THE INTERVIEW WITH THE QUAKER AT DEARBROOK.
The Quaker was a man of about middle age, and was duly attired in the
garb of the particular sect to which he belonged. There was about his
countenance all that affectation of calmness and abandonment of worldly
thoughts and desires which is mistaken by so many people for the
reality of self-denial, when, really, those who know this sect well,
are perfectly aware that there is not a more money-loving, grasping
people on the face of the earth.
After gravely motioning his visitors to be seated, Mr. Shepherd cast
his eyes up to the ceiling, as if he were muttering some prayer, and
then he said,—
“Verily, may I ask to what I am to attribute this visit from
individuals who, in this vale of unblessedness, are unknown to me.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Henry; “you are entitled, of course, at once,
to such an explanation of us. I have called upon you because I am
the proprietor of this estate, to know how it is that you became in
possession of it, and under what pretence you hold that possession?”
Mr. Shepherd slightly changed colour, and staggered back a pace or two
before he said,—
“The property is mine, but I naturally decline to produce my title to
any body who may ask for it. Thou mayest go, now; behind thee is the
door.”
“Mr. Shepherd,” said Henry, “I am fully in a condition, as to means
and evidence both, to prove my title to the estate, and an action of
ejectment will soon force you from it; but I am unwilling, under any
circumstances, to do what I fully may do if anything short of that will
answer my purpose. I therefore give you fair notice, that if, upon my
convincing you that I am the owner of the estate, you go out quietly
within fourteen days, I will make no inquiry as to how long you have
been here, and will say nothing whatever upon the subject of rental
owing to me on account of such occupation.”
“I defy thee, friend,” said the Quaker; “and if thou givest me any
trouble I shall put thee in Chancery, from whence thou wilt not get
out for the term of thy natural life; so I give thee due notice, and
thou mayest please thyself in the transaction; and again I tell thee
the door is exactly behind thee, out of which I beg to request thou
shouldest at once walk.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Quaker,” said the admiral, who had with
difficulty restrained himself thus far, “I look upon you as one of the
greatest humbugs ever I came across, and that’s saying a great deal,
for in my time I have come across some thumpers; and if we don’t make
you smart for this confounded obstinacy, you wolf in sheep’s clothing,
we will know the reason why. If it costs me a thousand pounds I will
make you suffer for it.”
“Thou mayest be damned, friend,” said the Quaker; “possession is
a great number of points of the law, and, as I have it, I mean to
keep it. I have a friend who is in the law, and who will put thee as
comfortably in Chancery, and with as little expense to me as possible.
This is a very charming estate, and I have not the slightest intention
of giving it up.”
“But you must,” said Charles, “give it up to the right owner. How can
you be so foolish as to run yourself to legal expenses for nothing?”
“Teach thy grandmother, young man, to suck eggs,” said the Quaker. “I
wish thee all a remarkably good day, and thou mayest all return from
whence thou camest, and hang thyselves, if thou pleasest, for all I
care; and having made up my mind to live and die on this very pleasant
property. I shall have to put thee all into Chancery.”
“Why, you canting thief!” said the admiral.
“Thou mayest be damned,” said the Quaker. “In speaking so to thee,
I use the language which I am perfectly well aware thou wilt best
understand; so I say unto thee again, thou mayest be damned. Obediah,
show these sinners off the premises; and, should they refuse to go
with that quickness that shall seem to be fitting and proper, thou
mayest urge them on with divers kicks on their hinder persons, and
thou mayest likewise call to thy aid, Towzer, the large dog, to bite
singularly great mouthfuls out of them.”
The Quaker turned, and was walking in a very stately manner out of the
room, when the admiral stepped forward, and exhilarated his movements
with such a kick, that away he went as if he had been shot out of a gun.
“There, friend,” said the admiral, “since you seem found of kicking, I
think that is a very good beginning. It strikes me you didn’t know who
you had to deal with; and now, Mr. Obediah, it’s your turn, and we’ll
manage Towzer when we get outside.”
“I thank thee all the same, friend,” said Obediah, “but would rather be
excused.”
“Perhaps you would like your nose pulled instead, then?”
