It was the midnight hour, and the sky dark as pitch. The wind howled dismally through the trees, and seemed to shake the very foundations of this ancient hostelry. All the inmates of the 'Headless Lady' had retired to rest; that is to say, all the members of the club. Our host above was stirring, and had not yet made up his mind to go to roost. In fact, he seemed disposed to make a night of it, and enjoy himself as much as circumstances would permit.

The wind dashed the sleet against the window panes, and the ground was getting fast covered with snow. But our host stirred the fire, put on a fresh log, and filled himself up a glass of his own home brewed ale. First he took a sip, then setting his glass down, he next walked leisurely into the room adjoining for his tobacco box, with the intention of filling his yard of clay. His back was no sooner turned than the bulky figure of a man, in his stockinged feet, tripped lightly across the hall, and, quick as thought, dexterously emptied a white powder into the glass our host had left standing, then as speedily vanished.

He had hardly disappeared, when our host, suspecting nothing, re-appeared upon the scene, and proceeded to fill his churchwarden with some of his strongest tobacco. He then lighted his pipe by the fire, and throwing himself into an easy chair, puffed away complacently for a time. He was apparently musing, when, as if suddenly recollecting that his glass was at his elbow, he raised it to his lips and drained it to the dregs; making a wry face, as if he had just tossed off a dose of physic. He was on the point of filling up again from the jug close at hand, when a yawn escaped him. He had grown unaccountably sleepy. This feeling he at first endeavored to combat by having recourse to his snuff box, but the effect of the pungent herb was only temporary, for soon his eyelids fell, as if weighed down with lead, and he was now snoring loud, and as utterly oblivious as a corpse.

"I've drugged the old boy," said the man in black to his master, with a chuckle. "It's all plain sailing now. We've only got to pick the lock of the lady's room, stuff a handkerchief in her mouth, and carry her downstairs. The carriage is in readiness outside. Quick! Let's up and be doing."

Upstairs tripped the ruffianly bully as lightly and noiselessly as a grasshopper, followed closely by his aristocratic patron, and in a moment the two men stood before the chamber of the unconscious sleeper. It was locked, as they had anticipated; but with a deftness that argued much practice in this art, the bully soon succeeded in causing the lock to yield, and the door swung noiselessly back on its hinges. Aided by the light of a taper, which his lordship carried, the ruffian was enabled to make straight for the bed, and seizing the fair sleeper roughly in his powerful arms, was in the act of rushing downstairs with her when a shriek, so loud and piercing that it bid fair to waken the dead, resounded through the walls of this ancient hostel, startling from their sleep all its inmates, save our host, who was still as fast in the arms of Morpheus as when we left him.

"Damnation!" cried the bully, between his teeth, as he thrust a handkerchief into his victim's mouth, and hurried with her towards the hall door, whilst Lord Scampford followed close at his heels, a horse pistol in either hand.

The door of the inn was soon unbolted, and before any of the household could hurry to the spot, the pair of scoundrels were already outside in the bleak night air, and hailing his lordship's carriage, which now drew up. The liveried footman had opened the door of the carriage, and in another moment it would have closed securely upon these two arrant scoundrels and their helpless victim, while a crack of the coachman's whip would have carried them miles out of reach of all human opposition, had not at this juncture something quite unforeseen occurred.

From out the darkness a cloaked figure, with broad sombrero drawn down tightly over his eyes, suddenly emerged, and with a well-directed blow from a leaden-headed cane upon the bare head of the man in black, felled the gigantic bully, who measured his full length upon the ground covered with snow, still clasping in his arms the terrified and trembling form of our heroine, whose shrieks of "murder" and cries for help at length brought all the members of the club to the spot.

Before they arrived, however, the mysterious stranger, who had so opportunely come to the rescue, had succeeded in releasing Helen from the clasp of the unconscious ruffian, and carried her inside, but not before Lord Scampford had discharged his brace of horse pistols at him—we need not say without any effect, save that of startling the horses so terribly that they became perfectly unmanageable, and bolted with the carriage, before the footman had time to spring to the box. His lordship, finding his pistols useless, flung them from him, and drawing his rapier, made for the stranger, who likewise drew his sword, and a skirmish ensued.

