nor did he leave Heatherdale (where Mrs. Margaret insisted that he
should sup,) until he had opened out to the Laird and his aunt the whole
history of Tamar's rencounter with the gipsy. It was curious to observe
the effect of this story on the minds of the two auditors. Mrs. Margaret
embraced Tamar with tears, saying, "Methinks I am rejoiced that there is
no one likely to claim my precious one from me;" whilst the Laird
exclaimed, "I am not in the least convinced. The gipsy has no doubt some
scheme of her own in view. She is afraid of being found out, and
transported for child-stealing; but I wish I could see her, to tell her
that I no more believe my palm-tree to have sprung from the briers of
the Egyptian wilderness, than that I am not at this moment the Laird
of Dymock."
"Lord help you, nephew!" said Mrs. Margaret, "if poor dear Tamar's
noble birth has not more substantial foundation than your lairdship, I
believe that she must be content as she is,--the adopted daughter of a
poor spinster, who has nothing to leave behind her but a few bales of
old clothes."
"Contented, my mother," said Tamar, bursting into tears, "could I be
contented if taken from you?"
Thus the affair of the gipsy passed off. The Laird, indeed, talked of
raising the country to catch the randy quean; but all these resolutions
were speedily forgotten, and no result ensued from this alarm, but that
which Almighty power produced from it in the mind of Tamar, by making
her more anxious to draw the minds of her patrons to religion.
After this, for several weeks things went on much as usual on Dymock's
moor. The inhabitants of the Tower were so still and quiet, that unless
a thin curl of smoke had now and then been seen rising from the kitchen
chimney, all the occupants might have been supposed to have been in a
state of enchantment. Jacob, however, the dwarfish, deformed
serving-man, did cross the moat at intervals, and came back laden with
food; but he was so surly and short, that it was impossible to get a
word of information from him, respecting that which was going on within
the moat. Whilst Dymock scribbled, his aunt darned, Shanty hammered, and
Tamar formed the delight and comfort of all the three last mentioned
elders. But some settlement was necessarily to be made respecting Mr.
Salmon's last payment, which had run up, with certain fixtures and old
pictures, for which there was no room in the cottage, to nearly six
hundred pounds, and after much pressing and persuading on the part of
Mrs. Margaret, the Laird was at length worked up to the point of
putting on his very best clothes, and going one morning to the Tower.
He had boasted that he would not appear but as the Laird of Dymock in
Dymock castle; therefore, though the weather was warm, he assumed his
only remains of handsome apparel, viz, a cloak or mantle of blue cloth
and with a hat, which was none of the best shape, on his head, he walked
to the edge of the moat, and there stood awhile calling aloud.
At length Jacob appeared on the other side, and knowing the Laird, he
turned the bridge, over which Dymock walked with sullen pride.
"I would see your master, where is he?" said the Laird, as soon as he
got into the court.
The eye of the dwarf directed that of Dymock to the window of a small
room in a higher part of the keep, and the Laird, without waiting
further permission, walked forward into the Tower.
It gave him pain to see all the old and well remembered objects again;
but it also gave him pleasure to find everything in its place as he had
left it--even the very dust on the mouldings and cornices, which had
remained undisturbed through the reign of Mrs. Margaret, from the
absolute impossibility of reaching the lofty site of these depositions,
was still there. Not an article of new furniture was added, while the
old furniture looked more miserable and scanty, on account of some of
the best pieces having been taken out to fill the cottage.
Dymock walked through the old circular hall, the ground-floor of the
Tower, and went up the stairs to the room where Mrs. Margaret used to
sit and darn in solitary state; there was the oriel window, which
hanging over the moat, commanded a glorious view on three sides. Dymock
walked up to this window, and stood in the oriel, endeavouring, if
possible, to understand what the feelings of his ancestors might have
been, when they could look from thence, and call all the lands their
own as far as the border, without counting many broader and fairer
fields, in the southern direction.
Whilst waiting there in deep and melancholy mood, suddenly his eye fell
on the airy figure of Tamar standing on the opposite side of the moat,
and looking up to him; as soon as she caught his eye, she kissed her
hand and waved it to him, and well he could comprehend the sparkling
smile which accompanied this motion, though he was too far off to see
it. "And art thou not fair Maid of Judah," said the affectionate genius,
"worth to me all the broad lands of my fathers? Could they purchase for
me such love as thine? Art thou not the little ewe lamb of the poor
man?--but none shall ever have thee from me my daughter, but one
entirely worthy of thee?"
