The Comet coach, from London to York, left the Angel Inn, on the borders of Yorkshire, at three o'clock in the November afternoon, on the last stage of the journey.

It was bitterly cold, and the low-hanging clouds held snow. Inside the tavern parlor the passengers hugged the fire and looked dismally out of the small-paned windows on the court-yard at the coach, to which the horses were being put, while the coachman, taking his last nip from a pewter pot at the kitchen window, chaffed the bar-maid and playfully flecked his whip at the postilion busy with the horses near by.

Among the passengers lingering around the fire was Archy Baskerville. He still wore his uniform, which had grown excessively shabby; but he was not without money. He had engaged the box-seat, and had paid for it in a lordly manner, showing, meanwhile, with boyish vanity and imprudence, a handsome rouleau of gold. He had a very handsome new cloak of dark-blue camlet, elegantly lined, and with a fur collar; and his seedy knee-breeches were ornamented with a costly pair of buckles.

The singular contrast in his dress could not fail to excite remark. An individual known as a bagman began to chaff him, while the other passengers listened and smiled.

"Wot's the matter with your clothes, young man? Did you kill a French captain in that 'ere suit—as you won't change it?"

Archy disdained to reply to this, and, wrapping his handsome cloak around him, produced a pair of pistols—not the great horse-pistols of the day, but of the kind used by officers; then he tightened the belt of the sword he wore, according to the custom in those days—all with an air of nonchalance that would have suited a man of twice his age.

A pert young woman in a hat and feathers, and travelling alone, then began:

"La, me! Have we got to travel in company with them pistols? Sure, they'll go off, little boy, and then we'll all be weltering in our blood."

A flush of anger rose to Archy's cheek at this, but he wisely held his peace. His eye fell, however, upon a gentleman on the opposite side of the fireplace, who was wrapped in a cloak much larger and heavier than Archy's, and who, like him, was examining the flints of a pair of pistols—and the gentleman also wore a military sword. He was tall and thin, and had the carriage of a soldier. His face was sallow, and far from handsome, but his eyes were full of kindness and intelligence, and as they met Archy's a subtle sympathy was established between them. Archy guessed, shrewdly, that the military gentleman was an Indian officer.

The bagman soon returned to the charge.

"Where's the footman as has charge o' you?" he asked.

"I had not thought of engaging a footman," responded Archy, coolly; "but if you are looking for a place, perhaps I might take you. What sort of a character can you get from your last master?"

A roar of laughter, in which the officer joined to the extent of a smile, greeted this, and the young woman called out:

"Bless 'is 'art! I knew he must 'ave a good 'art under that 'andsome cloak!"

The blowing of a bugle by the guard at the door broke up the conversation. The discomfited bagman made first for the coach, and the young woman with the hat and feathers bolted after him. A sweet-faced, elderly Quakeress and a handsome young Oxford student followed. Archy came next, and the officer held back a moment to speak to him.

"I observe, sir," he said, politely, "you wear a blue naval uniform, but it is unlike that of our service—at least, any that I have seen, but I have been long absent from England."

"This is an American uniform, sir," responded Archy, politely. "I am a prisoner of war on my parole and entitled to wear it. I served with Commodore Jones on the Bon Homme Richard, and was captured through my own imprudence when we made the Texel on our return from the cruise in which we captured the Serapis."

At this a slight but marked change came over the officer, and after a moment he said, coldly:

"You will pardon me for saying there is very great imprudence, and even danger, in your wearing that uniform in England."

"Perhaps so," replied Archy, quickly adopting the same reserved tone, "but it is as honorable as any uniform in the world, and I shall continue to wear it. I observe that English officers on their parole in France wear their uniform and are not molested."

The officer passed on without speaking a word, and, courteously assisting the Quaker lady into the coach, stepped in after her, while Archy climbed up on the box-seat. The steps were put up, the door banged to, the guard winded his horn, the coachman cracked his whip, the four horses dashed forward, and with a lurch and a roar little inferior to the Thunderer's in a gale of wind, the Comet started upon its journey.

