The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 232: what you’re looking at

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

—_ a THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. Her object was evidently to delay until some one came to her aid. It was useless to endeavour to search for the papers, She writhed her powerful limbs about him and struck at him, and flung herself in every kind of attitude. But it was in vain. No help came. Gradually her strength gave way. Her womanly muscles had not the staying powers possessed by the young and active ap- prentice, whose limbs had beep developed by toil; and at length, faint, wearied and panting she staggered and sank down by the roadside, where she leaned against the sloping bank. “A brave victory truly,” she murmured, bitterly. “Had you been a man,” replied Harold, sternly, “either you or I would now be stretched lifeleas on the road yonder. At my hands you have experienced no unnecessary violence ; all I have done has been rendered needful by my knowledge of my duty. vu behaved to me once as a traitor. I swore to ba avenged. I have taken but little vengeance after‘all when I confine it to relieving you of your papers, And now, since time presses, let me have them. I must speed towards Nottingham.” The young girl was now sobbing. She had lost all her assumed sadness now, and had retreated to woman’s sure refuge— tears |! “This is a cruel victory,” she repeated. “ A necessary one,” returned Harold. ‘‘ Come —do not delay. Give me the papers, or I must take them.” Taking the papers from her bosom, therefore, she delivered them to him. Harold took them, placed them safely in his breast, and then his manner changed. His voice softened, and taking a flask of spirit from his pocket, be pressed some upon her acceptance. ‘ Drink of this,” he said. “ What I have done Was necessary—was my duty, in fact ; and now, having performed it, I can forgive you for the past, though had you drawn your pistol, I believe you would have taken my life.” The young girl willingly accepted the spirit, and having drank some, looked up at him with a smile. ‘You are a generous victor,” she said, ‘I forgive you also for what you have done. Only grant me one favour.” * And what ‘is that ?” “Let me retain my horse.” Harold thought for a moment. She had deliberately betrayed him before. Would it be prudent to trust her now ? While he was consulting, a step was heard approaching, and the tall figure of the armourer was seen in the moonlight, casting a long shadow across the road, “TI will ask my friend yonder in regard to what you wish,” said he. ‘‘ See another of those whom you and the traitor, Harry Martin, imagined safe in the hands of Lady Grace Cowley. It is the armourer, Frank Leslie.” “ Impossible !” cried the young girl, in aston- ishment, ‘Impossible! I saw him when I 0) a quitted the house yonder in conversation with Lady Grace.” “You thought so,” returned Harold ; “ but it was not he. Frank Leslie is a good and noble man—a man who knows his duty, and of a generous and kindly disposition also. But there exists, from some mysterious cause, another being, who, unlike him in heart, is his image in face and form. Hc it was whom you saw—he it was who has wrought unheard-of mischief through his unfortunate resemblance to a good man. Black of heart, and glorying in evil, he stalks about the earth to blight and destroy all he meets,” ‘‘Ha, Harold!” exclaimed the armourer, as he a »proached, ‘‘ you have succeeded, then ?” “| ave. The papers are safe hare; but this lacy, desires me to return her horse. Is it to be sO 99 ‘T would rather that you yourself retained it,” replied Leslie, “in order that you might reach Nottingham before any other traitors could waylay you.” ‘T am faint and weary, sir,” pleaded Emily Penraven, “and I fear to traverse yonder dar road on foot. I fonght well for my papers, and what strength I had is exhausted.”’ “ Well, then,” returned the armourer, “I will tell you what I will do. Do you, Harold, pro- ceed on quickly towards Holmby House, it is now but a mile or so distant. I will remain at yonder crogs-road, where all must pass who go towards Holmby, and see that no one follows you. Mount your horse, then, young damsel, and return homewards, and e my advice home with you: when you doff that male attire, doff it for ever ; it bezomes you but ill, and will lead you into no end of trouble.” The young girl only murmured her thanks, and proceeded to where her horse was pecking the tall grass by the roadside. Mounting quickly to the saddle, she waved her hand and was about to ride off, when the armourer seized the bridle. “Not yet,” he said; “let my young friend there start off first. gNow, then, Harold, pro- ceed on your journey—at Holmby House I will rejoin you.” Harold then started off at a quick pace, and, though the dawn was now beginning to struggle with the moonlight, he was soon out of sight. “Now, then, my fair friend,’ said the armourer, releasing the horse of the female spy, “now, then, my fair friend, you can go. And remember, for your own sake, the advice I have given you.” The young girl made no reply, but sullenly rode off. When she had gone a few yards, she halted and turned round on her saddle. Then, suddenly drawing her pistol from her belt, she fired at the armourer, In another instant she was gone. ‘‘Treacherous young spy!” cried Frank Leslie, who had stooped rapidly as he saw her design ; “it was a pity that in the struggle Harold did not accidentally kill ber. A woman is far more dangerous than a man, for you cannot battle with her. Well, well, I will eep a sharp look-out, for who can tell that she will not make a second attempt upon my life. The trees yonder would afford excellent i) a *) a weal Ce od GOhVCOO © <S) CO