He had the devil for his advocate too. It truly was Quixotic. It was wealth untold to persons in our condition; persons condemned to blow the flute from place to place for a livelihood. We were reminded of nights in the rain; of empty bellies; of fainting limbs; of rags, misery and mud, and the hundred other ills that attend on a bitter poverty. We had sevenpence in our pockets with which to discharge a score that would be reckoned in pounds. What wonder that we felt our resolution falter before the lure that was laid before us? Together, however, we prevailed where one of us singly might have given way.
The highwayman vented his perplexity in various ways. He put forth a dozen theories that would cover our irreconcilable conduct. But all of them were equally wide of the mark. To all sources but the true one did he trace our demeanour. That we were striving to be as honest as our circumstances would permit, never entered his head. And when at last we gave him a cordial good-night prior to retiring to the chamber that had been prepared for us, he was fain to acknowledge that he was never so completely beaten by anything as by our behaviour.
"Smart you are, the pair of you," says he, "there's no manner of use in denying that. But I'm damned if I can make head or tail of you. Never heard of such a thing in my life as two pads on the road refusing their share of the booty. But I like you none the less. You are a well-favoured well-mannered pair, with rare good heads on your shoulders. I'faith you are endowed with a most excellent presence. You are bound to succeed in the line you have adopted; but if you are not above taking a piece of advice from one who hath had a pretty long apprenticeship on the road, you will dress a trifle better. Clothes go for a great deal. A lord in rags counts for less than a postilion in ruffles and a laced coat. You will not forget now; it is sure to mean such and such a sum per annum to you. And harkee, here's a proposal. I've got such a fancy for you both, that if you like to take up with me, we will do the country in company and share the profits; and this I may tell you is an offer not to be blinked at, when it is made by William Sadler. Little madam there shall be the decoy, and you and I, my lad, shall lift the blunt and generally attend to the practical matters. Come now, I can't speak fairer; what do you say!"
Much to Mr. Sadler's disappointment, and I believe to his astonishment too, I politely declined this liberal proposal. It was almost incredible to him that a gentleman of his eminence and success could meet with a refusal. It was like two green apprentices declining to enter into partnership with a master of the highest credit!
"I confess you pass me altogether," says he in despair.
The last glimpse we had of this strange, whimsical, and in a sense gifted man, was his sitting at the table, with his wig, his spectacles and false whiskers removed, waving his good-night in the most cordial fashion. He was as handsome and intelligent a fellow as I ever encountered; and I can readily believe what was asserted of him at the time of his hanging less than a year from this date, that he was a cadet of a noble family. Certainly in his gaiety, generosity, and gallant good humour, he was the very type of man to win the great fame of the public that I believe was his. Strange as it may appear, there was not one trace of vulgarity that I could discern in him; and leaving his peculiar ideas in regard to meum and tuum out of the question, in all other particulars he was a charming gentleman. And if I am one day burnt for the heresy, I shall be ever the first to admit that in my short acquaintance of this wicked rogue that so richly came to be hanged on the Tree, I discovered better parts, a more chivalrous heart, and vastly more liberal talents than in half the persons of high consideration and great place, whose intimacy it has been my misfortune to submit to for a longer period.
As for Cynthia, the first thing she did in the privacy of our chamber was to burst into tears.
"Oh," she sobbed, "to think that a man like that should be such a villain. Oh, I am sure I cannot believe it of him."
"Then why weep for him?" says I. "But what a pity it is that these villains are so delectable. Even a man like your husband if he gets his deserts will come to be hanged. Can you tell me, my dear, why it is that virtue never walks in these radiant colours? Can it be that you strait-laced madams secretly lean to the wicked?"
Poor Cynthia sobbed louder than ever.