When Lord Dewry quitted Colonel Manners at the end of the
flower-garden, as we have shown in a preceding chapter, the gallant
soldier had turned back towards the house, but with steps much less
rapid than those of the peer, from the simple fact of no violent
passion moving in his breast. In truth, it would seem, after all, that
man, notwithstanding his great pretensions, his reasonings about his
own existence, and his conceit in his painted jacket, is not at all
unlike one of those figures that children buy at fairs, with his arms
and legs, and even his head, hung on by wires; and with the passions
to pull the string at the back, not only without his volition, but
often against his will. Wrath pulls, and he kicks; revenge pulls, and
he strikes; jealousy pulls, and he writhes; fear pulls, and he runs;
love pulls, and he dances; and, as no one of these passions was behind
Colonel Manners at the time, he had walked on slowly and deliberately
towards the house, sometimes turning to look at the landscape,
sometimes trifling with a flower, but doing neither one nor the other,
perhaps, quite so often as when he set out that day upon his morning's
walk.
Still, it is not to be supposed that, though no very violent affection
of the mind followed Lord Dewry's departure, Colonel Manners remained
perfectly indifferent to what had occurred: on the contrary, it threw
him into a fit of musing, if not of deep thought, and produced
reflections which ended in resolutions, such as Colonel Manners might
be expected to form. At the peer's wrath he laughed, and laughed at
his menaces equally, secure in that calm, self-confident courage,
which, not knowing what fear is, never dreams that it can be
attributed to us; but at the uncomfort that his dispute with De Vaux's
father might and would produce in the family he had come to visit,
Colonel Manners did not laugh. He had assented on the preceding night,
in words which, with him, amounted to a promise, to forget the baron's
rudeness, and not to suffer it to abridge his stay; but, at present,
new provocation had been given, and he had every reason to believe
that his visit could not be prolonged to the period he had at first
proposed, without material uncomfort to the family at Morley House,
however strongly their kindness or their politeness might urge his
stay.
"Doubtless," thought Colonel Manners,--for we must put his
private cogitations into the form of that necessary folly, a
soliloquy,--"doubtless, the worthy peer will not go and expose himself
so much to his own family, as to tell them what has occurred between
us this morning; but equally, without doubt, he will contrive, by his
demeanour towards me, to render the house, not only very unpleasant to
me, but also to all its occupants; and, therefore, as this is a field
where honour is neither to be gained nor supported, I must even beat a
retreat. Yet De Vaux will, I know, feel very much mortified, if he
fancies that his father is the cause of my departure; and therefore I
suppose that the best plan be, to wait a day or two, and then, with
the first letters that arrive,--and I must receive some soon, to plead
important business, and set out. I suppose I must bear with this
ill-tempered old gentleman's behaviour as best I may for eight and
forty hours, though I am afraid it will be a struggle to avoid
retorting a little of his bitterness upon himself."
Such had been the substance of Colonel Manners' thoughts upon this
subject, as he walked back, and such the determination he formed; but
as he did form them, there was something like a sigh escaped from his
bosom. The reception he had met with from Mrs. Falkland and her
family, on his first arrival, had been so warm and kind, that all the
best feelings of his heart had been enlisted on their side. He had
completely made up his mind to spend a happy three weeks with people
who seemed, in every respect, so amiable; and although he felt that it
might be a little dangerous,--by making him feel more acutely, from
comparison, the want of domestic ties and comforts,--although he felt
it might be a little dangerous, yet he had experienced a pleasure at
the idea of thus dwelling, even for a short space, in the midst of a
true old English family, that made him bitterly regret the necessity
of foregoing what he had set his heart upon. As he thought of going
forth again alone, it seemed as if it were the voice of fate that
forbade him to expose himself to the sight of feelings and enjoyments
that he was never to know personally, and sent him back imperiously to
the solitary state of existence which was to be his portion; and
although Colonel Manners was accustomed to the contemplation, and had
nerved his mind, not only to bear the uncomforts of his lot, but to
resist every thought that would teach him to repine, yet there were
times--and this was one--when he could not but feel the chill wind of
solitude blow from the dreary prospect of the future, and blight even
the enjoyment of the present. A dissertation on the moral and physical
nature of man might be given to prove to a demonstration, that
domestic ties are a necessity of his existence: and let any man gaze
forward into future years, and fancy that some cold barrier is placed
between him and domestic affection; that no kindred eye is to brighten
at his presence, no affectionate lip smile at his happiness, no tear
of sympathy to wash away one half of his griefs, no cheerful voice to
dispel the thoughts of care, no assiduous hand to smooth the pillow of
sickness, and close the eye of death,--let him picture his being
solitary, his joys unshared, his sorrows undivided, his misfortunes
unaided but by general compassion, his sickness tended by the slow
hand of mercenaries, and his eyes closed, while the light has scarce
departed, by the rude touch of some weary and indifferent menial,--let
him fancy all this, and then he will feel, indeed, that domestic ties
are a necessity of our existence; at least, if he be not either drunk
with licentious passions, or a mere calculating machine.
