Chapter XIII: Book III: Studley Hall, 1687 (5)

The highwayman uttered a curse, and then demanded our watches. Dr. Bristow pulled out his, and the robber reached out his hand to receive it. In a moment Edward had him by the throat, while Lord Carewe held a pistol to his ear. His horse started from under him, and he was left hanging from the coach-door in a very uncomfortable and undignified fashion. His companion, seeing how things were going, clapped spurs to his horse, and was out of sight in a minute.

"You can't shoot," gurgled the half-choked robber. "Your pistols are stuffed."

"That is your mistake," answered Edward, in the tone of polite dignity which he always uses when offended. "They were stuffed, I grant you, but the stuffing was drawn this morning as you shall see if you offer to stir.—Doctor, will you have the kindness to tie this gentleman's hands? My wife will lend you her scarf for the purpose."

"I have what will serve even better," answered Dr. Bristow calmly, as he took from his pocket a new silk stole. "It hath never been used in the church, or I should have scruples as to putting it to so base a service," he continued, as he secured the hands of the robber, now gasping for breath under Edward's bulldog grasp of his throat. The guard at the same time tying the man's legs, he was helplessly at our mercy.

"Let us take a look at your face, my friend," said Edward, as he took the mask from the robber's countenance. I shall never forget the look of agony he bent upon me as I recognized Philip Morley. I spoke his name aloud before I thought.

"For Heaven's sake, let me go," pleaded the poor craven wretch. "Let me go, and I will never molest any one again.—O Mrs. Studley, plead for me!"

The men were obdurate at first, but Dr. Bristow and I finally prevailed with them to leave him, bound as he was, by the side of the road. We had passed a carrier's wagon about an hour before, so we knew he would be found and released before night-fall. A stout strap was substituted for the desecrated stole, which the doctor remarked would make his good sister an apron. And we left him sitting by the roadside, a pitiable object indeed. He was rescued, as we had foreseen, and told some cock-and-bull story to account for his plight. He left the country at once, and I believe has never returned.

We had no further adventures, and reached home in safety, to find all well, and Mrs. Williams quite reconciled to poor Dennis and Patrick. As the season was advanced, and so much was to be done at the Hall, we remained at Applecoombe till May, when, having let the farm to advantage, we removed to this house, where we have now lived for two or three months.

I must confess that at first I woefully missed the farm and its interests. But I soon found enough to do, and my baby's coming after so long a time filled up my cup of happiness to the brim. My good aunt is finally satisfied with my position, and takes great credit to herself for establishing me so well. I am quite willing she should do so, since it pleases her, but I can't help thinking how it would have been if she had been determined to marry me to Mr. Cheney instead of Mr. Studley. In my state of mind at that time, I should probably have been as passive as I was in marrying Mr. Studley.

Now Mr. Cheney—my lord, I should say—has fled the country, and people say has joined King James in Ireland. All his great wealth has vanished into thin air, and he hath left nothing behind him but an immense amount of unpaid bills in Exeter, and various gambling debts. His poor wife has returned to her widowed mother, who tells a pitiful story of her wrongs. Sir Robert let out the whole story the last time he and my aunt were here, and I thought it was a good deal to Betty Rowson's credit that not a look or word escaped her to say, "I told you so."

One thing I know. No considerations of worldly advantage shall ever make me force my Barbara into a match against her will. The baby is named Barbara, after my husband's mother, and my dear Bab Andrews, from whom I hear two or three times a year. She is well, and seems to be happy in the life she has chosen. Her aunt is dead, and has left her quite rich; and she hath removed to a place called Newcastle, not far from Mr. Penn's new town, which he calls Philadelphia.

Uncle Philip visited the place last year, and says it is really quite a nice village. Barbara sent me a little painting of her house, which is neat and pretty. She has a school for girls, which gives her pleasant employment. I fancy Uncle Philip would not be sorry to go into partnership with her, but I doubt Bab will never marry. However, he is going thither again next year, he having taken command of a fine ship belonging to Master Birch, in Bristol: so there is no telling what may happen.

Mrs. Williams is well and happy, and I hope may be spared to us for many years. She surprised us all by going to church when baby was christened, and has been to hear Mr. Rowson preach once or twice since. She hath her crotchets, no doubt, but I am sure a better Christian never lived in the world than Mrs. Mehetabel Williams.

Lord Chesterton was married last year to no less a person than my old school friend and pet, Mrs. Patty, Lady Clarenham's grand-niece. She has grown-up a very pretty, sweet young lady, and will make him a nice wife. He lives at home on his own estates, sees to his tenants, and is a very sober, religious gentleman, certainly a great contrast to what he was when I knew him first.

Mr. Baxter is still living, and in much easier circumstances, many of the oppressive restrictions which were laid on the Dissenters during the last two reigns having been taken off, though there is still plenty of room for improvement in their condition. Mr. and Mrs. Pendergast have gone to America, and are settled in the same town as Bab Andrews. My Lady Corbet left them quite a sum of money in her will, with which they bought land: so they are well to do. I am glad, for I always liked them. Ursula Jackson is a widow, but carries on her husband's business.

And now I come to the end of the third of these books, which I began under such different circumstances. Looking back over the way I have come, I can but thank the Guiding Hand which has led me by such unknown and untried ways to this haven of rest and peace. I thank God that he "has" led me, often sorely against my will, instead of leaving me to follow out the paths I chose for myself. Verily, He leadeth "the blind by a way they know not."

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.

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THE SWORD OF THE CAREWS By DUNCAN McCLAREN. MIDSHIPMITE CURLY DR. GORDON STABLES. THE DOG CRUSOE R. M. BALLANTYNE. PRETORIA FROM WITHIN A. J. BATTS. EVERYBODY'S BUSINESS AGNES GIBERNE. HER NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR M. COMRIE. GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES _Illustrated._ UNCLE TOM'S CABIN H. B. STOWE. THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD E. WETHERELL. THE CORAL ISLAND R. M. BALLANTYNE. BLUEBELL EMMA MARSHALL. HALF A DOZEN GIRLS A. C. RAY. HEARTS OF OAK GORDON STABLES. HALF A DOZEN BOYS A. C. RAY. THE KNIGHTS OF THE WHITE ROSE GEORGE GRIFFITH. THE GREAT WHITE QUEEN WM. LE QUEUX. LADY SYBIL'S CHOICE E. S. HOLT. THE CHILDREN'S KINGDOM L. T. MEADE. LITTLE QUEENIE EMMA MARSHALL. JACK, AN ENGLISH BOY Y. OSBORN. SISTER ROSE E. S. HOLT. THE HIDDEN TREASURE L. E. GUERNSEY. A KNIGHT OF TO-DAY L. T. MEADE. THE KING'S DAUGHTERS E. S. HOLT. WAITING FOR THE BEST J. M. CONKLIN. ALL'S WELL E. S. HOLT. A REAL HERO G. STEBBING. HER HUSBAND'S HOME E. EVERETT-GREEN. ROBIN TREMAYNE E. S. HOLT. THE STORY OF MARTIN LUTHER E. WARREN. OUT IN GOD'S WORLD J. M. CONKLIN. UNDAUNTED W. C. METCALFE. WINNING AN EMPIRE G. STEBBING. WON AT LAST AGNES GIBERNE.

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More than Sixty-six Volumes in this Series.
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LONDON: JOHN F. SHAW & CO., 48, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.