well, that I can lead you direct to Dick's cell ; but we shall have a 
 couple of doors to open." 
 
 " I don't think they will be very serious obstacles." 
 
 ** I hope not. Come on." 
 
 Claude crossed the paved yard ; and after feeling along the wall of the building, 
 he stopped at a small door, near which was a pump that they could just dimly 
 see standing up before them. 
 
 •* This," he said, "is the door we seek. See about the opening it, Jack." 
 
 While Claude kept watch, Jsck carefully examined the fastenings of the door, 
 and found that they were all outside ; as from the paved yard, it was never ex- 
 
 ftected any attempt upon it would be made. There were two bolts and a large 
 ock. The latter took some time to pick, for it happened to be unusually good ; 
 but, at length, Jack succeeded, and as he had already drawn back the bolts, the 
 door yielded. 
 
 « Come in,'* he whispered. *' We are safer out of the yard." 
 
 <• Wonderfully safer " said Claude : "and not a little more comfortable, for the 
 rain is coming down faster than ever. Jack." 
 
 They both passed through the door-way, and Jack closed the massive door 
 again. The darkness in which they found themselves now was truly of the most 
 profound character. Claude could not see the smallest vestige of his hand before 
 his face ; and as they felt pretty certain none of the officials of the prison were 
 there. Jack began to procure a light. 
 
 In a few moments he had ignited the little taper, and they began then to look 
 about them. 
 
 CHAPTER CXCIII. 
 
 THE ALARM, AND THE RE-CAPTURB OF DICK TURPIN. 
 
 The place in which our adventuiers now found themselves was anything but 
 an inviting one. It was one of the long, damp, dismal passages of the prison, 
 narrow and inconvenient ; and even in the day time, when the sun was brightly 
 shining, it was a place of gloom ; but in the eyes of Claude and Jack, it had a 
 special recommendation ; for it was the route they sought, and which they knew, 
 by their plan of the prison, would lead them toTurpin's cell. 
 
 « This will do," said Claude. 
 
 *' Hush ! Do not speak so loud. We don't know who may occupy one of the 
 neighbouricg cells, and some priseoer might think it no bad way of carrying 
 favour with the magistracy, to give an alarm, that somethi>ng unusual was 
 ^oing on.,* 
 
 ** You are right. Jack," 
 
 ** This is the way," added Jack, in the same cautious whisper in which he spoke. 
 *' This is the way, right on, and then an abrupt turn to the left."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD, 
 
 821 
 
 "Yes, I recollect,'* replied Claude. **So says our plan, and, no doubt, that 
 can be relied upon." 
 
 "Oh, most implicitly, I should say." 
 
 Jack's little taper light was of immense assistance to them ; and while its flame 
 was so small, that it was not at all likely to send a wandering ray through every 
 key-hole, or under any door, yet it sufficisntly enlightened them how to act, 
 ana how to proceed. 
 
 They found that the passage in which they were was no less than forty paces 
 in length before they came to the abrupt turn to the left, which the plan indi- 
 cated to them. But when they reached that turning they knew that they were in 
 the Tery passage from which the cell of their friend Turpin's opened. 
 
 ** Here are the little doors,'* said Jack. *' Thcpe ought to be eight of them ; 
 and it is quite a mercy that that officer at the public-house was so loquacious as to 
 let us know in which Dick is." 
 
 " Yes, and here is the number.** 
 
 They both paused now opposite to the cell door, and Claude placed his ear 
 against it to listen if he could hear any one stirring within it; but all was as still 
 as the very grave itself. 
 
 ** Do you hear anything 1" said .Tack. 
 
 «• Not a sound.'* 
 
 "What if they have removed him to some other part of the prison?" 
 
 "Then our trouble is all for nothing, and we can only get back as quickly as 
 we can the way we came. I don*t feel disposed to give it up quite so easily, 
 though." 
 
 With this, Duval placed his mouth to the key-hole of the door, and in a pro- 
 longed whisper, he said — ^ 
 
 •• Dick Turpin— -Dick, Dick—It is I— Claude Duval.*' 
 
 They heard a stir in the cell as if some one had fallen to the floor of it, and then 
 a voice said— 
 
 " Confound it, what have I been dreaming about to fall off this shelf that they 
 call a bed, in this den ? I wonder what the time is ?'* 
 
 " Rather late,*' said Claude through the key-hole. , 
 
 " Ah— what ? Who is that 1'* 
 
 " Hush ! — not so loud. Don't you know my voice ?" 
 
 A sudden rush was made againat the inside of the cell door that made it shake 
 again, and Turpin said, in a much louder voice than caution would have 
 dictated — 
 
 " Who is there t Speak again— speak again, I say, if it be not after all a mere 
 dream.* 
 
 '« Hush, Dick.*' 
 
 " Ah, again I hear you. Who are you V* 
 
 " Hush, Dick ; if you speak so loud you will ruin all. It is I, Claude, and 
 Jack. We will get you out of this fix it we can. Be quiet until we get the door 
 open, and the» we will tell you all.** 
 
 Not a sound came from the interior of the cell, and while Claude heldfthe light. 
 Jack began upon its fastenings. They consisted of a strong, long, and an iron 
 bar, that went right across the door, and fitted into a kind of looped socket, to 
 which was appended a massive padlock. 
 
 " Can you manage it ?" said Claude. 
 
 ** Oh, yes, I think so. All this fuss, after all, only takes up two locks, and I 
 hope to be able to pick them both." 
 
 •' Do so, then, as quickly as you can.'' 
 
 The actual lock of the cell door did not present any very serious obstacle to 
 Jack ; he soon forced back its bolt into the lock again, but the padlock| was of 
 some very primitive construction, and none of his false keys would touch it. 
 
 " We must appeal to the saws, Claude,** he said. 
 
 •* Will not the crowbar do ?'* 
 
 *'l think not ; I will try one of them. Ah, there it goes snap in too. I thought
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 as much ; it's not the fault of the jemmy, but the real fact is, we asked it to do 
 too much, and getting beyona its strength, it broke. Now for the saw." I 
 
 Jack produced a small saw, that did not look as if it could cope with an iron' 
 bar> hut it did so, and it was truly astonishing with what celerity it cat into the' 
 ttietal, passing throuo:h it in the ceurse of about five minutes, and without making; 
 any more than a slight grating noise. j 
 
 " All's right," said Jack, " now the door ought to open. Why don't it, Claude,! 
 I wonder." 
 
 *' It seenas as tight as ever, Jack," , 
 
 '* it only sticks, 1 am convinced. Tell turpin to push it bii the inside ; you 
 you see, we cannot get any good hold of it, or we shoald soon enough have it 
 opfch." . 
 
 •* i*il^h tii4 door, Diclc,*' whispered Claude, through the key-hole. 
 
 The push that Dick Turpin gave the door upon this intimation, was enongh to 
 drive it down from iis hinges; as it was, it flew open with such a force, that 
 Tiirpitt foiled out into the passage nearly upsetting both Claude knd Jack. 
 
 « Hilloa !" said Jack, " not quite so fast." 
 
 ** Where are you going, Dick ?' said Claude. 
 
 Turpin was upon his feet again in a moment, notwithstanding he was grievdasly 
 encumbered by his fetters, and holding out both his manacled hands, he said — 
 
 •* Good gracious, Claude and Jack, how in the name of all that's wonderful 
 came you both here? I can't yet persuade myself that I am in my senses. This 
 tnust surely he some too vivid dream merely. Speak to me.*' I 
 
 " It is real, Dick." . I 
 
 ** (iuite real," said iJack, "and we hope to get you out of this stone jug by <ih6 
 same route that we came into it. You don't suppose that we caii have any othei 
 errand here? i 
 
 •* And is it possible that you two have broken into the jail to fescue me ? Can 1 
 believe as nauch ?" i 
 
 " it is tolerably possible, Dick," said Claude. *'The impossibility would have 
 been in our at all deserting yoii under such circumstances, while anything • re- 
 mained to he done with a chance to jour rescue. But every minute is of value td 
 us. Jack, relieve him of his fetters, and then we will be off directly." 
 
 *' Oh, my friends," said Turpin, clasping his hands. " What can t, what 
 ought I to say ?^* 
 
 ♦ Nothing at all, jUst now, Dick'' added Claude. ** We sbkll, I hope, have 
 plenty of time to talk, when we are outside of the walls of this not very inviting 
 abbde." 
 
 Jack at once busied himself with the fetters. They were revitted on io Dicl^ 
 so that it was only by the help of the exquisite steel saws that he had wiUi hinai 
 that he. Jack, could s'ucceed in freeing Dick from the heavy shackles in w&ich hci 
 w4s confined, - - v ' 
 
 **I shall feel something like myself,f said Dick, ''when all this infernal 
 ironmongery is off my limbs. Nothing depresses a man so much as putting him 
 in fetters. They have such an effect upon me, that they almost stop me from 
 thinking, at]d I almost doubt if I should have had the courage to make an attempt 
 at escape from this place while I wore them." ^ | 
 
 "There they go," said Jack, as he sawed through the last of ih& rings and* 
 freed Dick from them, 
 
 '* 1 ieel myself already frefe," said Dick. 
 
 *' Don't let us cry out," said Claude, *' before we are out of the wood. I hope 
 and expect that nothing very material will come in our way, but still unexpected 
 events do happen, and all I have to say to you, Dick, is, to do nothing rashly." , 
 
 •' I will be guided by you." ^ 
 
 "Very well, then, let us come on. Ten minutes ought to place us in safetyj 
 now, if we meet with no obstruction.* 
 
 "Hush!" said Jack. 
 
 *• What's the matter?" 
 
 i
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 " Don't Tou hear the bell ringing violently ?— Come this way/* | 
 
 They all' went to the corner which they had to turn to get into the long passage, 
 and when there, they distinctly heard the violent ringing of a bell, but from tlie 
 manner in which it was rung and from the time of night at which it sounded, it 
 was tolerably clear that it portended something being rather amiss within the 
 prison. I 
 
 "Come on,*' said Claudes ** Boldness may save us now. But I feel assured 
 t^iat we have no time to lose. That b^U may concern us, and indeed I don't 
 know how we can translate it otherwise^ just now ; I will lead the way. Put 
 out the light, Jack, tlie moment we get to the ehd ot the long passage." ] 
 
 " I will/' said Jack. ' 
 
 Off went Claude at a race down the passage, and he wag closely followed 
 by Dick Turpin and Jack. The little light would not stand any such violent pro- 1 
 gress through the cold air, and the consequence was, that out it went before Jack 
 ha4 taken half-a-dozen steps. They all went on, however, through the intense 
 darkness as well as they could, and as the passage was tolerably straight and very 
 narrow they could not go far wrong, although they did, by making accidental 
 deviations to the right or to the left, bump themselves occasionally against the 
 walls. I 
 
 By holding out his hands before him, Claude prevented himself from coming 
 with any great concussion against the door at the end of the passage, and ; 
 opening it quickly he passed out into the court-yard. 
 
 The rain was falling quickly. 
 
 *'0n, on,'* he cried. 
 
 They followed him quickly, and then a gun went off somewhere in the prison 
 with a loud report. It was not fired in that court-yard at all, so the only way 
 they could account for it was, that it was a signal that something was amiss and 
 that the turnkeys and warders were all to be on duty and on the alert. i 
 
 The distance from the doorway through which our adventurers issued to the 
 court and then to the place where the ropes hung from the wall top, was by no 
 means very great, and through the dashing rain Claude went at great speed. He 
 felt-now that rapidity of action was a safer thing to look to than quietness, so he 
 d'd not hesitate to cross that court-yard at a scamper. | 
 
 By a little feeling on the wall> he soon touched the rope, and turning to Dick> 
 he said— i 
 
 "You can climb?" 
 