We do not mean to say that all these ideas, or any one of them,
presented themselves to the mind of Colonel Manners. Far be it from us
to insinuate that he was foolish enough to give a vivid form and
painful minuteness to the evils of a state that he believed he could
not avoid. He struggled even against the general impression; but, as
we have said, there were moments in his life--and this was one--when,
notwithstanding reason and resolution, he would feel bitterly that it
is sad and sorrowful to pass through life alone, to spend one's days
in solitude, and to go down into the grave without a tie. The
impression was so strongly raised, and clung so firmly to his mind, at
the moment we speak of, that he took a turn of a hundred yards back
upon the walk, to give the thoughts full range. Then remembering
himself, he broke out into an involuntary exclamation of, "This is
folly!" and turned quickly back to the house.
In the breakfast-room he found Miss Falkland alone, and was not sorry
so to find her; for there was in her conversation a pleasant and
good-humoured sparkling, a frank and fearless liveliness, which amused
and interested him. Besides, Colonel Manners was by no means a man to
object to the society of a very beautiful girl: on that score he was
quite fearless; for he had so guarded his heart by rampart, and
bastion, and half-moon, that he feared no attack, either by siege or
storm. The thing that he feared was, the sight of a state of happiness
which he coveted, but did not hope for; and therefore he could enjoy
the gay conversation and pleasing presence of Isadore Falkland without
alloy, though he might apprehend that a lengthened stay, in the midst
of a cheerful family circle, might deepen his regret at his own
loneliness.
Now, although the house of Mrs. Falkland, like most other houses of
its date, had a certain ramblingness of construction, midway between
the Gothic of Henry the Seventh's and the anomalous architecture of
the nineteenth century, yet the rooms were sufficiently proximate to
allow Colonel Manners to hear every now and then, as the servant
opened and shut the door of the breakfast-room, the voice of Lord
Dewry, in tones more sharp than was becoming. Nor was he slack in
attributing the acerbity of the sounds he heard to their right cause;
so that, as we have before shown, when Mrs. Falkland and her nephew
spoke of the departure of the noble lord as a thing that had taken
place in the ordinary course of affairs, Manners had very nearly
smiled.
However, having taken his determination in regard to his proceedings,
and, seeing no better plan that he could pursue, he suffered the
matter to pass quietly, well knowing that real delicacy never makes a
noise. To say the truth, he was not at all sorry to find that Lord
Dewry had taken his departure; for he had every inclination to make
himself both comfortable and agreeable while he did stay, neither of
which objects are very attainable in the same house with a man who
wants to fight a duel with you. After breakfast, as Manners was too
much of a general to leave any thing to chance, he retired to his own
apartments, in order to write such letters to London as would ensure
immediate replies of the kind that would afford him a fair excuse for
breaking through his engagement with De Vaux, without rendering the
matter painful to his friend by any direct reference to his father;
and, when this was accomplished, he returned to the rest of the party,
whom he found in the act of seeing the footman leave the room with
Marian's note to her uncle.
"We propose to take a walk, Manners," said De Vaux, as he entered; "I
must show you the beauties of our county; and I think we will go upon
the path which leads across the hill, and brings us through the wood
to within a few hundred yards of the spot where we saw the gipsies. We
call it Marian's Walk, as she might always be found there when we were
but little boys and girls."