At this moment all the inmates of "The Headless Lady" hurried downstairs, half dressed, with lighted candles, and armed with what weapons of offence they could first lay their hands upon. One carried a torch, by the light of which the spectators could clearly note the position of affairs. Lord Scampford and the Unknown were still in the thick of the fray, and appeared well matched, when suddenly an opening presented itself, and the sword of the Unknown pierced the heart of his lordship, who fell back lifeless on the snow.

The greatest confusion reigned. Questions were asked on all hands, and no one seemed to be wiser than his neighbour, yet the main facts of the case were apparent to all. Helen had retreated hurriedly to her chamber, and locked herself in afresh. Our host seemed not yet sufficiently conscious to be able to take in the situation. It was not till the small hours of the morning that each returned to his bed. On looking round for the stranger he had vanished.

Now, it will readily be imagined that at the breakfast table next morning, at which our members assembled rather late, little else was discussed save the adventures of the previous night.

"The scoundrels!" thundered out Mr. Oldstone, with an indignant snort.

"The villains!" chimed in Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible together.

"The world is well rid of such a pair of jail birds," said Mr. Hardcase; "only it is a pity that they were allowed to cheat the gallows."

"Poor Helen!" sighed Parnassus; "I think there is matter for an epic poem in her misadventure."

"You are right," agreed Mr. Blackdeed. "The incident was pre-eminently dramatic; just suited to the stage, and would certainly bring down the house. I intend to dramatise it at my earliest convenience."

"And how is our patient, Dame Hearty?" enquired Dr. Bleedem of our hostess, who was waiting upon the members at table this morning instead of her daughter.

"Still very feverish, doctor," was the reply. "The poor child has caught a dreadful cold from being turned out of her warm bed and carried into the cold night air and the snow by those ruffians, and she with scarce a stitch of clothing on."

"Poor dear!" cried Dr. Bleedem, compassionately. "I'll come and see how she is getting on after breakfast."

"Why, doctor," observed Mr. Crucible, "you've got your work pretty well cut out for you. There's his lordship—well, you can dissect him; and his man, too, for the matter of that. Then there's the coachman, who was brought back here in his lordship's carriage early this morning, with his shoulder-blade broken; then the horses, with their knees broken: and now it's our sweet Helen——"

"Say, doctor," broke in Professor Cyanite, "was that rascally bully sufficiently conscious before his death to give an account of himself?"

"Oh, yes, he was conscious, though he hadn't time to say much. I saw from the first that the case was fatal. He admitted that he had been a d——d scoundrel, but added that his lordship was every whit as bad—and worse. He alleged that had he taken a situation as servant under an honest man, instead of entering the service of an unprincipled rake and debauchee like Lord Scampford, that he himself might have become an honest man. He showed some contrition for the part he had played last night, and begged me to ask the lady's forgiveness for the same, as well as to pray for his soul. Then his mind seemed to wander, and he called out: 'There's his lordship! I see him enveloped in a sheet of flame, with fire issuing from his eyes and mouth, and from the tips of his fingers. He is beckoning to me! He is calling me down to Hell! How horrible the forms that hover round me. Mercy! mercy! Oh! my God,' Here he uttered a despairing groan, and spoke no more."

"Ha! Quite dramatic again," remarked the tragedian, who had no thought but what had reference to the stage; "the repentant sinner on his death-bed—excellent! I will take a note of that, and introduce it into my next play."

"Then there is the rescuer; you forget him," observed the poet. "The mysterious stranger, with cloak and slouched hat, appearing on the spot in the very nick of time to succour Beauty in distress."

"True, true," assented the tragedian; "I had nigh forgot. If this episode wouldn't bring down the house I don't know what would."

"I wonder who he was," observed Mr. Oldstone. "His sudden appearance was most remarkable; his disappearance no less so."

In the middle of this discussion, the door opened, and our host entered with a letter, which he handed to the antiquary, who mechanically put it in his pocket as of no immediate importance, without even looking at the handwriting, while he joined in the merry banter of the other members, who, as soon as our landlord made his appearance fixed upon him at once as the butt of their satire.

