Black Bess; or, the Knight of the Road — page 386: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

1758 her tc take upatemporary abode in Mill Cottage, and the result. “You have hada fortunate escape,” he said; “and I rejoice to think that chance should have led me in this direction.” “‘T am deeply grateful to you, I assuré ,ou, but-——~” ‘*No more—no more, Hxouse me, but if I am any judge, I should say from your manner that you had some other cause for grief and trouble than even this.” Maud was silent. “Don’t think me intrusive,” he continued, “but, if there is anything else I can doto save you, you have only to name it, and I am quite at your disposal.” ‘ Thanks—many thanks,” said Maud, speaking with difficulty through her tears. ‘It may sound ungrateful, and yet the only favour I can ask you is to leave.” “ And it is the one that I should grant with the most difficulty. But, however, if you persist——-~” ‘© Tt must be so! Do not be offended, but—but——”’ “Why do you pause? What would you say e” ‘‘ Simply leave me!” “ Hnough.” The stranger took off his hat, and made a bow that was full of grace. Farewell, since you will have it so, but, take my word for it, these roads are by no means safe for a woman to travel alone and unprotected, se, if you are going far " “Tam not afraid,” Maud answered. ‘ But do not press me further, I am distracted.” “T can see that you are much troubled, and that is why Turge youthus. Under other circumstances, rely upon it I should not do so.” “T appreciate your kind intent, and believe me when I say that I feel deeply grateful; but still I must renew my request.” “You are strangely persistent, and must have some strong reason for being so, I make no doubt. Since you will have it so, once more farewell.” his time he not only bowed, but went to the spot where he had left his horse, unfastened the noble animal from the bough, and with one bouxd vaulted clean into the saddle. But he did not s0 readily take his departure. “Tt is not yet too late,” hesaid. ‘Forgive me for being thus urgent, but I feel that -I ought not to leave you thus. Let that be my apology.” ‘No apology is needed, sir,” answered Maud, who could not feel offended at the manifestation of so much interest in her behalf, for she was judge enough of human nature to feel certain that it was well-intentioned. “And you are still resolved to go alone ?” 2 Pr ain.” ‘‘Qnce more good night, then. Let me sa”, however, that I feel more than a common interest in this encounter. Why I should do so I know not. There is, too, a presenti- ment upon my mind to the effect that we shall meet again—that we are destined to become much better ac- quainted rvith-each other. However, this will be proved by time.” While spetking these werds, he tursed his horse round and, reiterating the word ‘ Farewell!” rode slowly away, as though in the expectation that at this, the last moment, Maud would call to him to come back. Ere he had gone much more than e dozen paces he stopped again. ‘‘T forgot to mention,” he added, “that my name is Hawk—commonly known as Captain Hawk; and if ever you find yourself in any great distress, you can hear of me at the old inn about a mile further alcng the road—the Horns they call it. Speak to the landlord—he will tell you all about me, and if what you want lies within the power of mortal man to accomplish, I wil do ut. Now, for the last time, farewell !” i Having made this singular speech, the strangor—or Captain Hawk, as we may as well cali him, since he had given himself that designation—struck spurs te his steed, and galloped off. . As may be supposed, his last words took Maua qatte by surprise, and as she watched his retreatitg form she murmured to herself : “Captain Hawk, and the old Horns Inn upon this road. 1 will not ‘orget that. I like him, for he seems bold and generous. He has a face, too, which would command BLAOK BESS; OR, trust and confidence in any breast. 1 may require his aid —Heaven knows!—and I ought not to despise 11, for where—where am I to look for a friend ?” This question brought Maud back to a full sense of her present wretched, desolate position. Wringing her hands, she buret out into a violent fit of sobbing and weeping. The paroxysm lasted for some time; but of course, eventually it expended itself, and she began to think a little more calmly about her position and prospects. “Where am I now ?” she asked herself, as she glanced around at all the objects about har now beautifully re- vealed by the moon's rays. She had not, of course, the least idea of her where- abouts. Everything she looked at was fresh and strange to er She wrung her hands again, and once more her tears poured forth. She began to be sensible that she ought not so readily to have refused the stranger’s offer of assistance, for at each moment she began te be more and more sensible of the difficulties by which she was environed, and from which she was not able to see the way to an extrica- tion. “What shall be my first step ?” she murmured, half aloud. ‘Alas! I fear that all my efforts will be of no avail! Too late—too late! Dick and the rest area beyond doubt, by this time either slain, or else prisoners in the hands of the police, and it is my fault—all my fault { I ought to have warned them, and failed to do so !” Maud was scarcely right in thus taking all the blame to herself, and yet she did so. ‘“ But it is suspense that I suffer now,” she continued ; ‘‘and what can be worse than that ? Nothing—nothing ! It would be better far if I was able to comprehend the full extent of my misfortunes, for how do I know whether Dick is alive or dead ?” Tears again choked her utterance, and this time she seemed to abandon herself to her grief more than she had done on any former occasion. As before, however, the violence of her grief abated. “T must and will know the worst! that at once! That shall be my course !” As she made this resolution she dried her tears, and plucked up what resolution she was able. But another difficulty presented itself to her, and the readiness with which it started into her mind only serves to show how thickly she was beset by them. No matter which way she turned, one sprung up before her. She had determined to discover what had befallen Dick and his comrades. But how was she to do it? In vain she endeavoured to frame some reply to this pertinent question. She knew not which way to turn. Once she thought of making her way towards London, where, as she knew full well, she should quickly learn what had happened. But she had not the remotest notion of which way to take in order to reach the metropolis. There was not one thing she knew to guide her. Then she thought perhaps something could be learned at the ruined castle. But here again the same difficulty confronted her. She knew the way there no better than to London. Upon consideration, however, she believed she could find her way back to this place, and then, if her inquiries here proved futile, she could but go on to the metropo- lis. Scarcely, however, had she reached this point in her deliberations than she heard the sharp clatter of a horse's hoofs. She was well enough experienced tm such sounds to know that it was a single horseman whe was approach- ing. Not wishing to be seen, she drew back to one side of the road, where an umbrageous tree cast a deep shadow. | This position had not been occupied many seconds before Maud, to her great surprise, saw her protector come in view I will set about (Eoypayiiceleveve) ‘S.cO o ‘ a ES — ee. \ am + {