346 
American Agriculturist, November 17,1923 
The Broad Highway — By Jeffery Farnol 
S LOWLY, slowly the moon, mounted into a cloudless heaven, higher and 
higher in queenly majesty, until the road before me became transformed 
into a silver track splashed here and there with the inky shadow of hedge and 
trees, and leading away into a land of “Faerie.” 
Indeed, to my mind, there is nothing more delightful than to walk upon a 
country road, beneath a midsummer moon, when there is no sound to break the 
stillness save perhaps, the murmur of wind in trees, or the throbbing melody 
of some’hidden brook. At such times the world of every day—the hard, hard 
world of Common-sense—seems to vanish quite, and we walk within the fair 
haven of our dreams. , , 
From this ecstasy I was suddenly aroused by hearing once more the sound 
of a footstep upon the road behind me. I turned sharp about, and, though the 
road seemed as deserted as ever, I walked back, looking into every patch of 
shadow, and even thrust into the denser parts of the hedges with my staff; but 
still found no one. And yet I knew, that I was being followed persistently, 
step by step, but by whom and for what reason? 
A little farther on, upon one side of 
the way, was a small wood or coppice, 
and now I made towards this, keeping 
well in the shadow of the hedge. The 
trees were somewhat scattered, but the 
underbrush was very dense, and amongst 
this I hid myself where I could watch 
the road, and waited. _ Minute after 
minute elapsed, and, losing patience, I 
was about to give up all hope of thus 
discovering my unknown pursuer, when 
a stick snapped sharply near by, and, 
glancing round, I thought I saw a head 
vanish behind an adjacent tree; where¬ 
fore I made quickly towards that tree, 
but ere I reached it, a man stepped 
out. A tall, loose-limbed fellow he was, 
clad in rough clothes (that somehow 
had about them a vague suggestion of 
ships and the sea), and with a moth- 
eaten, fur cap crushed down upon his 
head. His face gleamed pale, and his 
eyes were deepsunken, and very bright; 
also, I noticed that one hand was hid¬ 
den in the pocket of his coat. 
And, with the glance that showed 
me all this, I recognized the Outside 
Passenger. 
CHAPTER XVII 
HOW I TALKED WITH A MADMAN IN A 
WOOD BY MOONLIGHT 
A/-'100D evening sir!” he said, in a 
VJT strange, hurried sort of way, “the 
moon, you will perceive, is very nearly 
at the full to-night.” 
“Why do you stand and peer at me? 
said I sharply. “And why have you 
followed me all the way from Ton- 
bridge?” 
“Sir, I am a shadow cast by neither 
sun, nor moon, nor star, that moves on 
unceasingly in dark as in light. Sir, 
it is my fate (in common with my 
kind), to be ever upon the move—a 
stranger everywhere without friends 
or kindred. Ahd I peer at you, sir, 
because I wished to make certain what 
manner of man you were before I 
spoke, and though the moon is bright, 
yet your hat-brim left your face in 
shade^ 
“Well, are you satisfied?” 
“So much so, sir, so very much so, 
that I should like to talk with you, 
to—to ask you a question,” he an¬ 
swered, passing a thin, white hand 
across his brow. 
“A question?” 
“If you will be so obliging as to 
listen, sir; let us sit awhile, for I am 
very weary.” And with the words he 
sank down upon the grass. After a 
momentary hesitation, I followed his 
example, for my curiosity was piqued 
by the fellow’s strange manner; yet, 
when we were sitting opposite each 
other, I saw that Ms hand was still 
hidden in the pocket of his coat. 
“Perhaps, sir,” said he, in his nerv¬ 
ous, hurried manner, “perhaps you 
would be better able to answer my 
question were I first to tell you a 
story—an ordinary, a very common¬ 
place one, I fear, but with the virtue 
that it is short, and soon told.” 
“My time is entirely my own,” said 
I, leaning against the tree behind me; 
“proceed with your story.” 
“First, then, my name is Strickland 
—John Strickland!” 
Here he paused, and, though his 
head was bent, I saw him watching 
me beneath his brows. 
“Well?” said I. 
“I am a supercargo.” 
Again he paused expectantly, but 
seeing I merely nodded, he continued: 
“Upon one of my voyages, our ves¬ 
sel was wrecked, and, so far as I know, 
all save myself and six others—four 
seamen and two passengers—were 
drowned. The passengers I speak of 
were an old merchant—and his daugh¬ 
ter, a very beautiful girl; her name 
was—Angela, sir.” 
Once again he paused and again he 
eyed me narrowly. 
“Well?” said I. 
“Well, sir,” he resumed, “we seven, 
after two miserable days in a drifting 
boat, reached an island where, that 
same night, the old merchant died. 
