I had assisted Mr. Coleman in conducting Clara Saville to the carriage

which arrived to convey her to Barstone, and had received a kind glance

and a slight pressure of the hand in return, which I would not have

exchanged for the smiles of an empress, when, anxious to be alone with

my own thoughts, I started off for a solitary walk, nor did I relax my

pace till I had left all traces of human habitation far behind me,

and green fields and leafless hedges were my only companions. I then

endeavoured in some measure to collect my scattered thoughts, and to

reflect calmly on the position in which I had placed myself, by the

avowal the unexpected events of the morning had hurried me into. But so

much was I excited, that calm reflection appeared next to impossible.

Feeling--flushed with the victory it had obtained over its old

antagonist, Reason--seemed, in every sense of the word, to have gained

the day, and, despite all the ~289~~ difficulties that lay before

me--difficulties which I knew must appear all but insurmountable,

whenever I should venture to look them steadily in the face--the one

idea that Clara Saville loved me was ever present with me, and rendered

me supremely happy.

The condition of loving another better than one's self, conventionally

termed being “in love,” is, to say the least, a very doubtful kind of

happiness; and poets have therefore, with great propriety, described

it as “pleasing pain,” “delicious misery,” and in many other terms of

a like contradictory character; nor is it possible that this should

be otherwise: love is a passion, wayward and impetuous in its very

nature--agitating and disquieting in its effects, rendering its votary

the slave of circumstances--a mere shuttlecock alternating between the

extremes of hope and fear, joy and sorrow, confidence and mistrust--a

thing which a smile can exalt to the highest pinnacle of delight, or

a frown strike down to the depths of despair. But in the consciousness

that we are beloved, there is none of this questionable excitement; on

the contrary, we experience a sensation of deep calm joy, as we

reflect that in the true affection thus bestowed on us we have gained

a possession which the cares and struggles of life are powerless to

injure, and which death itself, though it may interrupt for awhile,

will fail to destroy. These thoughts, or something like them, having

entrenched themselves in the stronghold of my imagination, for some time

held their ground gallantly against the attacks of common sense; but at

length, repulsed on every point, they deemed it advisable to capitulate,

or (to drop metaphor, a style of writing I particularly abominate,

perhaps because I never more than half understand what it means) in

plain English, I, with a sort of grimace, such as one makes before

swallowing a dose of physic, set myself seriously to work to reflect

upon my present position, and decide on the best line of conduct to be

pursued for the future.

Before our conference came to an end, I had made Clara acquainted

with my knowledge of Cumberland's former delinquencies, as well as the

reputation in which he was now held by such of his associates as had

any pretension to the title of gentlemen, and added my conviction, that,

when once these facts were placed before Mr. Vernor, he must see that

he could not, consistently with his duty as guardian, allow his ward to

marry a man of such character. Cumberland had no doubt contrived to keep

his uncle in ignorance of his mode of life, ~290~~ and it would only be

necessary to enlighten him on that point to ensure his consent to her

breaking off the engagement. Clara appeared less sanguine of success,

even hinting at the possibility of Mr. Vernor's being as well informed

in regard to his nephew's real character as we were; adding, that his

mind was too firmly set on the match for him to give it up lightly. It

was finally agreed between us, that she was to let me know how affairs

went on after Mr. Vernor's return, and, in the meantime, I was to give

the matter my serious consideration, and decide on the best course

for us to follow. The only person in the establishment whom she could

thoroughly trust was the extraordinary old footman (the subject of

Lawless's little bit of diplomacy), who had served under her father in

the Peninsula, and accompanied him home in the character of confidential

servant. He had consequently known Clara from a child, and was

strongly-attached to her, so that she had learned to regard him more

in the light of a friend than a servant. Through this somewhat original

substitute for a confidant, we arranged to communicate with each other.

As to my own line of conduct, I very soon decided on that. I would

only await a communication from Clara to assure me that Mr. Vernor's

determination with regard to her remained unchanged, ere I would seek

an interview with him, enlighten him as to Cumberland's true character,

acquaint him with Clara's aversion to the match, and induce him to allow

of its being broken off. I should then tell him of my own affection for

her, and of my intention of coming forward to demand her hand, as soon

as, by my professional exertions, I should have realised a sufficient

independence to enable me to marry. As to Clara's fortune, if fortune

she had, she might build a church, endow an hospital, or buy herself

bonnet ribbons with it, as she pleased, for not a farthing of it would

I ever touch on any consideration. No one should be able to say, that it

was for the sake of her money I sought to win her.

Well, all this was very simple, straightforward work;--where, then, were

the difficulties which had alarmed me so greatly? Let me see--Mr. Vernor

might choose to fancy that it would take some years to add to the

£90 14s. 6£d. sufficiently to enable me to support a wife, and might

disapprove of his ward's engaging herself to me on that account. What if

he did? I wished for no engagement--let her remain free as air--her own

true affection would stand my friend, and on that I could rely, ~291~~

content, if it failed me, to--to--well, it did not signify what I might

do in an emergency which never could arise. No! only let him promise not

to force her inclinations--to give up his monstrous project of wedding

her to Cumberland--and to leave her free to bestow her hand on whom she

would--and I should be perfectly satisfied. But suppose, as Clara

seemed to fear, he should refuse to break off the engagement with his

nephew--suppose he should forbid mo the house, and, taking advantage

of my absence, use his authority to force on this hateful marriage! All

that would be extremely disagreeable, and I could not say I exactly saw,

at the moment, what means I should be able to employ, effectually to

prevent it. Still it was only a remote contingency--an old man like him,

with one foot, as you might say, in the grave (he could not have been

above sixty, and his constitution, like everything else about him,

appeared of cast-iron), must have some conscience, must pay some little

regard to right and wrong: it would only be necessary to open his eyes

to the enormity of wedding beauty and innocence such as Clara's to

a scoundrel like Cumberland--aman destitute of every honourable

feeling--oh! he must see that the thing was impossible, and, as the

thought passed through my mind, I longed for the moment when I should be

confronted with him, and able to tell him so.

And Clara, too! sweet, bewitching, unhappy Clara! what must not she have

gone through, ere a mind, naturally buoyant and elastic as hers, could

have been crushed into a state of such utter dejection, such calm,

spiritless despair! her only wish, to die--her only hope, to find in the

grave a place “where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary

are at rest!” But brighter days were in store for her--it should be my

ambition to render her married life so happy, that, if possible, the

recollection of all she had suffered having passed away, her mind should

recover its natural tone, and even her lightness of heart, which the

chill atmosphere of unkindness for a time had blighted, should revive

again in the warm sunshine of affection.

Thus meditating, I arrived at Elm Lodge in a state of feeling containing

about equal parts of the intensely poetical and the very decidedly

hungry.

On the second morning after the events I have described, a note was

brought to me whilst I was dressing. With trembling fingers I tore open

the envelope, and read as follows:--

“I promised to inform you of what occurred on my ~292~~ return here, and

I must therefore do so, though what I have to communicate will only give

you pain. All that my fears pointed at has come to pass, and my

doom appears irrevocably sealed. Late on the evening of my return to

Barstone, Mr. Vernor and his nephew arrived. I shall never forget the

feeling of agony that shot through my brain, as Richard Cumberland's

footstep sounded in the hall, knowing, as I too well did, the purpose

with which he was come. I fancied grief had in great measure deadened my

feelings, but that moment served to undeceive me--the mixture of horror,

aversion, and fear, combined with a sense of utter helplessness and

desolation, seemed, as it were, to paralyse me.

“But I know not why I am writing all this. The evening passed off

without anything particular taking place. Mr. Cumberland's manner

towards me was regulated by the most consummate tact and cunning,

allowing the deep interest he pretends to feel in me to appear in every

look and action, yet never going far enough to afford me an excuse for

repulsing him. This morning, however, I have had an interview with Mr.

Vernor, in which I stated my repugnance to the marriage as strongly as

possible. He was fearfully irritated, and, at length, on my repeating

my refusal, plainly told me that it was useless for me to resist his

will--that I was in his power, and, if I continued obstinate, I must be

made to feel it. Oh! that man's anger is terrible to witness: it is not

that he is so violent--he never seems to lose his self-control--but says

the most cutting things in a tone of calm, sarcastic bitterness, which

lends double force to all he utters. I feel that it is useless for us

to contend against fate: you cannot help me, and would only embroil

yourself with these men were you to attempt to do so. I shall ever look

back upon the few days we spent together as a bright spot in the dark

void of my life--that life which you preserved at the risk of your own.

Alas! you little knew the cruel nature of the gift you were bestowing.

And now, farewell for ever! That you may find all the happiness your

kindness and generosity deserve, is the earnest prayer of one, whom, for

her sake, as well as your own, you must strive to forget.”

“If I do forget her,” exclaimed I, as I pressed the note to my lips,

“may I----Well, never mind, I'll go over and have it out with that old

brute this very morning, and we'll see if he can frighten me.” And so

saying, I set to work to finish dressing, in a great state of virtuous

indignation. ~293~~ “Freddy,” inquired I, when breakfast was at length

concluded, “where can I get a horse?”

“Get a horse?” was the reply. “Oh! there are a great many places--it

depends upon what kind of horse you want: for race-horses,

steeple-chasers, and hunters, I would recommend Tattersall's; for hacks

or machiners, there's Aldridge's, in St. Martin's Lane; while Dixon's,

in the Barbican, is the place to pick up a fine young carthorse--is it a

young cart-horse you want?”

“My dear fellow, don't worry me,” returned I, feeling very cross,

and trying to look amiable; “you know what I mean; is there anything

rideable to be hired in Hilling-ford? I have a call to make which is

beyond a walk.”

“Let me see,” replied Freddy, musing; “you wouldn't like a very little

pony, with only one eye and a rat-tail, I suppose--it might look absurd

with your long legs, I'm afraid--or else Mrs. Meek, the undertaker's

widow, has got a very quiet one that poor Meek used to ride--a child

could manage it:--there's the butcher's fat mare, but she won't stir a

step without the basket on her back, and it would be so troublesome

for you to carry that all the way. Tomkins, the sweep, has got a little

horse he'd let you have, I daresay, but it always comes off black on

one's trousers: and the miller's cob is just as bad the other way with

the flour. I know a donkey--”

“So do I,” was the answer, as, laughing in spite of myself, I turned to

leave the room.

“Here, stop a minute!” cried Freddy, following me, “you are so

dreadfully impetuous; there's nothing morally wrong in being acquainted

with a donkey, is there? 1 assure you I did not mean anything personal;

and now for a word of sense. Bumpus, at the Green Man, has got a

tremendous horse, which nearly frightened me into fits the only time I

ever mounted him, so that it will just suit you; nobody but a _green_

man, or a knight-errant, which I consider much the same sort of thing,

would patronise such an animal--still, he's the only one I know of.”

Coleman's tremendous horse, which proved to be a tall, pig-headed,

hard-mouthed brute, with a very decided will of his own, condescended,

after sundry skirmishes and one pitched battle, occasioned by his

positive refusal to pass a windmill, to go the road I wished, and about

an hour's ride brought me to the gate of Barstone Park. So completely

had I been hurried on by feeling in every stage of the affair, and so

entirely had all minor considerations given way to the paramount object

of ~294~~ securing Clara's happiness, with which, as I now felt, my

own was indissolubly linked, that it was not until my eye rested on

the cold, grey stone of Barstone Priory, and wandered over the straight

walks and formal lawns of the garden, that I became fully aware of the

extremely awkward and embarrassing nature of the interview I was about

to seek. To force myself into the presence of a man more than double

my own age, and, from all I had seen or heard of him, one of the last

people in the world to take a liberty with, for the purpose of informing

hint that his nephew, the only creature on earth that he was supposed to

love, was a low swindler, the associate of gamblers and blacklegs, did

not appear a line of conduct exactly calculated to induce him, at my

request, to give up a scheme on which he had set his heart, or to look

with a favourable eye on my pretensions to the hand of his ward. Still,

there was no help for it; the happiness of her I loved was at stake,

and, had it been to face a fiend instead of a man, I should not have

hesitated.

