“Yes, to you, Louis Bachelor, Justice of the Peace, to do what you will with for this night,” was the reply. The soldier’s hands trembled, but it was from imminent illness, not from fear or excitement. He came slowly towards the bushranger who, smiling, said as he advanced: “Yes, arrest me!”
Louis Bachelor raised his hand, as though to lay it on the shoulder of the other; but something in the eyes of the highwayman stayed his hand.
“Proceed, Captain Louis Bachelor,” said Roadmaster in a changed tone.
The hand fell to the old man’s side. “Who are you?” he faintly exclaimed. “I know you yet I cannot quite remember.”
More and more the voice and manner of the outlaw altered as he replied with mocking bitterness: “I was Edward Golding, gentleman; I became Edward Golding, forger; I am Roadmaster, convicted of manslaughter, and bushranger.”
The old man’s state was painful to see. “You—you—that, Edward!” he uttered brokenly.
“All that. Will you arrest me now?”
“I—cannot.”
The bushranger threw aside all bravado and irony, and said: “I knew you could not. Why did I come? Listen—but first, will you shelter me here to-night?”
The soldier’s honourable soul rose up against this thing, but he said slowly at last: “If it is to save you from peril, yes.”