"Hullo, Jack!" cried one, "got over your little nap at last, eh?"

"That last glass of your home-brewed ale, by way of a night cap was most effectual," jeered another.

Our host, however, did not view the matter by any means in the light of a joke, and answered savagely, "Ah! the dastardly cowards! They did me at last. Can't make out how they found time to do it. Such a trick was never played me before, and I'll take jolly good care they don't catch me again."

"Well, that's not likely under the circumstances, is it, Jack?" replied Mr. Hardcase.

"Just like these lawyer fellows," observed Professor Cyanite, "they are always tripping one up."

"Nor yet anyone else," persisted the landlord. Then added, "To think that my daughter who has been brought up from a kid under my very eyes, and never seen no one save her parents and you gentlemen of the club, who have always treated her with courtesy as though she were a high born lady—she, what's never heard a word in her life as she didn't oughter have heard—what never knowed nothink of the ways of this wicked world—that she, poor child, should be subjected to outrage from two ruffianly bullies—one o' them a peer of the realm, forsooth, and all on account of her picter being exhibited at that d——d Royal Academy!" He concluded with a thump of his fist on the breakfast table that set all the cups and saucers rattling, and felt better afterwards.

"Yes, it was a narrow shave. Wasn't it, Jack?" remarked Parnassus. "If it hadn't been for that stranger——"

"Ah! I'ld like to find out who he was. That I would. Can any of you gentlemen guess?" demanded our host.

"Not I."

"Nor I," replied several voices at once.

"Why on earth don't he show hisself?" asked Jack. "Well, he's a trump, whoever he is, say I."

The company now broke up, and the members of the club began to set about their several avocations. Dr. Bleedem went upstairs to visit his fair patient, and Mr. Oldstone found himself once more alone. He paced the room slowly, with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin upon his breast, as if lost in a reverie. Then suddenly blurted out, with a snort, "The d——d rascals! The double-dyed sons of Belial! To dare to carry off my Helen! That sweet child that I love as if she were my own flesh and blood. And how nearly they succeeded!" Here his eyes filled with tears, and thrusting his hand into his large pocket in search of his handkerchief, his fingers clutched something crisp, and he recollected the letter that Jack Hearty had put into his hand at breakfast. "Some shoemaker's bill, I suppose," he muttered, as he mopped his eyes with his handkerchief. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, glancing at the handwriting. "What! am I dreaming? Isn't this the writing of my young friend Vandyke McGuilp? But how? I am only just in possession of his letter from Rome, and this letter bears no postmark, being brought here by some casual messenger. Then he must be here! Don't understand it at all." Here he broke the seal and read as follows:

Our antiquary had hardly finished reading the letter, and thrust it into his pocket, when Dr. Bleedem re-entered the room with a very serious expression on his face.

"Well, doctor," said Mr. Oldstone cheerily, not noticing his countenance, "What news?"

"Bad, bad, very bad indeed," replied the leech gravely. "She is in a high fever and delirious. Quite off her head. If I ever get her through this——"

"Good heavens! doctor," ejaculated Oldstone, "you don't mean to say that there is any actual danger of her life?"

"Very considerable danger, I am afraid," responded the physician. "She will require the most careful nursing, such as I am afraid she is not likely to get even from her own mother."

"Doctor, you frighten me," cried Oldstone. "Surely someone can be found to attend upon her to relieve her mother."

"They are a rough lot about here, and not always dependable," answered Bleedem. "It must be someone who will remain with her all night long without going to sleep. If she ever should get over it——"

"Nonsense! doctor. She must get over it, if I myself have to sit up to attend upon her."

"Well, well, we must see how we can manage; but it is a very bad case, for besides the chill she caught, which was of itself enough, there was, in addition, the mental shock to the nervous system. She is so delicately organised."

"Poor dear! poor dear!" whimpered Oldstone. "If she dies under your treatment, doctor, I shall never——"

"Under my treatment!" exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, with vehemence. "God bless the man! She'ld die all the sooner under anyone else's. Do you think I shan't do my best to bring her round—if it were only for my reputation. If I fail, no man in the whole wide world will be able to save her."