"It might have been called Edward's Walk as well, then," answered
Isadore, gayly; "for I am sure she was never there without you,
Edward. At all events, if you did not go with her, you were not long
before you found her."
"And can Miss de Vaux venture on so long a walk?" asked Colonel
Manners, "in the present day, when the extent of a lady's morning
promenade is twice round the room and once round the garden--when
shoemakers stare, I am told, at the name of walking shoes, and declare
that they never heard of such things?"
Marian smiled. "You are severe upon us, Colonel Manners," she said;
"but this walk is not so far either--though it is a little steep."
"It seemed to me nearly six miles," replied Colonel Manners; "six
miles, at least, from this spot to the place De Vaux mentions."
"Oh, that was because you came by the road," replied Isadore: "if you
had come over the hill, you would have shortened the way by one
half--but I forgot; you would have met with some accident also, as it
was dark, and you were on horseback. It is not much more than two
miles to the place where the path again joins the high-road after
passing through Morley wood."
"If you find it so short, I trust you are to be of the party, Miss
Falkland," said Colonel Manners.
"Oh, most certainly," she replied. "It was all very well for Edward
and Marian to wander through the woods together when they were boys
and girls; but now propriety, you know, Colonel Manners, requires a
sedate and aged chaperon; and besides, I could not leave the party of
such an odd and unfortunate number as three: I should be afraid of
some accident happening to you by the way."
"But three is a fortunate number, my gay cousin," replied De Vaux,
smiling, "not an unfortunate one, by every rule of cabalistic
science."
"In figures, but not in love, Edward," answered his cousin, with a gay
laugh. "At least, I have read as much in your face, more than once,
when I happened to be the unfortunate third--"
"Hush, hush, Isadore," cried Marian. "Come, let us dress ourselves to
go;" and taking her cousin's arm, she hurried her away. Now Marian de
Vaux, who knew her cousin well, was quite sure that Isadore would not
push her raillery of her lover one step too far; but still she was not
sorry to break off Isadore's discourse; for love is one of those
things that people may talk about a great deal when they feel it not,
but which they bury deep in the heart's innermost tabernacle as soon
as they know its value, and, like misers, tremble even when their
treasure is named.
Every one was soon ready to set out; and strolling through the garden
separately, they proceeded to what was called the little gate, which
gave them exit upon the road of which they were in search. By
separately, I mean that neither of the gentlemen offered an arm to
their female companions so long as they were within rows of box-wood
bordering and upon gravel walks. There would have been something
ridiculous in it; although, perhaps, the quality of walking arm-in-arm
is to be looked upon as one of the peculiar privileges of humanity,
which as much distinguishes man from other animals, as any other
quality of his mind or body. He has been called, by those who strove
to define him, "a forked radish, fantastically cut," "a viviparous
biped, without feathers," "a cooking animal," and many another name.
But had they called him "the animal that walks arm-in-arm,"
philosophers might have come nearer to his distinctive quality; for
not only is it a thing that no other animal does, but it also gives at
once the idea of many of the finer qualities of man's mind, and is, in
fact, a sort of living hieroglyphic of affection and sympathy, and
mutual assistance and support.
Now Colonel Manners and Edward de Vaux, looking upon the privilege of
walking arm-in-arm in its true light, might consider it with too much
reverence to enter upon it lightly, and therefore not offer to
exercise it towards their fair companions, till the steepness of the
way and the openness of the country seemed to render it necessary for
their convenience and protection. There might, indeed, be another
reason, which was, that in issuing forth from the house, a little
derangement in the natural order of things had taken place--some stray
glove, or wandering stick, or something of the kind, had been
forgotten, so as to throw out the order of the march; and Colonel
Manners found himself walking beside Marian de Vaux, while De Vaux was
at the elbow of his cousin Isadore. Colonel Manners, in agreeing to go
out upon this expedition, had perfectly well understood the part he
was held to play; and De Vaux had the most firm and implicit reliance
upon his friend's tact in the business; so that by a tacit convention
it was arranged between them, that the long ramble which Marian had
promised to take with her lover was to be as completely solitary and
agreeable as if they had not a friend or relation upon the face of the
earth. But the derangement which had taken place in the position of
the forces of course rendered a counter movement on the part of De
Vaux and his friend necessary; and yet, as the walk they followed was
narrow, and did not admit of the advance of more than two abreast, the
desired evolution could not be performed without rendering the object
unpleasantly obvious, till some little accident came to their aid.