 " Like a cat, they say.** 
 
 " Very good. Go up this rope, and when you cross the wall you will find a. 
 good enough footing on a house-top, ajid there wait for us. I hope we shall be ' 
 soon with you." | 
 
 "No," said Dick. " If a thousand deaths nrere behind me I would not go I 
 first. The danger is great to the last one, and X will be that last; That is my 
 determination/' 
 
 '" Up, Dick— up.** 
 
 "No, Claude! I cannot. Remember what time is lost by trying in vain to 
 change my fixed resolve.'* 
 
 " By Heaven 1 that is true !* said Claude. " Follow me, Jack, as quick as you 
 c^n/* 
 
 Claude seized the rope, and by an exertion of great strength in the arms, he 
 began to ascend it with rapidity. When he had got about six feet up, Jack fol- 1 
 lowed, and the moment that he did so, the trampling of feet was heard in the 
 court. yard, and through the murj^y sloppy night air come the flash of a lantern. 
 A loud voice called out,— , 
 
 *' This way ! thii way ! They must be close by here/' 
 
 Neither Claude, Jack, nor Dick now spoke, but the former, by making 
 gigantic efforts, reached the top of the wall ; and there he paased, hanging overj 
 it and peering down into the court-yard to see what was going on. Jack was,
 
 ft 824 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 ?ery near the top ef the rope, hut Dick was not many feet from the ground, when 
 with a loud shout, the armed party in the eourt-yard ruthed to the spot, and 
 holding up their lanternB, at once exhibited the whole scene that was enacting. 
 
 CHAPTER CXCIV. 
 
 TURPIN IS TRIED AMD CONDEMNBD TO DEATH, 
 
 Tbb situation of Turpin was now most critical, as was indeed that of Jack like- 
 wise. It was an agony to Claude to see the peril of his friends, to feel that from 
 where he was he could render them no assistance, and that he was compelled to 
 be a mere spectator of what was going on. 
 
 There might be unknown perils behind him. The glover's house, for all he 
 knew to the contrary, might be full by that time of foes ; but he had ears for no- 
 thing and eyes for nothing, but the proceedings in that dismal court-yard into 
 which the rain was pelting with such fury. 
 
 He called aloud for Turpin. 
 
 **Dick ! Dick ! Be quick ! I pray you. Make an effort, and you are safe ! 
 Get six feet higher I I will shoot the first man who dares to molest you !" 
 
 '* Oh, will you really V said a voice from among the oflScers. " There, my 
 lads, you see that man on the wall I Can none of you take a good enough aim 
 to pick him off ?'• 
 
 In a moment, thus licensed to do so, for it was the governor of the jail who 
 spoke, a couple of pistols were fired at Claude, and the bullets of both hit the wall 
 some three or four feet below where he was. 
 
 A rush was made to the end of the rope, and it was quite impossible, shaken 
 violently as it was, for Turpin to do more than cling to it ; Jack got hold of Claude's 
 hand and was drawn up, despite another shot that was fired at him. 
 
 ** Where's Dick ?" was Jack's first question, for he had only heard a tumult' 
 behind him. as by incredible exertions he ascended the rope and reached the 
 parapet. 
 
 ** Look below," said Claude. 
 
 The whole scene was now quite clearly to be seen in the court-yard. The rope 
 wag still shaken so violentlylby a couple of turnkeys that Dick could only hold on ; 
 he might, to be sure, have slid down, and doubtless that was what they wanted 
 him to do ; but he would not, and in a few moments the same voice that urged the 
 turnkeys to use their pistols upon Claude, called out :•— 
 
 ''Tuipin, if you don't come down this moment and surrender yourself, you will 
 be shot. I will myself put an end to this suspense by taking your life." 
 
 /* Fire away,'' cried Dick. 
 
 " He is lost, " said Jack. 
 
 *< I fear so," said Claude, who had a pistol in his hand pointed to the throng of per- 
 sons in the court-yard, and quite ready to use if any urgent occasion should arise 
 for it. 
 
 The lantern showed a tolerably bright light upon what was going on, and bow 
 Claude and Jack saw a roan run from the group of prison officials and in a few 
 seconds return with a ladder of about twenty feet long. He was a strong tall 
 man; and unwieldly as that ladder was, he managed to move it with tolerable care 
 and fecility. To the indignation of both Claude and Jack, the man with the ladder 
 struck Dick Turpin with it so scyercly that he fell from the rope heavily to the 
 pavement of the court-yard^ where he lay apparently insensihle from the sudden 
 blow and the fall combined. 
 
 " Did you see that ?*' said Jack. 
 
 "I did," said Claude, and at the same instant he fired his pistol, and the man 
 with the ladder fell with a loud cry, and rolled over twice, ladder and all* on th« 
 pavement. *' Did you see that, Jack ?'*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LiFK ON THE ROAD. 
 
 825 
 
 " Yes, Claude, and I never saw a shot that pleased me better. But we do no 
 good by remaining here ; Dick is among the Philistines, and we cannot help him 
 now. We may be able to do so by taking care of ourselves." 
 
 " You are right, Jack. Come on." 
 
 Claude took the lead, and Jack followed him closely, over the slippery and un* 
 
 THE PRISON SMITH KNOCKING OFF DICK TURPIN'S FETTERS. 
 
 certain tiles of the glover's house. They reached with some difficulty the skylight, 
 by which they had got out of the attic ; and it was a great satisfaction, even, in the 
 midst of all this disappointment, to find that it was in the same state as when they 
 had left it ; the table and the chairs still remained in their places, so that the 
 descent into the room was easily enough managed. 
 
 « Come on, Jack," said Claude, "it's all clear ; it's a good thing that whoever 
 sleeps in this bed has not come home yet,"
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 *' Yes ; but we will yet think of something to aid Dick, Claude." 
 
 "We will aid him, Jack." 
 
 ** You will be a little nearer to hiin than yoa think presently," cried a roice; % 
 man precipitated himself upon Claude at the same time that another seized jack 
 by the legs before he could get oflF the table that was under the skylight. 
 
 Duval, under these trying circumstances, preserved his admirable presence of 
 mind, and made no immediate resistance beyond keeping his arms free from the 
 other's gripe. 
 
 " Help," cried Jack. 
 
 '* All's right," said Claude. ** Pray, my friend, who are yoi; when you are at home, 
 that has got hold of my throat?" 
 
 *' An officer, and one who is determined to take you to jajl, my fine fellow, be 
 you who you may." 
 
 Claude in a moment slipped his body down to the waist of the man, and by an 
 effort he flung him right over upon his head with a tremendous bounce on the 
 floor of the room. The door at that moment opened, and a man with a light 
 appeared,' saying :—- 
 
 •* Have you caught the rogues, Mr. Tomkins P" 
 
 "Oh, yes, old boy," cried Claude, and then, ci\i^exv'mg Jack's rather awkward 
 position, he with one blow of his fist knocked him dpwn over his alreafly prostrate 
 companion. Another officer was in the room, but he only stpgd up against the 
 wall with a little gilt staff in his hand, cryingr?* 
 
 *' Come, come, this won't do, ypu kpow ; come, eppae, come.** 
 
 " What's the matter with you V* said Claude. 
 
 ** Come, come, come," 
 
 Claude snatched the staff out of ^his hand, and flipping it at the in^n with {}^ 
 candle, who was standing open-mouthed at the door pf the room, and who was ins 
 other; than the glover himself, who had risen and fpuod his skylight open, and ga 
 had gone next door to the prison, and given the information that had produce4 
 the failure of the whole enterprise. 
 
 Believing that now he was all but ^ piprdered ift&n, he dropped the candle, 
 and going backwards he iorgot that the staircase W^b behind him, and away he 
 went frpna the top to the bottom of it. 
 
 The candle did not go put by its fall, and Claud^ picked it up, saying— 
 
 ** Come along. Jack, I don't think we have any mofe work to do hefe> ©"d we 
 may as well be lighted down stairs, as go tumbling aloq^ in the dark." 
 
 " Are you hurt at all, Claude ?" 
 
 " Not a bit. Come on, aU's right, now, I think, with ua, if it be not pp wUh ppor 
 Dick." 
 
 They hastily descended the stairs, and upon the first landing they came to, 
 they found a young girl of about eighteen or twenty years of age, with only her 
 night'clothes on, and a small bed-room taper in her hand, looking the picture of 
 fright* She certainly rpistook Claude an4 Jf^ck for the officers, seejpg them 
 coming down very composedly with a light. 
 
 "Oh, gentlemen," she said, ** have you caught the horrid wretches?'*^ 
 
 " Yes, my dear, and all we want in return, is a kiss from those rosy lips." 
 
 «A what, sir r 
 
 " A kiss," added Claude, as without further cprempfly be toojt ope, ftn| Jack 
 then followed his example, after which they descended the remainder pf the utairs, 
 iand finding the street-door open, they both at once sallied out into the street. 
 
 " Well," said the girl, as she ascended ^Ihe stairs to the upper rooms, " I had 
 no idea the officers were such nice men. I wonder where uncle is, to be sure. 
 Uncle! uncle!" 
 
 The rain was still falling in perfect torrents, when Jack and Claude, after all 
 their dangers and really hair-breadth escapes, rushed out of the glover's house into 
 the streets of Oxford. They kept well together, and hurried down the first 
 turning they come to, so as to get as far from the jail as possible, and for the 
 space of about five minutes neither of them spoke. The ^peed they went at,
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 827 
 
 however, attracted the attention of a watchman, who in his mortal stupidity 
 thought that two powerful men would of course allow themselves to be taken into 
 custody by him. Stepping out of his box on to the pavement, he cried — 
 
 " Hilloa ! stop !» 
 
 *' Well J' said Claude,. 
 
 " Come, come, I can't allow anybody to go on at thisrate. You look suspicious 
 people, and that is quite enough for me." 
 
 " Well ?" said Claude again, for he knew if he only hurried on, that the 
 watchman would alarm the whole city with his rattle that hung by his girdle. 
 
 " But 1 say it isn't well," cried the watchman. 
 
 " Oh, he says he ain't well. Jack," said Claude. *' What a pity it is, that a 
 guardian of the night should not be well. We are learned doctors, lassure you, 
 my friend, and I have no doubt we shall be able to do you a world of good." 
 
 *' Do me good ? Come, come, I shall take you both into custody, and march 
 you off to the round-house. You are just the sort of characters we take up in 
 Oxford.'* 
 
 "And you," said Claude, '* are just the sort of character that we always knock 
 down anywhere." 
 
 As he spoke, Claude made a dash at the watchman and caught him by the 
 throat. 
 
 *' Throw away his rattle. Jack," he said. 
 
 " It's gone," said Jack, as he broke it from the hold of the officious guardian 
 of the night, and cast it down a neighbouring area. "It's gone, Claude.'* 
 
 " That will do." 
 
 Claude held the watchman so tightly by the throat that so far from his being 
 able to cry out, it was only with the greatest difficulty imaginable he could draw 
 breath enough to support life, and then with one thrust ne flung him into the 
 watch-box, and shutting it all up upon him, he cfied — 
 
 " Give it a hoist, Jack. Once, twice — that will do." 
 
 Down went the watch-box upon its face with a crash upon the pavement, and 
 the ^. unfor tunate guardian of the night found himself fairly imprisoned and as 
 firmly fixed, as though he had been entombed alive. 
 
 The first person that passed that way fell sprawling over the watch-box, but 
 by that time Claude and Jack had got quite out of the city, and were hascening, 
 despite the rain that still fell in torrents, towards the Inn where their horses 
 were waiting for them. 
 
 Before they reached that place Claude paused, and spoke to Jack, saying-^ 
 
 " liy the morning this aftair will have got wind on Oxford, with such addi- 
 tions and embellishments as such a story is pretty sure to carry with it, and ,as 
 you and I will be tolerably well described, it will not at all do for us to linger 
 jhere." 
 