My meditations were here interrupted by a cock-pheasant, which, alarmed

at my approach, rose immediately under my horse's nose; an unexpected

incident which caused that brute to shy violently, and turn short round,

thereby nearly unseating me. Having by this manoeuvre got his head

towards home, he not only refused to turn back again, but showed very

unmistakable symptoms of a desire to run away. Fortunately, however,

since the days of “Mad Bess,” my arms had grown considerably stronger,

and, by dint of pulling and sawing the creature's apology for a mouth

with the bit, I was enabled to frustrate his benevolent intentions, and

even succeeded in turning him round again; but here my power ceased--for

in the direction of the Priory by no possibility could I induce him to

move a step. I whipped and spurred, but in vain; the only result was a

series of kicks and plunges, accompanied by a retrograde movement and

a shake of the head, as if he were saying, No! I next attempted the

soothing system, and lavished sundry caresses and endearing expressions

upon him, of which he was utterly undeserving; but my attentions were

quite thrown away, and might as well, for any good they produced, have

been bestowed upon a rocking-horse. At length, after a final struggle,

in which we were both within an ace of falling into a water-course which

crossed the park in that direction, I gave the matter up as hopeless;

and with a sigh (for I love not to be foiled in anything I have

attempted, and, moreover, I could not help looking upon it as an unlucky

omen) dismounted, ~285~~ and leading my rebellious steed by the rein,

advanced on foot towards the house. As I did so a figure abruptly turned

the corner of a shrubbery walk, which ran at right angles to the road,

and I found myself face to face with Richard Cumberland!

For a moment he remained staring at me as if he scarcely recognised me,

or was unwilling to trust the evidence of his senses, so confounded was

he at my unexpected apparition; but as I met his gaze with a cold, stern

look, he seemed to doubt no longer and advancing a step towards me

said, in a tone of ironical politeness:--“Is it possible that I have the

pleasure of seeing Mr. Fairlegh?”

“None other, Mr. Cumberland,” returned I, “though I could hardly

have flattered myself that my appearance would have recalled any very

pleasurable associations, considering the last two occasions on which we

met.”

“Ah! you refer to that unfortunate affair with Wilford,” replied

Cumberland, purposely misunderstanding my allusion to Dr. Mildman's. “I

had hoped to have been able to prevent the mischief which occurred,

but I was misinformed as to the time of the meeting--I trust our friend

Oaklands feels no ill effects from his wound.”

“Mr. Oaklands, I am sorry to say, recovers but slowly; the wound was a

very severe one,” returned I coldly. “Well, I will not detain you any

longer, it is a lovely morning for a ride,” resumed Cumberland; “can I

be of any assistance in directing you? the lanes in this neighbourhood

are somewhat intricate--you are not perhaps aware that the road you are

now following is a private one.” “Scarcely so private that those who

have business with Mr. Vernor may not make use of it, I presume,”

rejoined I. “Oh! of course not,” was the reply--“I did not know that you

were acquainted with my uncle; though now I come to think of it, I do

recollect his saying that he had met you somewhere. He seldom receives

visitors in the morning;--in fact, when I came out, I left him

particularly engaged. Perhaps I can save you the trouble of going up to

the house; is there any message I can deliver for you?” “I thank you,”

replied I, “but I do not think the business which has brought me here

could be well transacted through a third person; at all events, I will

take my chance of being admitted:”--I paused, but could not refrain from

adding, “besides, if my memory fails not, you were a somewhat heedless

messenger in days of yore.”

This allusion to his embezzlement of Oaklands' letter stung him to the

quick: he turned as white as ashes, and ~296~~ asked, in a voice that

trembled with passion, “Whether I meant to insult him?”

“I spoke heedlessly, and without deliberate intention,” I replied; “but

perhaps it is only fair to tell you that for the future there can be

no friendly communication between us; we must either avoid each other

altogether, which would be the most desirable arrangement, or meet as

strangers. The disgraceful conduct of the boy I could have forgiven and

forgotten, had not its memory been revived by the evil deeds of the man.

Richard Cumberland, I know you thoroughly; it is needless for me to add

more.”

As I spoke his cheek flushed, then grew pale again with shame and anger,

while he bit his under lip so severely that a red line remained where

his teeth had pressed it. When I concluded, he advanced towards me with

a threatening gesture, but, unable to meet the steadfast look with which

I confronted him, he turned abruptly on his heel, and muttering, “You

shall repent this,” disappeared among the shrubs.

CHAPTER XXXVIII PACING THE ENEMY

“'Sir,' said the Count, with brow exceeding grave,

'Your unexpected presence here will make

It necessary for myself to crave

Its import? But perhaps it's a mistake.

I hope it is so; and at once, to waive

All compliment, I hope so for your sake.

You understand my meaning, or you shall.'”

_Beppo_.

“IS your master--is Mr. Vernor at home?” inquired I of the grim-visaged

old servant, who looked, if possible, taller and more wooden than when I

had last seen him.

“Well, I suppose not, sir!” was the somewhat odd reply.

“You suppose!” repeated I; “if you have any doubt, had you not better go

and see?”

“That won't be of no manner of use, sir,” was the rejoinder; “I should

not be none the wiser.”

It was clear that the old man was a complete original; but his affection

for Clara was a virtue which in my eyes would have atoned for any amount

of eccentricity; and as I was anxious to stand well in his good graces,

I ~297~~ determined to fall in with his humour; accordingly I replied

with a smile, “How do you make out that--did you never hear that seeing

is believing?”

“Not always, sir,” he answered, “for if I'd a trusted to my

eyesight--and it ain't so bad neither for a man that's no great way

off sixty--I should have fancied Muster Wernor was a sitting in the

liberrary; but he told me he was not at home hisself, and he ought to

know best.”

“Tell him I won't detain him long,” returned I, “but that I am come on

business of importance.”

“'Tain't of no manner of use, young gentleman,” was the reply; “he told

me he wasn't at home, and he said it uncommon cross too, as if he

meant it, and if I was to go to him twenty times he'd only say the same

thing.” “What's your name, my good friend?” inquired I. “Peter Barnett,

at your service, sir,” was the answer. “Well, then, Peter, we must

contrive to understand one another a little better. You have known your

young mistress from a child, and have a sincere regard for her--is it

not so?”

“What, Miss Clara, God bless her!--why, I love her as if she was my own

flesh and blood; I should be a brute if I didn't, poor lamb.”

“Well, then, when I tell you that her happiness is very nearly connected

with the object of my visit--when I say, that it is to prevent her from

being obliged to do something of which she has the greatest abhorrence

that I am anxious to meet Mr. Vernor--I am sure you will contrive that I

shall see him.”

As I concluded, the old man, muttering to himself, “That's it, is it?”

began to examine me from top to toe with a critical glance, as if I had

been some animal he was about to purchase; and when he reached my face,

gazed at me long and fixedly, as though striving to read my character.

Apparently the result of his scrutiny was favourable, for after again

saying in a low tone, “Well, I likes the looks of him,” he added, “This

way, young gentleman--you shall see him if that's what you want--it

ain't a hanging matter, after all”. As he spoke, he threw open the door

of the library, saying, “Gentleman says his business is wery partikler,

so I thought you'd better see him yourself”.

Mr. Vernor, who was seated at a table writing, rose on my entrance,

bowed stiffly to me, and, casting a withering glance on Peter Barnett,

signed to him to shut the door. As soon as that worthy had obeyed the

command, he ~298~~ resumed his seat, and, addressing me with the same

frigid politeness which he had shown on the occasion of my first visit

to him, said, “I am somewhat occupied this morning, and must therefore

be excused for inquiring at once what very particular business Mr.

Fairlegh can have with me”. His tone and manner, as he spoke, were such

as to render me fully aware of the pleasant nature of the task before

me; namely, to make the most disagreeable communication possible, to

the most disagreeable person to whom such a communication could be made.

Still, I was regularly in for it; there was nothing left for me but to

“go a-head”; and as I thought of Clara and her sorrows, the task seemed

to lose half its difficulty. However, it was not without some hesitation

that I began:--

“When you learn the object of my visit, sir, you will perceive that I

have not intruded upon you without reason”. I paused; but, finding he

remained silent, added--“As you are so much occupied this morning, I

had better perhaps enter at once upon the business which has brought me

here. You are probably aware that I have had the pleasure of spending

the last few days in the same house with Miss Saville.” As I mentioned

Clara's name, his brow grew dark as night; but he still continued

silent, and I proceeded. “It is, I should conceive, impossible for

anyone to enjoy the privilege of that young lady's society, without

experiencing the warmest feelings of admiration and interest. Towards

the termination of her visit, accident led me to the knowledge of her

acquaintance with Mr. Cumberland, who I then learned, for the first

time, was your nephew. I would not willingly say anything which might

distress or annoy you, Mr. Vernor,” continued I, interrupting myself,

“but I fear that, in order to make myself intelligible, I must advert to

an affair which I would willingly have forgotten.”

“Go on, sir,” was the reply, in a cold sarcastic tone of voice--“pray

finish your account without reference to my feelings; I am not likely to

alarm your sensibility by any affecting display of them.”

As the most sceptical could not have doubted for a moment the truth

of this assertion, I resumed: “From my previous knowledge of Mr.

Cumberland's character, I could not but consider him an unfit

acquaintance for a young lady; and, on hinting this, and endeavouring to

ascertain the extent of Miss Saville's intimacy with him, I was equally

shocked and surprised to learn that she was actually engaged to him, and

that you not only sanctioned the engagement, but were even desirous that

the match ~299~~ should take place. Feeling sure that this could only

proceed from your being ignorant of the character of the class of

persons with whom your nephew associates, and the more than questionable

reputation he has thereby acquired, I considered it my duty to afford

you such information as may enable you to ascertain for yourself the

truth of the reports which have reached my ear.”

“Exceedingly conscientious and praiseworthy: I ought to feel infinitely

indebted to you, young gentleman,” interrupted Mr. Vernor sarcastically;

“of course you made the young lady acquainted with your disinterested

and meritorious intentions '?”

“I certainly thought it right to inform Miss Saville of the facts I have

mentioned, and to obtain her permission, ere I ventured to interfere in

her behalf.”

As I spoke, the gloom on Mr. Vernor's brow grew darker, and I expected

an outburst of rage, but his self-control was stronger than 1 had

imagined, for it was in the same cold ironical manner that he replied,

“And may I ask, supposing this iniquitous engagement to have been broken

off by your exertions, is Virtue to be its own reward? will you sit down

content with having done your duty? or have you not some snug little

scheme _in petto_, to console the disconsolate damsel for her loss? If I

am not mistaken, you were professing warm feelings of admiration for my

ward a few minutes since.”

“Had you waited till I had finished speaking, you would have perceived,

sir, that your taunt was undeserved. I have no wish to conceal anything

from you--on the contrary, one of my chief objects in seeking this

interview was to inform you of the deep and sincere affection I

entertain for Miss Saville, and of my intention of coming forward to

seek her hand, as soon as my professional prospects shall enable me to

support a wife.”

“And have you succeeded in inducing the lady to promise, that, in the

event of my allowing her to break off her present engagement, she will

wait for the somewhat remote and visionary contingency you have hinted

at?”

“I have never made the attempt, sir,” replied I, drawing myself up

proudly, for I began to think that I was carrying forbearance too far,

in submitting thus tamely to his repeated insults; “my only desire is

to convince you of the necessity of breaking off this preposterous

engagement, which is alike unsuitable in itself, and distasteful to

Miss Saville; for the rest, I must trust to time, and to the unshaken

constancy of my own affection (with ~300~~ which it is only fair to tell

you the young lady is acquainted), for the accomplishment of my hopes.

Had I the power to fetter your ward by a promise which she might

afterwards be led to repent, nothing should induce me to make use of

it.”

“Really, your moderation is quite unparalleled,” exclaimed Mr. Vernor;

“such generosity now might be almost calculated to induce a romantic

girl to persuade her guardian to allow her to marry at once, and devote

her fortune to the purpose of defraying the household expenses, till

such time as the professional expectations you mention should be

realised; and Clara Saville is just the girl who might do it, for I

am afraid I must distress your magnanimity by informing you of a

circumstance, of which, of course, you have not the slightest idea at

present, namely, that if Miss Saville should marry with her guardian's

consent, she will become the possessor of a very considerable fortune:

what think you of such a plan?”

“Mr. Vernor,” replied I, “I was aware that the communication I had to

make to you was calculated to pain and annoy you, and that circumstances

obliged me to urge my suit at a moment most disadvantageous to its

success; I did not therefore imagine that our interview was likely to be

a very agreeable one; but I own I did expect to have credit given me for

honourable motives, and to be treated with the consideration due from

one gentleman to another.”