The afternoon was dreary, and the wintry sun shone fitfully upon the vast moorlands through which the post-road, like a serpent, wound its way. The wind was cutting, and Archy shivered in spite of his great furred cape. The dreariness of the landscape affected him, and, as he had done many times since that unlucky day off the Texel, he felt sad at heart. He had left the Thunderer with regret at Spithead on her arrival. He had been kindly treated, especially by Admiral Kempenfelt, and, although he had made no friend like Langton, he had found good comradeship in the gun-room of the Thunderer. Before sending him ashore, Admiral Kempenfelt had talked with him kindly, and had advised him to go to his grandfather at Bellingham Castle and there await his exchange. The Admiral had strong hopes that, under certain influences, Archy would return, as the Admiral called it, to his King and country; but he forbore to urge it, seeing in the boy a spirit that was quick to resent any fancied dishonor. He had supplied Archy liberally with money, saying to him at the time: "This will not be too much in case Lord Bellingham refuses to see you; for, mark you, my lad, you have a queer case for a grandfather, and what he will do only himself and God Almighty know, so you had better be prepared for emergencies. However, I think you can take care of yourself. Good-bye, and good luck to you!"

Those were the last kind words Archy had heard. In London, being no wiser than any other harum-scarum midshipman who found his pockets full, for the first time, Master Archy had treated himself with great liberality. The playhouses, several cock-fights, excursions by land and water, and a showy outfit had consumed Archy's week in London and Admiral Kempenfelt's money, except the one rouleau of gold, which he exhibited as if he had a bank vault full of them. The subject of his finances deeply engaged Archy's attention as the Comet plunged along the dreary road in the fast-gathering gloom. Occasionally they stopped to take up or let off passengers, but at the last stage—a small village where they changed horses—Archy observed that they had exactly the same complement with which they had started—the officer, the student, the bagman, the Quakeress, and the pert young woman.

As they dashed up to the door of a small and uninviting inn about dark, the landlord bustled out with a candle in his hand, and, addressing the coachman in a loud voice meant for the passengers, began:

"Have you heard the news? The coach returning by Barham Heath was stopped last night about this time and every single shilling taken from the passengers. If the ladies and gentlemen feels squeamish about going on to-night, I can give them good beds—excellent beds. The Bishop of Carlisle slept here a week ago, and his lordship was pleased to say he slept well. And I have lately brewed. His lordship liked the brew exceedingly—"

A shriek from the pert young woman interrupted this.

"O-o-o-h!" she screamed. "One of them dreadful highwaymen! I understand as they frequently kisses the ladies besides robbing them. Pray, Mr. Landlord, did you hear as any of the ladies was kissed?"

"Don't know, ma'am," replied the landlord, with a grin, "but if you meets a highwayman, and axes him—"

"None of your impudence, sir," tartly responded the young woman. "My sister's husband is cousin to one of the aldermen at Carlisle, and if you don't behave yourself respectful to me I'll have your license took away!" At which landlord, passengers, postilions, and stable-boys united in laughing—the coachman only maintaining a stolid gravity.

While the horses were being put to, the passengers went into the tap-room to warm themselves, all except Archy and the officer. Just as Archy was stretching his legs in a brisk walk before the tavern door, to his surprise the officer stepped up to him.

"Sir," said he, "I perceive that, like myself, you have pistols. Now, the instant I put my eyes on our coachman I thought I recognized a man whom I had seen tried for robbery and acquitted at the Old Bailey for lack of evidence; and I am willing to credit him with being a rascal of the first water, and I should not be surprised if he proves it before we get to the end of our journey. We may have to look to our arms, perhaps."

"Mine will be found in good order, sir," responded Archy, greatly pleased to be so addressed by a military man so much older than himself, and to whom he had felt a strong and instant attraction.

"May I ask how far you are going?" inquired the officer.

"To the village of Bellingham. My grandfather lives at the Castle."

The two were standing in the light of a lantern hung from the tavern porch, and Archy saw a start of surprise on the officer's part. He was silent for a moment or two, and, in spite of the habitual self-possession which was visibly a part of his nature, he did not recover himself at once; and when he spoke Archy felt a change in the tone and manner of his new acquaintance.