 ! *' Of course not," said Jack. " I 'hink the best way will be to go to the 
 stable-yard and get out our cattle ourselves, and be oflF." 
 
 ''Where to. Jack?" 
 
 "Heaven only kno»vs. If I thought there was the smallest chance of doing 
 any good to Dick, I should say, let us remain in Oxford ; but I am afraid th&t is 
 now all gone and past.** 
 
 **1 don't feel quite sure of that. Jack." 
 
 " Indeed, Claude ?*' 
 
 •' No, and 1 don't like to leave Oxford while there is life in our friend." 
 
 " Do not then. I am as willing to stay as possible. From our vallises we 
 can easily get the means of making such alteration in our appearance as would 
 puzzle a conjuror, and as the trial wilt be to-morrow, or rather we may say 
 I to-day, now, we shall not have long to wait." 
 
 [ *' That is my thought. Jack. Something may arise yet, to enable us to be of 
 [use to Dick." 
 I ** I don't deny the possibility, Claude." 
 
 ** But you think the probability small 2*
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " I own I do, and you must think so too ; but in our time we have seen such 
 improbable things come to pass, that I am willing to hope and expect something 
 even against all my convictious/' 
 
 ** And I, too; so let us get our horses and then we can go right through the 
 city and put up at some house at the end of it, where I dare say for a few days 
 we shall be all safe and ri^ht enough/' 
 
 By this time they had reached the fence at the back of the Inn garden, which 
 they had crossed before so well. 
 
 CHAPTER CXCV. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED SCENE AT AN EXECUTION NEAR OXFORD. 
 
 Claude felt that this was the oi'iy cottrse to pursue, and he and Jack in a 
 very few moments were in the large stable-yard of the Inn, and creeping along 
 in search of the door of the stable in which Jack had seen their steeds put up 
 for the night. 
 
 "Are you sure you know it, Jack?" whispered Claude. 
 
 •• Quite. What a pool of ram this yard is to be sure. Come on. This way, 
 Claude— this way. Ah, here is the door, and it is not locked — all's right.*' 
 
 " I will keep watch, Jack, while you go in and saddle the horses as quickly 
 as you can. Be careful about the girths, for who knows but we may have a 
 gallop yet to-night." 
 
 "I will, Claude." 
 
 Jack disappeared into the stable, and Claude stood quite close to the door, in 
 order that if any one should be accidentally looking from the Inn, they should not 
 detect his figure against the night sky. Jsck was compelled no procure a light 
 in order to saddle the two horses, and the iuint ^leam of it came through a large 
 chink in the ill-fitting door of the stable. 
 
 Suddenly, then, as Claude looked up at the Inn windows, he saw a light cross 
 one of them, evidently from the inside, and then suddenly disappeared. He felt 
 certain by that that some one was stirring in the Inn, and he whispered to Jack, — 
 
 ** Quick ! everybody don't sleep sound to-night." 
 
 *'Ah! is it sop" 
 
 "Yes. But we may have time yet." 
 
 " Plenty. Here's your horse, Claude. Mount him at once, and I will get mine 
 ready. We must and will be off if all the world should say no to it. In another 
 hour hence, we don't know what may happen in this disagreeable town." 
 
 " As quick as you can with your horse, Jack." 
 
 "You be off, Claude." 
 
 "No, no ! You know better than that while you say it. When did I be ©ff, 
 and leave you in any danger ?" 
 
 ** Never," said Jack, from the stable, while he was busy putting on the saddle 
 on his own horte ; but let a person be as quick as he may, such an operation as 
 saddling two horses will occupy some* few minutes; and although few, if any, 
 could surpass Jack in the speed of such an operation, yet the person who was 
 up in the old Inn had time to come down into the yard. Claude was not a little 
 surprised to see a man in his night-dress, carrying a lighted candle, suddenly 
 appear at a door that opened into the stable yard. 
 
 The moment that he did so, out went his light, which the wind and the rain 
 were not at all likely to permit to exist mauy moments ; but this circumstance 
 did not seem to have the least effect upon the man, who, slill holding the candle 
 and candlestick exactly as if the former were in a state of ignition and doing him 
 a deal of good in showing him his way, walked s.owly and calmly into the stable 
 vard 
 
 " What OB earth can be the meaning of ail this ?* thought Claude. *' Whoever
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 829 
 
 that is he takes it remarkably easy. Jack, are you quite ready now ? Here% 
 some one coming, or else a ghest.*' 
 
 ) *' A ghost ?" said Jack, as he appeared at the stable door with his horse, al' 
 ready for the road. *' A ghost ! did you say, Claude 1" 
 
 ! "Yes, I did. Only look where that figure in white glides along by the wall 
 there. Do you not see it ?" 
 I « I do, indeed. Who is it ?' 
 
 I ** Perhaps if you were to say, 'what is it?* you would be nearer the mark 
 for surely it cannot be a living man." 
 
 i " Let us mount, and be off," said Jack, as he sprang into his saddle. " I don't 
 half like these kind of sights. Mount, Claude, mount at once, and let us get 
 into the meadows.*' 
 
 I Claude mounted, but yet he lingered. 
 
 I "Stay a bit, Jack," he said. ''This is too curious not to make one wish'to 
 stay and see the end of it. I pray you to slop a bit." 
 
 " If you wish it, Claude." 
 
 '* 1 do, indeed. Jack. Only look where the mysterious figure comes. You can 
 see how he holds the candlestick, and he believes that it lights him on his way. 
 Only see how he steps over the puddles. By all that's good, ghost, or no ghost, 
 you will have a wet skin on such a night as this." 
 
 ** I don't half like it, Claude. It looks ominous." 
 
 *• Pho ! pho ! You hold the bridle of my horse. If we go away without findins 
 out what all this means, we shall be puzzling ourselves about it at other times 
 when we may be better employed. Hold the horse. Jack." 
 
 « What would you do Claude ?" 
 
 " Go and meet the figure. If it be mortal, I should like to let him see that we are 
 not afraid of him ; and if anything else come to warn us of anything, I am deter- 
 mined it shall not have any excuse for leaving the warning in obscurity, for I will 
 speak to it." 
 
 j "Claude! Claude 1 you are fool-hardy, indeed you are. I be^ that you will 
 not go ; it is much better to let these k'nd of sights be. Do not s ^f^k to make it n.ore 
 frightful than it is.'* 
 
 : *' Upon my "word, Jack," said Claude as he dismcunted, " I did not think you 
 were ao superstitious. I never yet saw anything worse than myself, and I don't 
 I think, do you know, that I ever shall ; so whatever you do, don't let the horse stray. 
 'l will be back to vou in a few moments.'' 
 
 j Jack saw Claude stride across the yard in the direction of the figure with evident 
 'misgivings; but yet he took the bridle of the horse, and strung it round hi.s arm so 
 that it should not be startled into flight by whatever might happen. Claude did 
 not for a moment pause in his progress towards the curious figure all in white, 
 nor did that figure in any manner shrink from or avoid him, so that it was quite 
 a curious thing to see them by the dim morning light and ia the rain, gradually 
 approaching each other. 
 
 It chilled Jack to look on at such a scene, for it was beyond his imagination to 
 guess how it could possibly end ; and now he saw Claude pause and step aside, 
 and the white figure passed him without the remotest notice, and come on as 
 though there had been no such person in its immediate vicinity. 
 
 " By Heaven !" said Jack, " it's to me it is coming ! It won't speak to Claude. 
 It's some visitor to me only, that is quite clear, and if it get's me to wait for it, | 
 I'm a Dutchman ; flesh and blood is one thing, but ghosts in white are another,! i 
 and I don't care how little I have to do with them." i ' 
 
 With this. Jack did not wait another moment for Claude, but turning the 
 horses* heads towards the slight fence that divided the Inn yard from the meadows, 
 he made them both clear it at a bound. He had no intention of doing more than 
 place the fence between him and the spectre, and when he had done so, he faced 
 about again to look for Claude. He soon saw him running across the yard. 
 
 "Come!" said Jack; "come, Claude! quick! I cannot stay here. He is 
 coming to me.*'
 
 830 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 " And what then ?" said Claude, as he placed his hands on the top of the little 
 
 fence to vault over. At the moment that Claude made his spring, hang went 
 
 some fire-arms from one of ihe windows of the Inn, and Jack thought he was hit, 
 
 for Claude roiled on to the green sward on the meadow side of the fence, instead 
 
 of alighting on his feet. i 
 
 Jack saw the window from which the flash of the gun came, and drawing a 
 
 pistol from his saddle, he at once fired at it, and from the crash of broken glass 
 
 he was quite satisfied that he had hit his mark. \ 
 
 " All's right,'* said Claude, as he bounded to hia feet and sprang to his saddle. 
 
 '* You are not hurt, Claude V 
 
 *' Not a bit. The sudden noise startled me, and I slipped in taking my leap, that 
 was all." 
 
 ** Thank the fates for that. But look at the figure. It has turned again/' 
 '* It*s only the landlord walking in his sleep, Jack." 
 *' Walking in his sleep ?" 
 
 ** Yes. Did you never hear of that sort of thing before ?" 
 " Uh, yes, often, and seen it too, I only wonder that it did not at onee 
 strike me as a solution of the mystery. But that gun or pistol shot was not fired 
 by any one in their sleep, Claude." 
 
 " Not a hit of it. We have enemies now on the foot. Jack. My impression 
 is that we are traced in some sort of way from Oxford. Ah, here they come. 
 Now we shall see what they mean by it, and what force they are in." 
 
 The private back door of the Inn was suddenly now opened, and several per- 
 sons with lanterns issued forth. A group of men immediately behind them ap-! 
 peared, and running across the yard, one cried, — I 
 
 • Get us out some cattle as quick as you can, ostler. Take anybody's. It's on 
 public service, and it will be all right. Stop! you villains! Surrender this 
 mstant, or it will be worse for you. You have shot Mr. Wolf.*' | 
 
 " You don't say so ?" said Claude. *«And pray who is Mr. Wolf when he is at| 
 home?" I 
 
 ' The chief constable of Oxford, you villains ! Oh, you will swing for this 
 as sure as eggs are eggs. You had better give in at once, for there are eight 
 of us, and we are determined fellows. | 
 
 " Come on. Jack,*' said Claude. *' That will do. We will l^ave these eight 
 determined fellows to mount at their leisure.*' j 
 
 Jack and Claude turned their horses' heais, but the moment they did so, bang, 
 bang, bang, went no less than three pistols at them. In a moment Claude turned, 
 and drawing one of his own pistols, he fired, crying, — " It was cowardly to keep 
 your fire till our br.cks were to you. Now blaze away !" j 
 
 With a shriek, one of the officers fell into the arms of his comrade, and every- 
 body there was by far too busy to think of firing again at Claude and Jack, who 
 once more tried to retreat ; but they had not got many paces before a rattling volley 
 of pistol-shots was sent after them, and one bullet struck Claude on the heel of 
 his boot. I 
 
 " A httle higher,*' said Claude, " and it might have spoilt my dancing. Come 
 on. Jack. I have no idea of being made an animated target of by a parcel of 
 blundering police-ofiicers, who might knock one over by chance." 
 " Not at all pleasant," said Jack. 
 
 They gave their horses their heads, and off they went over the meadows at a 
 quick pace. The rain still came down, but not so heavily as it had, and the ground ! 
 was disagreeably heavy ; but still it was amazing the speed they made by going j 
 lightly over it, and finally coming to a privet hedge, they leaped it, and found 
 themselves in a road that was tolerably hard and good. 
 
 '* I don't want a race with those officers," said Claude. " We have other fish 
 to fry.'* 
 
 " Certainly,*' replied Jack. " Let us trot along this roadt We may come to 
 some shelter for ought we know to the contrary." 
 