“It grieves me to have disappointed such moderate and reasonable

expectations,” was the reply; “but, unfortunately, I have acquired a

habit of judging men rather by their actions than their words, and

forming my opinion accordingly; and by the opinion thus formed I

regulate my conduct towards them.”

“May I inquire what opinion you can possibly have formed of me, which

would justify your treating me otherwise than as a gentleman?” asked

I, as calmly as I was able, for I was most anxious not to allow him to

perceive the degree to which his taunts irritated me.

“Certainly; only remember, if it is not exactly what you approve, that I

mention it in compliance with your own express request--but first, for

I am unwilling to do you injustice, let me be sure that I understand

you clearly:--you state that you are unable to marry till you shall

have realised by your profession an income sufficient to support a wife;

therefore, I presume that your patrimony is somewhat limited.”

~301~~ “You are right, sir; my poor father was too liberal a man to

die rich; my present income is somewhat less than a hundred pounds per

annum.”

“And your profession?”

“It is my intention to begin reading for the bar almost immediately.”

“A profession usually more honourable than lucrative for the first ten

years or so. Well, young gentleman, the case seems to stand very much as

I imagined, nor do I perceive any reason for altering my opinion of

your conduct. Chance throws in your way a young lady, possessing great

beauty, who is prospective heiress to a very valuable property, and it

naturally enough occurs to you, that making love is likely to be more

agreeable, and in the present instance more profitable also, than

reading law; accordingly, you commence operations, and for some time all

goes on swimmingly, Miss Saville, like any other girl in her situation,

having no objection to vary the monotony of a long engagement by a

little innocent flirtation; affairs of this kind, however, seldom run

smoothly long together, and at some moment, when you were rather more

pressing than usual, the young lady thinks it advisable to inform you,

that in accordance with her father's dying wish, and of her own free

will, she has engaged herself to the nephew of her guardian, who

strangely enough happens to be an old schoolfellow of yours, against

whom you have always nourished a strong and unaccountable feeling of

dislike. Here, then, was a famous opportunity to display those talents

for plotting and manoeuvring which distinguished Mr. Fairlegh even in

his boyish days; accordingly, a master-scheme is invented, whereby

the guardian shall be cajoled and brow-beaten into giving his consent,

enmity satisfied by the rival's discomfiture and overthrow, and talent

rewarded by obtaining possession of the young lady and her fortune. As

a first step you take advantage of a lover's quarrel to persuade Miss

Saville that she is averse to the projected alliance, and trump up

an old tale of some boyish scrape to induce her to believe Cumberland

unworthy of her preference, ending, doubtless, by modestly proposing

yourself as a substitute. Inexperience, and the natural capriciousness

of woman, stand your friend; the young lady appears for the moment

gained over, and, flushed with success, the bold step of this morning is

resolved upon. Such, sir, is my opinion of your conduct. It only remains

for me to inform you that 1 have not the slightest intention of

breaking off the engagement in ~302~~ consequence of your disinterested

representations, nor, under any circumstances, would I allow my ward

to throw herself away upon a needy fortune-hunter. There can be nothing

more to say, I think; and as I have some important papers to look over

this morning, I dare say you will excuse my ringing the bell.”

“One moment, sir,” replied I warmly, “although your age prevents my

taking notice of the unprovoked insults you have seen fit to heap upon

me----”

“Really,” interposed Mr. Vernor, in a deprecating tone, “you must pardon

me; I have not time for all this sort of thing to-day.”

“You shall hear me!” exclaimed I passionately; “I have listened in

silence to accusations calculated to make the blood of any man, worthy

to be so called, boil in his veins--accusations which, at the very

moment you utter them, you know to be entirely false: you know well Miss

Saville's just and deeply rooted aversion to this match, and you know

that it existed before she and I had ever met; you know the creditable

nature of what you term the 'boyish scrape,' in which your nephew was

engaged--a scrape which, but for the generous forbearance of others,

might have ended in his transportation as a convicted felon; and this

knowledge (even if you are ignorant of the dishonourable and vicious

course of life he now leads) should be enough to prevent your

sanctioning such a marriage. I pass over your insinuations respecting

myself in silence; should I again prefer my suit for Miss Saville's hand

to you, it will be as no needy fortune-hunter that I shall do so; but

once more let me implore you to pause--reconsider the matter--inquire

for yourself into your nephew's pursuits--ascertain the character of his

associates, and then judge whether he is a fit person to be entrusted

with the happiness of such a being as Clara Saville.”

“Vastly well, sir! exceedingly dramatic, indeed!” observed Mr. Vernor,

with a sneer; “you really have quite a talent for--genteel comedy, I

think they call it; you would be perfect in the line of character termed

the 'walking gentleman'--have you ever thought of the stage?”

“I perceive,” replied I, “that by remaining here, I shall only subject

myself to additional insult: determined to carry out your own bad

purpose, you obstinately close your ears to the voice alike of reason

and of conscience; and now,” I added, in a stern tone, “hear my resolve:

I have promised Miss Saville to save her from Richard ~303~~ Cumberland;

as the fairest and most honourable way of doing so, I applied to you,

her lawful guardian and protector; I have failed, and you have insulted

and defied me. I now tell you, that I will leave NO MEANS untried to

defeat your nefarious project, and, if evil or disgrace should befal you

or yours in consequence, upon your own head be it. You may smile at

my words, and disregard them as idle threats which I am powerless to

fulfil, but remember, you have no longer a helpless girl to deal with,

but a determined man, who, with right and justice on his side, may yet

thwart your cunningly devised schemes;--and so, having given you fair

warning, I will leave you.”

“Allow me to mention one fact, young sir,” returned Mr. Vernor, “which

demands your serious attention, as it may prevent you from committing

a fatal error, and save you all further trouble. Should Clara Saville

marry without my consent, she does so penniless, and the fortune

devolves upon the next heir; ha!” he exclaimed, as I was unable to

repress an exclamation of pleasure, “have I touched you there?”

“You have indeed, sir,” was my reply; “for you have removed the only

scruple which stood in my way. No one can now accuse me of interested

motives; 'needy fortune-hunters' do not seek to ally themselves to

portionless damsels; allow me to offer you my best thanks for your

information, and to wish you good-morning, sir.”

So saying, I rose and quitted the room, leaving Mr. Vernor, in a state

of ill-suppressed rage, to the enjoyment of his own reflections.

On entering the hall, I found old Peter Barnett awaiting me. As I

appeared, his stiff features lighted up with a most sagacious grin of

intelligence, and approaching me, he whispered:--

“Did ye give it him strong?” (indicating the person he referred to by

an expressive jerk of his thumb towards the library door). “I heard ye

blowing of him up--but did ye give it him reg'lar strong?”

“I certainly told Mr. Vernor my opinion with tolerable plainness,”

replied I, smiling at the intense delight which was visible in every

line of the strange old face beside me.

“No! Did ye?--did ye? That was right,” was the rejoinder. “Lor! how I

wish I'd a been there to see; but I heard ye though--I heard ye a giving

it to him,” and again he relapsed into a paroxysm of delight.

“Peter,” said I, “I want to have a little private conversation with

you--how is that to be managed? Is there any place near where you could

meet me?” ~304~~ “You come here from Hillingford, didn't ye, sir?” I

nodded assent. He continued:--“Did you notice a hand-post which stands

where four roads meet, about a mile and a half from here?”

“I saw it,” returned I, “and even tried to read what was painted on it,

but of course, after the manner of all country direction posts, it was

totally illegible.”

“Well, when you get there, take the road to the left, and ride on till

ye see an ale-house on the right-hand side, and stay there till I come

to ye.”

“I will,” replied I, “but don't keep me waiting longer than you can

help--there's a good man.”

An understanding grin was his only answer; and mounting my unpleasant

horse (who seemed much more willing to proceed quietly when his head

was turned in a homeward direction), I rode slowly through the park, my

state of mind affording a practical illustration, that Quintus Horatius

Flaccus was about right in his conjecture that Care sometimes indulged

herself with a little equestrian exercise on a pillion.{1}

1 “Post equitem sedet atra cura.”

CHAPTER XXXIX -- THE COUNCIL OF WAR

“Oh! good old man: how well in thee, appears

The constant service of the antique world!”

--_As You Like It_.

“Now will I deliver his letter; for the behaviour

of the young gentleman gives him out to be of

good capacity and breeding.”

--_Twelfth Night_.

“Farewell! be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains.

Farewell! commend me to thy mistress.”

--_Romeo and Juliet_.

THE place of meeting appointed by Peter Barnett was easily discovered,

and having tied up my horse under a shed, which served the double

purpose of stable and coach-house, I took possession of a small

room with a sanded floor, and throwing myself back in a most uneasy

easy-chair, began to think over my late interview, and endeavour to

devise some practicable plan for the future. The first thing was to

establish some means of free communication with Clara, and this I hoped

to accomplish by the assistance of Peter Barnett. I should thus learn

Mr. Vernor's proceedings, and be able to regulate my ~305~~ conduct

accordingly. If, as I dreaded, he should attempt to force on the

marriage immediately, would Clara, alone and unassisted, have sufficient

courage and strength of purpose to resist him? I feared not; and how

was I effectually to aid her? The question was more easily asked than

answered. It was clear that her fortune was the thing aimed at, for I

could not believe either Mr. Vernor or his nephew likely to be actuated

by disinterested motives;--and it was to their avarice, then, that Clara

was to be sacrificed--had she been portionless she would have been free

to marry whom she pleased. Of all sources of evil and misery, money

appears to be the most prolific; in the present case its action was

twofold--Clara was rendered wretched in consequence of possessing it,

while the want of it incapacitated me from boldly claiming her hand at

once, which appeared to be the only effectual method of assisting her.

My meditations were at this point interrupted by the arrival of my

future privy counsellor, Peter Barnett, who marched solemnly into the

room, drew himself up to his full height, which very nearly equalled

that of the ceiling, brought his hand to his forehead in a military

salute, and then, closing the door cautiously, and with an air of

mystery, stood at ease, evidently intending me to open the conversation.

“Well, Peter,” began I, by way of something to say, for I felt the

greatest difficulty in entering on the subject which then occupied my

thoughts before such an auditor. “Well, Peter, you have not kept me

waiting long; I scarcely expected to see you so soon: do you imagine

that Mr. Vernor will remark your absence?”

“He knows it already,” was the reply. “Why, bless ye, sir, he ordered me

to go out hisself.” “Indeed! how was that?”

“Why, as soon as you was gone, sir, he pulled the bell like mad. 'Send

Mr. Richard here,' says he. 'Yes, sir,' says I, 'certingly; only he's

not at home, sir.' When he heard this he grumbled out an oath, or

sumthin' of that nature, and I was going to take myself off, for I see

he wasn't altogether safe, when he roars out 'Stop!' ['You'd a said

“halt,” if you'd a been a officer or a gentleman, which you ain't

neither,' thinks I.) 'What do you mean by letting people in when I have

given orders to the contrairy?' says he. 'Who was it as blowed me up for

sending away a gent as said he wanted to see you on partiklar business,

only yesterday?' says I. That bothered him nicely, and he didn't know

how to be down upon me; ~306~~ but at last he thought he'd serve me one

of his old tricks. So he says, 'Peter, what are you doing to-day'?' I

see what he was at, and I thought I'd ketch him in his own trap. 'Very

busy a cleaning plate, sir,' says I. This was enough for him: if I was

a cleaning plate, in course I shouldn't like to be sent out; so says he,

'Go down to Barnsley, and see whether Mr. Cumberland is there'. 'But the

plate, sir?' 'Never mind the plate.' 'It won't never look as it ought to

do, if I am sent about in this way,' says I. 'Do as you're ordered,

and leave the room instantly,' says he, grinding his teeth reg'lar

savage-like. So I took him at his word, and come away to see you as hard

as I could pelt; but you've put him into a sweet temper, Mr. Fairlegh.”

“Why, that I'm afraid was scarcely to be avoided,” replied I, “as my

business was to inform him that I considered his nephew an unfit person

to marry his ward.”

“Oh! did you tho'?--did you tell him that?” cried my companion, with a

chuckle of delight; “that was right: I wonder how he liked that!”

“As he did not exactly agree with me in this opinion, but, on the

contrary, plainly declared his intention of proceeding with the match

in spite of me, it is necessary for me to consider what means I can best

use to prevent him from accomplishing his object; it is in this that 1

shall require your assistance.”

“And what does Miss Clara say about it, young gentleman?” inquired the

old man, fixing his eyes on me with a scrutinising glance.

