“So these fellows are only scarecrows? I had my suspicions.”
“Nothing more nor less, master. Harmless as I once was myself, but since that time—you know—when the old hall was taken from you, and you went abroad—since then I’ve been—”
“I don’t want to hear your history, Garth,” said his former Master, interrupting him, “at least not since then. Let the past be of the past, if you will only promise me to forsake your present profession for the future. Sooner or later it will bring you to the block.”
“But what am I to do?” inquired the footpad, in a tone of humble expostulation.
“Do? Anything but what you have been doing. Get work—honest work.”
“As I live, I’ve tried wi’ all my might. Ah! Sir Henry, you’ve been away from the country a tidyish time. You don’t know how things be now. To be honest be to starve. Honesty an’t no longer o’ any account in England.”
“Some day,” said the cavalier, as he sate reflecting in his saddle. “Some day it may be more valued—and that day not distant Gregory Garth!” he continued, making appeal to the footpad in a more serious and earnest tone of voice, “You have a bold heart, and a strong arm. I know it. I have no doubt too, that despite the outlawed life you’ve been leading, your sympathies are still on the right side. They have reason: for you too have suffered in your way. You know what I mean?”
“I do, Sir Henry, I do,” eagerly answered the man. “Ye’re right. Brute as I may be, and robber as I ha’ been, I ha’ my inclining in that ere. Ah! it’s it that’s made me what I be!”
“Hear me then,” said the cavalier bending down in his saddle, and speaking still more confidentially. “The time is not distant—perhaps nearer than most people think—when a stout heart and a strong arm—such as yours, Garth,—may be usefully employed in a better occupation, than that you’ve been following.”
“Dy’e say so, Sir Henry?”