 I
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 
 
 831 
 
 ** Very good. I shall not be very particular as to what it is if we can only give 
 them the double in any way.*' 
 
 With this view, they trotted on, Claude taking slightly the lead ; and as the 
 dawn had now made considerable progress, they could see about them very well. 
 In the course of a few moments they came to the lodge gates of some estate, and 
 Claude at once drew up, saying, "Jack, this is the very place ;" and then, without 
 waiting for the smallest reply from Jack, he rung a smart peal at a bell, the handle 
 of which hung close at hand. 
 
 " Who is there?" said a voice from one of the lodge windows. 
 
 " I," said Claude, in a voice of authority. ** How dare you ask who is there ? 
 Open the gates directly." 
 
 " Yes, sir ;— beg pardon, sir ;— coming, sir," said the voice, 
 
 *• So much for the j)0wer of impudence," said Claude to Jack. " Now, that fool 
 thinks I am some one of great authority, although he cannot know me from Adam. 
 You will see how obsequious he will be when he opens the gate." 
 
 " But he will find out his mistake, Claude." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Do you think after the sample that he has of my temper, he 
 will venture to ask me a question ? Not he. Take my word for it, Jack, impudence 
 in this world, which may be anybody's capital, if they know how to use it, goes a 
 very long way indeed." 
 
 CHAPTER CXCVI. 
 
 turpin's fate appears to be fixed, but is not so. 
 
 Jack had hardly so much faith as Claude in the power of assurance ; but he had 
 to have his infidelity in that particular corrected, for in a few moments, the lodge 
 keeper, half dressed, rushed out of his little residence, and flung the gates wide 
 open, saying as he did, — 
 
 ** i am sorry, sir, i was not up. Hope you will excuse it, sir." 
 
 " Hold your noise ! " said Claude. 
 
 The gate-keeper only bowed. *' Of course," he thought to himself, ** this must 
 be some very great man, indeed, or he never could speak in such a tone to any one." 
 Claude, followed by Jack, rode into the open space in front of the lodge, and (hen 
 glancing about, he, seeing a little enclosed paddock of about a quaiter of an acre 
 close at hand, he said, sharply, ** There are none of them up at the house yet, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 '* No, sir, if you please," said the gate-keeper. 
 
 ** Ah ! so I thought ; I won't disturb them though. Quite time enongh to 
 put them all out of their way, and give them no end of trouble, and then the 
 fidgets, for fear everything should not be just as 1 like, when they do get up. 
 Here, turn the two horses into that paddock. Don't touch their gear— 1 and 
 my friend will sit down in your little room here for a time." 
 
 ** Yes, sir, of course, sir. I will set light to the fire. The family are early 
 risers, sir, at the hall, and in an hour now, I daresay, the old gentleman will be 
 stirring." 
 
 '* Oh, will he ! How is he looking now ?" 
 
 " Pretty well, sir ; hut his lame leg will never let him be what he was." 
 
 " What ! Ain't that any better r 
 
 " No, sir, they say not." 
 
 Claude and Jack walked into the lodge, and they had hardly been there two 
 minutes when, like a whirlwind, by swept some half dozen mounted men, no doubt I 
 from the inn. Claude went to the little latticed window of the lodge, which com-j 
 manded a tolerable view of the road, and he had the satisfaction to see the officers 1 
 disappear, they, no doubt, having the full impression that they were in full cry I 
 after the two highwaymen. Claude thought it advisable to wait a few moments! 
 longer; and then, looking at his superb watch — the diamonds round the rim ofj 
 which dazzled the eyes of the gate-keeper — he turned to Jack, and said — I
 
 832 
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 " General, what say you to a canter, and then for us to come back here ? By 
 that time they will be up and stirring." « ,, 
 
 Jack, of course, understood Claude's aim, so he replied m a tone of well- 
 assumed deference — 
 
 * As your Grace pleases." , , , , 
 
 When the gate-keeper heard that one of his guests was a general and the other a 
 ** Grace," they might both have wiped their boots on his back, if they had been 
 80 inclined, for the poor creature had been so accustomed all his life to look upon 
 the possessors of titles as some superior creation that he had never the remotest 
 idea that they were but poor frail mortals like himself. 
 
 ♦* The horses to the gate," said Claude, with a sharpness that made the man 
 jump as though a pistol had gone off close to his ear. 
 
 •* Oh, yes— yes my lord — that your grace. Yes, directly." 
 " What an idiot,' said Jack, when he left the little room to obey Claude's im- 
 perious orders. 
 
 •* One of many, Jack." 
 
 ** No doubt of it. But what a humiliating thing it is to think of, that one of 
 God's creatures, with some brains in his head, should make himself nuch a crawl- 
 ing sycophant to another." 
 
 •• It is, Jack. But you will find that it is the slave that always makes the 
 tyrant, and not the tyrant the slave." 
 *' I oelieve you are right, Claude." 
 
 This little highly philosophical conversation was put a stop to, by the gate- 
 keeper crawling into the room to say that the horses were ready, upon which out 
 strode Claude and Jack, and without so much as a ** thank you," or one word of 
 civility, they mounted their stetds and rode off, the gate-keeper keeping his 
 body bent quite at a right angle until they were out of sight. 
 
 " Ah," he said, as he closed the gate. " There's real gentlemen for you. 
 Don't come for nobody at all, and gives as much trouble as possible, and ready \ 
 to snap you^ head off for nothing. That's how you may always know a real; 
 gentleman from the sham ones. A duke, no doubt, and some general. I'll run | 
 up to the house and see if anybody's up, and tell 'em they will have visitors lo, 
 breakfast s^on." 
 
 Claude and Jack took precisely the other direction to that which the officers | 
 took, and soon placed a couple of miles between them and the Inn which had 
 so nearly been the scene of a serious misadventure to them. They then came^ 
 out upon a much broader road than the one they were upon, and they saw a 
 finger-post, upon which the words " To Oxford " let them know in which direc- 
 tion t© go. , / I 
 "You don't wish me to abandon Dick?" said Claude. "You have no disin- 
 clination, I hope, to return to Oxford, Jack, even after what has taken place ?" | 
 " None in the least, Claude." j 
 ** I am glad of that. I don't like like to do anything against your judgment. 
 Jack, but in good truth I know that both you and I are such adepts in disguises 
 that I feel assured if we once get an opportunity of changing our apparel, we 
 shall do remarkably well; Who is this coming along the road ?" i 
 "A Jew," said Jack, *' 1 think.— Yes— look at his bag." | 
 " You are right. I wonder if he resides at Oxford. If so, I should not be at 
 all disinclined to trust him to some extent. A confidant would be invaluable 
 to us just now. Jack; and it is highly probable be might be bought for a hundred 
 pounds or so, which would be no great object to us, as we could make somebody 
 in Oxford pay it in all likelihood before we left.'* | 
 ** Easily," said Jack. " Shall we speak to him and sound him a little upon 
 the matter ?" 
 • *• Yes— yes, do it." 
 
 By this time the Jew, who was rather a poor looking man, and to all appearance 
 old, and a little lame, had got close up to them, and then he paused, and shading 
 his eyes from the light which came strongly in that direction, he said--
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK.; OR, LIFE ON THE llOAD. 
 
 833 
 
 *♦ Yes, it's all right. Claude Daval, my dear, how are you? and, Jack^ my boy , 
 I hope you are well ?" 
 
 " Why. how is this, sir?" said Claude ; "you know us ?" 
 
 " Yes, surely, haven't I been looking ^or you and trudging about the roads for 
 the last four hours, ever since that shindy at the stone jug ? To be sure I have'*- 
 
 *' But I am certain I never saw you before," said Claude. 
 
 CIAL'DE AKD JACK RESCUING TUBPIN TKOM Tiili; SCAFFOLD. 
 
 *' Nor I," said Jack. 
 
 " But I have seen you both in Lon don. At the White Bear in Oxford Street 
 ^ saw you twice, and' I don't forget people in your line of business. Be so 'good 
 as to read that." 
 
 With these words the Jew took from his po eket a common horn snuff-box, and 
 
 No,i05.
 
 834 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 after unscrewing the lid with a squeak that set all Claude's and Jack's teeth on 
 edge, he handed the former a little scrap of paper, upon which was written : 
 " Trust Zadoc. Dick Turpin." 
 ** Oh, then, you are a friend of Dick's ?'* 
 
 •' I am in the business and a friend of all customers. I have a little place in the 
 town and a little place out of it ; and between the two I pick up a crust. Dick, 
 who is in the jug, knows me, and gave me that, in case I wanted to do a little 
 business with any friend of his. I heard all g^bout what happened at the jail, and 
 I at once knew that when the nabs mentitSlried you they were right. But they 
 don't know Jack.'* 
 
 *' Then how did you know me ?" said Jack, 
 
 " Oh, I knew you and Claude were together, so I guessed it was you ; but all 
 the roads will be too hot to hold you in another hour. The beaks and the judges 
 will take a little trouble, and they are going to swear in a hundred special con- 
 stables on purpose for you, so that they are determined to have you if they can. 
 The only safe thing for you is, off and away." 
 •* And that I do not like," said Claude. 
 "Not like ?" said the Jew, *' Noi like ?" 
 
 "No, Zadoc I I have made up my mind, and so has Jack made lin his,to stay 
 and see the last of Dick if we cannot save him. I hope that sometMg will yet 
 turn up to enable us to do him a good turn ; but go we will not until the breath is 
 fairly out of his body." 
 
 The Jew considered for a few monaents, and theri he said : — 
 ** Well, well ! wilful men must have their way. Follow me, if you wish to be 
 free from the grabs for the rest of to-day. Come this way, and I will take you 
 to where you will have time to think without being feared'to look about ybu." 
 " I thank you," said Claude; *• but of course this is a matter of business." 
 *' Quite." 
 
 "Then you will allow us to convince you that you will not be badly paid; 
 take this fifty-pound-note as an earnest of our bargain together, and half-a-dozen 
 such shall not stand in the way of Dick's release from limbo." 
 
 The Jew held the note up between his eyes and the sky for a few moments, 
 and then with a nod of approbation he rolled it up into a little ball and put it in 
 his pocket. 
 
 *' Good," he said. 
 " I hope so," said Claude. 
 
 ** Excuse me,'* said Zadoc, '' I did not allude to the note ; I meant that we 
 were quite agreed that everything was to be done that could be done for Dick. I 
 have often heard, Claude Duval, that you were more than liberal, and this proves it. 
 It is a sound policy to pay men Hke me well. You v?ill find that out in the long 
 run." 
 
 " I have found it out long ago," /aid Claude, "so now lead on. Master Zadoc, 
 to this place of safety that you talk of, where we may have the privilege of 
 thinking without the necessity c^ keeping our eyes on the stretch for enemies ."j 
 " That I will do," said Zadoc, '' Come on." 
 
 He Went to the side of i he road and opened a large white gate, which looked 
 as if it led into some orchard, but Claude was not one who ever hesitatedf^^ He 
 trusted, or he did not; and if he did, he trusted implicitly'; so, without a moment's 
 hesitation he follp'#M the Jew through the white gate, an^/Jaek followed 
 Claude. 
 
 Zadoc closed the gate again, and locked it, Then he took a small silver 
 whistle from his pocket and blew a wailing kind of note upon it that at the 
 moment, if no one had seen how it was produced, might have puzzled them to 
 say whether it was the call of some wild bird or a mere artificial soub^. 
 
 In the course of two or three minutes then, during which, Zadoc conversed in 
 a low tone with Claude, an old man and a boy came round some large laul^el 
 bushes and bowed to the party. Zadoc spoke to the old man and boy in a lan- 
 guage unknown to Claude, and then turning to him, he said —
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 835 
 
 " If you will let Ijirn take your horses they will be well cared for, and whether 
 I am here or not he will deliver them to you. He will not forget you, and to 
 summon him you have only to whistle with as prolonged a note as possible, as he 
 is not very bright in hearing, ?nd his little grandson is not always here." 
 