“Miss Saville dislikes Richard Cumberland, and dreads the idea of being

forced to marry him above everything.” “Ah! I know she does, poor lamb;

and well she may, for there ain't a more dissipateder young scoundrel to

be found nowhere than Mr. Wernor's precious 'nephew,' as he calls him,

tho' it's my belief he might call him 'son' without telling a lie.”

“Indeed! I was not aware that Mr. Vernor had ever been married.”

“No; I never heard that he was reg'lar downright married; but he may

be his son, for all that. Howsurn-ever, p'raps it is so, or p'raps it

ain't; I'm only a tellin' you what I fancies, sir,” was the reply. “But

what I wanted to know,” he continued, again fixing his eyes on my face,

“is, what does Miss Clara say to you? eh!”

“You put home questions, my friend,” replied I, colouring slightly;

“however, as Miss Saville tells me you are faithful and trustworthy, and

as half-confidences are never ~307~~ of any use, I suppose you must hear

all about it.” I then told him as concisely as possible of my love for

Clara, and my hopes of one day calling her my own; pointing out to him

the difficulties that stood in the way, and explaining to him that the

only one which appeared to me insurmountable was the probability of

Mr. Vernor's attempting to force Clara into an immediate marriage with

Cumberland. Having thus given him an insight into the true state of

affairs, I showed him the necessity of establishing some means of

communication between Clara and myself, as it was essential that I

should receive the earliest possible information in regard to Mr.

Vernor's proceedings.

“I understand, sir,” interrupted Peter, “you want to be able to write

to each other without the old 'un getting hold of your letters: well,

that's very easily managed; only you direct to Mr. Barnett, to be left

at the Pig and Pony, at Barstone; and anything you send for Miss Clara,

I'll take care and give her when nobody won't be none the wiser for

it; and any letters she writes I'll put into the post myself. I'd do

anything rather than let that young villain Cumberland have her, and

make her miserable, which his wife is safe to be, if ever he gets

one; and if you likes her and she likes you, as seems wery probable,

considering you saved her from being burnt to death, as they tell me,

and is wery good-looking into the bargain--which goes a great way with

young ladies, if you'll excuse the liberty I takes in mentioning of

it--why, the best thing as you can do, is to get married as soon as you

can.”

“Very pleasant advice, friend Peter,” returned I, “but not so easily

acted upon; people cannot marry nowadays without something to live

upon.”

“Well, ain't Miss Clara got Barstone Priory, and plenty of money to keep

it up with? Won't that do to live upon?”

“And do you imagine I could ever feel content to be the creature of

my wife's bounty? prove myself a needy fortune-hunter, as that old man

dared to term me?” exclaimed I, forgetting the character of my auditor.

“Barstone Priory to live in, and more money than you know what to do

with, ain't to be sneezed at neither,” was the answer; “though I likes

your independent spirit too, sir: but how do you mean to manage, then?”

“Why, Mr. Vernor hinted that if his ward married without his consent,

her fortune was to be forfeited.”

“Ah! I believe there was something of that nature in the will: my poor

master was so wrapped up in old Wernor that he wrote just wot he told

him; if he'd only ~308~~ a lived to see how he was going to use Miss

Clara, he'd a ordered me to kick him out of the house instead.”

“Perhaps that pleasure may be yet in store for you, Peter,” replied I,

laughing at the zest with which he uttered the last few words, and an

involuntary motion of the foot by which they were accompanied; “but this

power, which it seems Mr. Vernor really possesses, of depriving Miss

Saville of her fortune, removes my greatest difficulty; for in that

case, if he should attempt to urge on this match, I can at least make

her the offer of sharing my poverty: there is my mother's roof to

shelter her, and, if her guardian refuses his consent to our marriage,

why, we must contrive to do without it, that is all. So now, Peter,

if you will wait a few minutes, I will give you a note for your young

mistress, and then get to horse without further loss of time;” and

calling for pen, ink, and paper, I hastily scribbled a few lines to

Clara, informing her of the events of the morning, and of my unalterable

determination to save her from a union with Cumberland; begging her, at

the same time, to continue firm in her opposition, to acquaint me with

everything that might occur, and to rely upon me for protection in the

event of anything like force being resorted to. I then entrusted my note

to old Peter, begged him to watch Master Richard Cumberland closely,

told him that upon his care and vigilance depended in great measure the

happiness of his young mistress's life; tipped him handsomely, though

I had some trouble in making him take the money; and, mounting my

ill-disposed horse, rode back to Hillingford, on the whole tolerably

well satisfied with my morning's work.

I found two letters awaiting my return: one from my mother, to say that

she should be at Heathfield Cottage on the following day, and begging

me to meet her; the other from Ellis, telling me that at length he hoped

Oaklands was in a fair way to recover, it having been ascertained that a

piece of the wadding of the pistol had remained behind when the ball was

extracted; this had now come away, and the wound was healing rapidly. As

his strength returned, Harry was growing extremely impatient to get back

to Heathfield; and Ellis concluded by saying that they might be expected

any day, and begging me at the same time to remember that from the first

he had always declared, in regard to his patient, that it would have

killed any other man, but that it could not kill him.

Days glided by, the absentees returned, and matters fell so completely

into their old train again that the occurrences ~309~~ of the last eight

months seemed like the unreal creations of some fevered dream, and there

were times when I could scarcely bring myself to believe them true.

Harry Oaklands had recovered sufficiently to resume his usual habits;

and, except that he was strictly forbidden to over-exert or fatigue

himself (an injunction he appeared only too willing to obey), he was

nearly emancipated from medical control. Fanny had in great measure

regained her good looks again; a slight delicacy of appearance, however,

still remained, giving a tone of spirituality to the expression of her

features, which was not before observable, and which to my mind rendered

her prettier than ever: the listlessness of manner which had made me

uneasy about her in the autumn had vanished, and her spirits seemed

good; still, she was in a degree altered, and one felt in talking to her

that she was a child no longer. Like Undine, that graceful creation of

La Motte Fouqué's genius, she appeared to have changed from a “tricksy

sprite” into a thinking and feeling woman.

One morning Oaklands and Ellis came to the cottage together, the latter

in a great state of joy and excitement, produced by a most kind and

judicious exercise of liberality on the part of Sir John. About a month

before, the grave and pompous Dr. Probehurt had been seized with an

illness, from which in all probability he would have recovered had he

not steadily refused to allow a rival practitioner to be called in,

in order that he might test a favourite theory of his own, embodying

a totally novel mode of treatment for the complaint with which he was

attacked. Unfortunately, the experiment failed, and the doctor died. Sir

John, who had been long anxious to evince his gratitude to Ellis for

the skill and attention he had bestowed upon his patient, the moment

he heard of the event determined to purchase the business: he had that

morning completed the negotiation, and offered the practice to Ellis,

stating that he should consider his accepting it in the light of a

personal favour, as in that case he would be always at hand, should

Harry feel any lasting ill effects from his wound. Ellis's joy was most

amusing to witness.

“I tell you what, sir,” he exclaimed, seizing me by a button of the

coat, “I'm a made man, sir! there isn't a better practice in the county.

Why, poor Probehurt told me himself old Mrs. Croaker Crawley alone was

worth a hundred pounds per annum to him:--four draughts and two pills

everyday--prescription very simple--R. Pil. panis compos, ii. nocte

sum.; haust. aqua vitæ 1/2, aqua pura 1/2 ~310~~ saccar. viii. grs. pro

re nata. She's a strong old girl, and on brandy-and-water draughts and

French-roll pills may last for the next twenty years. Noble thing of Sir

John, very; 'pon my word, it has quite upset me--it's a fact, sir, that

when Mr. Oaklandstold me of it I sat down and cried like a child. I'm

not over tender-hearted either: when I was at Guy's I amputated the left

leg of a shocking accident, and dissected the porter's mother-in-law

(whom he sold us cheap for old acquaintance' sake) before breakfast one

morning, without finding my appetite in the slightest degree affected;

but when I learned what Sir John had done, I positively cried, sir.”

“I say, Ellis,” interrupted Harry, “I am telling Miss Fairlegh I shall

make you take her in hand; she has grown so pale and thin, I am afraid

she has never recovered all the trouble and inconvenience we caused

her.”

“If Miss Fairlegh would allow me, I should recommend a little more air

and exercise,” replied Ellis: “are you fond of riding on horseback?”

“Oh, yes!” replied Fanny, smiling, and blushing slightly at thus

suddenly becoming the topic of conversation; “that is, I used to delight

in riding Frank's pony in days of yore; but he has not kept a pony

lately.”

“That is easily remedied,” returned Harry; “I am certain some of our

horses will carry a lady. I shall speak to Harris about it directly, and

we'll have some rides together, Fanny; it was only this morning that I

obtained my tyrant's permission to cross a horse once more,” he added,

shaking his fist playfully at Ellis.

“The tyrant will agree to that more willingly than to your first

request. What do you think, Fairlegh,” continued Ellis, appealing to me,

“of his positively wanting to go out hunting?”

“And a very natural thing to wish too, I conceive,” replied Harry; “but

what do you think of his declaring that, if I did not faithfully promise

I would not hunt this season, he would go into the stables and divide,

what he called in his doctor's lingo, the _flexor metatarsi_ of every

animal he found there, which, being interpreted, means neither more nor

less than hamstring all the hunters.”

“Well, that would be better than allowing you to do anything which might

disturb the beautiful process of granulation going on in your side. I

remember, when I was a student at Guy's----”

“Come, doctor, we positively cannot stand any more of your 'Chronicles

of the Charnel-house' this morning; ~311~~ you have horrified Miss

Fairlegh already to such a degree that she is going to run away. If I

should stroll down here again in the afternoon, Fanny, will you take

compassion on me so far as to indulge me with a game of chess? I am

going to send Frank on an expedition, and my father and Ellis are off

to settle preliminaries with poor Mrs. Probehurt, so that I shall

positively not have a creature to speak to. Reading excites me too much,

and produces a state of---- What is it you call it, doctor?”

“I told you yesterday I thought you were going into a state of coma,

when you fell asleep over that interesting paper of mine in the

_Lancet_, 'Recollections of the Knife'; if that's what you call

excitement,” returned Ellis, laughing----

“Nonsense, Ellis, how absurd you are!” rejoined Oak-lands, half-amused

and half-annoyed at Ellis's remark; “but you have not granted my request

yet, Fanny.”

“I do not think we have any engagement--mamma will, I am sure, be very

happy”--began Fanny, with a degree of hesitation for which I could not

account; but as I was afraid Oaklands might notice it, and attribute

it to a want of cordiality, I hastened to interrupt her by exclaiming,

“Mamma will be very happy--of course she will; and each and all of us

are always only too happy to get you here, old fellow; it does one's

heart good to see you beginning to look a little more like yourself

again. If Fanny's too idle to play chess, I'll take compassion upon you,

and give you a thorough beating myself.”

“There are two good and sufficient reasons why you will not do anything

of the kind,” replied Oaklands: “in the first place, while you have been

reading mathematics, I have been studying chess; and I think that I may,

without conceit, venture to pronounce myself the better player of the

two; and in the second place, as I told your sister just now, I am going

to send you out on an expedition.”

“To send me on an expedition!” repeated I--“may I be allowed to inquire

its nature--where I am to go to--when I am to start--and all other

equally essential particulars?”

“They are soon told,” returned Oaklands. “I wrote a few days since to

Lawless, asking him to come down for a week's hunting before the season

should be over; and this morning I received the following characteristic

answer: 'Dear Oaklands, a man who refuses a good offer is an ass (unless

he happens to have had a better one). Now, yours being the best offer

down in my book ~312~~ at present, I say, “done, along with you, old

fellow,” thereby clearly proving that I am no ass. Q. E. D.--eh? that's

about the thing, isn't it? Now, look here, Jack Basset has asked me down

to Storley Wood for a day's pheasant shooting on Tuesday: if you could

contrive to send any kind of trap over about lunch-time, on Wednesday, I

could have a second pop at the long-tails, and be with you in time for a

half-past six o'clock feed as it is not more than ten miles from Storley

to Heathfield. I wouldn't have troubled you to send for me, only the

tandem's _hors de combat_. I was fool enough to lend it to Muffington

Spoffkins to go and see his aunt one fine day. The horses finding a

fresh hand on the reins, began pulling like steam-engines--Muffington

could not hold them--consequently they bolted; and after running over

two whole infant schools, and upsetting a retired grocer, they knocked

the cart into “immortal smash” against a turnpike-gate, pitching

Spoffkins into a horse-pond, with Shrimp a-top of him. It was a regular

sell for all parties: I got my cart broken to pieces, Shrimp was all but

drowned, and Muffington's aunt cut him off with a shilling, because the

extirpated squadron of juveniles turned out, unfortunately, to have been

a picked detachment of infantry from her own village. If you could send

to meet me at the Feathers' public-house, which is just at the bottom

of Storley great wood, it would be a mercy, for walking in cover doesn't

suit my short legs, and I'm safe to be used up.--Remember us to Fairlegh

and all inquiring friends, and believe me to remain, very heartily,

yours, George Lawless.'”