“No, friend, it is quite long enough already; and I shall take myself
off to the lower regions of these premises forthwith.”
So saying, Obediah rushed from the room with great precipitancy,
leaving, most certainly, the admiral and his party masters of the
field; and although both Henry and Charles both disapproved of the
assault which the admiral had committed, they could not interfere for
laughing, and, as they left the house, which they did now of their own
accord, Charles said,—
“Uncle, you may depend you will be pulled up to the quarter session.”
“Damn the quarter session!” said the admiral. “Do you think I was going
to sit still, quietly, while that vagabond promised to kick me; but,
as it is, it’s all up with coming to Dearbrook to live for one while
to come; for, if he is really as good as his word, and puts the matter
into Chancery, there’s an end of it. I have heard it’s like ducking in
head foremost into a hollow tree, with a wasp’s nest at the bottom of
it; you may kick, but I’ll be damned if you can get out.”
“Well,” said Henry, “I believe that’s rather an apt illustration; but
we must do the best we can in such a case, and, in the meantime, seek
out some other place to reside in. Your friend, the little lawyer in
the town, shall have the case to conduct for us, and perhaps, after
all, we shall defeat the Quaker sooner than you imagine.”
“I long to see the day come,” said the admiral, “when that fellow will
have to troop out of the place; for, in all my life, I never did know
such confounded impudence as he treated us with.”
“Never mind, never mind,” said Charles; “the time must come, of course,
when this pleasant estate, to which we have taken such a fancy, will be
ours; and, until then, we shall have no difficulty whatever in finding
some sweet verdant spot, full of exquisite and natural beauties, which
we can make a home of well and easily, caring nothing for being a short
time only kept from possession of that which, of right, shall, in a
short time, belong to us; and there is one thing that I am rejoiced at,
which is, that Flora has not seen this place; so that she can have no
regret about it, because she don’t know of its existence farther than
by name, and it can hold no place in her imagination which could make
it a subject matter of regret.”
When they reached the inn, they informed Mrs. Bannerworth and Flora of
the ill success of their enterprise, and of the obstinacy of the tenant
of the house; and on that evening they had a good laugh with each other
about the little scene that had occurred between the admiral and the
Quaker; so that, upon the whole, perhaps, they were quite as happy—for
people can but laugh and be merry—as if they had at once got possession
of the Dearbrook estate without any trouble or difficulty whatever.
They determined upon staying there for that night, although they might
have got fresh horses and gone back, if it had pleased them so to
do; but there was much to tempt them in the romantic scenery, around
which they took a stroll, when it was lit up by the sweet moonlight,
and everything came out in silvery relief, looking so beautiful and
serene, so pensively quiet and so admirable, that it was calculated
to draw the mind entirely from all thought of earthly matters, and to
completely rid them of even the shadow of an annoyance connected with
that Dearbrook property which was so wrongfully detained from them.
“It is at such seasons as this,” said Flora, “that contentment steals
into the heart, and we really feel with how little we should be
satisfied, provided it be sufficient to insure those ordinary comforts
of existence which we all look for.”
“It is, indeed,” said Charles; “and you and I, Flora, would not repine
if our lot had been much more humble than it is, provided Heaven had
left us youth and love.”
“Those, indeed,” said Henry, “are dear possessions.”
“Well, then,” remarked the admiral, “you have got youth on your side,
and I once knew a worse looking fellow than even you are; so why don’t
you fall in love with somebody at once?”
“Don’t make so sure, uncle,” said Flora archly, “that he has not.”
The old admiral laughed—for he liked Flora to call him uncle, and said,—
“You shall tell me all about it, Flora, some day when we are alone; but
not now, while these chaps are listening to every word we utter.”
“I will,” said Flora; “it’s a grand secret of Henry’s, which I am
determined to tell.”
“That’s very unkind of you,” said Henry, “to say the least of it.”
“Not at all. If you had trusted me, Henry, it would be quite another
thing; but as I found it out from my own natural sagacity, I cannot see
that I am bound in the slightest to bestow upon you any consolation on
account of it, or to shew you any mercy on the subject.”