 Claude and Jack at once dismounted, and gave their steeds to the old man and 
 the boy. 
 
 ** I have a whistle," said Jack, *' which I always carry with me in case Claude 
 and I should be separated by any accident, so that I shall easily be able to give 
 him the signal." 
 
 " That is all right," said the Jew; " but I don't expect that there will be any 
 hurry or emergency, or that you will have occasion to come here without me ; but 
 it is as well to be provided against any possible emergency." 
 
 "You are qui. e right/* said Claude. ''This is your 'country place then, I 
 suppose, in which you transact business V 
 
 "Yes, but 1 don't let all my customers come here. It is only such as your- 
 selves that 1 let into this secret. Follow me to the house. It is but a cottage, 
 and yet you will find yourselves more secure in it than in many a palace,'' 
 
 "There is not a doubt of that," said Claude. <• I have no great faith in the 
 security of palaces," 
 
 CHAPTER CXCVn. 
 
 SOMETHING ENERGETIC IS DONE pOR DICK TURPIN. 
 
 Claude was specially well pleased at their meeting with the Jew ; and follow- 
 ing his established rule in such cases, he trusted him implicity. The reader 
 will not fail to recollect how frequently Claude has insisted upon this rule of con- 
 findence as being one well worth the following. 
 
 Jack could not fesl so fully and fearlessly, as Claude, a confidence in any one, 
 and the consequence was that he followed with much more of a look of doubt the 
 footsteps of Zadoc. 
 
 The distance to the Jew's cottage was sufficient to remove it from the higU'-road, 
 so that it was completely out ef ear-shot of any chance passenger. 
 
 ** You will always find this, if you please to avail yourself of it," said Zadoc, 
 *' a p^ul^ ot refuge. All I ask of you or Jack is what I think I have a right to 
 ask." 
 
 *• And what may that be V said Claude. 
 
 " Simply, that you will never come to it or leave it when, to your knowledge, 
 any one can observe you, for if once the police set an eye of suspicion upon this 
 little place, its usefulness will be gone at once, and for ever." 
 
 *« That is a condition that we shall not forget," said Claude. *' You hear it. 
 Jack, and of course subscribe to it?" 
 
 "Certainly," replied Jack. '*It would, indeed be a monstrous thing to avail 
 oneseU of the hospitality of any place, and then for ever afterwards invest it with 
 such a suspicion, that it shall be of no use to any one else. I would die at the 
 gate of t^a p^ace, rather than I would enter while to my knowlede a human eye 
 was upon toe." ^^ 
 
 *' I thanj^ you both," said the Jew. " Your promises are quite sufficient for 
 me, and here then yoa may find yourselves quite at home, and I daresay you 
 have no sort of ot3Jeetioa to such a breakfast as we can find for you." 
 
 The doer of the house yielded to Zadoc's touch, and ho slipped on one side to 
 allow his visitors to enter the place. They did so fearlessly, and found them- 
 selves in a pleasant enough cottage-like residence, amply, and indeed handsomely, 
 provided with every requisite for comfort. The Jew closed the door after them, 
 and thett iti the style of an Eastern monarch summoning his slaves, he clapped 
 )y 5 hands thrice together, upon whicn an old woman made her appearance, and
 
 S36 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 with great demonstrations of respect, awaited the commands of Zadoc, who she 
 evidently looked upon as some very superior being. 
 
 *' Ester/' said Zadoc, " may we trespass upon your larder for a breakfast this 
 morning? These are friends of mine." 
 
 The old woman made no reply in words, but by a very low and reverential 
 obeisance, she signified with what perfect submission she received the order, and 
 how willing she was to execute it. She then went hastily away again through 
 the door she had arrived by. 
 
 " you have a willing servant," said Claude. 
 
 " She is a member of my own family," replied Zadoc. 
 
 *' I beg your pardon then, for naming her in connexion with anything like 
 servitude." 
 
 "Do not fancy that it is any offence. Esther and 1 belong to the same race. 
 She serves me for love, and I am but too happy to be able to make her old age 
 comfortable. Step this way, and you will soon see, unless I am very much 
 mistaken, and we have happened totakei Esther more than unusually at unawares, 
 that she can manage to get up an extemporaneous breakfast that need not be 
 despised." 
 
 Jack end Claude followed the Jew into a very pretty apartment of the 
 cottage, and as they did so, they could but exchange looks of surprise, for since 
 crossing his own threshold the whole manner of Zadoc had altered, and there was 
 an elevation of style and manner about him, such as they could hardly have 
 expected. 
 
 Claude knew, however, quite enough of the singular and highly interesting 
 people to whom Zadoc belon>^:ed, scarcely to wonder at any strange trnnsfor- 
 raation of character that took place with them in their own houses in distinction 
 to their appearance abroad among the Gentiles. 
 
 The room in which xhey now were was a pretty one, with long windows open- 
 ing into a small, but charmingly kejit conservatory, where the orange tree pre- 
 .sentcd its tempting-looking fruit, and where the % sent forth its broad leaves in 
 abundance. Numerous flowers, too, graced that little place ; and as a view from 
 the room, it was enough to make any one believe, that he bad been transported 
 suddenly by the wand of an enchanter to seme much more favoured clime, than 
 our bleaft and somewhat inhospitable one. 
 
 " Where I you," said Claude, " I should spend many an hour here." 
 
 " I dO;" replied Zadoc, «' as many as I can. Yon greenhouse has in it many 
 shrubs and plants from that Innd, which all of my people regard with veHeration.'* 
 
 " And which you all hope to see again ?" 
 
 " It is more than a hope," said the Jew, quietly. " It is a certainty. They have 
 been promised it by one who performs all promises, and we know that the time 
 will come, when we shall be great in the land of our fathers, and when, as a 
 mighty nation, we shall raise again from the ashes of our ancient glory." 
 
 The Jew's eyes flashed with enthusiasm as bespoke, and Claude, as he looked 
 at him, could not but feel how likely it was that such a convictien would maintain, 
 as it |had maintained, this scattered people through all diflSculties and under all 
 privatiors. 
 
 The entrance of Esther, with a tray containing some of the materials for 
 breakfast, put a stop to a conversation that was evidently becoming by far too 
 exciting for the Jew. In the course of a few minutes a marvellously well-laid 
 table was laid out, and Claude and Jack partook of as hearty a breakfast as ever 
 they had enjoyed in all their lives. When Zadoc saw that they had quite satisfied 
 themselves, he rose, saying, — 
 
 "Now, then, to business." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Claude. ' 
 
 *' Follow me, then, and we will consult together in the garden about'what is 
 best to be done, and leave Esther at her own good leisure to remove the ireraains 
 of our repast." ^ 
 
 Claude and Jack followed Zadoc through the conservatory into the gai*den
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 837 
 
 beyond, which was completely protected from observation by close growing trees, 
 and between them a complete labyrinth of interlacing evergreens. It was, in truth, 
 a charming spot. 
 
 "It is settled, then," said Zadoc, " that you will do something for Turpin ?" 
 
 « Quite." 
 
 *' Well, all that remains for us to conclude is that that something shall be as 
 likely of success as possible, and as little hazardous." 
 
 ♦' Precisely." 
 
 " He will be tried lo-day, and ordered for execulion — for that he will be found 
 guilty will not once permit of a doubt." 
 
 "This is Friday !" 
 
 "Yes, and he will be hanged on Monday morning, unless something in the 
 meantime can be done. After the failure at the jail last night, there is no chance 
 of anything being accomplished in that quarter. Turpin will be taken in a cart 
 to the common, outside the town, and there executed, and his body will be 
 hung in chains, no doubt. Now, with a knowledge of all these circumstances, 
 what, in your calm, cool, deliberate judgment can be done ?" 
 
 Claude was silent. 
 
 "Can you take him from the prison? No! Can you wrest him from the 
 court, in the presence of the judges and all the ministers of the law ? No ! Can 
 you rescue hira on the way to execution ? No! Can you save him on the scaf- 
 fold ? Yes!" 
 
 Claude and Jack both started at this sudden transition to all the Jew's 
 negatives. 
 
 ** What mean you ? Are you serious?" said Claude. 
 
 " I am to the full as seiious as such a subject ought to make me. If you don't 
 mind five hundred ))Ounds 1 think it may be done." 
 
 " Not a straw ! Double the sum, if you like." 
 
 "Very good. We will say one thousand pounds?" 
 
 Jack plucked Claude by the sleeve, and he understood it as a friendly admoni- 
 tion to put some bounds to his prodigality. 
 
 " My friend,*' said -Zadoc, *' when one of my people oflFers you anything for 
 five hundred pounds, never offer him one thou8|ind pounds, for that is then his 
 price." 
 
 " I will not draw back from my offer,* said Claude. " I have said one thou- 
 sand pounds, and it shall be that amount if Turpin is free." 
 
 '* Five hundred pounds," said Zadoc, ** for the attempt, and another five hun- 
 dred if it be successful. Will that do?" 
 
 " Perfectly well ; and now tell me by what wonderful means you will accom- 
 plish this undertaking. It seems to me at this present moment as though you 
 would require more than mortal means to carry out what you propose, 1 am' all 
 impatience.'' 
 
 " Draw nearer both of you, and you shall hear." 
 
 Claude stood close to the Jew on one side, and Jack npon the other, and then 
 he spoke in a clear voice, saying — 
 
 ** We may take for granted all the facts, namely : that Turpin will be tried, 
 found guilty, and sentenced to death on the common om Monday morning .next; 
 and we may take for granted that any attempt between this time and that to do 
 anything will be perfectly futile, and indeed only recoil on our own heads." 
 
 Claude nodded. 
 
 " Well, on Monday morning at seven o'clock it will be found out that the 
 hangman is very ill and cannot rise from his bed to perform his duties. But he 
 will recommend a man of whom he knows a Itttle to officiate, and the sheriff 
 will be delighted to snatch at any one in the emergency." 
 
 •'But— but " 
 
 *' Nay, hear me out." ' 
 
 " I will. Excuse the interruption. I will not say another word until you have 
 concluded your plans."
 
 838 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 " Well, that hangman's substitute will lide in the cart with Turpin to the 
 
 f>lace of execution, after promising him the clergyman of the jail will 
 ikewise be with them. Then that hangman's deputy will seize a sharp knife 
 from his girdle, with which he will be well prepared, and in a moment cut 
 the cords that bind the prisoner, and he can so manage, that only one on each 
 side will have to be cut at^all ; and having as they ride along told Turpin what to 
 do, he will jump from the cart to where a man is mounted on a fleet horse, and 
 holding another by the bridle, he will mount the led horse and be off. The 
 hangman's deputy will, then, if he have the opportunity, affect to pursue them, and 
 make his way here, where he will find his own gallant and well-trained .steed 
 waiting for hira." 
 
 " Waiting for him here?" cried Claude. 
 
 "His steed?" said Jack. *' The duputy hangman's gallant steed?" 
 
 " Precisely.'" 
 
 " But how will you get that man to play his part so well ?" said Claude. 
 
 " Don't you think you could do it ?" 
 
 *yes. Who else could be depended upon in such a case? Who but 
 you must play the executioner's substitute ? and who but Jack must wait with 
 the led horse close to the scaffold ? Whose steed but yours do you think 1 
 would have here waiting V' 
 
 *'By all that's good," said Claude, as he drew a long breath, ** it will do ; and 
 whether it will or not, it is the only plan at all likely of success. What say you, 
 Jack, to it 1 Will you undertake it ?" 
 
 •* If you will, Claude, yes." 
 
 *' Assuredly 1 will; and we must have a first-rate horse for Turpin/' 
 
 *' I have his own brave mare Bess, as he calls her, in my stable," said the Jew, 
 quietly. 
 