“I comprehend,” said I, as Oaklands finished reading the note, “you wish

me to drive over this afternoon and fetch him: it will be a great deal

better than merely sending a servant.”

“Why, I had thought of going myself, but, 'pon my word, these sort of

things are so much trouble--at least to me, I mean; and, though Lawless

is a capital, excellent fellow, and I like him extremely, yet I know

he'll talk about nothing but horses all the way home; and not being

quite strong again yet, you've no notion how that kind of thing worries

and tires me.”

“Don't say another word about it, my dear Harry; I shall enjoy the drive

uncommonly. What vehicle had I better take?”

“The phaeton, I think,” replied Oaklands, “and then you can bring his

luggage, and Shrimp, or any of his people he may have with him.”

~313~~ “So be it,” returned I; “I'll walk back with you to the Hall, and

then start as soon as you please.

CHAPTER XL -- LAWLESS'S MATINÉE MUSICALE

“I was deep in my tradesmen's books, I'm afraid,

But not in my own, by-the-by;

And when rascally tailors came to be paid,

There'll be time enough for that, said I.”

--_Song--The Old Bachelor._

“Here's a knocking, indeed! Knock, knock, knock.

Who's there? Faith, here's an English tailor come hither.

----Come in, tailor----

Knock, knock. Never at quiet!

What are you? I had thought to have let in

Some of all professions. Anon--anon.”

--_Macbeth._

I SCARCELY know any excitement more agreeable than driving, on a fine

frosty day, a pair of spirited horses, which demand the exercise of

all one's coolness and skill to keep their fiery natures under proper

control. Some accident had happened to one of Sir John's old phaeton

horses, and Harry, who fancied that, as he was not allowed to use any

violent exercise, driving would be an amusement to him, had taken the

opportunity of replacing them by a magnificent pair of young, nearly

thorough-bred chestnuts; and these were the steeds now entrusted to

my guidance. Not being anxious, however, to emulate the fate of the

unfortunate Muffington Spoffkins, I held them well in hand for the first

three or four miles, and as they became used to their work, gradually

allowed them to quicken their pace, till we were bowling along merrily

at the rate of ten miles an hour.

A drive of about an hour and a quarter brought me within sight of the

little roadside public-house appointed for my rendezvous with Lawless.

As I drew sufficiently near to distinguish figures, I perceived the

gentleman in question scientifically and picturesquely attired in

what might with great propriety be termed no end of a shooting jacket,

inasmuch as its waist, being prolonged to a strange and unaccountable

extent, had, as a necessary consequence, invaded the region of the

skirt to a degree which reduced that appendage to the most absurd and

infinitesimal proportions. This wonderful garment was ~314~~ composed

of a fabric which Freddy Coleman, when he made its acquaintance some few

days later, denominated the Mac Omnibus plaid, a gaudy _répertoire_ of

colours, embracing all the tints of the rainbow, and a few more besides,

and was further embellished by a plentiful supply of gent.'s sporting

buttons, which latter articles were not quite so large as cheese-plates,

and represented in bas-relief a series of moving incidents by flood and

field. His nether man exhibited a complicated arrangement of corduroys,

leather gaiters and waterproof boots, which were, of course, wet

through; while, to crown the whole, his head was adorned with one of

those round felt hats, which exactly resemble a boiled apple-pudding,

and are known by the sobriquet of “wide-awakes,” “cos they av'n't got no

_nap_ about 'em”. A stout shooting pony was standing at the door of

the ale-house, with a pair of panniers, containing a portmanteau and a

gun-case, slung across its back, upon which was seated in triumph the

mighty Shrimp, who seemed to possess the singular property of growing

older, and nothing else; for, as well as one could judge by appearances,

he had not increased an inch in stature since the first day of our

acquaintance. His attitude, as I drove up, was one which Hunt would

have delighted to perpetuate. Perched on a kind of pack-saddle, his legs

stretched so widely apart, by reason of the stout proportions of the

pony, as to be nearly at right angles with his upper man, he “held

aloft” (not a “snowy scarf,” but) a pewter pot, nearly as large as

himself, the contents of which he was transferring to his own throat,

with an air of relish and _savoir faire_, which would have done

credit to a seven-feet-high coalheaver. The group was completed by a

gamekeeper, who, seated on a low wooden bench, was dividing some bread

and cheese with a magnificent black retriever.

“By Jove! what splendid steppers!” was Lawless's exclamation as I drove

up. “Now, that's what I call perfect action; high enough to look well,

without battering the feet to pieces--the leg a little arched, and

thrown out boldly--no fear of their putting down their pins in the same

place they pick them up from. Ah!” he continued, for the first time

observing me, “Fairlegh, how are you, old fellow? Slap-up cattle you've

got there, and no mistake--belong to Sir John Oaklands, I suppose. Do

you happen to know where he got hold of them?”

“Harry wanted a pair of phaeton horses, and the coachman recommended

these,” replied I; “but I've no idea where he heard of them.”

~315~~ “Rising five and six,” continued Lawless, examining their mouths

with deep interest; “no do there--the tush well up in one, and nicely

through in the other, and the mark in the nippers just as it should be

to correspond: own brothers, I'll bet a hundred pounds--good full eyes;

small heads, well set on; slanting shoulders; legs as clean as a colt's;

hoofs a _leetle_ small, but that's the breed. Whereabouts was the

figure, did you hear?--five fifties never bought them, unless they were

as cheap as dirt, eh?”

“That was about their price, if I remember correctly,” replied I. “Harry

thought it was too much to give; but Sir John, the moment he saw his

son would like to have them, wrote the cheque, and paid for them on the

spot.” “Well, I'll give him all the money any day, if he's tired of his

bargain,” rejoined Lawless; “but we won't keep them standing now they're

warm. Here, Shrimp, my greatcoat--get off that pony this instant, you

luxurious young vagabond. Never saw such a boy in my life to ride as

that is--if there is anything that can by possibility carry him, not a

step will he stir on foot--doesn't believe legs were meant to walk with,

it's my opinion. Why, this very morning, before they brought out the

shooting pony, he got on the retriever; and he has such a seat too, that

the dog could not throw him, till Basset thought of sending him into

the water: he slipped off in double-quick time then, for he has had a

regular hydrophobia upon him ever since his adventure in the horse-pond.

What, not down yet? I shall take a horsewhip to you, sir, directly.”

Thus admonished, Shrimp, who had taken advantage of his master's

preoccupation to finish the contents of the pewter pot, tossed the

utensil to the gamekeeper, having previously attracted that individual's

attention by exclaiming, in a tone of easy familiarity--“Look out,

Leggings!”--then, as the man, taken by surprise, and having some

difficulty in saving himself from a blow on the nose, allowed the pot

to slip through his hands, Shrimp continued, “Catch it, clumsy! veil, I

never--now mind, if you've gone and bumped it, it's your own doing,

and you pays for dilapidations, as ve calls 'em at Cambridge. Coming,

sir--d'rec'ly, sir--yes, sir.” So saying, he slipped down the pony's

shoulder, shook himself to set his dress in order as soon as he reached

terra firma, and unbuckling Lawless's driving coat, which was fastened

round his waist by a broad strap, jumped upon a horse-block, and held

out the garment at arm's length for ~316~~ his master to put on. The

gun-case and carpet-bag were then transferred from the pony to the

phaeton, and, resigning the reins to Lawless, who I knew would be

miserable unless he were allowed to drive, we started. Shrimp being

installed in the hind seat, where, folding his arms, he leaned back,

favouring us with a glance which seemed to say, “You may proceed, I am

quite comfortable”.

“It was about time for me to take an affectionate farewell of Alma

Mater,” observed Lawless, after he had criticised and admired the

horses afresh, and at such length, that I could not help smiling at the

fulfilment of Oaklands' prediction--“it was about time for me to be off,

for the duns were becoming rather too particular in their attentions. I

got a precious fright the other day, I can tell you. I was fool enough

to pay two or three bills, and that gave the rest of the fellows a

notion that I was about to bolt, I suppose, for one morning I was

regularly besieged by them. I taught them a trick or two, though, before

I had done with them: they won't forget me in a hurry, I expect.”

“Indeed! and how did you contrive to fix yourself so indelibly in their

recollections?” asked I.

“Eh! 'though lost to sight, to memory _dear_'--rather that style of

thing, you know. So you want to hear all about it, eh? Well, it was a

good lark, I must say; I was telling it to Basset last night, and it

nearly killed him. I don't know whether you have seen him lately, but

he's grown horribly fat. He has taken to rearing prize bullocks, and I

think he has caught it of 'em; rides sixteen stone, if he rides a pound.

I tell him he'll break his neck some of these days, if he chooses to go

on hunting--the horses can't stand it. However, he went into such fits

of laughter when I told him about it, that he got quite black in the

face, and I rang the bell, and swore he was in an apoplexy, but the

servant seemed used to the sort of thing, and brought him a jug of beer,

which resuscitated him. Well, to return to my mutton, as the Mounseers

have it--the very day I intended to leave Cambridge, Shrimp came in

while I was breakfasting, with a great coarse-looking letter in his

hand.

“'Please, sir, Mr. Pigskin has called with his little account, and would

be very glad if you could let him have the money.'

“Pleasant, thinks I. 'Here, boy, let's have a look at this precious

little account--hum! ha! hunting-saddle, gag-bit for Lamplighter,

head-piece and reins to ditto, ~317~~“racing-saddle for chestnut mare,'

etc., etc., etc.; a horrid affair as long as my arm--total £96 18s. 2d.;

and the blackguard had charged everything half as much again as he had

told me when I ordered it. Still, I thought I'd pay the fellow, and have

done with him, if I had got tin enough left; so I told Shrimp to show

him into the rooms of a man who lived over me, but was away at the time,

and there let him wait. Lo! and behold! when I came to look about the

tin, I found that, instead of having ninety pounds at the banker's, I

had overdrawn my account some hundred pounds or more; so that paying was

quite out of the question, and I was just going to ring the bell, and

beg Mr. Pigskin to call again in a day or two, by which time I

should have been 'over the hills and far away,' when Shrimp made his

appearance.

“'Please, sir, there's ever so many more gents called for their money.

There's Mr. Flanker, the whipmaker, and Mr. Smokem, from the cigar-shop,

and Trotter, the bootmaker, and--yes, sir, there's a young man from Mr.

Tinsel, the jeweller: and, oh! a load more of 'em, if you please, sir.'

“This was agreeable, certainly; what to be at I didn't know, when

suddenly a bright idea came across me.

“'What have you done with 'em?' asked I.

“'Put 'em all into Mr. Skulker's rooms, sir.'

“'That's the ticket,' said I. 'Now, listen to me. Look out, and see if

there are any more coming;--if there are, show 'em up to the others;

take 'em a couple of bottles of wine and some glasses, and tell them

I must beg them to wait a quarter of an hour or so, while I look over

their bills; and as soon as the room is full, come and tell me.'

“In about ten minutes Shrimp reported that he could not see any more

coming, and that he thought 'all the gents I dealt with was upstairs'.

“'That's the time of day!' exclaimed I, and taking out the key of the

room, which Skulker had left with me, in case I might like to put a

friend to sleep there, I slipped off my shoes, and creeping upstairs as

softly as possible, I locked the door. 'Now then, Shrimp,' said I, 'run

and fetch me some good stout screws, a gimblet and a screwdriver.' He

was not long getting them, and in less than five minutes I had them all

screwed in as fast as if they had been in their coffins, for they were

kicking up such a row over their wine that they never heard me at work.

