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At last the longing for England and English people grew so acute thatJohn made up his mind to return. But he found that things in Englandwere very different from what they had been abroad. Here he was made tofeel acutely that he was outcast. It was impossible to live in townunder an assumed name, as he would like to have done, for too manypeople knew Jack Carstares, and would remember him. He saw that he musteither live secluded, or--and the idea of becoming a highwayman occurredto him. A hermit's existence he knew to be totally unsuited to a man ofhis temperament, but the free, adventurous spirit of the road appealedto him. The finding of his mare--J. the Third, as he laughingly dubbedher--decided the point; he forthwith took on himself the role ofquixotic highwayman, roaming his beloved South Country, happier than hehad been since he first left England; bit by bit regaining his youth andspirits, which last, not all the trouble he had been through hadsucceeded in extinguishing....
Clip-clap, clip-clop.... With a jerk he came back to earth and reined-inhis mare, the better to listen.
Along the road came the unmistakable sound of horses' hoofs, and thescrunch-scrunch of swiftly-revolving wheels on the sandy surface.
By now the moon was right out, but owing to the fact that she wasplaying at hide-and-seek in and out of the clouds, it was fairly dark.Nevertheless, Jack fastened his mask over his face with quick, deftfingers, and pulled his hat well over his eyes. His ears told him thatthe vehicle, whatever it was, was coming towards him, so he drew intothe side of the road, and taking a pistol from its holster, sat waiting,his eyes on the bend in the road.
Nearer and nearer came the horses, until the leader swung round thecorner. Carstares saw that it was an ordinary travelling chariot, andlevelled his pistol.
"Halt, or I fire!" He had to repeat the command before it was heard, andto ride out from the shadow of the hedge.
The chariot drew up and the coachman leaned over the side to see who itwas bidding them to stop in so peremptory a manner.
"What d'ye want? Who are ye? Is there aught amiss?" he cried testily,and found himself staring at a long-nosed pistol.
"Throw down your arms!"
"I ain't got none, blast ye!"
"On your honour?" Jack dismounted.
"Ay! Wish I had, and I'd see ye damned afore I'd throw 'em down!"
At this moment the door of the coach opened and a gentleman leaptlightly down on to the road. He was big and loose-limbed as far asCarstares could see, and carried himself with an easy grace.
My lord presented his pistol.
"Stand!" he ordered gruffly.
The moon peeped coyly out from behind a cloud and shed her light uponthe little group as if to see what all the fuss was about. The big man'sface was in the shadow, but Jack's pistol was not. Into its muzzle thegentleman gazed, one hand deep in the pocket of his heavy cloak, theother holding a small pistol.
"Me very dear friend," he said in a rich brogue, "perhaps ye are notaware that that same pistol ye are pointing at me is unloaded? Don'tmove; I have ye covered!"
Jack's arm fell to his side, and the pistol he held clattered to theground. But it was not surprise at Jim's defection that caused him thatviolent start. It was something far more overwhelming. For the voicethat proceeded from the tall gentleman belonged to one whom, six yearsago, he had counted, next to Richard, his greatest friend on earth.
The man moved a little, and the moonlight shone full on his face,clearly outlining the large nose and good-humoured mouth, and above, thesleepy grey eyes. Miles! Miles O'Hara! For once Jack could find nothingamusing in the situation. It was too inconceivably hideous that heshould meet his friend in this guise, and, further, be unable to revealhimself. A great longing to tear off his mask and to grasp Miles' handassailed him. With an effort he choked it down and listened to whatO'Hara was saying:
"If ye will be so kind as to give me your word of honour ye'll not beafther trying to escape, I should be greatly obliged. But I tell yefirst that if ye attempt to move, I shall shoot."
Jack made a hopeless gesture with his hand. He felt dazed. The wholething was ridiculous; how Miles would laugh afterwards. He went cold.There would be no "afterwards".... Miles would never know.... He wouldbe given over to the authorities, and Miles would never know that he hadhelped Jack Carstares to the scaffold.... Perhaps, too, he would notmind so very much, now that he, Jack, was so disgraced. One could nevertell; even if he risked everything now, and told his true identity,Miles might turn away from him in disgust; Miles, who could never stoopto a dishonourable act. Carstares felt that he would bear anythingsooner than face this man's scorn....
"Never tell me 'tis a dumb man ye are, for I heard ye shout meself! Doye give me your word of honour, or must I have ye bound?"
Carstares pulled himself together and set his teeth as he faced theinevitable. Escape was impossible; Miles would shoot, he felt sure, andthen his disguise would be torn away and his friend would see that JackCarstares was nothing but a common highwayman. Whatever happened, thatmust not be, for the sake of the name and Richard. So he quietly heldout his hands.
"Ay, I give my word, but ye can bind me if ye choose." It was hishighwayman voice: raucous, and totally unlike his own.
But O'Hara's eyes were fixed on the slender white hands held out to him.In his usual haphazard fashion, Jack had quite forgotten to grime hishands. They were shapely and white, and carefully manicured.
Miles took either wrist in his large hands and turned them palm upwardsin the moonlight.
"Singularly white hands ye have, for one in your profession," hedrawled, and tightened his hold as Jack tried to draw them away. "No, yedo not! Now be so good as to step within, me friend."
Jack held back an instant.
"My mare?" he asked, and O'Hara noted the anxiety in his voice.
"Ye need not be after worrying about her," he said. "George!" Thefootman sprang forward.