 " You have ? Then if once he gets on her back he is as gafe and free as the 
 wind 1" 
 
 *' I think so likewise. 'Tis in good truth a noble creature. We will take care 
 to give her some white blemishes by Monday morning to prevent her recognition, 
 by any eye that may be curious i^ ]iorse-fiesh, and more than usually knowing 
 about Turpin's steed." 
 
 '* YeSjUhat can easily befdone. But bow will you secure the regular hangman's 
 co-operation in this affair V 
 
 " He is human." 
 
 ** Are you certain of him ?" 
 
 *'Iam." 
 
 " Then, for the life of me, I do not see why the plan should not succeed. All 
 that it requires are good disguiseji,, and. boldness and address. Don't you think 
 well of the scheme. Jack ?" 
 
 «' I think better of it the more I get familiarised with it." 
 
 *'Tha't is a good sign," said the Jew. ** A plan which loses no attraction, upon 
 a closer scrutiny: is likely to wear well. But if ^e determ ue upon this, we must 
 be up and doing. Is it agreed upon, without, doubt and without reservation, by 
 botti of you ?" 
 
 " By me, yes," said Claude.. 
 
 " And by me," said Jack. 
 
 '•'Very well ; then no doubt you would like to be present at the trial, which 
 will be on in another hour, at the court house. Come into the cottage, and I shall 
 be able to provide you with complete disguises., so that you may walk into 
 Oxford, and no one will be a bit the wiser as to whom you may be. I will con- 
 duct the affair with the executioner entirely myself. Come in. In truth, I do 
 think you will save him."
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 839 
 
 CHAPTER CXCVIII. 
 
 TURPIN's rescue. — A SCENE OF EXCITEMENT ON THE COMMON. 
 
 In the course of half an hour more, Claude and Jack were deliberately Walking 
 into Oxf'jrd, in the disguise of a couple of graziers; and so capitally vvas their 
 costume arranged and put on, that those who knew them the most intimately 
 could never have suspected who they were. 
 
 Claude represented a man past the prime of life. He was stuifed out to look 
 three times his real size, and the grizzly whiskers that the Jew put him, in truth, 
 most effectually disguised him, A light-coloured wig transformed Jack into a 
 much youuger looking man than he really was ; and so, with a perfect confidence 
 m the excellence of their disguises, they fully intended to be present at DickTur- 
 pin's trial. 
 
 The information of the Jew regarding the comitig on of the trial on that morn- 
 ing was perfectly oorrect, and it will be seen that his information upon other points 
 was equally to the purpose. At that time, hanging for highway robbery was 
 quite a common thing, and it was very usual to execute the culprit upon or very 
 near to the spot upon which the oflfence for which he specifically suffered was 
 committed ; and when the party apprehended was so well known and widely cir- 
 culated a knight of the road as DickTurpin, ii was very charitably supposed that 
 a very small amount of evidence sufficed, both with judge and jury, to convict him. 
 
 The court was very much crowded, so much so that the conscientious door- 
 keepers adopted the London practice, and began not to find room tor any one unless 
 they were paid ; but that was no object to Claude and Jack, and they had no am- 
 bition to draw upon themselves any sort of attention by carping at anything ; so 
 they soon found themselves, by virtue of one shilling each, in the court. It was 
 with difficulty they got standing room in rather an obscure corner. 
 
 Dick Turpin had only just been placed at the dock, and from his pale face, and 
 the marks of several scars upon it, it was quite evident that he hid suffered con- 
 siderably on the previous night in the prison-yard, upon the occasion of the bold 
 attempt to escape. 
 
 He was placed upon his trial directly, and the counsel for the prosecution very 
 unfairly made a long exodium about the attempted escape from the prison ; in 
 which he ought to have been stopped by the court, for it had really nothing to do 
 with the case. From this, however, both Claude and Jack learned that it was 
 no other than the Governor of the jail th^t the former had shot, and that he was 
 dead. 
 
 " Serve him right," said a voice near Claude. 
 
 Jack felt at the moment a great disposition to say something; but a slight 
 sign from Claude warned him to be silent. Zadoc had particularly cautioned 
 them both to make no acquaintance in the town or in the court. 
 
 Dick Turpin pleaded not guilty to the charge made against him ; but he did 
 so with the listless air of a man who feels that his fate is determined upon, and 
 that nothing can save him. 
 
 With the proceedings of the trial the readers of this narrative need not be 
 troubled, inasmuch as it was one of thi most ordinary description, and indeed it 
 was hurried over with a most unseemly haste, as though judge and jury had been 
 fully agreed in the propriety of hanging Dick Turpin, but felt it to be just neces- 
 sary to go through a certain formula beforehand in the matter. 
 
 "Guilty," said the foreman of the jury, almost before the question was well, 
 out of the lips of the proper officer. 
 
 "Very good,'' said the judge. *' Richard Turpin, you have been convicted by 
 a careful, conscientious, and intelligent jury of your fellow countrymen, of the 
 offence laid to your charge. Have you anything to say why the sent9nce of 
 the law should not be passed upon you in due form V 
 
 *'It is needless," said Dick, "to say anything. I know very well I am to be 
 shuffled out of the world because of my reputation. Well, be it so. It was the
 
 840 GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 end I looked to, and now my last words are — * Thanks to the two kind friends 
 who, last ni^ht, did all they could for me.' " 
 
 '• You ought to be t' inking of other things," said the judge, "you unhappy 
 man, than thinking c! tvo reprobates, who will soon be in the hands of offended 
 justice." 
 
 "There I differ vrit'.i you," said Dick. "You have not caught them yet, I 
 know by what you say, that you have not, and therefore I feel very confident 
 you will not catch them at all. It is a wonderful comfort to me at such a time 
 as this, to feel that they who risked so much for me have not suffered by that 
 amount of gallaut friendship. God bless them both !'* 
 
 **This is indeed terrible," said the judge, *' to find a criminal over the brink 
 of eternity with so little consciousness of his oituation.*' 
 
 " Perhaps, my lord," said Dick, " you will hardly think it right to hang a man 
 who is in such an imperfect state of mind V 
 
 *' I can really,'* said the judge, who found that question a very difficult one 
 indeed to answer — *' I can really listen to no more of this. It is too sad and 
 afflicting." 
 
 He then, with all due solemnity, passed sentence of death upon Dick Turpin, 
 concluding with the usual kind hepe that the Almighty would have mercy upon 
 him, as none would be shown him in this world. 
 
 " Farewell to you all !" cried Dick, " and if anybody here should happen to 
 see Claude Duval or a friend of his whom I won't name, as he might not wish it, 
 tell them what I said of them, and how tkey treated me up here at Oxford, for 
 little or nothing, but because they had heard of the old proverb, that says—' Give 
 a dog an ill name and hang him.' " 
 
 '* Remove the prisoner," said the judge, shaking his head until the powder 
 flew out of his wig. *' Remove the prisoner !" 
 
 Dick was instantly laid hold of by the officials of the jail, and hurried from 
 the duck. 
 
 ** Com^)" whispered Claude to Jack, and they both made their way out of the 
 court as quickly as they could. 
 
 ** Well," said Claude, " what do you think of all that, Jack ?" 
 
 " Think? I could hardly contain myself in court, I was half-maddened, Claude, 
 at the whole scene ; and when poor Dickfpoke of us it was with"difficulty I kept 
 inyself from calling out to him to be of good cheer, for we had not deserted him 
 yet." 
 
 " It was wellyou did not, Jack.' ' 
 
 " Yes, I feel that for any such exhibition of interest in~ the fate of the prisoner 
 might have been fatal to our disguise. No, Claude, I had enough self-command 
 left not to do it, although it certainly was rather a struggle to me." 
 
 ** That I can well suppose." 
 
 *' But ought we not now imTiediately to seek our friend, Zadoc ? I did not 
 notice him among the crowd, and yet be said he would be in the court during the 
 trial." 
 
 " Amid such a sea effaces as that court presented, I can very easily imagine 
 we may miss sight of any one in particular; but if he saiu he \irouId be there I 
 would wager anything that there he was." 
 
 " And here he is," said Jack, as the Jew suddenly stepped up to them. 
 
 <'Ah, welcome!" said Claude; "all has gone in the court as you thought 
 and said that it would, Zadoc." 
 
 " Yes, of course it has; I knew it was all settled before-heard. I have found 
 a lodging for you until Monday, for it will not be safe for you to be at my house, 
 as it is known that I do not take in strangers, and your presence with me might 
 awaken suspicion. I allude to my house in the town, for as regards ths cottage it 
 should only be gone to upon an emergency, and never to remain in it for a longer 
 period than the emergency may last. Follow me.* jfi&. 
 
 " In all things as regards this affair,'' said Claude, *< we, ^course, ^^^ »«l^ 
 plicitly to your guidance." " "".■ .
 
 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, LIFE ON THE ROAD 
 
 841 
 
 They now followed Zadoc past one of the college gates ; and in a small but 
 Di-etty street of houses, Zadoc stopped and tapped at the little parlour window 
 of one of them. The door was immediately opened by a young woman. 
 
 *Here are your lodgers," said the Jew. " You will find them quiet enough, 
 audi f you don't interfere with them, they won't interfere with you." 
 
 THE THEEE ADVENTURERS RECEIVE AN INVITATION TO A CHRISTENING. 
 
 " Oh, surely not," replied the woman. " Walk in, genilemen, walk in ! Here's 
 the room, and tl e bed-rooms are both Hbove." i. i i r 
 
 *' That will do very well," said Claude. And whea the young woman had leli 
 them alone with Zadoc, the latter said : — . 
 
 "I would by ro means advise you to keep yourselves prisoners here. Ihe im- 
 pression in this house is, that you have some business connected with the assizes. 
 
 No. 106.
 
 842 GENTLEMAN JACK ; OR, 
 
 Go out and about as much as you like, but take care always to be at home betf^een 
 nine and ten — Lliree and four — eight and nine,-— for it will be during some of those 
 hours that I will call upon you. And as regards all the minor arrangements we 
 were to do, you may make your minds pertectly easy. They will all go on 
 smoothly enough, so that if the plan succeed it will fairly do so upon its own 
 merits ; if it fail, it wiU not be from any hitch in the machinery." 
 
 *' It is pleasant to hear you say all that," replied Claude. " There is only one 
 thing else that, if it could be by any possibility managed, would give both myself 
 and Jack great pleasure." 
 . "What is it?" 
 
 " In letting Dick Turpin knew by some means that he is not quite destitute, 
 and may not give hope adieu." 
 
 " I have been thinking of that and will try it ; it would give me great satisfac- 
 tion, and, besides, it would keep up Dick's strength, for he will need it all; and 
 when a man fancies there is no longer any hope for him in this World, he is apt 
 to be careless enough of nis food and drink. Now, as he is condemned to death, 
 they will let him have, in a reasonable way, all tbat he likes." 
 
 " To be sure ; and he might get himself well up to any excitement by Monday 
 next/' said Jack. 
 
 '• Yes ; and the new governor of the prison is quite amiably disposed towards 
 him," added Zadoc, ''since it has been all through him and his friends that 
 the vacancy was made, thit enabled him ti9 slip irito the situation. Therefore, 
 you may depend that I will do what I cati to let Dick know that he should 
 take care of himself until Monday morning; if I cannot, I will let you know." 
 
 With this, the Jew left them; but Claude and Jack felt so dull in their 
 lodging that they were glad enough to avail themselves of the advice of Zadoc, 
 to go out. They took good care, however, to be in at the time he had named, 
 and it was on Sunday morning that be came to them again. 
 
