Beau Brocade | Page 8

that he was
himself attainted by Act of Parliament.
Yet he felt himself guiltless and loyal. He was guiltless and loyal: how
his name came to be included in the list of rebels was still a mystery to
him: someone must have lodged sworn information against him. But
who?--Surely not his old friends--the adherents of Charles Edward--out
of revenge for his defection?
In the meanwhile, he, a mere lad, became an outcast, condemned to
death by Act of Parliament. Presently all might be cleared, all would be
well, but for the moment he was like a wild beast, hiding in hedges and
ditches, with his life at the mercy of any grasping Judas willing to sell
his fellow-creature for a few guineas.
It was horrible! horrible! Philip vainly tried all the days to rouse
himself from his morbid reverie. At intervals he would grasp the kind
smith's hand and mutter anxiously,--
"My letter to my sister, John?--You are sure she had it?"
And patient John would repeat a dozen times the day,--
"I am quite sure, my lord."
But since the Corporal's visit Philip's mood had become more feverish.
"My letter," he repeated, "has Patience had my letter? Why doesn't she
come?"

And spite of John's entreaties he would go to the entrance which faced
the lonely Heath, and with burning eyes look out across the wilderness
of furze and bracken towards that distant horizon where lay his home,
where waited his patient, loving sister.
"I beg you, my lord, come away from the door, it isn't safe, not really
safe," urged John Stich again and again.
"Then why will you not tell me who took my letter to Stretton Hall?"
said the boy with feverish impatience.
"My lord..."
"Some stupid dolt mayhap, who has lost his way... or... perchance
betrayed me..."
"My lord," pleaded the smith, "have I not sworn that your letter went
by hands as faithful, as trusty as my own?"
"But I'll not rest an you do not tell me who took it. I wish to know," he
added with that sudden look of command which all the Strettons have
worn for many generations past.
The old habitual deference of the retainer for his lord was strong in the
heart of John. He yielded.
"Nay, my lord, and you'll not be satisfied," he said with a sigh, "I'll tell
you, though Heaven knows that his safety is as dear to me as
yours--and both dearer than my own."
"Well, who was it?" asked the young man, eagerly.
"I entrusted your letter for Lady Patience to Beau Brocade, the
highwayman--"
In a moment Philip was on his feet: danger, amazement, horror, robbed
him of speech for a few seconds, but the next he had gripped the
smith's arm and like a furious, thoughtless, unreasoning child, he
gasped,--

"Beau Brocade!!... the highwayman!!!...My life, my honour to a
highway man!!! Are you mad or drunk, John Stich?"
"Neither, my lord," said John with great respect, but looking the young
man fearlessly in the face. "You don't know Beau Brocade, and there
are no safer hands than his. He knows every inch of the Moor and fears
neither man nor devil."
Touched in spite of himself by the smith's earnestness, Philip's wrath
abated somewhat; still he seemed dazed, not understanding, vaguely
scenting danger, or treachery.
"But a highwayman!" he repeated mechanically.
"Aye! and a gentleman!" retorted John with quiet conviction. "A
gentleman if ever there was one! Aye! and not the only one who has
ta'en to the road these hard times," he added under his breath.
"But a thief, John! A man who might sell my letter, betray my
whereabouts!..."
"A man, my lord, who would die in torture sooner than do that."
The smith's quiet and earnest conviction seemed to chase away the last
vestige of Philip's wrath. Still he seemed unconvinced.
"A hero of romance, John, this highwayman of yours," he laughed
bitterly.
Honest John scratched the back of his curly black head.
"Noa!" he said, somewhat puzzled. "I know nought about that or what's
a... a hero of romance. But I do know that Beau Brocade is a friend of
the poor, and that our village lads won't lay their hands on him, even if
they could. No! not though the Government have offered a hundred
guineas as the price of his head."
"Five times the value of mine, it seems," said Philip with a sigh. "But,"
he added, with a sudden return to feverish anxiety, "if he was caught

last night, with my letter in his hands..."
"Caught!!! Beau Brocade caught!" laughed John Stich, "nay, all the
soldiers of the Duke of Cumberland's army couldn't do that, my lord!
Besides, I know he wasn't caught. I saw him on his chestnut horse just
before the Corporal came. I