Sir, the sailors were wild, rough men; 
the island was a desolate one from 
whence there was seemingly no chance 
of escape, and this girl was, as I have 
said, very beautiful. Under such con¬ 
ditions her fate would have been un¬ 
speakable degradation, and probably 
death; but, sir, I fought and bled for 
her, not once but many times. Day 
after day, and night after night, I 
watched for an opportunity to escape 
with the boat, until at last, one day 
while they were all three gone inland, 
with the girl’s help I managed to 
launch the boat, and so stood out to 
sea. After three days’ buffeting at the 
mercy of the seas, we were picked up 
by a brig bound for Portsmouth, and, 
six months later, were in England. Sir, 
it is impossible for a man to have lived 
beside a beautiful woman day by day, 
to have fought for and suffered with 
her, not to love her also. Thus, seeing 
her friendless and penniless, I wooed 
and won her to wife. We came to Lon¬ 
don, and for a year our life was per¬ 
fect, until, through stress of circum¬ 
stances, I was forced to take another 
position aboard ship. Well, sir, I bade 
farewell to my wife, and we set sail. 
It was a year before I saw my wife 
again. At first I noticed little differ¬ 
ence in her save that she was paler, 
but, gradually, I came to see that she 
was unhappy. Often I have wakened 
in the night to find her weeping silently. 
“Oh sir!” he broke out, “I do not 
think there is anything more terrible 
than to witness in one we love a sorrow 
we are unable to reach!” Here he 
paused, and I saw that the sweat stood 
out upon his brow, and that his hand 
was tight clenched as he drew it across 
his temples. “At last, sir,” he went on, 
speaking once more in a low, repressed 
tone, “returning home one day, I found 
her—gone.” 
“And she left no trace—no letter—?” 
“No, she left no letter, sir, but I did 
find something—a something that had 
rolled into a corner of the room.” 
“And what was that?” 
“fTIHIS, sir!” As he spoke, his burn- 
X ing eyes neve* leaving mine, he 
thrust a hand into his bosom—his left 
hand, for his right was where it been 
all along, hidden in his pocket—and held 
out to me a gold seal such as gentle¬ 
men wear at their fobs. 
“Take it!” said the man, thrusting 
it towards me; “look at it!” Obedient¬ 
ly I took the trinket from him, and saw 
that a letter was engraved upon it, one 
of those ornamental initials surrounded 
by rococo scrolls and flourishes. 
“What letter does it bear?” asked the 
man in a strangled voice. 
“It looks like the letter ‘Y,’” I an¬ 
swered. 
“The letter ‘Y’!” cried the man, and 
then, with a gesture sudden and fierce, 
he snatched the seal from me, and 
laughed strangely. 
“Why do you laugh?” said I. 
“To be sure,” said he harshly, “the 
light might be better, and yet—well! 
well! my story is nearly done. I lived 
on in my lonely house from day to day, 
and month to month, hoping and wait¬ 
ing for her to come back to me. And 
one day she did come back to me-—just 
about this hour it was, sir, and on just 
such another evening; and that same 
night—she died.” 
“Heavens!” I exclaimed. “Poor fel¬ 
low!” And, leaning forward, I laid my 
hand upon his knee, but, at my touch, 
he drew back with a look so evil, that 
I was startled. 
“Hands off!” said he, and so sat 
staring at me with his smouldering 
eyes. 
“Are you mad?” said I, and sprang 
to my feet. 
“Not yet,” he answered, “no, not yet, 
sir.” Here he rose, and stood facing 
me, and I noticed that one hand was 
still hidden in his pocket, and, there¬ 
after, while I listened to him, I kept 
my eyes directed thither. “That night 
—before she—died, sir,” he continued, 
“she told me the name of the man who 
had destroyed her, and I have been 
searching for him ever since. Now, 
sir, here is my question: If I should 
ever meet that man face to face, as 
I now see you, should I not be justi¬ 
fied in—killing him?” 
For a moment I stood with bent head, 
yet conscious all the while of the burn- 
eyes that scanned my face, then: 
“Yes,” said I. 
All at once he turned about, and 
walked unsteadily five or six paces. 
Now, as I looked, I saw him suddenly 
draw his hand from his pocket, then 
as he wheeled, I knew, and hurled my¬ 
self face downward as the pistol 
flashed. 
“Madman!” I cried, and next moment 
was on my feet; but, with a sound that 
was'neither a groan nor a scream, and 
yet something of both, he leapt into 
the thickest part of the underbrush, 
and made off. And standing there, 
dazed by the suddenness of it all, 1 1 
heard the snapping of twigs grow 
fainter and fainter as he crashed 
through in headlong flight. 
“I be; and if you feel inclined for a 
mug o’ good ale—say the word.” 
“Most willingly,” said I, “but what 
of-the axle?” 
“Plenty o’ time for th’ axle,” nodded 
the landlord, and setting down his ham¬ 
mer upon a bench hard by, he led the 
way into the tap. Finding myself very 
hungry, the landlord forthwith pro¬ 
duced a mighty round of beef, upon 
which we both fell to, and ate with a 
will. Which done, I pulled out my 
negrqhead pipe, and the landlord fetch¬ 
ing himself another, we sat awhile smok¬ 
ing. And presently, learning I was 
from London, he began plying me with 
all manner of questions concerning the 
great city. At length, bethinking him 
of his axle, he rose with a sigh. Upon 
my requesting to be shown my room, he 
lighted a candle, and led the way up a 
CHAPTER XVIII 
THE HEDGE-TAVERN 
T WIGS whipped my face, thorns and 
brambles dragged at my clothes, for 
the wood grew denser as I advanced, 
but I pushed on, heedless of what direc¬ 
tion I took. But, as luck would have it, 
I presently blundered upon a path 
which brought me out very suddenly 
into what appeared to be a small tavern 
yard, for on either hand was a row of 
tumble-down stables and barns, while 
before me was a low, rambling struc¬ 
ture which I judged was the tavern it¬ 
self. I was yet standing looking about 
me when a man issued from the stables 
upon my right, bearing a hammer in 
one hand and a lanthorn in the other. 