 "DicH knows something," he said. *' 1 ascertained that they had placed him 
 in a cell not very far removed from the outer wall of the prison, and Iftst nigkt I 
 got a man to sing a ballad in such a stentorian style of voice that be could not but 
 hear it. They have taken the man into custody, but I feel tolerably certain that 
 Dick knows something will be attempted for him." 
 
 ** What balla4 was it ?" said Jack. 
 
 " It's ddly A piece of doggrel, got up for the occasion. It ran tbus, — 
 
 ' We wish him to eat and to drink ; 
 And Bess, she is well taken care of. 
 C — and J — , feoth are in town, 
 And they won't let the grabs hurt a hair of 
 
 His head, tol lol de rbl lolg 
 
 Ahd thi^re was much more to the same purpose, which, I feel assured, Di^ was 
 sharp-witted enough to understand in a moment ; but 1 doubt if the policii could 
 make anything of it, and, even if they did, it will puzzle them, and thej WOn't 
 know what to do.*' 
 
 ** i am of your opinion," said Claude ; " and I shall sleep more comfortably 
 to-Dight, when I think that Dick don't look forward to the dance upen nothing 
 on Monday morning next.*' 
 
 *^ But, about the hangmauy" said Jack. ** Have you succeeded in arranging 
 anything with him ?'* 
 
 ** Yis ; and to-night, at eleven o'clock, I will take you both to his house, for it 
 is necessary that he should know you ;. ahd once again, let me asf^ure you that 
 you may banish all idea of anything in ilie shape of trickery upon his part. He 
 is to well paid by me in more ways than one, and he is much mor^ my servant 
 than he is the servant of the corporation." v^ 
 
 *^ We shall be ready to the minute," said Claude. 
 
 We need not go through with the trivial events of that Sunday in Oxford. 
 Suffice it to say, that it hung frightfully heavy upon the hands of Jack and C]aud«« ^
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 843 
 
 and that the incessant bell. ringing was enough to drive any reasonable persons 
 right out of their wits. The hour, however, came at last for the very interesting 
 interview with the executioner to take place. 
 
 Zadoc came to the lodginp: at about a quarter before the time appointed, and 
 as both Claude and Jack had been ready for him some time, they immediately all 
 sallied out together. 
 
 *' Nothing new, I suppose?" said Claude. 
 
 **No ; except a confirmation of my opinion, that Dick Turpin quite'fully under- 
 stood the song, for I hear that he demands nothing but mutton chops and poit 
 wine." 
 
 " And do they give them to him V 
 
 *• I shouldn't wonder but they do. It's an old custom to be liberal to any 
 one condemned to death, and whom the authorities feel tolerably certain will not 
 be reprieved ; so we have nothing to fear from the idea of Dick being weak and 
 out of condition to-morroA morning." 
 
 CHAPTER CXCIX. 
 
 THE COMMON NEAR OXFORD, AND THE TUMULT UPON IT. 
 
 The Oxford hangman's house was about half a mile on the outside of the town, 
 It'was a pretty enough place, surrounded by a Ihtle garden, so far as Claude and 
 Jack could see of it at that hour of the night. 
 
 " What do you expect to find this man ?" said Zadoc, as they rung at the gate- 
 bcU of the cottage belonging to the executioner. 
 
 " He should be/' said Claude, " rather a burly ruffian." 
 
 " Yes," said Jack, *' and with nothing but animal appetites, and about as small 
 a share of intellect as may enable anybody to get through tl e ordinary course 
 of everyday life." 
 
 " You really think so ?" 
 
 •' Such an idea of a hangman comes up to our notions of what he ought to be," 
 said Claude ; *' but I have setn quite enough of life to know how our ideal notions 
 of things, and of people, are often to be at striking variance with the fact." 
 
 "You are right there," said Zadoc ; " you should always distrust what your jm- 
 magination tells you. I never went to a strange place in my life but what it turned 
 out to be as different as it possibly could from what my fancy had pictured it ; and 
 J never got into the company of a person that I had heard of, and formed an idea 
 concerning, that I did not find him or her something widely different from all that 
 I ha^ previously, perhaps at great pains, pictured." 
 
 "From all which," said Jack, " we are to conclude that wo are very wrong 
 about the Oxford hangman ?" 
 
 The Jew nodded. 
 
 " Well," said Claude, " so long as he does not play us false, and answers our 
 purpose regarding poor Dick, he may be what he likes, and I shall consider him 
 the pearl of executioners, and always sha'l have a friendly feeling for him. What 
 say you. Jack V* 
 
 " I will strive to cultivate the same feeling," said Jack, very gently, *' although 
 it will be perhaps to me, Claude, a little more difficult than it can be by any 
 means to you." 
 
 ** Exouse me. Jack," whispered Claude, *' if this is a subject upon which you 
 do not like jesting. 1 did not think of you, and what you had gone through, at 
 the moment." 
 
 " Don't mention it," said Jack, as he smiled faintly. 
 
 Poor Jack ! He still could not forget the horrors he had passed through at his 
 own execution, from which he had emerged into life again so very strangely, but 
 to be only half the man he was.
 
 I 844 GENTLEMAN JACK, OR, 
 
 While this little quiet bit of conversation was in an under tone going on 
 between Claude and Jack, Zadoc ha'l ruiip the bell at the ganlcn gate of the 
 hangman's house ; and in a few moments, like a moving star in the darkness, a 
 candle, in the custody of some one, came down to the gate, and a soft musical 
 voice then said — 
 " Who is there ?'' 
 
 '• I want your father, my dear," said the Jew ; " you know me ?" 
 " Oh, yes ; you are our friend, Mr. ^adoc. Come in — come in. Father said 
 i that he expected you would come, and bring two gentlemen with you.*' 
 I ** Yes, and here they are." 
 
 I The little girl— for such she was, and not above twelve years of age — held up 
 the light, and curtseyed to Claude and Jack, as she held open the garden gate for 
 them to enter by. The faint rays of the li^ht fell upon her face, and Claude was 
 astonished at her rare and exquisite beauty. As for Jack, he could hardly take 
 his eyes oflF her, she v\as was really such apiece of miniature loveliness to look 
 upon. 
 
 " Your father is quite alone, of course V said the Jew. 
 " Oh yes, sir, quite ; and he is expecting you." 
 
 The little girl led the way up'^a trimly kept narrow garden path, and the Jew 
 said to her as he followed her — 
 
 '* You are as fond of your garden as ever, Emma, I presume, by the way in 
 which you keep it. I see it is as trim and carefully got up as ever ; even now I 
 cat; smell the perfume of the sweet flowers that you have m huch rare abundance, 
 and which do yo« so much credit in the rearing." 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied. . " You know, Mr. Zadoc, that next to Pa, I love the 
 flowers and the" little garden." 
 
 " Next to Pa !" whispered Jack to Claude, '* she loves the '* 
 
 " Hush ! hush !' 
 
 'Jack did not complete his sentence, and then the little girl paused at the door 
 of the little cottage, and holding it open she motioned them to enter. The door 
 was so low, that both ClaudeJ and Jack had to pause and stoop at its threshold. 
 The Jew was able to enter without that ceremony. 
 
 The little girl lighted them into the parlour of the cottage, and then herself 
 retired to the kitchen. For a moment or two, neither Claude nor Jack saw that 
 the parlour was tenanted, but a very small soft voice said suddenly — 
 
 *' Grenilemen, you are welcome," and then from a couch there irose a short and 
 very slimly made fair man, with a small portion of hair upon his head, and appa- 
 rently cast in nature's weakest physical mould. 
 
 " Allow me," said Zadoc, " to introduce you both to him whom you seek." 
 
 " What," said Clawde, -^are you the ?" 
 
 " Hush," said Zadoc. " The word ihat was upon your lips is never, b^y any 
 accident, mentioned in this house." 
 
 " It shall not then pass my lips," said Claude. 
 
 " Nor mine,'' said, Jack, with a shudder, for different as the Oxford hangman 
 was from all his ideal notions of such a character, he could rot but shake a little 
 to find himself in the presence of one who filled that awful office, let him be in 
 manner or appearance what he might. 
 
 The hangman very carefully closed the door of the room, and then he said — 
 " Gentlemen, Mr. Zadoc has said that a certain word is never by any accident 
 mentioned in this house. It is true, and it is not that I myself so dread the word, 
 but my little girl, Emma, is all the tie I have that binds me to the world. My 
 wife is gone, and 1 ^have no children but her, and she knows not what her 
 father is." 
 
 ** You astonish me !" said Claude. 
 
 •* And me," said Jack. •* One would think it a thing of impossibility to keep 
 such a secret from her." 
 
 " Doubtless," said the hangman, "the day will come, when some officious 
 person will step between us, and kill her wiih the knowledge of what I am, and*
 
 LIFE ON THE llOAD. 815 
 
 by what means I have fed and clothed her, and brought her up to fjentlcness and 
 truth ; but as yet she knows it not, and I am happy to be able to come home to one 
 who docs not sbrink from me." 
 
 '* One would think," said Claude, " that her very playmates wr.uld tell her, 
 children are such bad keepers of secrets." 
 
 *' She has no playmates, sir. She lives here, the secludtd life of a little nun. 
 For five years she has never once crossed the threshold of the gate which she 
 opened to admit you to the garden. All her delights, and she has manj'-, are con- 
 centrated in this cottage and garden. She and I talk together, but never of the 
 world without, and she has no desire to go from the precincts of this humble 
 home, and I need not tell you we are not troubled with many visitors." 
 
 *' This is indeed most singular," said Claude. " You must live though in 
 constant dread of the secret oozing out through some channel.'* 
 
 He covered his face with his hands, and rocked to and fro. 
 
 *' Come, come," said Zadoc, " I have not seen you like this for years, and you 
 promised us you wotild get over all this kind of feeling ; I think, too, that now of 
 all times you ought to be able to do battle with it, for 1 know of nothing that can 
 prevent your almost immediate departure for the new world." 
 
 '' Yes, yes," said the hangman, " what a cheermg thought that is. I will take 
 my child with me, and thousands of miles from here, there will be no one to 
 whisper the dreadful truth in her young ears, and turn her heart from me for 
 ever.'* 
 
 " Yes," added Zadoc, "with the money which these gentlemen give me for 
 you, and which you will earn by the service you will do them on Monday next, 
 you will be able to go to America as soon as you like." 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes. What a cheering thought that is." 
 
 " It no doubt is, and ought to be," said Claude. " I will rejoice, indeed, that 
 this transaction will not only, as I hope, save my friend, but likewise enable you to 
 achieve so great a good. You can take to some other course of life in America, 
 and no one need guess for a moment who or what you were in England." j 
 
 " You think they will not suspect V \ 
 
 -' How can they V said Zadoc. " You do not carry the insignia of your calling \ 
 stamped upon your face." 
 
 " No. I think I do not." I 
 
 "Quite the coutrary," said Claude. "There is not a man breathing who j 
 from hundreds would pick you out as likely to be what you now are." 
 
 " It is cheering to me to here you all say that ; ard yet, do yoti know, at times [ 
 I have possessed myself with the idea, that there is a something about my looks , 
 which proclaims the dreadful truth; ard when I have least expected it, my child j 
 has shrunk from me with a shudder, as though nature, in some mysterious way, ; 
 had let her know that my arms were to be avoided as a tenor ar.d a pollution." j 
 
 " All that is imagination," said Zadoc. i 
 
 "It can be nothing else," said Claude ; and yet, even as he spoke, he could not ' 
 bui fancy that there was a strangeness about the eyes of the hangman, which he 
 had not noticed upon first coming into the room. Jack, however, who had said ', 
 the least, had noticed the peculiarilymore quickly than Claude had done, and had 
 noticed it with a kind of inward shudder; that made him wish himself out of the 
 co'ta^e again, and in the open air, i 
 
 B.Jt after all, perhaps, while Claude and Jack were accusiag the hangman of : 
 beinj: the slave of his imagination to too great an extent, they were in reality : 
 giving the reins of their own fancv, and seeing things in him that had no real ex- 
 istence whatever ; sr if nature bad given him a little peculiarity about the eyes no : 
 one who did not know his calling would probably hit upon the fact of his being ; 
 a hangman in conseqencp. 'J 1^ j 
 
 " You will get rid of all these feelings and fanies," said Zadoc, " and before 
 you have been one month cut of Oxford.'* ' 
 
 '* I hope so." 
 I: " That is pretty clear, But|now let us decide upon what is to be done ou the
 
 846 GENTLEMAN JACK; OR, 
 
 Monday. All money matters will be settled with Mr. Zadoz. Now I hope that 
 no obstacle occurs to your min-d to the carrying out the plan of operation laid 
 down.'* 
 
 " None whatever," said the hangman, 'f It has one good recommendation, and 
 that is its boldness." 
 