"All danger will be passed as soon as we reach Bellingham. Our young Oxford friend has a sword and the bagman a stout stick, but pistols are the weapons against highway-robbers. I am glad you have yours—and keep your eye on the coachman."

"Don't you think, sir," said Archy, eagerly, "that we had better keep our pistols out of sight as far as possible? For if they see we are armed they may not attack us."

"My dear sir," answered the officer, petulantly, "you speak as if to be held up by highwaymen was a privilege to be sought, not a danger to be avoided. I am afraid you are a hot-headed young man."

"The fact is," was Archy's half-sheepish and half-triumphant reply, "I like to see life—and you know, sir, to be stopped on the road by a determined Claude Duval kind of a fellow is rather er—"

"Pleasant," sarcastically suggested the officer; "deuced pleasant. I have often observed of you youngsters that to tell you that a thing is dangerous is generally to put a premium on your doing it. And when it is foolish, besides—zounds, there's no holding you back! But let me tell you, Mr. Midshipman, when you have had my share of hard knocks you will be a little more willing to keep out of them than you are now. For my part, I hope this tattling landlord is lying, and this rascally coachman has turned honest man. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open."

By that time the horses were put to, and the guard's horn summoned the passengers to get in, and the Comet started off.

The first few miles lay through the same flat, moorland country they had previously traversed, but presently they entered a straggling wood, with a hedge and ditch on both sides. It was now perfectly dark, except for the moon occasionally struggling through the clouds. Within the coach, the Oxonian, a waggish fellow, was amusing himself with telling blood-curdling tales to the gentle Quakeress and the young woman, which last took refuge in groans and smelling salts, and vowed if she ever reached Carlisle again she would never more trust herself on the road. The officer, who had been vexed by Archy's light-hearted seeking of danger, was still more annoyed by the young Oxonian's malicious amusement, and he therefore turned courteously to the placid Quakeress, saying:

"Pray do not be alarmed, madam; we can take perfectly good care of ourselves and of the ladies, too."

"Friend," mildly answered the Quakeress, "I thank thee, and I am no more frightened by the tales this young gentleman is telling than by the shadows that children make upon the wall to divert themselves, and sometimes to annoy their elders."

The Oxonian took this rebuke in good part, while the bagman burst out with:

"I am glad the military gentleman thinks us safe; not that I be afeerd. I have travelled the roads of England for ten year with nothing for arms but this stick with a loaded handle, and I believe it has frightened off more robbers than any pair of pistols in England. You see, ladies and gentlemen," he continued, flourishing his stick under the officer's nose, to that gentleman's intense disgust, "it is all to nothing how you meets robbers. Seeing a bold, determined feller like me—I have been took for a officer, I have, many a time—they'll lose heart at the sight and screech out—oh, Lord! oh, Lord!"—for at that moment the coach stopped with a jerk, a dark figure rose up from the ground on the other side of the coach, and the cold muzzle of a long horse-pistol was within an inch of the bagman's nose, who instantly began to bawl for mercy at the top of his lungs. At the same moment a man on horseback leaped the hedge, and, rushing at the coach, levelled another pistol at the guard's head, who immediately tumbled off on the ground and threw up his hands. The robber, seeing there was no fight in the guard, while the coachman sat quite passive, promptly turned his attention to Archy. But a surprise was in store for him. The pistol was knocked from his hand and he himself was looking down the muzzle of one—not so large but quite as effective—in the hands of Archy Baskerville.

"Dismount!" said Archy.

The robber, with a rapid motion, threw himself from his horse on the side opposite to Archy, and, with a spring, tried to regain his pistol. But Archy, tumbling off the box, was too quick for him. He kicked the pistol into the ditch, and still covered the highwayman with his own weapon. The horse in the meantime had broken away for a short distance, but, apparently well trained, stood in the half-darkness trembling in every limb, but holding his ground. The highwayman, with a glance behind him, made a dash for the horse and bounded into the saddle. Archy was at him in a moment, and as a shot rang out from the other side of the coach, Archy fired straight at the highwayman at short range. But, close as he was, he missed fire. He ran forward and fired again just as the horse was rising to take the ditch, but the highwayman, bending down to his horse's neck, took both hedge and ditch at a leap and disappeared in the darkness.