Colonel Manners, however, had been out in the morning, as we have
already seen, to reconnoitre the ground; and as soon as he saw the
difficulty, he instantly laid out the plan of the evolutions, and
fixed upon the exact position, walking on still by the side of Marian
de Vaux, and talking of _les mouches qui volent_.
But to proceed. Colonel Manners and Marian reached the little gate
first, and unlocked it, and then Colonel Manners halted till Miss de
Vaux and Miss Falkland had passed. The two ladies immediately halted
on the bank of the little road facing the gate, with Marian on the
right hand and Isadore on the left. Colonel Manners then resigned the
command of the gate to Edward de Vaux; but, in marching out, while the
other locked the door and brought the key, Manners took up a position
upon the extreme left. De Vaux then advanced to the right of the line,
and, wheeling about, gave his arm to Marian; Colonel Manners offered
his to Miss Falkland, and led the way up the road to the left. This
detail is given as an exemplification of Manners' military skill,--a
quality which, unfortunately, we shall have no other opportunity of
displaying throughout this book. Nor was Isadore Falkland's knowledge
of strategy less marked, in taking up the position to the left, as it
entirely commanded the road up which they were about to proceed; and
as people in love in general walk a great deal slower than people not
in love, it was necessary that she and Colonel Manners should lead the
way, in order at once to give Edward and Marian de Vaux the protection
of their presence and the benefit of their absence.
Colonel Manners and Miss Falkland did not lose much time in silence,
for they were both people who could talk very pleasantly; and,
whatever they might think in regard to themselves, they each felt that
it was so in regard to the other. They spoke of many things; and
Isadore's conversation, as she became better acquainted with her
companion, and discovered that there were stores of feeling and
kindness at his heart which would prevent him from laughing at her own
enthusiasms, poured forth more of the deeper stream of her character,
over which the rippling current of gay and sparkling jest that she
usually displayed, flowed as much to conceal the depth, as for any
other purpose. Besides, she was happy and young; and where was ever
the stream, however profound, that did not sparkle when the sun shone
full upon it?
Their first topic, as perhaps might be expected, was De Vaux and
Marian; a topic which, under some circumstances, might have been
dangerous; but Manners and Miss Falkland felt themselves perfectly
secure. Still it was a delicate one: for however deep and true Colonel
Manners' friendship might be for De Vaux, and however warm and
enthusiastic might be the love of Isadore for her cousin Marian, there
were, of course, a thousand little circumstances and feelings, upon
which neither could enter, out of respect for the very friendship and
affection which they felt for the two lovers. Nevertheless, perhaps,
this very _retenue_, with the sort of faint and misty allusions which
they were obliged to make to their friends' love and their friends'
hopes and prospects, and the graceful circumlocutions and explicative
figures that it obliged them to seek, were not without charms in
themselves. Colonel Manners, for his part, felt very sure that, under
Marian de Vaux's calm and tranquil manners were very deep and powerful
feelings; but, at the same time, he wished--if consistently with
delicacy it were possible--to find out from Miss Falkland whether his
opinions were fully justified; and Isadore longed to know--with all a
woman's yearnings to prove to her own heart the substantial existence
of real, pure, permanent, unswerving love--whether her cousin had
retained, during his long absence, all that tender, devoted, undivided
attachment which he displayed towards Marian when present. Not at all
did she wish to know whether Edward de Vaux had made love to, or
flirted with, or talked sweet nonsense to any other woman. Do not let
it be misunderstood; she never suspected such a thing, nor would have
believed it had it been told her: but she would have given a great
deal to find out, whether in the bosom of her cousin, the one thought
of his affection had ever been paramount; whether the world, and
ambition, and other scenes, and absence, and danger, and excitement
had never banished the image of Marian from the bosom of Edward de
Vaux; and, in short, she would have willingly heard it proved, in his
instance, that love can exist in the bosom of man, under prolonged
absence and varying circumstances. In all this, she was as
disinterested as a woman ever can be in regard to an affair of love;
but, the truth is, no woman can be totally so. The whole of that
bright race are, in this respect, but a joint-stock company--to borrow
a figure from familiar things--and love is their capital, in which all
have an interest, and all a share.
