Than Vivian Ryecroft--handsomer man never carried sling-jacket over his
shoulder, or sabretasche on his hip. For he is in the Hussars--a
captain.
He is not on duty now, nor anywhere near the scene of it. His regiment
is at Aldershot, himself rusticating in Herefordshire--whither he has
come to spend a few weeks' leave of absence.
Nor is he, at the time of our meeting him, in the saddle, which he sits
so gracefully; but in a row-boat on the river Wye--the same just sighted
by Gwen Wynn through the double lens of her lorgnette. No more is he
wearing the braided uniform and "busby;" but, instead, attired in a suit
of light Cheviots, piscator-cut, with a helmet-shaped cap of quilted
cotton on his head, its rounded rim of spotless white in striking, but
becoming, contrast with his bronzed complexion and dark military
moustache.
For Captain Ryecroft is no mere stripling nor beardless youth, but a man
turned thirty, browned by exposure to Indian suns, experienced in Indian
campaigns, from those of Scinde and the Punjaub to that most memorable
of all--the Mutiny.
Still is he personally as attractive as he ever was--to women, possibly
more; among these causing a flutter, with _rapprochement_ towards him
almost instinctive, when and wherever they may meet him. In the present
many a bright English lady sighs for him, as in the past many a dark
damsel of Hindostan. And without his heaving sigh, or even giving them
a thought in return. Not that he is of cold nature, or in any sense
austere; instead, warm-hearted, of cheerful disposition, and rather
partial to female society. But he is not, and never has been, either
man-flirt or frivolous trifler; else he would not be fly-fishing on the
Wye--for that is what he is doing there--instead of in London, taking
part in the festivities of the "season," by day dawdling in Rotten Row,
by night exhibiting himself in opera-box or ball-room. In short, Vivian
Ryecroft is one of those rare individuals, to a high degree endowed,
physically as mentally, without being aware of it, or appearing so;
while to all others it is very perceptible.
He has been about a fortnight in the neighbourhood, stopping at the
chief hotel of a riverine town much affected by fly-fishermen and
tourists. Still, he has made no acquaintance with the resident gentry.
He might, if wishing it; which he does not, his purpose upon the Wye not
being to seek society, but salmon, or rather the sport of taking it. An
ardent disciple of the ancient Izaak, he cares for nought else--at
least, in the district where he is for the present sojourning.
Such is his mental condition, up to a certain morning; when a change
comes over it, sudden as the spring of a salmon at the gaudiest or most
tempting of his flies--this brought about by a face, of which he has
caught sight by merest accident, and while following his favourite
occupation. Thus it has chanced:--
Below the town where he is staying, some four or five miles by the
course of the stream, he has discovered one of those places called
"catches," where the king of river fish delights to leap at flies,
whether natural or artificial--a sport it has oft reason to rue.
Several times so, at the end of Captain Ryecroft's line and rod; he
having there twice hooked a twenty-pounder, and once a still larger
specimen, which turned the scale at thirty. In consequence that portion
of the stream has become his choicest angling ground, and at least three
days in the week he repairs to it. The row is not much going down, but
a good deal returning; five miles up stream, most of it strong adverse
current. That, however, is less his affair than his oarsman's--a young
waterman by name Wingate, whose boat and services the hussar officer has
chartered by the week--indeed, engaged them for so long as he may remain
upon the Wye.
On the morning in question, dropping down the river to his accustomed
whipping-place, but at a somewhat later hour than usual, he meets
another boat coming up--a pleasure craft, as shown by its style of
outside ornament and inside furniture. Of neither does the salmon
fisher take much note; his eyes all occupied with those upon the
thwarts. There are three of them, two being ladies seated in the stern
sheets, the third an oarsman on a thwart well forward, to make better
balance. And to the latter the hussar officer gives but a glance--just
to observe that he is a serving-man--wearing some of its insignia in the
shape of a cockaded hat, and striped stable-waistcoat. And not much
more than a glance at one of the former; but a gaze, concentrated and
long as good manners will permit, at the other, who is steering; when
she passes beyond sight, her face remaining in his memory, vivid as if
still before his eyes.
All this at a first encounter; repeated in a second, which occurs on the
day succeeding, under similar circumstances, and almost in the selfsame
spot; then the face, if possible, seeming fairer, and the impression
made by it on Vivian Ryecroft's mind sinking deeper--indeed, promising
to be permanent. It is a radiant face, set in a luxuriance of bright
amber hair--for it is that of Gwendoline Wynn.
On the second occasion he has a better view of her, the boats passing
nearer to one another; still, not so near as he could wish, good manners
again interfering. For all, he feels well satisfied--especially with
the thought, that his own gaze earnestly given, though under such
restraint, has been with earnestness returned. Would that his secret
admiration of its owner were in like manner reciprocated!
Such is his reflective wish as the boats widen the distance between; one
labouring slowly up, the other gliding swiftly down.
His boatman cannot tell who the lady is, nor where she lives. On the
second day he is not asked--the question having been put to him on that
preceding. All the added knowledge now obtained is the name of the
craft that carries her; which, after passing, the waterman, with face
turned towards its stern, makes out to be the _Gwendoline_--just as on
his own boat--the _Mary_,--though not in such grand golden letters.
It may assist Captain Ryecroft in his inquiries, already contemplated,
and he makes note of it.
Another night passes; another sun shines over the Wye; and he again
drops down stream to his usual place of sport--this day only to draw
blank, neither catching salmon, nor seeing hair of amber hue; his
reflecting on which is, perchance, a cause of the fish not taking to his
flies, cast carelessly.