Our antiquary then, by way of changing the conversation, fearing he had somewhat nettled the physician, inquired, "By the way, doctor, did she discourse much during her delirium?"

"Lord, yes; a lot of rubbish, of course," replied the leech. "Imagined she was undergoing again the adventure of last night. Thought Lord Scampford was after her with his bully. Stretched out her arms for succour towards an imaginary angel, whom she said had been sent down from heaven to protect her; ever and anon confounding him with Mr. McGuilp."

Here the man of medicine indulged in the ghost of a smile.

"Did she indeed, doctor? Well, this is most interesting. Now, while you have a moment of leisure, oblige me by reading this letter."

Here the antiquary handed over the epistle of our artist to Dr. Bleedem.

The physician seized it gravely, read it through in silence to the end; re-read it, slowly folded it up, and returned it to Oldstone.

"Humph! remarkable—very," he observed, after a pause.

Further discussion on the subject was checked by the entry of the other members for their mid-day meal, during which no secret was made as to the identity of the mysterious stranger.

"Well, well, well," cried our host, when the mystery had been cleared up. "If I didn't half suspect it all along. Why, bless my soul, if I think there could be found another man in the world capable of it. Eh, Molly?"

As for our hostess, she went right off into hysterics, and Mr. Oldstone was not the only member of the club who was visibly affected.

A month had passed over, and it was now time for the case of that memorable night to be tried at the assizes. Our host, the two serving men, and every member of the club had received a summons to appear as witnesses. Helen herself would have been obliged to put in an appearance, had not Dr. Bleedem signed a certificate that her state of health prevented her from attending. The greatest excitement prevailed when our artist appeared in court. Nearly all were prepossessed in his favour, and several women were overheard to express hopes that they would not hang so good-looking a man. The two serving men were then called, one after the other, and both deposed that their deceased master, Lord Scampford, had first drawn his sword on the gentleman, who was forced to act on the defensive.

The case was soon settled. The jury brought it in as justifiable homicide, and in spite of some ineffectual opposition on the part of the family of the defunct Lord Scampford, who wondered what had come of nobility in these times, when a mere commoner like the defendant could waylay and assassinate a peer of the realm and get off unscathed, etc., etc. In spite, however, of all opposition, our artist was acquitted and left the court without a stain on his character, amid the cheers and congratulations of the crowd. As he left the court house he was accompanied to the "Headless Lady" by all the members of the club, who vied with each other in the cordiality of their welcome.

Many changes of importance had taken place of late. Our artist's relative had long since breathed his last, and he now slept with his fathers. His nephew had sat up with him to the end, and was chief mourner at his funeral. The will of deceased had been read, and our friend Vandyke McGuilp was known to have inherited his entire fortune, which was considerable, so that the once struggling limner was now little short of a millionaire.

A sudden change for the better had taken place in the health of our heroine, which now mended apace in a way that surprised the doctor. Still, it was deemed advisable, for the present, to keep her in ignorance of her hero's arrival on the scene.

After some discussion on the subject, i.e., when her medical attendant pronounced her out of all danger, it was generally agreed upon that considering the great confidence which had always existed between Mr. Oldstone and the daughter of our host, that he should be the man entrusted to break the joyful news to the patient.

Our antiquary accordingly bent him to the task; so mounting the staircase, he tapped at the patient's door. On entering the chamber, he was greeted by a beaming smile from its fair occupant.

"Why! my pretty pet!" cried the old man, cheerily, "what a time it seems since I saw you last! Why! you are pulled down, poor dear."

"Am I?" answered Helen. "I am feeling much better now, though; and I am getting tired of lying in bed all day. I feel quite well now, and want to get up."

"Don't do anything without Dr. Bleedem's permission," remonstrated Oldstone, "or you may throw yourself back, and then what should we all do without you?"

"Yes, Dr. Bleedem says I have been most seriously ill—that he has just rescued me from the jaws of death."