Scarcely had Dymock returned the courtesy of Tamar, before Jacob, who
had run to the top of the Tower before him, came to tell him that his
master was ready to see him, and Dymock, who needed no guide, soon found
himself at the head of several more rounds of stairs, which got narrower
as they ascended,--and in front of a narrow door well studded with knobs
of iron. Within this door was a room, which in time past had been used
for security, either for prisoners, treasures, or other
purposes,--tradition said not what,--but it still had every requisite of
strength, the narrow windows being provided with stauncheons of iron,
and the walls covered with strong wainscotting, in one side of which
were sliding pannels opening into a closet. The secret of these pannels
was known only to Dymock, and he, when he sold the castle, had revealed
it to Mr. Salmon, vaunting the great service of which this secret
closet, had been, in keeping plate and other valuables, though he
acknowledged, poor man, that he had never made any great use of this
mysterious conservatory.
It seems that Mr. Salmon had appropriated this same room to his especial
use; his bed, which in the French taste was covered with a tent-like
tester, occupied one nook, and the curtains, as well as the floor-cloth,
were of very rich, but tarnished and threadbare materials. Several
ponderous tomes in vellum emblazoned with gold, were placed on a ledge
of the wall near the bed; a square table, a trunk strongly clamped with
brass, and an old fashioned easy chair, completed the furniture.
And now for the first time Dymock saw Mr. Salmon in his deshabille. The
old gentleman had laid aside his coat, probably that it might be spared
unnecessary wear and tear; he wore a claret coloured waistcoat with
large flaps, on which were apparent certain tarnished remains of
embroidery; his lower extremities, as far as the knees, were encased in
a texture the colour of which had once been pepper and salt, and from
the knee downwards he wore a pair of home-manufactured, grey worsted
stockings, which proved that his housekeeper was by no means inferior to
Mrs. Margaret in her darning talents, though we must do the Laird's aunt
the justice to assert, that she never darned stockings with more than
three different colours.
His slippers, both sole and upper part, had evidently at one time formed
a covering of a floor, though what the original pattern and colours had
been, could not now be made out. With all this quaintness of attire, the
old man had the general appearance of neatness and cleanliness, and had
it not been for the expression of his countenance, would have been far
from ill-looking.
He received Dymock with a sort of quiet civility, not unlike that which
a cat assumes when she is aware of a mouse, and yet does not perceive
that the moment is come to pounce upon it. Dymock drew near to the
table, and accosted Mr. Salmon with his usual courteous, yet careless
manner, and having apologized for coming at all on such an errand,
wishing that there was no such thing as money in the world, he presented
the inconclusive and inefficient memorandum, which the old gentleman had
given him, "trusting, as he said, that it would be no inconvenience for
him to pay what he conceived would be a mere trifle to him."
Mr. Salmon had, it seems, forgotten to ask Dymock to sit down; indeed,
there was no chair in the room but that occupied by his own person;
however, he took his own note from the Laird's hands, and having
examined it, he said, "But Mr. Dymock, there are conditions,--the
memorandum is conditional, and I understand thereby, that I undertake to
pay such and such moneys for such and such articles."
"Well Sir, and have you not these articles in possession?" asked
Dymock; have I removed a single item, which I told you on the honour of
a gentleman should be yours on such and such conditions, and did you not
tell me that you would pay me a certain sum, on entering into possession
of these articles?"
"What I did say, Sir," replied the old man, "is one thing; or rather
what you choose to assert that I did say, and what is written here is
another thing."
"Sir!" replied Dymock, "Sir! do you give me the lie?--direct or
indirect, I will not bear it; I, a son of the house of Dymock, to be
thus bearded in my own Tower, to be told that what I choose to assert
may not be true; that I am, in fact, a deceiver,--a sharper,--one that
would prevaricate for sordid pelf!" What more the worthy man added, our
history does not say, but that he added much cannot be disputed, and
that he poured forth in high and honourable indignation, many
sentiments which would have done credit both to the gentleman and the
Christian.