However, it will be easily conceived that, under these circumstances,
the conversation between Miss Falkland and Colonel Manners was as
nice, and delicate, and difficult an encounter of their wits as ever
was practised. Colonel Manners was soon satisfied; for, in answer to
some complimentary observation upon her cousin's manners and
appearance, which went to praise their tranquillity as well as their
elegance, Isadore answered frankly, and smiling as she did so, "Oh,
Marian is often more _commoto dentro_ than you think." Miss Falkland's
researches, however, were less easily pursued, and they led her, like
a child hunting a butterfly, through a world of flowers. One time, she
would put her problem generally, and wonder whether any man ever did
feel, and continue to feel, as she wished to believe Edward had done
towards Marian; and then she would put it particularly, and say, that
she thought such an attachment as his must have been a wonderful
solace and delight to him; an inexhaustible fund of sweet feelings and
hope, throughout all that he had been obliged to endure. But still
Colonel Manners, who very clearly understood what she meant, hung back
a little in his explanations; pleased, in truth, to watch the feelings
that prompted her and the path she pursued; pleased with all the
graces that the subject called up in her countenance and her manner;
the beaming smile, the sparkling eye, and sometimes the sudden stop
and passing blush, when she became uncertain of the next step and
dared not advance.
After he had amused himself a little, and saw that she might
misconstrue his backwardness into something disadvantageous to his
friend, he caught at the next sentence, and replied, "Yes, indeed, I
look upon De Vaux's attachment, and his engagement to your fair
cousin, before he went to America, as one of the greatest blessings
that could have happened to him; especially for a man whose heart was
calculated to make it his happiness and his safeguard, and his leading
star wherever he went."
Isadore blushed warmly; and perhaps there was a little mingling of
emotions in her blush; for, in the first place, the full confirmation
of what she had wished and hoped, made her cheek glow; and, in the
next place, Colonel Manners' words were so exactly a reply to the
questions which had been lurking unspoken in her heart, that she
almost suspected he had seen deeper into her thoughts than she had
anticipated. A slight smile that followed upon his lip she considered
as excessively malicious; but she was one who never suffered wrath to
rankle in her bosom, but, in her way, revenged herself always on the
spot. "You speak so feelingly, Colonel Manners," said she, just
suffering a single ray of laughing light to gleam out of her fine dark
eyes; "you speak so feelingly, that I doubt not you have been guarded
and led in the same manner."
Let it be clearly kept in mind, that Isadore Falkland had only known
Colonel Charles Manners fourteen hours and a half, or she would not
have said what she did for the world. It may be thought that the case
ought to have been quite the contrary, and that she might have
ventured more had she been more intimate. But such would be an
erroneous view of the matter. Isadore Falkland well knew that fourteen
hours and a half was not a sufficient space of time for any rational
man either to feel or to affect love for the most enchanting being
that ever the world beheld, and, consequently, that she might say a
sportive thing in regard to Colonel Manners' heart, without any chance
of a retort which might have been disagreeable--unless he had been a
fool or a coxcomb, which she knew him not to be. Had she known him a
fortnight, he might have made the retort, as a jest, which would have
been disagreeable enough; or as a compliment, which would have been
still more disagreeable; or as a serious fact, which would have been
most disagreeable; and therefore, under such circumstances, she would
never have thought of talking about the heart of one of the company,
when there were but two in it. Had she known, too, that the subject
was a painful one to Colonel Manners, she would as little have thought
of touching upon it; and, indeed, a feeling that he was not handsome,
and a vague misty sort of consciousness that that fact might have
something to do with his remaining unmarried, did make her regret that
she had said such words, almost as soon as they were beyond recall.