"Ah!" remarked the antiquary with a quiet smile, "and someone else rescued you quite lately from something very like the jaws of death—only worse," he added, in a low tone.

"Oh!" she cried, covering her face with her hands, as if to shut out some horrible vision; "don't mention those two villainous men, or I shall go mad."

"No, no; we won't mention them again. They have gone to their account at last—and—there, there, let us not judge, but try to forgive, as we ourselves would wish to be forgiven," said Oldstone.

"But what harm had I done them? Why should they—I mean, what did they want to do to me?" asked the girl, ingenuously.

"Do to you, silly child! He! he! What all wicked men seek to do when they get the chance," replied her friend. "Let us not talk of them, but rather of the brave man who rescued you in the very nick of time from a living death."

"I understand nothing of their object, and I can't get anyone to explain to me; but I want to know more of the brave man who, at the risk of his own life, came to my assistance."

"Perhaps I can tell you something of him, too," said Oldstone, mysteriously. "Did you note him well?"

"Not I. How could I? I was half fainting when he carried me into the hall. Besides, he was so muffled up in a cloak and hat that I was unable to see his face."

"True; neither could any of us—he was so successfully disguised. But we have discovered since who he was, for all that."

"Then you have seen him—spoken to him? Please convey him my most sincere thanks and blessings for his heroic conduct towards a perfect stranger."

"Perhaps you would like to thank him yourself—some day—when you are able to get up, and feel quite well again," suggested Oldstone.

"I suppose I ought," replied Helen. "I feel most grateful to him, I am sure; for don't I owe him my life? But I am so shy with strangers—and—and I don't know what to say," pleaded the girl. Then, at length, "Tell me what manner of man he is?"

"Oh! he's a gentleman," replied Oldstone; "you may depend upon that—and, what is more, he's young, and, I think, very good-looking. I am sure you would say so, too."

Here a knowing look came into the antiquary's face, which puzzled the patient, who, with eyes and mouth wide open, appeared to scan his countenance as if to read the very secrets of his soul. Then, like a Pythoness of old, suddenly inspired, she exclaimed, "I have it! In vain you try to keep it from me. Mr. McGuilp has returned. It was he——"

Oldstone marvelled at her penetration, but replied only by a succession of little nods of his head, fixing his eyes steadily, yet laughingly, upon her the while.

"I knew it; I knew it!" she exclaimed. "My dreams confirmed it. Oh, God be praised," and she clasped her hands in ecstasy.

"Calm yourself; calm yourself, my sweet one," began Oldstone, now seriously alarmed lest the patient should suffer a relapse, "What would Dr. Bleedem say to me if he knew I had been so precipitate?"

"Dr. Bleedem! Does he then know of our——?"

"Oh! I never said anything to him about it, you may be sure. What I mean is—he wishes you to be spared all emotion, lest you should throw yourself back, and all his care be in vain."

"Oh! no fear of that," replied Helen. "I feel so much better since you told me. Stay!—if you have seen him, he is here. Perhaps in this very inn—tell me!"

"Well, not very far off, I dare say," said Oldstone, cautiously.

"Mr. Oldstone!" cried the girl, "you can hide nothing from me. I know he is here, and I insist upon seeing him."

"My dear! my dear! How can you? Just think! You must wait till you are well enough to get up," protested her friend and counsellor. "Dr. Bleedem will decide all that."

"I want to see him now, this instant."

"What! In your bedroom!" exclaimed Oldstone. "My dear child! It's not proper."

"Then why do you come yourself, and Dr. Bleedem?"

"That is a very different matter? I am an old man, and Dr. Bleedem is your medical attendant," replied the antiquary. "Mr. McGuilp is young—and people might talk."

"Nonsense! If you don't let me see him, I'll make myself ill and die," exclaimed the patient, petulantly.

The antiquary began to be alarmed, but tried to pacify her by saying he would see Dr. Bleedem, and consult with him as to what were best to be done.

As he did so, the doctor mounted the stairs. He came to administer a cordial.

"She seems much better now, doctor," remarked Mr. Oldstone.

