When they had gone about a mile further, he called to the post-boy to stop, and alighted from the chaise. Dipping his hand into one of his capacious pockets, he drew out something which he presented with a bow to the maid. "Here's a trifle for you, my dear, to keep you in mind of Mr. Darke," he said. "And now I must wish you goodnight and _bon voyage_, with the hope that one of these days you will be run away with by as gallant a gentleman as he who has carried off your mistress." With that he took off his hat and swept her a low bow with all the grace imaginable. Then, stepping up to the post-boy, he put a couple of guineas into his hand, "just to drink my health with," as he said. Half-a-minute later he was lost to view in a plantation of young trees which at that point lined one side of the road. The present he had given the maid proved to be a chased-silver sweetmeat box of elaborate workmanship, which had doubtless at one time been the property of some person of quality. Some six weeks later than the events just recorded, Mrs. Ringwood, the landlady of the King's Arms, was drinking a dish of tea with her friend, Miss Capp, who had been from home for a couple of months, and was agog to hear all the news. "The young people had been three hours married by the time Sir Peter reached Gretna Green," said the landlady, in continuation of what had gone before. "He stormed and raved, as a matter of course, and vowed he would have the law of Captain Pascoe; but it was well known that he would never have dared to go into court and let the world know with how much cruelty he had treated his orphan niece. When the captain and his bride came south a week later they stopped and dined at the King's Arms, and it was then I learned all the particulars I have just told you of their strange adventure." "But what about Mr. Darke? What about the highwayman?" queried Miss Capp eagerly. "I can tell you very little about him. As to who he really was, nothing has ever come out. He may have been the notorious Captain Nightshade, as the post-boy firmly believes, or he may not. The post-boy says he recognized him by the horse he was riding--a black mare, with a white stocking on the near fore-leg and a white blaze on the forehead. In any case, the act was that of one who had not forgotten that once on a time he was a gentleman." "It was the act of one who, whatever his other faults may be, has not yet forfeited all right to that title," responded the enthusiastic spinster, who envied Miss Peyton's maid her adventure.