Well, as soon as I had bagged my game, Shrimp and I packed up the traps

and sent them to the coach-office--found a coach about to start in half

an hour, booked ~318~~ myself for the box, and then strolled back to

see how the caged birds were getting on. By this time they had come to a

sense of their 'sitivation,' and were hammering away, and swearing, and

going on like troopers; but all to no purpose, for the door was a famous

strong one, and they had no means of breaking it open. Well, after I had

had a good laugh at the row they were making, I tapped at the door,

and 'discoursed' 'em, as Paddy calls it. I told them that I was so much

shocked by the want of consideration, and proper feeling, and all that

sort of thing, which they had shown, in coming and besieging me as they

had done, that I felt it was a duty I owed to society at large, and to

themselves in particular, to read them a severe lesson; therefore, on

mature deliberation, I had sentenced them to imprisonment for the term

of one hour, and to wait for their money till such time as I should

further decree, which I begged to assure them would not be until I might

find it perfectly convenient to myself to pay them; and I wound up by

telling them to make themselves quite at home, entreating them not to

fatigue themselves by trying to get out, for that they had not a chance

of succeeding; inquiring whether they had any commands for London, and

wishing them a very affectionate farewell for some time to come. And

then down I ran, leaving them roaring and bellowing like so many mad

bulls--got to the office just in time, and tipping the coachman, drove

three parts of the way to town, feeling as jolly as if I had won a

thousand pounds on the Derby.”

“And what became of the locked-up tradesmen?” inquired I.

“Oh! why they stayed there above two hours before anybody let them out,

amusing themselves by smashing the windows, breaking the furniture to

pieces (one of them was an upholsterer, and had an eye to business,

I dare say), and kicking all the paint off the door. However, I have

written to Skulker, to get it all set to rights, and send me the bill,

so no harm's done--it will teach those fellows a lesson they won't

forget in a hurry, and the next time they wish to bully a Cantab,

they'll recollect my little '_Matinée musicale,_' as I call it. Oh! they

made a sweet row, I can assure you, sir.”

The chestnuts trotted merrily on their homeward journey, and the noble

oaks of Heathfield Park, their leafless branches pointing like giant

arms to the cold blue sky above them, soon came in sight.

“You are a great deal too early for dinner, Lawless,” ~319~~ said I, as

we drove up; “suppose you walk down to our cottage, and let me introduce

you to my mother and sister; you'll find Oaklands there most likely, for

he talked of going to play chess.”

“Eh! your mother and sister! by Jove, I never thought of them; I declare

I had forgotten there were any ladies in the case--I can't go near them

in this pickle, I'm all over mud and pheasant feathers, they'll take

me for a native of the Sandwich Islands, one of the boys that cooked

Captain Cook--precious tough work they must have had to get their teeth

through him, for he was no chicken; I wonder how they trussed him, poor

old beggar. No! I'll make myself a little more like a Christian, and

then I'll come down and be introduced to them if it's necessary, but

I shall not be able to say half a dozen words to them: it's a fact, I

never can talk to a woman, except that girl at old Coleman's hop, Di

Clapperton; she went the pace with me, and no mistake. By the way, how's

the other young woman, Miss Clara Sav----”

“If you really want to dress before you come to the cottage,”

interrupted I hastily, “you have no time to lose.”

“Haven't I? off we go then,” cried my companion. “Here, you lazy young

imp,” he continued, seizing Shrimp by the collar of the coat, and

dropping him to the ground, as one would a kitten, “find my room, and

get out my things directly--brush along.”

So saying, he sprang from the phaeton, and rushed into the hall, pushing

Shrimp before him, to the utter consternation of the dignified old

butler, who, accustomed to the graceful indolence which characterised

his young master's every movement, was quite unprepared for such an

energetic mode of proceeding.

Forgetting that politeness required me to wait for my companion, I threw

the reins to a groom, and started off at a brisk walk in the direction

of the cottage.

Lawless's concluding words had aroused a train of thought sufficiently

interesting to banish every other recollection. Sweet Clara! it was

quite a month since I had parted from her, but the soft tones of her

silvery voice still lingered on my ear--the trustful expression of her

bright eyes--the appealing sadness of that mournful smile, more touching

in its quiet melancholy, than many a deeper sign of woe, still presented

themselves to my imagination with a vividness which was almost painful.

I had received a note from her about a week before, in which she told me

that Cumberland had been absent from the Priory for some days, and,

as long as this was the case, ~320~~ she was comparatively free from

annoyance, but that Mr. Vernor's mind was evidently as much set upon the

match as ever; nothing, however, she assured me, should induce her to

consent, for much as she had always disliked the scheme, she now felt

that death were far preferable to a union with a man she despised; and

she ended by saying, that whenever she felt inclined to give way to

despair, the remembrance of my affection came across her like a sunbeam,

and rendered her happy even in the midst of her distress.--Oh! what

would I not have given, to have possessed the dear privilege of

consoling her, to have told her that she had nothing to fear, that my

love should surround and protect her, and that, under the hallowing

influence of sympathy, happiness for the future would be increased

twofold, while sorrow shared between us would be deprived of half its

bitterness!--in fact, long before I arrived at the cottage, I had worked

myself up into a great state of excitement, and had originated more

romantic nonsense than is promulgated in a “seminary for young ladies,”

in the interval between the time when the French teacher has put out the

candle, and the fair pupils have talked themselves to sleep, which, if

report does not belie them, is not until they have forfeited all chance

of adding to their attractions by getting a little beauty-sleep before

twelve o'clock.

“Ah, Frank! back already! what have you done with Lawless?” exclaimed

Oaklands, raising his eyes from the chessboard as I entered our little

drawing-room.

“He will be here shortly,” replied I, “but he positively refused to face

the ladies till he had changed his shooting costume, so I left him up at

the Hall to adonise. But how goes the game? who is winning?”

“As was certain to be the case, I am losing,” answered Fanny.

“Well, I won't disturb you,” returned I, “and perhaps you will have

finished before Lawless makes his appearance; where is my mother,

by-the-by?”

“She only left the room just as you returned,” replied Fanny quickly;

“she has been sitting here ever since Mr. Oaklands came.”

“I do not wish to know where she has been, but where she is,” rejoined I;

“I want to tell her that Lawless is coming to be introduced to her; is

she upstairs?”

“I believe she is,” was the reply, “but you will only worry her if you

disturb her; mamma particularly dislikes being hunted about, you know:

you had better sit still, and she will be down again in a few minutes.”

~321~~ “There is no such thing as free-will in this world, I believe,”

exclaimed I, throwing myself back in an easy-chair; “however, as you do

not very often play the tyrant, you shall have your own way this time.

Harry, the chestnuts did their work to admiration; Lawless was delighted

with them, and talked of nothing else half the way home.”

“I don't doubt it--your queen's in danger, Fanny,” was the answer.

Seeing that my companions appeared entirely engrossed by their game,

I occupied myself with a book till I heard the ominous sounds,

“Check! excuse me, the knight commands that square; you have but one

move--checkmate!”

“Who has won? though I need not ask. How dare you beat my sister, Master

Harry?”

“I had some trouble in doing it, I can tell you,” replied Oaklands; then

turning to Fanny, he continued, “had you but moved differently when

I castled my king to get out of your way, the game would have been

entirely in your own hands, for I was so stupid, that up to that moment

I never perceived the attack you were making upon me.”

“Really I don't think I had a chance of beating you: Frank must take you

in hand next, he is a much better player than I am.”

“Indeed I am not going to be handed over to Frank, or any one else, in

that summary way, I can assure you; I intend to have another game of

chess with you tomorrow, after we come in from our ride.--I forgot

to tell you that Harris says the little grey Arab carries a lady

beautifully--however, 1 left orders for one of the boys to exercise her

well this afternoon, with a side-saddle and a horse-cloth, to enact the

part of a lady. At what hour shall we ride to-morrow? it is generally

fine before luncheon at this time of year, I think.”

“Oh! you are very kind,” replied Fanny hurriedly, “but I am afraid I

cannot ride to-morrow.”

“Why not? what are you going to do?” inquired Oaklands.

“I am not going to do anything particularly,” returned Fanny,

hesitating, “but I don't know whether my habit is in wearable order,

and--well, I will talk to mamma about it. By-the-by, I really must go

and see what has become of her all this time,” she continued, rising to

leave the apartment.

“I thought there was nothing my mother disliked so ~322~~ much as being

hunted about,” rejoined I; “I wonder you can think of disturbing her.”

A playful shake of the head was her only reply, and she quitted the

room.

CHAPTER XLI -- HOW LAWLESS BECAME A LADY'S MAN

“Doublet and hose should show itself courageous to petticoats.

Therefore, courage!”

--_As You Like It_.

“From the crown of his head, to the sole of his foot, he is all mirth.

He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper;

For what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.

“I hope he is in love.”

--_Much Ado about Nothing_.

“FRANK, I am not at all satisfied about your sister,” began Oaklands,

as the door closed after her. “She does not look well, and she seems

entirely to have lost her spirits.”

“I thought as you do before I went up for my degree,” replied I; “but

since my return I hoped she was all right again. What makes you imagine

her out of spirits?”

“Oh! several things; she never talks and laughs as she used to do. Why,

all this afternoon I could scarcely get half a dozen words out of

her; and she seems to have no energy to do anything. How unwilling

she appeared to enter into my scheme about the riding! She evidently

dislikes the idea of exertion of any kind: I know the feeling well; but

it is not natural for her; she used to be surprisingly active, and was

the life and soul of the party. But what, perhaps, has caused me to

notice all this so particularly, and makes me exceedingly uncomfortable,

is, that I am afraid it is all owing to me.”

“Owing to you, my dear Harry! what can you mean?” inquired I.

“Why, I fear that business of the duel, and the great care she and your

mother took of me (for which--believing as I do that, under Providence,

it saved my life--I can never be sufficiently grateful), have been too

much for her. Remember, she was quite a girl; and no doubt seeing an

old friend brought to the house apparently dying, must have been a very

severe shock to her, and depend upon it, her nerves have never recovered

their proper tone. However, I shall make it my business to endeavour

to interest and amuse her, and you must do ~323~~ everything you can to

assist me, Frank; we'll get all the new books down from London, and have

some people to stay at the Hall. She has shut herself up too much; Ellis

says she has; I shall make her ride on horseback every day.”

“Horseback, eh!” exclaimed Lawless, who had entered the cottage without

our perceiving him. “Ay, that's a prescription better than all your

doctor's stuff; clap her on a side-saddle, and a brisk canter for a

couple of hours every day across country will set the old lady up again

in no time, if it's your mother that's out of condition, Frank. Why,

Oaklands, man, you are looking as fresh as paint; getting sound again,

wind and limb, eh?”

“I hope so, at last,” replied Harry, shaking Lawless warmly by the hand;

“but I've had a narrow escape of losing my life, I can assure you.”

“No; really I didn't know it had been as bad as that I By Jove, if

he had killed you, I'd have shot that blackhearted villain, Wilford,

myself, and chanced about his putting a bullet into me while I was doing

it.”

“My dear Lawless, I thank you for your kind feeling towards me; but I

cannot bear to hear you speak in that light way of duelling,” returned

Oaklands gravely; “if men did but know the misery they were entailing

on all those who cared for them by their rash acts, independently of all

higher considerations, duelling, and its twin brother, suicide, would be

less frequent than they are. When I have seen the tears stealing down

my father's grief-worn cheeks, and witnessed the anxious, painful

expression in the faces of the kind friends who were nursing me, and

have reflected that it was by yielding to my own ungoverned passions

that I had brought all this sorrow upon them, my remorse has often been

far harder to bear than any pain my wound has caused me.”

At this moment, my mother and Fanny making their appearance, I hastened

to introduce Lawless, who, being greatly alarmed at the ceremony, grew

very red in the face, shuffled my mother into a corner of the room, and

upset a chair against her, stumbling over Harry's legs, and knocking

down the chessboard in the excess of his penitence. Having, with my

assistance, remedied these disasters, after stigmatising himself as an

awkward dog, and comparing himself to a bull in a china-shop, he turned

to Fanny, exclaiming:--

“Delighted to have the pleasure of seeing you at last, Miss Fairlegh; it

is several years since I first heard of ~324~~ you. Do you remember the

writing-desk at old Mildman's, eh, Frank? no end of a shame of me to

spoil it; I have often thought so since; but boys will be boys, eh, Mrs.

Fairlegh?”

My mother acquiesced in this obstinate adherence to their primary

formation on the part of the junior members of the nobler sex with so

much cordiality that Lawless was encouraged to proceed. “Glad to find

there's a chance of seeing you out with us some of these days, ma'am;

shall we be able to persuade you to accompany us to-morrow?”