Here a muttered consultation took place just outside the patient's door. After which the physician entered the sick-room, and finding his patient's nerves somewhat excited, administered a calm soothing dose which sent her off into a peaceful sleep, while our antiquary sought his young protÉgÉ, and explained that, owing to the patient having taken a composing draught, the doctor's advice was, that he had better postpone his visit till the morrow.

Our artist's disappointment at being refused an interview with his inamorata after so long an absence may be imagined, but he was consoled in a measure by the doctor's promise that she would be well enough to see him on the following day. On one thing he had thoroughly made up his mind, and that was to ask her in marriage of her father. He had never ceased to love her all the time he had been absent, but up to the present he had no position to offer her. Were she to marry one of the many country bumpkins who flocked around her, it would be affluence to what he could have offered her. He could not afford to have quarrelled with his only relative. The consequences would have been fatal. Now everything had changed. He was rich, and could afford to please himself. Therefore on the morrow he was resolved to speak to her father.

It will readily be imagined that our artist's return to his native land, to say nothing of the chain of events that followed—his heroism, his trial and acquittal, were events that could not be passed over without celebration. Therefore it is needless to say that the evening was spent round the merry punch bowl, as usual on festive occasions.

Mr. Oldstone was again elected chairman, which post none of the members felt inclined to dispute with him. The evening opened with a congratulatory speech from the chairman, addressed to our artist, to which he replied with brevity and grace. To say that his health was drunk with the usual three times three would be superfluous.

Jack Hearty was called in to join in the toast and invited to take a seat, while our artist was called upon by the members of the club to give an account of his adventures among the brigands, which he did in a manner so graphic, and with such grace and easy command of language, that the company remained spellbound, drinking in every detail of his narrative, whether it were a description of natural scenery or climate—the dress or physiognomy of his captors—their attitudes, their language, or what not. Nothing was forgotten. His trials and privations, his thoughts of home, and the friends he had left behind him. (He mentioned nothing of the girl he left behind him). Then he described the final tussle with the carabineers, and his subsequent rescue. Thus he rambled on in one continual flow of diction like a mill stream without interruption, carried away by his enthusiasm in such a manner as to leave no doubt in the minds of his hearers as to his having taken part himself in the adventures he described.

"Now, mine host," said the chairman, at the conclusion of this somewhat prolonged narrative, "what do you say to that?"

"Well, well, well," replied that worthy, musingly. "To think that all that should have happened to one of my gentlemen customers, what's been in furren parts. Why, it beats the story books out and out. Blessed if I can't see it all a goin' on before my very eyes."

"True, Jack," agreed Mr. Oldstone, "such is the power of our young friend's eloquence, that one feels that we ourselves have taken part in it."

"Might I point out to the company," began Mr. Blackdeed, "the intensely dramatic situation of——"

"Also the highly poetical episode——" broke in Mr. Parnassus.

"And if you had been there," interrupted our artist in his turn, "you would have noticed the vivid colouring, the fine grouping of the figures, the chiaroscuro—the fantastic light and shade that would have impressed the scene upon your memory in a way never to be forgotten."

"Hark at him! Hark at him!" cried several members at once, as they refilled their glasses from the punch-bowl.

The conversation then drifted towards more recent adventures, and our artist explained in full his sudden appearance on the spot in time to frustrate the designs of the ravishers, and rescue innocence from pollution.

"And to think that you rescued my daughter from those ruffians, sir, and at the risk of your own life, too. Why it was admirable! But there, sir, I can't find no words to thank you with—that I can't."

Here our worthy host became very moist; but the chairman filled up his glass again for him, which he tossed off at a gulp, and felt better.

"And now, gentlemen," said the chairman, rising, "just one more toast before I dismiss this honourable meeting, which I am sure you will all join in. Here is 'Health, long life, and happiness, both to the rescuer and the rescued!'"—(Shouts of "Hear, hear!" and "Yes; none but the brave deserve the fair.")—"Then, here goes with a 'Hip! hip! hip!—hurrah!'"

Our artist, somewhat taken aback, blushed up to his scalp, and drank off the toast good humouredly, after which there was shaking of hands all round, and every one retired to his dormitory in a comfortable frame of mind and body.