d he thought on the matter at all,
which he did not do--he might very probably have thought, in his light
recklessness, he wished he might meet with a highwayman, in order to try
whether he could not rob better than be robbed.
However, as I have said, he thought not of the subject at all. His own
situation, and that of the boy Wilton, occupied him entirely; and it was
not till the noise of a horse's feet coming rapidly behind him sounded
close at his shoulder, that he turned to see by whom he had been
overtaken.
All that Sherbrooke could perceive was, that it was a man mounted on a
remarkably fine horse, riding with ease and grace, and bearing
altogether the appearance of a gentleman.
"Pray, sir," said the stranger, "can you tell me how far I am from the
inn called the Buck's Horns, and whether this is the direct road
thither?"
"The inn is about two miles on," replied Sherbrooke, "on the left-hand
side of the way, and you cannot miss it, for there is no other house for
five miles."
"Only two miles!" said the stranger; "then there is no use of my riding
so fast, risking to break my neck, and my horse's knees."
Sherbrooke said nothing, but rode on quietly, while the stranger, still
reining in his horse, pursued the high road by the traveller's side.
"It is a very dark night," said the stranger, after a minute or two's
silence.
"A very dark night, indeed!" replied Sherbrooke, and the conversation
again ended there.
"Well," said the stranger, after two or three minutes more had passed,
"as my conversation seems disagreeable to you, sir, I shall ride on."
"Goodnight, sir," replied Sherbrooke, and the other appeared to put
spurs to his horse. At the first step, however, he seized the
traveller's rein, uttering a whistle: two more horsemen instantly darted
out from one side of the road, and in an instant the well-known words,
"Stand and deliver!" were audibly pronounced in the ears of the
traveller.
Now it is a very different thing, and a much more difficult thing, to
deal in such a sort with three gentlemen of the road, than with one; but
nevertheless, as we have before shown, Lennard Sherbrooke was a stout
man, nor was he at all a faint-hearted one. A pistol was instantly out
of one of the holsters, pointed, and fired, and one of his assailants
rolled over upon the ground, horse and man together. His heavy sword was
free from the sheath the moment after; and exclaiming, "Now there's but
two of you, I can manage you," he pushed on his horse against th