He is not discouraged; but goes again on the day succeeding--that same
when his boat is viewed through the binocular. He has already formed a
half suspicion that the home of the interesting water nymph is not far
from that pagoda-like structure, he has frequently noticed on the right
bank of the river. For, just below the outlying eyot is where he has
met the pleasure-boat, and the old oarsman looked anything but equal to
a long pull up stream. Still, between that and the town are several
other gentlemen's residences on the river side, with some standing
inland. It may be any of them.
But it is not, as Captain Ryecroft now feels sure, at sight of some
floating drapery in the pavilion, with two female heads showing over its
baluster rail; one of them with tresses glistening in the sunlight,
bright as sunbeams themselves.
He views it through a telescope--for he, too, has come out provided for
distant observation--this confirming his conjectures just in the way he
would wish. Now there will be no difficulty in learning who the lady
is--for of one only does he care to make inquiry.
He would order Wingate to hold way, but does not relish the idea of
letting the waterman into his secret; and so, remaining silent, he is
soon carried beyond sight of the summer-house, and along the outer edge
of the islet, with its curtain of tall trees coming invidiously between.
Continuing on to his angling ground, he gives way to reflections--at
first of a pleasant nature. Satisfactory to think that she, the subject
of them, at least lives in a handsome house; for a glimpse got of its
upper storey tells it to be this. That she is in social rank a lady, he
has hitherto had no doubt. The pretty pleasure craft and its
appendages, with the venerable domestic acting as oarsman, are all
proofs of something more than mere respectability--rather evidences of
style.
Marring these agreeable considerations is the thought, he may not to-day
meet the pleasure-boat. It is the hour that, from past experience, he
might expect it to be out--for he has so timed his own piscatorial
excursion. But, seeing the ladies in the summer-house, he doubts
getting nearer sight of them--at least for another twenty-four hours.
In all likelihood they have been already on the river, and returned home
again. Why did he not start earlier?
While thus fretting himself, he catches sight of another boat--of a sort
very different from the _Gwendoline_--a heavy barge-like affair, with
four men in it; hulking fellows, to whom rowing is evidently a new
experience. Notwithstanding this, they do not seem at all frightened at
finding themselves upon the water. Instead, they are behaving in a way
that shows them either very courageous, or very regardless of a danger--
which, possibly, they are not aware of. At short intervals one or other
is seen starting to his feet, and rushing fore or aft--as if on an empty
coal-waggon, instead of in a boat--and in such fashion, that were the
craft at all crank, it would certainly be upset!
On drawing nearer them Captain Ryecroft and his oarsman get the
explanation of their seemingly eccentric behaviour--its cause made clear
by a black bottle, which one of them is holding in his hand, each of the
others brandishing tumbler, or tea cup. They are drinking; and that
they have been so occupied for some time is evident by their loud
shouts, and grotesque gesturing.
"They look an ugly lot!" observes the young waterman, viewing them over
his shoulder; for, seated at the oars, his back is towards them. "Coal
fellows, from the Forest o' Dean, I take it."
Ryecroft, with a cigar between his teeth, dreamily thinking of a boat
with people in it so dissimilar, simply signifies assent with a nod.
But soon he is roused from his reverie, at hearing an exclamation louder
than common, followed by words whose import concerns himself and his
companion. These are:--
"Dang it, lads! le's goo in for a bit o' a lark! Yonner be a boat
coomin' down wi' two chaps in 't; some o' them spick-span city gents!
S'pose we gie 'em a capsize?"
"Le's do it! Le's duck 'em!" shouted the others, assentingly; he with
the bottle dropping it into the boat's bottom, and laying hold of an oar
instead.
All act likewise, for it is a four-oared craft that carries them; and in
a few seconds' time they are rowing it straight for that of the
angler's.
With astonishment, and fast gathering indignation, the Hussar officer
sees the heavy barge coming bow-on for his light fishing skiff, and is
thoroughly sensible of the danger; the waterman becoming aware of it at
the same instant of time.
"They mean mischief," mutters Wingate; "what'd we best do, Captain? If
you like I can keep clear, and shoot the _Mary_ past 'em--easy enough."
"Do so," returns the salmon fisher, with the cigar still between his
teeth--but now held bitterly tight, almost to biting off the stump.
"You can keep on!" he adds, speaking calmly, and with an effort to keep
down his temper; "that will be the best way, as things stand now. They
look like they'd come up from below; and, if they show any ill manners
at meeting, we can call them to account on return. Don't concern
yourself about your course. I'll see to the steering. There! hard on
the starboard oar!"
This last, as the two boats have arrived within less than three lengths
of one another. At the same time Ryecroft, drawing tight the port
tiller-cord, changes course suddenly, leaving just sufficient sea-way
for his oarsman to shave past, and avoid the threatened collision.
Which is done the instant after--to the discomfiture of the would-be
capsizers. As the skiff glides lightly beyond their reach, dancing over
the river swell, as if in triumph and to mock them, they drop their
oars, and send after it a chorus of yells, mingled with blasphemous
imprecations.
In a lull between, the Hussar officer at length takes the cigar from his
lips, and calls back to them--
"You ruffians! You shall rue it! Shout on--till you're hoarse.
There's a reckoning for you, perhaps sooner than you expect."
"Yes, ye damned scoun'rels!" adds the young waterman, himself so enraged
as almost to foam at the mouth. "Ye'll have to pay dear for sich a
dastartly attemp' to waylay Jack Wingate's boat. That will ye."
"Bah!" jeeringly retorts one of the roughs. "To blazes wi' you, an' yer
boat!"
"Ay, to the blazes wi' ye!" echo the others in drunken chorus; and,
while their voices are still reverberating along the adjacent cliffs,
the fishing skiff drifts round a bend of the river, bearing its owner
and his fare out of their sight, as beyond earshot of their profane
speech.
Volume One, Chapter III.