The Broad Highway

"Doing the same by the present favorite, as is the nature of

their kind," responded the third; "poor Maurice is already

forgotten."

"The Prince," said the harsh voice, "the Prince would never have

forgiven him for crossing him in the affair of the Lady Sophia

Sefton; the day he ran off with her he was as surely dead--in a

social sense--as he is now in every sense."

Here the mist settled down upon my brain once more, and I heard

nothing but a confused murmur of voices, and it seemed to me that

I was back on the road again, hemmed in by those gibbering

phantoms that spoke so much, and yet said but one word: "Murder."

"Quick--a candle here--a candle--bring a light--" There came a

glare before my smarting eyes, and I struggled up to my feet.

"Why--I have seen this fellow's face somewhere--ah!--yes, at an

inn--a hang-dog rogue--I threatened to pull his nose, I remember,

and--by Heaven!--handcuffs! He has been roughly handled, too!

Gentlemen, I'll lay my life the murderer is found--though how he

should come here of all places--extraordinary. Sir Richard--you

and I, as magistrates--duty--" But the mist was very thick, and

the voices grew confused again; only I knew that hands were upon

me, that I was led into another room, where were lights that

glittered upon the silver, the decanters and glasses of a supper

table.

"Yes," I was saying, slowly and heavily; "yes, I am Peter Smith

--a blacksmith--who escaped from his gaolers on the Tonbridge

Road--but I am innocent--before God--I am innocent. And now--do

with me as you will--for I am--very weary--"

Sir Richard's arm was about me, and his voice sounded in my ears,

but as though a great way off: "Sirs," said he, "this is my friend--Sir Peter Vibart." There

was a moment's pause, then--a chair fell with a crash, and there

rose a confusion of excited voices which grew suddenly silent,

for the door had opened, and on the threshold stood a woman, tall

and proud and richly dressed, from the little dusty boot that

peeped beneath her habit to the wide-sweeping hat-brim that

shaded the high beauty of her face. And I would have gone to her

but that my strength failed me.

"Charmian!"

She started, and, turning, uttered a cry, and ran to me.

"Charmian," said I; "oh, Charmian!" And so, with her tender arms

about me, and her kisses on my lips, the mist settled down upon

me, thicker and darker than ever.