 S; " I am glad you think that a recommendation, for it gives me a kind of assur- 
 ance that you wHl not shrink from what you have to do, from any fears of the 
 result." 
 
 " My good, sir, Tihat I have to do is so little, that, let me shrink how I might, I 
 cannot hurt your plot. As 1 understand it, all 1 hare to do is to be so unwell 
 at a-n early hour on Monday morning, as to feel that it is quite impossible I can 
 attend to the execution, and then from fear that the si eriif should be left in an 
 unpleasant dilemma, I send you as a substitute." 
 
 " That is it," said Zadoc. 
 
 'f Precisely," said Claude. "After that all depends upon ourselves I am 
 aware, and I only hope you will not be troubled about it." 
 
 ** I have no apprehensions. What can they do? My story will be simple 
 epoiigh. You came to me, I will say, and I did not know wlio you were, and 
 irecommended you to the office from the well-known difficulty of getting any 
 one to perform it, especially in an emergency, and only pro tem.** 
 
 *' Exactly, and you may depend upon me, let the aiRiir terminate hew it may, 
 making my story tally with yours. 
 
 '*X thank you ; and if you are taken and condemned for your own offences to 
 die, they must seek another hangman, for I am determined that my indii^sition 
 shall continue until I leave Oxford, which will be now as soon as I can do .so, 
 without attracting the attention and suspicion of the authorities. I must ittOt be 
 at ftll precipitate in the matter," 
 
 *'Then it is settled," said Zsdoc, " that this gientleman comes at an early hour 
 here on Monday rooniing ?" fP** 
 
 *' Yes, q«ite. Take care to be dressed accordingly. A shabby b u of 
 rather common clothes will be best ; and 1 should say that you were a c ffin 
 maker by trade, and that I have instructed you how lo officiate as my deputy 
 upon the occasion required." 
 
 " Very good," said Claude ; " call me what you please, I will take good care^^ 
 dress the character. I Jancy iny best plan ttill be to make myself up to look lil:e 
 a dissipated idle mechanic." 
 
 •''i^ou may safely leave all that to me,'' said Zadoc. 
 
 *'Not a doubt of that," said Claude. '* And now we will leave you, and hope 
 you will be happy enough in the new world.'' 
 ;' ** It is a hope," said the hangman. 
 
 Jack noticed that he never offered his hand to either of them, or spoke one 
 word about any refreshments. Mo doubt the wretched man felt that he was too 
 much repudiated by society even to take tl at liberty with a highwayman. 
 
 The little girl with her cheerful pretty face let them all out again, and bade 
 them good night with a soft musical voice as she closed the garden gate upoh 
 ihem. 
 
 CHAPTER CC. 
 
 A RfOT AT AN EXECUTION,— THE RACE FROM OXFOKD. 
 
 Claude and Jack had now but little rest until the eventful Monday morning, 
 as that was lo decide whether this daring plan would suffice or not for the rescue 
 of Dick Turpin. 
 
 At the hour of six in the morning, Zadoc called for them both,^.nd tcok them to 
 his cottage. By seven he had equipped Claude in the costume which he thought 
 most likely te deceive the authorities with regard to his real character.
 
 LIFE ON THE ROAD. 847 
 
 Claude upon this eccasiou wore a rusty ragged suit of clothes that might, have 
 been those of a mechanic that [he kept for his Sunday suit in prosperous times, 
 but which he had long taken recklessly into ordinary ase, and subjected t-o all the 
 wear and tear of a dissolute life. A dirty apron was twisted round his waist with 
 a ragged corner of i': hanging down, and the Jew, with amazing art, painted the fac e 
 of Claude so that he looked a good ten years older than he really was. 
 
 When Duval looked at himself in a glass, he cried out— 
 
 *• This disguise is perfect. What do you think of it, Jack P" 
 
 ** T hat it could not be better. Now, Mr. Zadoc, what do you advise me to wear 
 pon this interesting occasion ?" 
 
 " 1 have tkought of that," said the Jew. ''You will not only be taounted 
 yourself, but you will have the care of Claude's horse, and of Dick Turpin's ; so 1 
 shall put you in the custume of a common livery-stable helper, in order to give 
 the affair the appearance as if you had been sent out with the two horses either 
 to take them somewhere, or ordered as merely to give them a little exwcise. It 
 wi 11 then look very natural that passsing by the place of execution, you should 
 stop to see what is going on, and get as close to the scaffold as you can." 
 
 '• Yes,*' sai'i Jack, *' nothing could be better than that. Pray, Mr. Zadoc, be 
 so good as to equip© me as quickly as you can in my stable costume, and you may 
 safely trust me to act the character." 
 
 " Of that I have no doubt." 
 
 There was now but little time to lose, and with great alacrity Jack was got 
 up in the costume that Zadoc had mentioned. He wore a pair of very voluminous 
 shortSgj^with a good assortment of pearl buttons at the knees, and they were then 
 fastenca, after being given that peculiar twist that is so much affected by those 
 who occupy a stable position. Below these he wore drab gaiters. All tnat he 
 had upon his upper man was a very low-flapped waistcoat, with sleeves to it ; and 
 on his head he wore a seal-skin cap. Around his neck he had a pink spotted 
 cravat ; and when he^as thus completed, and stood with the end of along straw 
 in his mouth, as thoupa he had just come in a highly contemplative mood from 
 some stable-yard, he looked quite picturesque. 
 
 *'Upon my word, Jack," said Claude, "I doa't think I should have known 
 you myself ; the transformation is, indeed, most complete,** 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that," said the Je«v ; '*for, somehow or another, 
 the authorities of Oxford have got a pretty good descriptiou of both your persons 
 now." 
 
 " Have they, indeed ?" 
 
 *' Yes ; and I suppose it has been from the Innkeeper where you put up, when 
 first you arrived, before the hazardous attempt upon the prison." 
 
 *' Not a doubt — not a doubt. Well, if they don't find us out now, I will for- 
 give them for finding us upon that occasion ; and this much I will say, that if I 
 and Dick get mounted, they won't need to give themselves the trouble of coming 
 after us, for it will be all in vain if they do. We shall go three miles to their 
 two. If that don't quickly distance them, I don't know what will/* 
 
 *' Nor I, either," said Zadoc. " Are you both ready ?" 
 
 *• Quite! quite !" 
 
 "Then you. Jack, go to the stable, and get the horses ready ; and you, Claude, 
 come along with me, to the hangman's cottage, for he will be not a little impa- 
 tient about this affair, I'll warrant, since you know what a great object he has in 
 view regarding it. '' 
 
 *' Yes ; that was what tempted him, no doubt." [i 
 
 ** It was." 
 
 " And you knew that it would tempt him ?" 
 
 ** Fortunately I did, or I should hardly have risked my position in the city, by 
 tampering with him ; I believe that I am the only friend he has in the whole of 
 Oxford, and he has always been grateful to me, because I did not despise/ him, 
 but at times passed an hour or so at his cottage along with him and his little girl." 
 
 ** It is a capital thing for us, that you thought even of doing so, for, without
 
 84S GENTLEMAN JACK. 
 
 his connivance, this plan, which, the more I look at it, seems to me the more 
 possible and likely of success, would have been but a piece of madness, resulting 
 in the throwing away of our lives." 
 
 " Good-by, Claude,'* said Jack ; *' if anything happens amiss, let this be a 
 farewell." I 
 
 *' No, Jack, we will not take leave of each other now. It looks like anticipa- I 
 ting the future. I will not say good-by, but I will say good-day." I 
 
 " Well,'* said Jack, "well, be it so j 1 will only say good- day. 
 They shook hands, and separated. 
 
 " Do you think,*' said Zadoc, '* that he will be firm enough ?" j 
 
 " Yes, quite so ; I never knew Jack to fail once in an enterprise yet, when it , 
 comes to the actual execution of it, whatever might be his feelings beforehand," ' 
 " I am glad to hear you say that ; it gives one confidence.** 
 They soon cleared the distance between the Jew's cottage and the hangman 's ! 
 little abode, and, as before, they were let in by the little girl, who had not the 
 smallest recollection of Claude, and would evidently have gladly kept him outside, 
 in consequence of his disreputable appearance, had it not been that Zadoc said to 
 her, — 
 
 " It is all right, my dear ; I know this person. He is going to do some work in 
 the city, for your father.'* 
 
 Upon this, there was no further opposition on the part of the little girl, and 
 Claude and Zadoc were in a few moments in the parlour where they had seen 
 I the executioner on the preceding evening. 
 
 By the open light of day, Claude was still more struck by his we^|j|ir and 
 ! diminutive appearance than he had been overnight; but there was no o&e for 
 : aijiv conversation now. The hangman merely handed Claude a letter, addressed 
 I iG Xhe sheriff, ar>d then added, — 
 
 I " I will go to bed at once the moment you leave, for it i s jus t possible they may 
 I send an officer to know if I am really ill, and ip that case fhipmust of course be 
 ; prepared to play m part ; and even it they should send the jail surgeon, I think I 
 ; can baflle him, for I will take some drug that will make me very sick in 
 ! the course of a few minutes, if I have from my little girl notice of his coming; so 
 I now go, and success attend you. You have ray best wishes ; and until 1 hear from 
 ^^popular rumour that you have succeeded, I shall pass, shut up here, but a very 
 I aiiserable time of i', from ray anxiety upon the mattor." 
 
 ."^*"Cori^," said ZaJoc. " You will see me this evening here, ray friend." 
 j. .►'''Airs right upon that score. I am quite satisfied,'* said the hangman; ** of 
 1 course you will be sure to find me at home.'* 
 
 i Claude guessed that tliese few words between them had reference to the money, 
 
 I and he paid no attention to them, for he did not think he ought to interfere with 
 
 Zadoc's arrangements in that particular, so long as the hangman was satisfied. 
 
 They now set off, and when they got close to the town, Zadoc said, — '* Now, 
 my friend, I leave you to your own resources, and to play your part as best as 
 ycu ma y. You will go direct to the jail with the letter, and, when they find it is 
 'addressed to the sheriff, they will let you into the lobby at once, and allow you 
 to wait for an answer there. Of course, now, all depends upon your o\ a address.** 
 "I know it. You and I will meet again as agreed." 
 " That will do." 
 
 With a mutual nod merely, they separated, and Claude went upon certainly 
 one of the most truly hazardous enterprises that in his life of strange adventures 
 he had ever achieved or thought of achieving. Not only Dick's life but his 
 own, and, in all likelihood, Jack's, hung upon the events of the next few hours ; 
 but yet he did not feel any degree of shrinking or even of nervausnessu All he 
 felt was deep anxiety for the result, and a determination that it should not fail to 
 T)e a satisfactory one fiom any fault of his. 
 He walked rapidly and soon reached the jail. 
 
 Oh, if the authorities of Oxford could but for one moment have gassed who it 
 was that appeared at the wicket-gate of the prison, with what glad rapidity ihcy
 
 rT, 

 
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