Marjorie Bowen

“ Frank Burr mounted and, putting his horse to a trot, disappeared in the autumn dusk that was gathering over the London road.
John went down and down among the gorse bushes until he reached the very bottom of the great pit, where he could no longer see the gibbet on Gallows Hill.
Sunk in gloom, he seated himself on a boulder and turned over in his mind the difference between his brother and himself. In that moment he wished that he had led a virtuous life, that he was honoured and respected, like Frank. Very passionately he wished it ”

“ The ragged man now standing lonely in the autumn afternoon could remember when he had flung down his guinea for a pint of wine and his five-pound piece for the cards. He cursed himself at the recollection, and gripped his heavy-handled pistol the tighter. He had not murdered yet, but his mood was near to murder. ”

“ Black Harry dropped instantly back into his hiding-place among the gorse and waited, hidden then at the lip of the Punch Bowl, until the heavy coach, laden with passengers and luggage, with the guard grasping a cocked blunderbuss and an armed man beside the driver, had toiled up the rising road that ran under Gallows Hill. ”

“ That would be a strange thing, would it not?"
"An unlikely one."
"Oh, I mingled with the quality then!" said Black Harry. "And because of your story, lie or truth, I'll give you back your horse, which is better than your coach fare to London."
"And suits you better," returned the other quickly. "The beast would betray you—be traced—and you know it."
The highwayman laughed and, still fondling the pistol, kicked the valise behind the milestone. On top of it he laid the pistols he had taken from the traveller. ”

“ Then he added: "What are my affairs to you, you rascal?"
"They might be something," said the highwayman, pouching the stolen goods. "Answer me civilly, and I will give you your stage fare to London."
"A fine bargain!" was the sneering answer.
"There might be a worse. I know your face, and I want to know your quality."
The stranger looked at him curiously.
"My name is Edward Somerville," he answered. "I have come from Jamaica, where I made a little—only a little—money. I am here to settle in the Old Land. A little place in Kent has been left me by a relative."
"Kent?" said Black Harry. ”

“ For answer, the highwayman lifted the valise and restrapped it on the saddle.
"You had the password," he answered. "‘Cuckoo pint,' eh? Those who had that sign did not rob each other."
He unpouched the personal belongings of the other and thrust them into Frank's hands.
"This shows good in you, John; you are not wholly hardened or lost. Take some of this money?" And he held out his purse.
The highwayman spurned the proffered gift with the back of his rough hand.
"’Tis honest money; keep it to spend honestly. As for me, forget me; that is the only service I ask of you." ”

“ He beheld a young man of pleasing good looks, wearing a reddish peruke and a plain but fine suit of steel-blue cloth; his appointments were rich, a pearl was in his cravat, a good paste buckle in his hat, which was cocked, with some jauntiness, à la Pasnilies. ”