[Illustration: See Page 123]
In the meantime the old man had drawn a huge bunch of keys from his
pocket, and had deliberately opened the trunk before mentioned, at the
top of which were sundry yellow canvass bags of specie; he next fitted a
pair of spectacles on his nose, and then raising the cover of the table,
he drew out a drawer containing a pair of scales, and began to weigh his
guineas, as if to make a show of that of which he had none,--honesty;
and the Laird having spent his indignation, was become quiet, and stood
looking on, in a somewhat indolent and slouching attitude, making no
question but that his honourable reasonings had prevailed, and that Mr.
Salmon was about, without further hesitation, to pay him the five
hundred and ninety-four pounds, ten shillings, and sixpence, which were
his just due.
Whilst Salmon went on with this process of weighing, which he did with
perfect _sang-froid_, he began to mutter, "Five hundred and ninety-four
pounds, ten shillings, and six-pence; too much, too much by half, for
worm-eaten bed-steads and chairs, darned curtains and faded portraits;
but Mr. Dymock, to show you that I am a man of honour, I will pay you at
this moment four hundred pounds in the King's gold, and the remainder,
that is, the one hundred and ninety-four pounds, ten shillings, and
six-pence, shall be put to arbitration; we will go over each item, you
and I, and a friend of each, and we will examine every article together,
and if it is decided that the things are worth the moneys, well and
good, it shall be so, and I will forthwith pay down the residue, though
not compelled so to do by bond or signature."
Again the hot blood of the Dymocks rose to the brow of the Laird; by an
amazing effort of prudence and presence of mind, however, he caught up
Salmon's note from the table, a motion which made the old man start,
look up, and turn yellow, and then whisking round on his heel, with an
expression of sovereign contempt, the Laird turned out of the room,
exclaiming, "I scorn to address another word to thee, old deceiver; I
shake the dust of thy floor from my foot; I shall send those to talk
with thee, whose business it is to deal with deceivers;" and thus he
quitted the chamber, drawing the door after him with a force which made
every chamber in the Tower reverberate.
In descending the spiral stairs, he came to a narrow window, which
overlooked the moat, and from thence he saw Tamar lingering on the other
side thereof. He stood a moment and she called to him; her words were
these,--"Have you sped?" in reply to which, protruding his head through
the narrow aperture, he said: "No! the man's a low and despicable
deceiver," adding other terms which were by no means measured by the
rules of prudence or even courtesy; these words were not, however, lost
on Tamar, and by what she then heard, she was induced to take a measure
which had she deliberated longer thereon, she might not have
ventured upon.
Dymock having spent his breath and his indignation through the window,
to the disturbance of sundry bats and daws, which resided in the roof of
the Tower, was become so calm that he made the rest of his descent in
his usually tranquil and sluggish style, and even before he had crossed
the court towards the draw-bridge, he had made up his mind to get Shanty
to settle this knotty business, feeling that the old blacksmith would
have been the proper person to have done it from the first.
Jacob, the ugly, ill-conditioned serving-man, was waiting to turn the
light bridge, and had Dymock looked upon him, he would have seen that
there was triumph on the features of this deformed animal, for Jacob was
in all his master's secrets; he knew that he meant to cheat the Laird,
and he being Salmon's foster brother, already counted upon his master's
riches as his own. Salmon's constitution was failing rapidly, and Jacob,
therefore, soon hoped to gather in his golden harvest.
Jacob too, hated every creature about him, and his hatred being
inherited from his parents, was likely to be coeval with his life. The
cause of this hatred will be seen in the sequel; but Jacob had no sooner
turned the bridge and fixed it against the opposite bank, than Tamar
springing from behind a cluster of bushes, jumped lightly on the boards,
and the next moment she was with Dymock and Jacob on the inner side of
the moat, under the tower.
Jacob had started back, as if he had seen a spectre, at the appearance
of the blooming, sparkling Tamar, who came forward without hat or other
head dress, her raven tresses floating in the breeze.
"Why are you here, my daughter?" said Dymock.
"Do not restrain me, dear father," she answered, "you have not sped you
say, only permit me to try my skill;" and then turning suddenly to
Jacob, she drew herself up, as Dymock would have said, like a daughter
of kings, and added, "show me to your master, I have business with him;
go and tell him that I am here, and that I would see him."
"And who are you?" asked Jacob, not insolently as was his wont, but as
if under the impression of some kind of awe; "who shall I say you are?"