“Hallo!” said he, staring at me. 
“Hallo!” said I, staring at him. 
“You don’t chance to ’ave a axle- 
bolt about you, I suppose?” 
“No,” said I. 
“Humph!” he grunted, and, lowering 
his lanthorn, began searching among 
the cobblestones. 
“Is this it?” I inquired, picking up 
a rusty screw-bolt at my feet. 
“Ah!” said he, taking it from me 
with a nod, “know’d I dropped it ’ere 
some’eres. Ye see,” he went on, “could 
n’t get another round ’ere to-night, and 
that cussed axle ’s got to be in place 
to-morra.” 
“Yes?” said I. 
“Ah!” nodded the man, “chaise come 
in ’ere ’arf-an hour ago wi’ two gentle¬ 
men and a lady, in all sorts of a ’urry 
too. ‘Mend this axle, me man, says 
one on ’em. ‘Can’t be done, my lord,’ 
says I, ‘not no’ow, me lord,’ says I. 
Well, after cussin’ ’itself well-nigh 
black in the face, ’e orders me to ’ave 
it ready fust thing to-morra, and 
if you ’ad n’t found that there bolt for 
me it would n’t ’ave been ready fust 
thing to-morra, which would ha’ been 
mighty bad for me. 
“Can I have a bed here, do you 
think?” I inquired. 
“Ah,” said he, “I think you can.” 
“For how much, do you suppose?” 
“To you—sixpence.” 
“Why, that seems reasonable,” said I. 
“It are,” nodded the man, “and a 
fine feather bed too! But then. Lord, 
one good turn deserves another—” 
“Are you the landlord, then?” 
START THE STORY HERE 
After bringing a chance com- 
panion the news of his res¬ 
toration to fortune, and hearing 
from him of the beauty and virtue 
of Lady Helen Dunstan and Lady 
Sophia Sefton, Peter Vibart goes 
on his way. Since Lady Helen is 
loved by his vagabond friend, and 
he himself has been bidden woo 
and win Lady Sophia, Peter has 
much to think about. He has also 
discovered that he very strongly 
resembles his dissolute cousin, 
Sir Maurice, who many men he 
has met have cause to hate. He 
has forgotten that the outside 
passenger on a passing coach has 
also stared after him very fixedly. 
somewhat rickety stair, along a narrow 
passage, and throwing open a door at 
the end, I found myself in a fair-sized 
chamber with a decent white bed, w r hich 
he introduced to my notice by the one 
word, “feathers.” 
“And so £he Tower o’ London ain’t a 
tower?” he inquired. 
“No,” I answered; “it is composed of 
several towers surrounded by very 
strong, battlemented walls.” 
“Ah—to—be—sure,” said he, “ah, to 
be sure! And me ’ave alius thought it 
was a great big tower standin’ in the 
midst o’ the city. Humph—not a tower 
—ha! disapp’inted I be. Humph! Good 
night, master. Disapp’inted I be—yes.” 
And having nodded his head ponder¬ 
ously several times, he turned and went 
ponderously along the passage and 
down the stair. 
A 1 
T the end of my chamber was a long, 
low casement, and, drawn Uiither by 
the beauty of the night, I flung open 
the lattice and leaned out. I looked 
down upon a narrow, deeply-rutted lane, 
and I was idly wondering what fool 
had troubled to build a tavern in such 
a remote, out-of-the-way spot, when my 
ears were saluted by the sound of voices. 
Now, immediately beneath my window 
there was a heavy porch, low and squat, 
from which jutted a beam with a broken 
sign-board, and it was from beneath this 
porch that the voices proceeded, the 
one loud and hectoring, the other gruff 
and sullen. I was about to turn away 
when a man stepped out into the moon¬ 
light. His face was hidden by his hat- 
brim, but from his general ^ir and ap¬ 
pearance I judged him to be’ one of the 
gentlemen whose chaise had broken 
down. As I watched him he walked 
slowly round the angle of the house 
and disappeared. In a little while, I 
drew in my head from the casement, 
and, having removed my dusty boots, 
together with my knapsack and coat, 
blew out the candle, and composed my¬ 
self to sleep. 
Now it seemed to me that I was back 
upon the road, beside the great oak- 
tree. And, as I watched, a small, 
hunched figure crept from the jagged 
opening in the trunk, a figure with a 
jingling pack upon its back, at sight of 
which I turned and ran, filled with an 
indescribable terror. On I sped faster 
and faster, but with the Tinker ever at 
my heels, until I had reached this 
tavern; the door crashed to, behind me, 
only just in time, and I knew, as I lay 
(Continued on page 348) 