“Yes, I think it very likely that I may go,” returned my mother, who

imagined he was referring to some proposed drive; “in what direction

will it be, pray?”

“Direction, eh? Why that of course depends very much on what line he may

happen to take when he breaks cover,” returned Lawless. My mother, who

had been previously advised of Lawless's sporting metaphors, concluding

that the “he” referred to Sir John Oaklands, calmly replied:--

“Yes, certainly, I was mentioning the ruins of Saworth Abbey to Sir John

yesterday; do you know them?”

“I should think I did--rather,” exclaimed Lawless, forgetting his

company manners in the interest of the subject. “Why, I have seen more

foxes run into in the fields round Saworth than in any other parish in

the country. Whenever the meet is either at Grinder's End or Chorley

Bottom, the fox is safe to head for Saworth. Oh! I see you're up to the

whole thing, Mrs. Fairlegh; we shall have you showing all of us the way

across country in fine style to-morrow. 1 expect there'll be some pretty

stiff fencing though, if he should take the line you imagine, but

I suppose you don't mind anything of that sort; with a steady,

well-trained hunter (and a lady should never ride one that is not),

there's very little danger--take care to keep out of the crowd when

you're getting away; don't check your horse at his fences; have a little

mercy on his bellows over the heavy ground; and with a light weight like

yours you might lead the field. Why, Frank, you ought to be proud of

Mrs. Fairlegh. I tell you what--the first time the hounds meet near

Leatherly, I'll have my mother out, whether she likes it or not. I'll

stand no nonsense about it, you may depend; she shall see a run for once

in her life, at all events. Mrs. Fairlegh, ma'am,” he continued, rising

and shaking her warmly by the hand, “excuse my saying so, but you're a

regular brick--you are indeed!”

~325~~ The scene at this moment would not have made a bad study for a

painter. Oaklands, having struggled in vain to preserve his gravity,

was in fits of laughter. Fanny, who had from the first perceived

the equivoque, was very little better, while my mother, completely

mystified, sat staring at Lawless, whom she evidently considered a

little insane, with an expression of bewildered astonishment, not

unmixed with fear. As soon as I could contrive to speak (for Lawless's

face, when he had discovered the effect he had produced, completely

finished me, and I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks), I

explained to him that it was my sister, and not my mother, who was

thinking of riding, while the notion of hunting originated wholly and

solely in his own fertile imagination.

“Eh? What! she doesn't hunt?--ah! I see, put my foot in it pretty deep

this time; beg pardon, Mrs. Fairlegh--no offence meant, I assure you.

Well, I thought it was a very fast thing for an old----I--that is, for a

lady to do. I fancied you were so well up in the whole affair, too: most

absurd, really; I certainly am not fit for female society. I think, when

the hunting season's over, I shall put myself to one of those tip-top

boarding-schools to learn manners for a quarter; the sort of shop, you

know, where they teach woman her mission--(how to get a rich husband,

eh, Frank?)--for three hundred pounds a year, washing and church

principles extra, and keep a 'Professor' to instruct the young ladies in

the art of getting out of a carriage on scientific principles, that is,

without showing their ankles. Didn't succeed very well with my sister

Julia, though; the girl happens to be particularly clean about the

pasterns, so she declared it was infringing on the privileges of a

free-born British subject, vowed her ankles were her own property,

and she had a right to do what she liked with 'em, and carried out her

principles by kicking the Professor's shins for him. Plucky girl is

Julia; she puts me very much in mind of what I was when I was her age at

Eton, and pinned a detonating cracker to old Botherboy's coat-tail, so

that, what between the pin and the explosion, it's my belief he would

have found himself more comfortable in the battle of Waterloo, than he

felt the first time he sat down. Ah! those were happy days!”

Thus running on, Lawless kept us in a roar of laughter, till Oaklands,

pulling out his watch, discovered it was time to return to the Hall, and

prepare for dinner. It turned out, on examination, that the habit did

require altering, so the ride was put off till the necessary repairs

~326~~ should be executed. As the next day proved too frosty to hunt,

Lawless and I, under the auspices of the head-keeper, set to work to

slaughter the supernumerary pheasants, Sir John and Harry joining us for

a couple of hours, though Ellis would not allow the latter to carry a

gun. We had a capital day's sport, and got home just in time to dress,

and Sir John having contrived in the course of the afternoon to carry

off my mother and Fanny, we were a very comfortable little party. Sir

John took my mother down to dinner, and Lawless paired off with Fanny,

an arrangement which, as his eccentricities evidently afforded her great

amusement, I was not sorry for.

“Why, Fanny,” whispered I, when we joined the ladies in the

drawing-room, “you are growing quite frisky; what a row you and Lawless

were making at dinner-time! I have not heard you talk and laugh so much

for many a day.”

“Oh! your friend is famous fun,” replied Fanny--“perfectly

irresistible; I assure you I am delighted with him--he is something

quite new to me.”

“I am so glad you have asked Lawless here,” observed I to Oaklands; “do

you see how much pleased and amused Fanny is with him?--he appears to

have aroused her completely--the very thing we were wishing for. He'll

be of more use to her than all of us put together.”

“He seems to me to talk a vast deal of nonsense,” replied Harry, rather

crossly, as I fancied.

“And yet 1 can't help being amused by it,” replied I; “I'm like Fanny in

that respect.”

“I was not aware your sister had a taste for that style of conversation.

I confess it's a sort of thing which very soon tires me.”

“Splendid old fellow, Sir John,” observed Lawless in an undertone,

seating himself by Fanny; “I never look at him without thinking of

one of those jolly old Israelites who used to keep knocking about the

country with a plurality of wives and families, and an immense stud of

camels and donkeys: they read 'em out to us at church, you know--what do

you call 'em, eh?”

“One of the Patriarchs, I suppose you mean,” replied Fanny, smiling.

“Eh--yes, that's the thing. Noah was rather in that line before he took

to the water system, wasn't he? Well, now, if you can fancy one of

these ancients, decently dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, knee

shorts and silk stockings, like a Christian, it's my belief he'd be the

very moral (as the old women call it) of Sir John; uncommonly ~327~~

handsome he must have been--even better looking than Harry, when he was

his age.”

“Mr. Oaklands is so pale and thin now,” replied Fanny.

“Eh! isn't he just?” was the rejoinder. “Many a man has been booked for

an inside place in a hearse for a less hurt than his; and I don't know

that he is out of the wood, even yet.”

“Why, you don't think him worse?” exclaimed Fanny anxiously. “Nothing

has gone wrong--you have not been told--are they keeping anything from

me?”

“Eh! no! 'pon my word; Ellis, who is getting him into condition, say's

he's all right, and will be as fresh as a colt in a month or two. Why,

you look quite frightened.”

“You startled me for a moment,” replied Fanny, colouring slightly; “any

little relapse renders Sir John so uncomfortable that we are naturally

anxious on his account.”

“I am sure Lawless is boring your sister,” observed Oaklands, who had

been sitting quite at the farther end of the drawing-room, cutting open

the leaves of a new book. “I know that worried look of hers so well:--I

shall go and interpose on her behalf.--Lawless,” he continued, crossing

over to him, “the billiard-room is lighted up, if you like to challenge

Fairlegh to a game.”

“Billiards, eh?” returned Lawless; “why, really, if you had walked as

many miles to-day as I have, I don't think you'd much fancy trotting

round a billiard-table. Besides, I'm very well off where I am,” he

added, with what was intended for a gallant glance towards Fanny;

“here's metal more attractive, as the fellow says in the play.”

Oaklands' only reply was a slight curl of the lip, and, turning to

Fanny, he said, “Are you at all inclined to take your revenge? We shall

have time for a good game if we begin at once; will you come into the

music-room, or shall I fetch the chess-men here?”

“Is it not rather late?” replied Fanny hesitatingly.

“Not if we begin now,” returned Oaklands.

“Mr. Lawless was offering to show me some tricks with cards; as they

will not take so long a time as a game of chess, perhaps that would be

most advisable this evening.”

“Whichever you prefer; I will ring for cards,” replied Oaklands coldly.

He then waited until the servant had executed the order, and, as soon as

Lawless had attracted public attention to his performance, left the room

unobserved.

~328~~ Wonderful things did the cards effect under Lawless's able

management--very wonderful indeed, until he showed you how they were

done; and then the only wonder was that you had not found them out for

yourself, and how you could have been stupid enough to be taken in by so

simple a trick: and very great was Lawless on the occasion, and greater

still was Ellis, who was utterly sceptical as to the possibility of

performing any of the tricks beforehand, and quite certain, as soon

as he had seen it, that he knew all about it, and could do it easily

himself, and who, on trying, invariably failed; and yet, not profiting

one bit by his experience, was just as sceptical and just as confident

in regard to the next, which was of course attended by a like result.

Very wonderful and very amusing was it all, and much laughter did it

occasion; and the minutes flitted by on rapid wings, until my mother

discovered that it was time for us to start on our walk to the cottage,

a mode of progression of which Sir John by no means approved; he

therefore rang the bell, and ordered the carriage. While they were

getting it ready Harry's absence was for the first time observed, and

commented on.

“Did anybody see when he left the room?” inquired Sir John.

“Yes,” replied I, “he went away just as Lawless began his performances.”

“Dear me! I hope he was not feeling ill,” said my mother.

“Ill, ma'am!” exclaimed Ellis, “impossible; you don't know Mr. Oaklands'

constitution as well as I do, or such an idea could never have occurred

to you; besides, you can't for a moment suppose he would think of being

taken suddenly ill without having consulted me on the subject. I must

go and see after him, ma'am, directly, but it's quite impossible that he

should be ill;” and as he spoke he left the room with hurried steps.

“My dear Fanny, how you made me jump! I hope you haven't done any

mischief,” exclaimed my mother, as Fanny, moving suddenly, knocked down

the card-box, and scattered the contents on the carpet.

“I am sadly awkward,” returned Fanny, stooping to pick up the box; “I do

not think it is injured.”

“My dear child, it does not in the least signify,” said Sir John, taking

her kindly by the hand; “why, you have quite frightened yourself, you

silly little thing; you are actually trembling; sit down, my dear, sit

down--never mind the cards. Frank, if you'll ring the bell, Edmunds will

see to that.”

~329~~ “No, no! we'll pick 'em up,” exclaimed Lawless, going down on

all fours; “don't send for the butler; he's such a pompous old boy; if

I were to see him stooping down here, I should be pushing him over, or

playing him some trick or other. I shouldn't be able to help it, he's so

jolly fat. What a glorious confusion! kings and queens and little fishes

all mixed up together!--here's the knave of clubs--hail-fellow-well-met

with a thing that looks like a salmon with a swelled face! Well, you

have been and gone and done it this time, Miss Fairlegh--I could not

have believed it of you, Miss Fairlegh, oh!”

“Mind you pick them up properly,” retorted Fanny; “if you really were

such a conjurer as you pretended to be just now, you would only have to

say 'hocus pocus,' and the cards would all jump into the box again in

proper order.”

“Then I should lose the pleasure of going on my knees in your service.

There's a pretty speech for you, eh! I'll tell you what--you'll make

a lady's man of me now, before you've done with me. I'm polishing

rapidly--I know I am.”

“It's all right!” exclaimed Ellis, entering. “I found Mr. Oaklands lying

on the sofa in the library; he says he feels a little knocked up by his

walk this morning, and desired me to apologise for his absence, and wish

everybody good-night for him. I say, Fairlegh,” continued he, drawing me

a little on one side, “has anything happened to annoy him?”

“Nothing particular, that I know of,” replied I; “why do you ask?”

“I thought he looked especially cross; and he called our friend Lawless

an intolerable puppy, and wondered how any woman of common sense could

contrive to put up with him--that's all,” rejoined Ellis.

“Fanny refused to play chess with him, because she thought it too late

in the evening;--that cannot have annoyed him?”

“Oh, no!” was the reply. “I see exactly what it is now: since the

granulating process has been going on so beautifully in the side, his

appetite has returned, and as he must not take any very active exercise

just yet, the liver is getting torpid. I must throw in a little blue

pill, and he'll be as good-tempered as an angel again; for, naturally,

there is not a man breathing with a finer disposition, or a more

excellent constitution, than Mr. Oaklands. Why, sir, the other day,

when I had been relating a professional anecdote to him, he called me a

'bloodthirsty butcher,' and I honoured him for it--no hypocrisy there,

sir.”