Chagrined and excited, Archy ran to the other door of the coach, where a scuffle was going on. The bagman lay on his back bellowing like a calf. The young woman added her shrieks to the uproar. The Quakeress sat in the coach as calm as a summer evening, while the officer, the Oxonian, and the guard, who had come to his senses, were struggling with a gigantic fellow, who seemed more than a match for all of them. Archy, however, coming up behind, laid hold of him, and in a few moments he was disarmed and his hands securely tied. The officer then turned his attention to the coachman, who had sat unconcerned all through the mÊlÉe.

"You infernal scoundrel!" was the officer's first words to the coachman. "I shall deliver you up along with this fellow for highway-robbery. You are plainly in league with them and by far the worst of the lot, as you took pains to save your own skin while assisting these men to rob and perhaps murder us."

The coachman, trembling and stammering, attempted to defend himself; but the officer cut him short by directing Archy to mount the box and keep his pistol ready. The Oxonian gave the bagman a kick.

"Get up, you great calf! the danger's past, and you can now boast more of the prowess of that stick of yours."

The bagman very meekly scrambled up, but showed, when least expected, a capacity to make himself useful. The young woman had continued screaming in spite of the earnest assurances of all the passengers that the danger was over, and the obvious fact that only one highwayman remained, and he was tied hand and foot.

"Thee has nothing to fear, young woman," cried the Quakeress, leaning out of the coach.

"Murder! murder!" was the answer yelled at the top of a pair of stout lungs.

"If it is disappointment, madam, that no attempt was made to kiss you—" began the Oxonian, with grave impertinence.

"I'll shut her potato trap," suddenly remarked the bagman. And, seizing her by the back of her neck, he shouted in her ear:

"Be quiet, hussy! You haven't no sister married to an alderman's cousin in Carlisle, and now I remembers I heerd you last month cryin' 'Eyesters' in Carlisle streets, and that's where you got that fine voice o' yourn, and it's enough to wake the dead."

The young woman responded by giving the bagman a clip over the ear; but she was effectually silenced, and climbed in the coach to the accompaniment of a general smile, the bagman thrusting his tongue into his cheek and winking all around.

The coach now started, the coachman maintaining a frightened silence, and, after travelling a few miles more, reached the village of Bellingham, where the officer handed him and the captured robber over to the constables. A crowd of people surrounded the coach, the bagman and the young woman volubly describing the dangers through which they had passed, while the Oxonian, engaging a chaise, soon disappeared on his way to his destination, and the Quakeress retired to her room at the inn. But the first to be out of the way were the officer and Archy Baskerville. As soon as the constables had taken charge of the prisoners, the officer came up to Archy, and, pointing to a huge, dark, unlighted stone pile on a hill, set in the midst of a great park, said to him, "Yonder is Bellingham Castle."

Archy expected him to say something more, as in parting from the Oxonian he had offered his card and expressed a wish to meet again, coupled with a handsome acknowledgment of the young student's courage; but apparently the officer thought he had said enough.

"Thank you, sir," replied Archy, and then, with a forced smile, he said, "I am by no means sure of my reception. I may be going London-ward to-morrow morning."

But the officer had turned away, and Archy, his usually light heart not so gay as he would have wished, struck out towards the park-gates, which he saw in the distance by the glimpses of a cloud-obscured moon.

He trudged along in bitterness of spirit for a time; but before he gained the crest of the hill and entered the broad carriage-drive that led to the great arched entrance his spirits had recovered themselves. After all, he was seeing life—a consolation which never failed to console him whenever he fell into adversity. He had almost persuaded himself that it would be a serious disadvantage to be acknowledged by his grandfather by the time he reached the door, when he pulled a huge bell that echoed and re-echoed through the great stone building. He was deeply engaged in examining, by the light of the emerging moon, the square towers at the corners, and the ancient windows, and all the peculiarities of a castle half modern and half mediÆval, when the great door opened with a crunching and banging as if the hinges had not turned for a hundred years—and there, in the open doorway, illuminated by a single candle, whose rays only revealed the vast cavern of the hall beyond, stood the officer with whom Archy had just parted.

"Come in, nephew," said he.