Dymock was about to answer; but Tamar placed her hand playfully on his
lips, and took no other notice of the question of the serving man, but
by repeating her command.
"What are you doing,--what do you propose to do, Tamar?" said the Laird.
Tamar was fully aware that she had power to cause her patron at any
time, to yield to her caprices; and she now used this power, as women
know so well how to effect these things--not by reason--or persuasion,
but by those playful manoeuvrings, which used in an evil cause have
wrought the ruin of many a more steadfast character than Dymock.
"I have a thought dear father," she said, "a wish, a fancy, a mere whim,
and you shall not oppose me: only remain where you are; keep guard upon
the bridge, I shall not be absent long, only tell me how it has happened
that your errand here has failed, and you," she added, addressing Jacob,
"go to your master and tell him I am here."
"Why do you stand?" she added, stamping her little foot with
impatience; "why do you not obey me?" and her dark eyes flashed and
sparkled, "go and tell your master that I wish to see him."
"And who must I tell him that you are?" he asked.
"My name has been mentioned in your presence," she replied, "and if you
did not hear it the fault is your own; it will not be told again."
"Are you the daughter of this gentleman?" asked Jacob.
"You have heard what he called me," she answered, "go and deliver my
message."
Whilst Jacob was gone, for go he did, at the young girl's bidding,
Dymock told Tamar all that had taken place in Mr. Salmon's room, and
Tamar confessed her wish to be permitted to speak to the old gentleman
herself. Dymock was glad that any one should undertake this business,
provided he could be relieved from it, and he promised Tamar that he
would stand by the bridge and watch for her till her return.
"Then I will myself go up to the Tower and demand admission:" so saying,
she ran from Dymock, coursed rapidly through the various courts, and
swift as the wind ascended the stairs, meeting no one in her way. She
found the door of Salmon's chamber ajar, and pushing it open, she
entered, and stood before Salmon, Jacob, and Rebecca (the old woman
before mentioned as having come with Mr. Salmon to the Tower;) these
three were all deep in consultation, Mr. Salmon being still seated where
the Laird had left him.
As Tamar burst upon them in all the light of youth; of beauty, and of
conscious rectitude in the cause for which she came, the three remained
fixed as statues, Jacob and Rebecca in shrinking attitudes, their eyes
set fearfully upon her, their faces gathering paleness as they gazed;
whilst Salmon flushed to the brow, his eyes distended and his mouth
half open.
The young girl advanced near to the centre of the room and casting a
glance around her, in which might be read an expression of contempt
quite free from fear, she said, "I am come by authority to receive the
just dues of the late possessor of this place, and I require the sum to
be told into my hand, and this I require in the name of Him who rules on
high, and who will assuredly take cognizance of any act of fraud used
towards a good and honourable man."
"And who? and who?" said Salmon, his teeth actually chattering "who are
you? and whence come you?"
"I come from the Laird of Dymock," she answered, "and in his name I
demand his rights!"
"You, you," said Salmon, "you are his daughter?"
"That remains to be told," replied Tamar, "what or who I am, is nothing
to you, nor to you, nor you," she added, looking at Jacob and Rebecca,
her eye being arrested for a minute on each, by the singular expression
which passed over their countenances. "Give me the Laird's dues and you
shall hear no more from me," she said, "never again will I come to
trouble your dulness; but, if you deny it to me, you shall never rest
from me;--no, no, I will haunt you day and night," and getting hotter as
she continued to speak, "you shall have no rest from me, neither moat
nor stone walls shall keep me out." She was thinking at that moment of
the secret passage by which she fancied she might get into the Tower, if
at this time she did not succeed; it was a wild and girlish scheme, and
whether practicable or not, she had no time to think. As she uttered
these last words, Salmon rose slowly from his seat, pushed his chair
from behind him and stepped back, a livid paleness covering his
features whilst he exclaimed: "Are you in life? or are you a terrible
vision of my fancy? Jacob,--Rebecca,--do you see it too--Ah! you look
pale, as those who see the dead--is it not so?"
The terror now expressed in the three countenances, was rapidly
extending to the heart of Tamar. What can all this mean, she thought,
what is there about me that thus appals them: it is their own guilt that
renders them fearful; but why should I fear? now is the moment for
strength of heart, and may heaven grant it to me. Having strength given
her; she again demanded the just due of her guardian.
