The Highwayman

The Highwayman

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Highwayman, by H.C. Bailey
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Title: The Highwayman
Author: H.C. Bailey
Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9749] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on October 15,
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Language: English

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THE HIGHWAYMAN
BY
H. C. BAILEY

CONTENTS
I. THE COMPLETE HERO
II. THE HOUSE OF WAVERTON
III. A MAN OF MANY WORLDS
IV. A GENTLEMAN'S PURSE
V. THE WORLD'S A MIRACLE
VI. HARRY IS NOT GRATEFUL
VII. GENEROSITY OF A FATHER
VIII. MISS LAMBOURNE LOOKS SIDEWAYS
IX. ANGER OF AN UNCLE
X. YOUNG BLOOD
XI. ABSENCE OF MR. WAVERTON
XII. IN HASTE
XIII. DISTRESS OF A MOTHER
XIV. SPECTATORS OF PARADISE
XV. MRS. BOYCE
XVI. THE AFFAIR OF SIR GEORGE
XVII. RETURN OF MR. WAVERTON
XVIII. HARRY IS DISMISSED
XIX. ALISON FINDS FRIENDS
XX. RETURN OF CAPTAIN McBEAN
XXI. CONSOLATIONS BY A FATHER
XXII. TWO'S COMPANY
XXIII. THE HOUSE IN KENSINGTON

XXIV. QUEEN ANNE IS DEAD
XXV. SAUVE QUI PEUT
XXVI. REVELATIONS
XXVII. VIRTUE IS ITS OWN REWARD
XXVIII. IN THE TAP
XXIX. ALISON KNEELS
XXX. EMOTIONS BY MR. WAVERTON
XXXI. CAPTAIN McBEAN TAKES HORSE
XXXII. PERPLEXITIES OF CAPTAIN McBEAN
XXXIII. REMORSE OF COLONEL BOYCE
XXXIV. HARRY WAKES UP

CHAPTER I
THE COMPLETE HERO
Harry Boyce addressed Queen Anne in glittering verse. She was not
present. She had, however, no cause to regret that, for he was tramping
the Great North Road at four miles by the hour--a pace far beyond the
capacity of Her Majesty's legs; and his verses were Latin--a language
not within the capacity of Her Majesty's mind. Her absence gave him
no grief. In all his twenty-four years he could not remember being
grieved by anyone's absence. His general content was never diminished
at finding himself alone. He chose the Queen as the subject of his
verses merely because he did not admire her. She appeared to him then,
as to later generations, a woman ineffectual and without interest; a dull
woman physically, mentally, and perhaps morally; just the woman
upon whom it would be hardest to make an encomium of any splendour.
So he was heartily ingenious over his alcaics, and relished them.
From this you may divine much that you have to know about the soul
of Harry Boyce. It was more given to mockery than enthusiasms, apter
to criticisms than devotion, not very gentle nor very kind, and so quite
satisfied with itself and by itself. To be sure, it was yet only
twenty-four.
You discover also other things less fundamental. He was something of

a scholar, as scholarship was reckoned in those placid days. He had
even some Greek--more than Mr. Pope and quite as much as Mr.
Addison. His Latin verses would have brought him a fellowship at
Merton if he had been willing to take Holy Orders, "I may take them
indeed; but how believe they have been given me?" quoth he to the
Warden with a tilt of one eyebrow. Whereat the Warden, aghast, wrote
him off as a youth unreasonable, impracticable, and impish. Many
others had the same opinion of Harry Boyce before the world was done
with him. Few of them saw in his antics the uncertain spasms of too
tender a conscience. But you must judge.
Of course he was poor. He could only boast a bob wig, a base thing,
which, for all the show it made, might have been a man's own hair. He
wore no sword. His hat lacked feather and lace. His coat and breeches
were but black drugget, shiny at each corner of him and rusty
everywhere. His stockings were worsted, and darned even on his
excellent calves. His shoes had strings where buckles should have been,
and mere black heels--and low heels at that.