~330~~ At this moment the carriage was announced, and we proceeded

to take our departure, Lawless handing Fanny in, and then standing

chattering at the window, till I was obliged to give him a hint that Sir

John would not like to have the horses kept standing in the cold.

“You've made a conquest, Miss Fan,” said I, as we drove off: “I never

saw Lawless pay such attention to any woman before; even Di Clapperton

did not produce nearly so strong an effect, I can assure you.”

“I am quite innocent of any intention to captivate,” replied Fanny. “Mr.

Lawless amuses me, and I laugh sometimes at, and sometimes with, him.”

“Still, my dear, you should be careful,” interposed my mother; “though

it's play to you, it may be death to him, poor young man! I got into a

terrible scrape once in that way myself, when I was a girl; laughing and

joking with a young gentleman in our neighbourhood, till he made me an

offer one morning, and I really believe I should have been persuaded

into marrying him, though I did not care a bit about him, if I had not

been attached to your poor dear father at the time: now you have nothing

of that sort to save you; so, as I said before, my dear, mind what you

are about.”

“I don't think Mr. Lawless's heart will be broken while there is a pack

of hounds within reach, mamma dear,” replied Fanny, glancing archly at

me as she spoke.

As we were about to proceed to our several rooms for the night, I

contrived to delay my mother for a moment under pretext of lighting a

candle for her, and closing the door, I said:--

“My dear mother, if, by any odd chance, Fanny should be inclined to like

Lawless, don't you say anything against it. Lawless is a good fellow;

all his faults lie on the surface, and are none of them serious; he is

completely his own master, and might marry any girl he pleased tomorrow,

and I need not tell you would be a most excellent match for Fanny.

He seems very much taken with her; and no wonder, for she is really

excessively pretty; and when she is in spirits, as she was to-night, her

manner is most piquante and fascinating.”

“Well, my dear boy,” was the reply, “you know your friend best, and if

he and Fanny choose to take a fancy to each other, and you approve of

it, I shall not say anything against it.”

Whereupon I kissed her, called her a dear, good old mother, and carried

up for her, in token of affection, her work-box, her reticule, her

candle and a basket, ~331~~ containing a large bunch of keys, sundry

halfpence and three pairs of my own stockings which wanted mending, a

process which invariably rendered them unwearable ever after.

CHAPTER XLII -- THE MEET AT EVERSLEY GORSE

“We'll make you some sport with the fox Ere we case him.”

--_All's Well that Ends Well_.

“Oh! for a fall, if fall she must,

On the gentle lap of Flora;

But still, thank Heaven, she clings to her seat.”

--_Hood_.

“She held his drooping head,

Till given to breathe the freer air,

Returning life repaid their care;

He gazed on them with heavy sigh--

I could have wished e'en thus to die.”

--_Rokeby_.

IT had been arranged between my mother and Oaklands, in the earlier part

of the evening on which the events described in the last chapter

took place, that Fanny should have her first ride on the day but one

following, by which time it was supposed that the habit would be fit for

service, and the young lady's mind sufficiently familiarised with the

idea, to overcome a rather (as I considered) unnecessary degree of alarm

which I believe would have led her, had she been allowed to decide for

herself, to relinquish it altogether. The only stipulation my mother

insisted on was, that I should accompany my sister in the character of

chaperon, an arrangement to which, as it was quite evident that Lawless

intended to form one of the party, I made no objection. Accordingly,

on the day appointed, Oaklands made his appearance about ten o'clock,

mounted on his favourite horse, and attended by a groom, leading the

grey Arab which was destined to carry Fanny, as well as a saddle-horse

for me.

“Bravo, Harry! it does one good to see you and the 'Cid' together

again,” exclaimed I, patting the arched neck of the noble animal; “how

well he is looking!”

“Is he not?” replied Oaklands warmly; “the good old horse knew me as

well as possible, and gave a neigh of pleasure when first I spoke to

him. Is Fanny nearly ready?”

“She will be here directly,” replied I; and the words had ~332~~

scarcely escaped my lips when she made her appearance, looking so lovely

in her hat and habit, that I felt sure it would be all over with Lawless

as soon as he saw her.

“Why, Fanny,” exclaimed Oaklands, dismounting slowly and with effort,

for he was still lamentably weak, “I have not seen you in a habit so

long, I declare I should scarcely have known you; the effect is quite

magical.”

A smile and a blush were her only reply; and Oaklands continued, “Will

you not like to mount now? Lawless will join us; but he means' to

abandon us again when we get near Eversley Gorse, for the superior

attractions of a run with the subscription pack.”

“Oh, I hope the hounds will not come in our way,” exclaimed Fanny;

“if you think there is any chance of their frightening my horse, I had

better not ride to-day.”

“I do not think you need feel the least alarm; though spirited, Rose

Alba is perfectly quiet; besides, we are not bound to ride towards

Eversley, unless you approve of doing so,” replied Oaklands.

As he spoke, Lawless rode up just in time to catch the last few words.

He was dressed in an appropriate hunting costume, and sat his horse (a

splendid black hunter, whose fiery temper rendered all those in whom the

bump of caution was properly developed remarkably shy of him) as easily

as if he formed part of the animal. As he checked his impatient steed,

and taking off his hat, bowed to Fanny, his eyes sparkling, and his

whole countenance beaming with pleasure and excitement, he really looked

quite handsome. The same idea seemed to strike Fanny, who whispered

to me, “If ever your friend has his picture taken, it should be on

horseback”.

“Good-morning, Miss Fairlegh!” cried Lawless, as flinging the rein to a

groom, he sprang from the saddle, and bounded towards us; “glad to see

you in what I consider the most becoming dress a lady can wear--very

becoming it is too,” he added, with a slight bend of the head to mark

the compliment. “What did I hear you say about not riding to Eversley?

You never can be so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of your company,

and I must go there to join the meet. I would not have hunted to-day,

though, if I had known you wished to ride in another direction.”

“It was only that Fanny was afraid the hounds might frighten her horse,”

replied I.

“Oh, not the least danger; I'll take care of all that,” returned

Lawless; “the little white mare is as gentle as ~333~~ a lamb: I

cantered her across the park myself yesterday on purpose to try--the

sweetest thing for a lady I ever set eyes on. You have got some good

cattle in your stables, Harry, I must own that.”

“Hadn't we better think of mounting? Time will not stand still for us,”

observed I.

“Let me assist you, Fanny,” said Oaklands, advancing towards her.

“Thank you,” replied Fanny, drawing back: “but I need not give you the

trouble; Frank will help me.”

“Here, get out of the way!” cried Lawless, as I hesitated, fancying

from the shade on Oaklands' brow that he might not like to be interfered

with; “I see none of you know how to help a lady properly. Bring up that

mare,” he continued, “closer--that's it; stand before her head. Now,

Miss Fairlegh, take a firm hold of the pummel; place your foot in my

hand--are you ready?--spring! there we are--famously done! Oh, you

know what you are about, I see. Let me give you the rein--between the

fingers; yes--the snaffle will manage her best; the curb may hang loose,

and only use it if it is necessary; let the groom stand by her till I am

mounted; the black horse is rather fidgety; soh! boy, soh! quiet!--stand

you brute!--there's a good boy; steady, steady--off we go!”

As Lawless pushed by me at the beginning of this speech, Oaklands

advanced towards him, and his pale cheek flushed with anger. Apparently,

however, changing his intention, he drew himself up haughtily, and,

turning on his heel, walked slowly to his horse, mounted, and reining

him back a few paces, sat motionless as an equestrian statue, gazing

on the party with a gloomy brow until we had started, when, suddenly

applying the spur, he joined us in a couple of bounds, and took his

station at Fanny's left hand. Lawless having appropriated the off side,

devoted himself to the double task of managing the Arab and doing the

agreeable to its fair rider, which latter design he endeavoured to

accomplish by chattering incessantly.

After proceeding a mile or two, Lawless sustaining the whole burden

of the conversation, while Oaklands never spoke a word, we came upon a

piece of level greensward.

“Here's a famous place for a canter, Miss Fairlegh,” exclaimed Lawless;

“lean a little more towards me--that's right. Are you ready?--just

tickle her neck with the whip--not too hard--jerk the rein

slightly--gently, mare, gently!--there's a good horse, that's it!

Eh! don't ~334~~ you see she settles into her pace as quietly as a

rocking-horse--oh! she's a sweet thing for a feather-weight;” and

restraining the plunging of the fiery animal he rode, he leaned over,

and patted the Arab's arched neck, as they went off at an easy canter.

I was about to follow their example, but observing that Oaklands delayed

putting his horse in motion, it occurred to me that this being the first

ride he had taken since his illness, the exertion might possibly be too

much for his strength; I waited, therefore, till he joined me, when I

inquired whether he felt any ill effects from the unwonted exertion.

“No,” was the reply. “I feel an odd kind of fluttering in my side, but

it is only weakness.”

“Had you not better give it up for to-day, and let me ride back with you?

I dare say Lawless would not care about hunting for once, and would see

Fanny home.”

“I will not go back!” he replied sternly; then checking himself, he

added in a milder tone, “I mean to say it is not necessary--really I do

not feel ill--besides, it was only a passing sensation, and is already

nearly gone.”

He paused for a moment, and then continued, “How very dictatorial and

disagreeable Lawless has grown of late, and what absurd nonsense he

does talk when he is in the society of ladies! I wonder your sister can

tolerate it.” “She not only tolerates it,” returned I, slightly

piqued at the contemptuous tone in which he spoke of Lawless, “but

is excessively amused by it; why, she said last night he was quite

delightful.”

“I gave her credit for better taste,” was Oaklands' reply; and striking

his horse impatiently with the spur, he dashed forward, and in a few

moments we had rejoined the others.

“I hope illness has not soured Harry's temper, but he certainly appears

more prone to take offence than in former days,” was my inward comment,

as I pondered over his last words. “I am afraid Fanny has annoyed him;

I must speak to her, and give her a hint to be more careful for the

future.”

Half an hour's brisk riding brought us to the outskirts of a broad

common, a great portion of which was covered by the gorse or furze from

which it took its name. Around the sides of this were gathered from

sixty to eighty well-mounted men, either collected in groups, to discuss

the various topics of local interest which occupy the minds of country

gentlemen, or riding up and down in parties of two and three together,

impatient for the ~335~~ commencement of their morning's sport; while,

in a small clear space, nearly in the centre of the furze-brake, were

stationed the hounds, with the huntsman and whippers-in. “There!”

exclaimed Lawless, “look at that! Talk about operas and exhibitions!

where will you find an exhibition as well worth seeing as that is? I

call that a sight for an empress. Now are not you glad I made you come,

Miss Fairlegh?”

“The red coats look very gay and picturesque, certainly,” replied Fanny;

“and what loves of horses, with their satin skins glistening in the

sunshine! But I wish Rose Alba would not prick up her ears in that way;

I'm rather frightened.”

While Lawless was endeavouring to convince her there was no danger, and

that he was able and willing to frustrate any nefarious designs which

might enter into the graceful little head of the white Arab, a young man

rode up to Oaklands, and shaking him warmly by the hand, congratulated

him on being once more on horseback.

“Ah, Whitcombe, it's a long time since you and I have met,” returned

Harry; “you have been abroad, I think?” “Yes,” was the reply; “Charles

and I have been doing the grand tour, as they call it.” “How is your

brother?”

“Oh, he's all right, only he has grown a great pair of moustaches, and

won't cut them off; he has taken up a notion they make him look killing,

I believe. He was here a minute ago--yes, there he is, talking to

Randolph. Come and speak to him, he'll be delighted to see you.” “Keep

your eye on Fanny's mare,” said Oaklands, as he rode past me, “she seems

fidgety, and that fellow Lawless is thinking more about the hounds than

he is of her, though he does boast so much of the care he can take of

her. I shall be with you again directly.”

“Do you see the gentleman on the bright bay, Miss Fairlegh?” exclaimed

Lawless; “there, he's speaking to Tom Field, the huntsman, now; he has

got his watch in his hand; that's Mr. Rand, the master of the hounds;

you'll see some fun directly. Ah! I thought so.”

As he spoke, at a signal from the huntsman, the hounds dashed into

cover, and were instantly lost to sight in a waving sea of gorse, save

when a head or neck became visible for a moment, as some dog more eager

than the rest sprang over a tangled brake, through which he was unable

to force his way.