"No, indeed," said Colonel Manners, with a touch of melancholy in his
manner that could not wholly be banished; "no, indeed, I have not been
so fortunate as either to have guardian angel or leading star;" and he
smiled at the triteness of his own figures of speech, but with a smile
that did not counteract, to the mind of Miss Falkland, the sadness of
his tone. She was vexed with herself, and would have done anything on
earth, in a reasonable way, to efface whatever painful feelings she
might have awakened: but though she was generally skilful enough in
putting an end to a difficulty where others were concerned, she found
it not so easy to disentangle the affair when she herself was the
culprit.
Whether Colonel Manners perceived that Miss Falkland felt she had
given pain, and was vexed with herself, or whether he likewise wished
to get rid of the subject, matters little; but he now changed the
topic somewhat abruptly; and looking round upon the woods, into the
very heart of which they were plunging, he said, "I wonder that you
fair ladies are not somewhat afraid of walking through these solitudes
by yourselves."
"There is no danger," she replied; "we have none but very orderly,
peaceable people in our part of the world: though, in truth," she
added, after a moment's thought, "we are the last family that should
say there is no danger; but I have never heard of any very serious
offence being committed in our neighbourhood since the murder of my
poor uncle, which, as it is long ago, of course I do not recollect.
"I remember having heard something of that event," replied Colonel
Manners, "but do not recollect the particulars. Was he killed by
highwaymen?"
"I believe so," answered Miss Falkland, "though I know too little
about it to tell you exactly what happened. But--oh, yes!--he was
robbed and murdered, I remember; for it was proved that he had a large
sum of money upon his person when he went out--several thousand
pounds--and it was supposed that some one who knew the fact had either
waylaid him, or had informed the murderers of the booty they might
obtain."
"He was, I think, your uncle by the side of Mrs. Falkland," said
Colonel Manners, who of course felt an interest in the matter in
proportion to the little difficulties of obtaining information.
"Yes, my mother's brother," replied Isadore; "Marian's father. You may
easily imagine that such a story rendered her an object of double
interest to all her family--of redoubled tenderness, I believe I
should say, and even my uncle, who is not very scrupulous in regard to
what he says to any one, is more kind and considerate towards Marian
than towards any other human being. That great and horrible crime,
however--I mean the murder--seems to have frightened others from our
neighbourhood; and though we occasionally hear of a little poaching,
the people round us are uniformly well-behaved and peaceable."
"Can you say as much for the gipsies towards whose encampment, if I
understood De Vaux right, we are bending our way?" asked Colonel
Manners. "They are, in general, very troublesome and unquiet
neighbours."
"I had not heard of their being here," replied Miss Falkland: "we are
very seldom so honoured, I can assure you. I do not remember having
seen gipsies here more than once; and that was not in this wood, but
on a large common up yonder at the top of that hill, behind the house.
They are a strange race!"
"They are, indeed," answered her companion; "and De Vaux and I, as we
passed their encampment, could not help marvelling that no government
had ever thought it worth its while to pay some attention to them,
either for the purpose of reclaiming them to civilized life, or, if
that were judged impossible, for the purpose of obtaining those traces
of knowledge which are waning from among them every day, but which
some of their better men are said still to retain."
"Do you mean their astrological knowledge?" asked Miss Falkland, with
a look of no slight interest in the question.
"O, no!" answered Colonel Manners, with a smile; "I mean the knowledge
of their real history, of their original country, of their former
laws, of their language in its purity, and of many facts of great
interest, which, though with them they are merely traditionary, yet
might be confirmed or invalidated by other testimony in our own
possession."
"They are a strange people, indeed!" said Miss Falkland. "Do you know,
Colonel Manners, that the separate existence of these gipsies and of
the Jews--coming down, as it were, two distinct streams, amid all the
whirling confusion of an ocean of other nations--keeping their
identity among wars, and battles, and changes, and the overturning of
all things but themselves; retaining their habits, and their thoughts,
and their national character apart, in spite both of sudden and
violent revolutions in society, and of the slow, but even more
powerful efforts of gradual improvement and civilization. Do you know,
whenever I think of this, it gives me a strange feeling of mysterious
awe that I cannot describe? It seems as if I saw more distinctly than
in the common course of things the workings of the particular will of
the Almighty; for I cannot understand how these facts can be accounted
for by any of the common motives in existence; as, in both instances,
interest, ambition, policy, and pleasure, with almost every inducement
that could be enumerated, would have produced exactly the opposite
result."