"It would be better to give it," muttered Jacob; and Rebecca at the same
time screached out, "In the name of our father Abraham, give her what
she asks, master,--and let her go,--let her go to her father,--to him
that has reared her, and yet disowns her,--let her go to him; or like
the daughters of Moab she will bring a curse on our house."
"Hold your tongue, you old fool," said Jacob, "what do you know of her,
and of him who was once Laird of Dymock? But, master," he added "pay the
girl what she asks, and I will go down and get back your note, and once
for all we will shut our doors upon these people."
"But I would know," said Salmon, "I would know whence that girl has
those eyes, which are bright as the bride of Solomon,--as Rachel's," he
added, "they are such as hers."
"Go to," said Jacob, "what folly is this, tell the money to the girl,
and let her go."
"Jacob! Jacob!" exclaimed Salmon, "I am ruined, undone, I shall come to
beggary,--five hundred and ninty-four pounds, ten shillings and
sixpence," and the teeth of the old man began to chatter, terror and
dotage and cunning, seeming to be striving within him for the mastery
and altogether depriving him of the power of acting.
Jacob muttered one or two indistinct imprecations, then approaching the
table himself, he told the gold from the bags with the facility of a
money-changer, whilst Tamar stood calmly watching him; but the serving
man finding the weight too great for her, he exchanged much of the gold,
for Bank of England notes, which he took out of the same trunk, and then
delivering the sum into Tamar's hands; "There young woman, go," he said,
"and never again disturb my master with your presence."
Whilst this was going on, Salmon had kept his eyes fixed on Tamar, and
once or twice had gasped as if for breath; at length he said, "And you
are Dymock's daughter, damsel, but you are not like your father's
people,--are they not Nazarenes; tell me what was she who bore you?"
"Beshrew you," exclaimed Jacob, "what is all this to you," and roughly
seizing Tamar by the arm, he drew her out of the room, saying, "you have
all you want, go down to your father, and let us see you no more."
The young girl almost doubted as she descended the stairs, but that
still she was over-reached, and if so, that Dymock would not perhaps
find it out till it might be too late; she therefore, hearing Jacob
behind her, ran with all her might, and coming to the place where Dymock
stood, she called to him to follow her, and ran directly to Shanty's
shed; Dymock proceeded after her a few yards behind, and Jacob still
farther in the rear, crying "Laird, stop! stop! Mr. Dymock! give us your
release, here is a paper for you to sign."
Fortunately, Tamar found Shanty alone in his shed, and taking him into
his inner room, she caused him to count and examine the money and thus
was he occupied when Dymock and Jacob came in. Tamar went back to the
outer room of the shed; but Shanty remained within, and when he found
that all was right, Mr. Dymock gave his release. Jacob returned to the
Tower, and old Shanty trotted off to Hexham, to put the money in a place
of security; nor did he fail in his object, so that before he slept, the
Laird had the satisfaction to think that this dirty work was all
completed, and that without his having in the least soiled his own hands
in the process. As to the mystery of Tamar's having been enabled to
effect what he could not do, he soon settled that matter in his own
mind, for, thought he, "if I the Laird of Dymock could never refuse a
favour asked me by this maid of Judah, how could inferior minds be
expected to withstand her influence?"--the poor Laird not considering
that the very inferiority and coarseness of such minds as he attributed
to Salmon and Jacob, would have prevented them from feeling that
influence, which he had found so powerful. But they had felt something,
which certainly belonged to Tamar, and had yielded to that something;
nor could Tamar herself, when she reflected upon that scene in the
Tower, at all comprehend how she had excited such emotions as she
witnessed there; neither could Shanty, nor Mrs. Margaret help her out.
Again for another month, all went on in its usual routine; all was quiet
at Dymock's Tower, and darning, writing, and hammering, continued to be
the order of the day with Mrs. Margaret, the Laird, and Shanty, whilst
Tamar was all gay and happy in the fulfilment of many active duties,
rising with the lark, and brushing the dew from the frequent herbs which
encompassed her dwelling. It was all summer with her then, nor did she
spoil the present by anticipation of the severities of a wintery day,
for the work of grace was going on with her, and though her natural
temper was lofty and violent, as appeared by her manner to Jacob on the
occasion lately described, yet there was a higher principle imparted,
which rendered these out-breakings every day more rare.