“And she hopes,” said Charles, “that that will be a lesson to you
to tell her upon another occasion everything whatever, without the
slightest stint or hindrance.”
“I stand convicted,” said Henry; “and my only consolation is, that I
don’t mind a straw the admiral knowing all about it, and I meant to
tell him myself, as a matter of course.”
“Did you?” said the admiral; “that’s a very good attempt to get out of
it; but it won’t answer exactly, Henry, with those who know better; so
say no more.”
In such light and pleasant conversation they passed some time, until
the chill night air, grateful and pleasant as it was to the senses,
made them think it prudent to retire to the inn again.
After they had partaken of the evening meal, and Flora and Mrs.
Bannerworth had retired to rest, the gentlemen sat up, at the express
desire of the admiral, to talk over the affair upon which they were all
in common so deeply interested.
A general feeling of anxiety evidently pervaded all their minds to
ascertain something of the whereabouts or the fate of Varney, who had
so very mysteriously taken himself off at a time when they least of all
expected he would have executed such a manœuvre.
“You all see,” said the admiral, “that what is bred in the bone, as I
told you, will never be out of the flesh; and this vampyre fellow could
not possibly be quiet, you see, for long, but he must be at his old
tricks.”
“I do not know,” said Charles Holland, “but I am rather inclined to
think that he has somehow become aware that he had become rather a
trouble to us, and so his pride, of which I think we have had evidence
enough that he has a large share of, took the alarm; and he went off as
quick as he could.”
“It may be so,” said Henry; “and, of course, in the absence of anything
to the contrary, I feel inclined to give even Varney, the Vampyre,
credit for as much purity of motive as I can.”
“That’s all very well, in its way,” said the admiral; “but you must
acknowledge that he did not leave in the most polite manner in the
world; and then I, for one, cannot exactly approve of his jumping upon
Dr. Chillingworth’s back, from off a garden wall, as a cat would upon a
mouse.”
“Be liberal, uncle,” said Charles, “and recollect that we are not quite
sure it was Varney, for the doctor declines to be positive upon the
subject, and he ought to know.”
“Stuff,” said the admiral; “the doctor knows well enough; but he is
like the man that threatened to kick the other for laughing at his
wife—he said he was sure he had done it, but if he had been d—d sure,
he would have kicked him into the middle of next week.”
“Certainly,” said Charles, “the doctor seems quite clearly of opinion,
that whoever committed that assault upon him, did so with a full
knowledge of the worth of the picture, which he believes contained
within its extra lining, bank notes to a large amount.”
“And which,” said Henry, “after all, is but a supposition, and Varney,
after such an attempt to possess himself of such a treasure, if it
was he that made it, may be actually now a houseless wanderer; but I
consider that such has been the notoriety of his proceedings, that if
he now attempts any vampyre tricks, he very soon will be discovered,
and we shall hear of him.”
“From his own account,” said Charles Holland, “he has not been the
most scrupulous person in the world with regard to the means by which
he has, from time to time, recruited an exhausted exchequer; and we
can easily imagine that this vampyre business of his would so terrify
and paralyse people, that he would have little difficulty in robbing a
house under such circumstances.”
“You may depend,” added Charles, “that he has done one of two things.
He has either commenced a much more reckless career than ever he has
yet attempted, or he has gone away completely into obscurity, and will
never be heard of again. I sincerely myself hope that the latter is the
case, for it will be better for him, and better for everybody connected
with him.”
“Hang the fellow,” said the admiral; “I should not like him to starve,
although he has given us so much trouble; and I hope that if anything
very queer happens to him, he will not scruple to let us know, and
he shall not positively want. But come, is it to be another tumbler
a-piece, or to bed?”
Bed was voted, for such they knew was the admiral’s wish, or he never
would have mentioned the alternative; and in the course of another half
hour the whole of these persons, in whose fate we profess to have so
profound an interest, were wrapped in repose.
We will now turn to a consideration of what this singular and
mysterious Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh was about, for that he has
some ulterior objects in view, which, by no means, at present, shew
themselves, we cannot doubt; and, likewise, there can be no question
but that very shortly some of his views and projects will develop
themselves.