"I shall not attempt to reason against you, Miss Falkland," replied
Colonel Manners, with a smile; "and, indeed, I very much agree with
you in opinion, though perhaps not in your wonder; for being a
complete believer in a special providence, I only see the same hand in
this that I think is discernible throughout creation."
"But tell me, Colonel Manners," said Isadore, "have you any belief in
the fortune-telling powers of the gipsies?"
"None whatever," answered Colonel Manners.
"Nor perhaps have I," said Isadore; "but at the same time it is
strange that in all ages and in all countries, as far as I can
understand, these gipsies have pretended to this particular science,
and have been very generally believed. At all events, it shows that
they have an immemorial tradition of such a power having been
possessed by their ancestors; and if it were possessed by their
ancestors, why not by themselves?"
"But we have no reason to believe that it was possessed by their
ancestors," replied Colonel Manners, "except, indeed, their own
tradition, which, as you say, is evidently very ancient."
"Nay, nay, but I think we have other proofs," replied Isadore, "and
very strong ones, it appears to me. It is evident from the historical
part of the Bible that the most ancient Egyptians had various means of
divination, and even a magical influence, the reality and power of
which is admitted by the sacred writers most distinctly; and
consequently, when these facts are joined to an immemorial tradition
of the descendants of the same nation, it seems that there is strong
reason for believing that these powers existed even after the period
to which the sacred volume refers."
"I am inclined, indeed, to believe," replied Colonel Manners,
"that the gipsies are descendants from some Egyptian tribe, although
the fact has been contested strongly, and the French call them
Bohemians--unreasonably enough. In regard to the powers of divination
attributed to the ancient Egyptians, too, I believe them to have
existed, because I believe the Bible not only as an inspired record,
but as the best-authenticated history, without any exception, that
exists; and at the same time I cannot suppose that men who had so
grand, so comprehensive, and also so philosophical an idea of the
Divinity, that four thousand years have not been able to produce the
slightest enlargement of it, as displayed in many passages of Holy
Writ--I cannot suppose that such men would have recorded as facts
anything substantially inconsistent with the majesty of that Being
whom they alone knew in the age when they wrote. But you must remember
that these powers, though permitted then for reasons we know not, may
have ceased now, like the powers of prophecy, and many other things of
the same kind; and did the gipsies possess such powers at present,
depend upon it, we should find them clothed in purple in the closets
of kings, instead of wandering upon bare heaths, and stealing for a
livelihood."
"You are right, I know," replied Miss Falkland, with a smile, at the
lingerings of credulity that still haunted her own bosom, "and I have
convinced myself, and been convinced by others over and over again,
that it is all nonsense; and yet,--"
She paused, and Manners rejoined, "One of our old humorous poets says,
'A man convinced against his will,
Is of the same opinion still.'"
"And perhaps you think the verses still more applicable to a woman,
Colonel Manners," replied Miss Falkland; "but that is not exactly the
case with me. My weakness extends no farther than this:--were a gipsy
to predict any great evil for my future life, it would make me very
uneasy, however much I might struggle against the impression; and, on
that account, I would not have my fortune told, as they call it, for
the world! Would you?"
"Without the slightest apprehension," answered Colonel Manners,
laughing. "They may try their chiromancy on me, when they please, and
do me all the harm they can for half a crown, which is, I believe, the
stipulated sum."
"That is, because you are a man and a hero," replied Miss Falkland, in
the same gay tone, "and you are bound by honour and profession to be
afraid of nothing; but remember, I look upon it as an agreement--you
are to have your fortune told this very day, and that will do for the
whole party; for I will not have mine told, and I am sure Marian shall
not, if I can prevent it."
"Oh, I will be the scape-goat, with all my heart," he replied; "but I
suppose we cannot be far from their encampment, if your computation of
miles be correct."
"We are close to the high-road," answered Miss Falkland; "but how far
up the hill they are, you best know. However, let us wait for Edward
and Marian. We must not make the babes in the wood of them; and of
course they are a good way behind. Now, I dare say, while you and
Edward were in America, you heard of Marian de Vaux till you were
tired--was it not so, Colonel Manners?"
"No, indeed," he answered, smiling; "far from it, I can assure you.
Although I long ago found out by various infallible signs that De Vaux
was in love; yet, never till circumstances had produced esteem and
friendship, and friendship had become intimacy, did he ever mention
his engagement, or the object of his attachment."
"And then he doubtless painted her in very glowing colours," added
Isadore, trying strenuously to while away the time till her cousins
came up, they having lingered behind farther than she had expected.
"Oh, of course, all lovers are like the old painter Arellius,"
answered Colonel Manners, "and always paint the objects of their love
as goddesses. But I will not gratify your malice, Miss Falkland; De
Vaux has too fine a sense of the ridiculous ever to render himself so
by exaggerating any feeling."
"He has, indeed, too fine a sense of the ridiculous," answered
Isadore; "it is his worst fault, Colonel Manners; and I fear that,
like all the rest of our faults, it may some day prove his own bane;
but here they come! Now, Colonel Manners, prepare to hear your fate.
Edward, here is your friend going to have his fortune told."
"You mean going to give half a crown to a gipsy," said De Vaux; "but if
you are serious, Manners, I will, of course, stand by you to the last,
as if you were going to fight a duel, or any other unreasonable thing.
Turn to the left and you will see the appointed place, as the
newspapers call it, before you."
In this expectation, however, De Vaux was mistaken; for the gipsies
and their accompaniments, men, women, and children, pots, kettles, and
tents, had all disappeared. It must not be said, indeed, that they had
left no vestige of their abode behind them, for half a dozen black
spots burnt in the turf, and more than one pile of white wood ashes,
attested the extent of their encampment; but nothing else was to be
seen in the green wood, except the old oaks, and the yellow sunshine
streaming through the rugged boughs, with a squirrel balancing itself
on the branch of a fir, and two noisy jays screaming from tree to
tree.
"This is a very Robin Hood like scene," said Colonel Manners, as he
looked around, "and less gloomy in the broad daylight than at
eventide. But here are no gipsies, Miss Falkland; and I am afraid that
you must put off hearing the future fate and fortunes of Charles
Manners till another time."
"I am very much mortified, indeed," replied Isadore, "and I see that
you only laugh at me, Colonel Manners, without sympathizing in the
least with disappointed curiosity; which,--as no one believes more
fully than yourself,--is a very serious event in a woman's case.
However, I shall hold you bound by your promise, and look upon you
engaged as a man of honour to have your fortune told the very first
time you meet with a party of gipsies,--nay, more, to let me know the
result also."
She spoke with playful seriousness; and Colonel Manners replied, "With
all my heart, Miss Falkland; and, indeed, you shall find that your
commands are so lightly borne by me, that I will take other
obligations upon myself, and even seek out your favourites, the
gipsies; for these protegees of yours seldom move far at a time,
unless, indeed, all the poultry in the neighbourhood happens to be
exhausted."
"Oh, that is not the case here," answered Isadore; "there is plenty
yet remaining in every farm-yard, and I dare say you will find them on
the common."
"I will go to-morrow, then, without fail," he answered, "for--" and he
had nearly added words which would have betrayed his meditated
departure; but he turned his speech another way; and all parties, well
satisfied with their ramble, returned by the same path to the house.
Nothing occurred during the rest of the day to disturb the
tranquillity of the party. The evening passed away in conversation,
generally light enough, but of which we have given a specimen above,
fully sufficient to show its nature and quality. Sometimes it touched,
indeed, upon deeper feelings, without ever becoming grave; and
sometimes it ventured farther into the realms of learning, without
approaching pedantry. The annoyance of Lord Dewry's behaviour on the
preceding night had at the time reconciled Colonel Manners in some
degree to the idea of quitting a circle in which he found much to
please and interest him; but no such annoyance interrupted the course
of this evening, and he experienced more pain than he liked to
acknowledge, when he thought of leaving behind him for ever, a scene
in which the hours passed so pleasantly. He felt, however, that the
annoyance might soon be renewed, or that even if it were not, he had
no right by his presence to shut out De Vaux's father from Mrs.
Falkland's house; and he resolved still to adhere to his purpose, and
set out for London on the day after that which was just about to
follow.