THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER’S ARRIVAL.—THE CONSTERNATION OF THE
GUESTS.—THE GRAZIER’S TERRORS, AND POWERS OF IDENTITY.—THE
LANDLORD’S DAUGHTER.
“Hilloa! house! house!” shouted the strange voice on the outside, but
in a tone that seemed unearthly; whether it were merely a fancy, or
reality, yet it had its effect, and the landlord sat staring vacantly
with his two hands resting on either knee, leaning forward as if he was
staring some imaginary object out of countenance.
“Well,” said one of the highwaymen, “ain’t anybody going to the door.”
No one answered, but Jem the ostler was hastening by another passage
to the door, and then they heard some confused speaking, as if the
stranger was giving some directions for the care of his horse.
The grazier was fixed in his attention to what was going on, and
appeared petrified, and held a morsel on the end of his fork, halfway
between his mouth and the plate, with his eyes directed towards the
door.
In a few moments more they heard the steps of some one approaching the
door, and one of the highwaymen said to his companion,—
“Ned, there are people late on the roads to-night.”
“Yes; it appears so, but it is very uncomfortable travelling; the night
is bad, and the roads no better. Who’s this, I wonder?”
“We shall now see,” said the other, but their backs were turned towards
the door, and they could not see who entered the door so well as the
grazier, who sat in the same attitude, without a motion or movement,
even to wink his eye, when the door opened, and in walked a tall man,
wrapped in a horseman’s cloak.
The expression of horror in the grazier’s face, and the swelling of his
eyes almost out of his head, at once showed them there was something
extraordinary, and they both mutually turned round, and to their
extreme terror they perceived the very man, or his double, they had
left dead upon the spot where the grazier had seen him.
[Illustration: The grazier and the highwaymen recognize the stranger.]
Neither were they alone surprised, for all present were able at once to
recognise the same man without any difficulty.
“It’s the same man—I’m d—d!” said the grazier, as if he had made an
effort to speak, and when he had so, he couldn’t help himself. “Oh,
Lord!—oh Lord! who would have thought it?—it’s—it’s the—the—what do ye
call it?”
“The devil,” suggested the landlord.
“No,” said the stranger, “no. I am merely a traveller, somewhat weary
and tired—do not disturb yourselves. I am cold—very cold—the fire will
do me good; it is a very cold night—the roads are bad very unsafe.”
“Very,” said one of the highwaymen, involuntarily.
“Did you speak?” inquired the stranger, suddenly turning to the
highwayman who had spoken with a look of such a peculiar character,
that he caused the bold roadster involuntarily to start; but he
suddenly recovered himself, and said,—
“I did.”
“What did you say, sir?”
“The same as you,” replied the highwayman.
The stranger made no reply to the highwayman, whose natural effrontery,
and the necessity he always had or presence of mind in circumstances
of peril, gave him a greater superiority than most men possessed under
such circumstances.
“I’m not well,” said the stranger.
“Perhaps you’ve ridden far.”
“I have,” replied the stranger. “Landlord, will you have the goodness
to let me have some supper; I am weary.”
“I have only the remains of the chicken-pie and some ham,” said the
landlord, looking back at the already referred-to chicken-pie, which,
thanks to its being made of great size, had already supped three hungry
men,—“and there is but little of that.”
“It is not much that I want—a small matter will suffice—a little ham,
and something warm, and then I will to-bed—’tis late.”
“Very well, sir,” said the landlord; “here’s some good October; will
you like that? or is there anything else? I have French spirits.”
“Then let me have some brandy.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll fetch my daughter down stairs,” said the landlord;
“she’s young, and her hand is steadier than mine. I shall upset the
bottle; my—my hand, you see, is always unsteady after I’ve drawn the
October; somehow or other I always get out of order.”
“What is the reason of that?” inquired the highwayman.
“Why, it’s so strong; I believe it’s nothing else whatever.”
As the landlord turned to go, he give another look at the guest, and
appeared greatly disturbed, and certainly thought him a strange and
unaccountable man; for he believed that he was in truth the very man
spoken of, who had been left for dead on the bank, near the foot of the
gallows.
“Mary,” said the landlord, when he had ascended half a dozen stairs,
which led out of the kitchen, “Mary.”
“Yes, father,” was the ready answer, in a clear, pleasing voice.
“I want you, my dear. Bring the brandy down—the French—the sealed
bottle; the other’s out; I took the last this morning before breakfast.”
“Ho! ho!” said the highwayman; “hark at our landlord, how early he must
begin—no wonder his hand shakes.”
“Ah!” said the landlord, as he came back with a wink; “when you have
been a father and an innkeeper as long as I have, you’ll do many things
you don’t now dream of; but, no matter, I ain’t as young as I used to
be.”
At that moment a very pretty and genteel girl, about eighteen,
descended the stairs with a spirit bottle in her hand, and advanced to
the table.
“How will you take it, sir?” inquired the landlord.
“Mixed.”
“Make a glass, my dear,” said the landlord.
“Is that your daughter?” inquired the stranger, fixing his eyes upon
her,—and they were such leaden eyes, that the girl shrank from him in
dismay.
“Yes,” said the landlord.
“Any more?”
“None,” replied the landlord, and then there was a pause of some
moments, during which the stranger watched the young girl’s motions
with a greedy jealousy, as if he feared to lose one movement, and in a
manner that especially annoyed the old landlord, who, however, could
say nothing, he having been quite cowed by the stranger’s superiority
in station and demeanour; besides which, there was something very
strange and peculiar, not to say superhuman, about him that gave
weight, and caused a kind of awe to pervade all present, and they
looked upon him as something fearful or terrible.
It was not long before the stranger ate his supper—it was soon done; he
ate but little, and, when that was done, he turned to the brandy and
water; but there appeared an air of compulsion, upon his part, as if
everything he took was taken under the feeling that it was absolutely
necessary to take something, which did not escape the discerning eyes
of all present, especially the landlord, who felt it a slight upon
himself and his cheer.
“If I had known you were coming here,” said the landlord, “I would
have got something ready for you, but, as it was, I had nothing but
‘pot-luck’ for you.”
“What is that?” inquired the stranger.—“What is that?—I never heard of
such a dish before. I am a stranger in these parts.”
“Oh, it only means you could have anything what is in the house.”
“It will do,” said the stranger, quietly.
“Will you have anything more that we have in the house?”
“Nothing. I came by the gibbet, not far from this place; and I met with
an accident there that has left me but little stomach.
“By gosh, I should think not,” muttered the grazier; “it would have
settled my stomach altogether, and anybody else’s.”
“Well,” muttered one of the highwaymen, “It would have left me no
stomach, save what would be in a fair way to become food for the worms.”
“What kind of accident was it, sir?”
“A terrible blow in the side; it seemed to go through me.”
“Well, well, I imagine there would be but little comfort in a man’s
bowels after he had anything go through his side.”
“It depends upon the constitution,” said the stranger quietly.
“The what?” inquired one of the highwaymen, incredulously.
“The constitution,” replied the stranger, quietly.
There was a pause for some minutes, during which the strangers
exchanged glances at each other, when one of the highwaymen said,—
“Perhaps a bullet put in your side might be no hindrance to your animal
economy, and would in the course of nature become digested.”
“Why, I dare say it would not hurt me so much as many; but it would
take me some little while to recover the shock, which would be great;
but I am unwell, and perhaps had better retire. Will the young female,
your daughter, act as my chamber-maid and show me my room?”
“Yes,” said the landlord, mechanically; “here, Mary, show the gentleman
into No. 6, and leave the light.”
“Good night,” said the stranger, rising, and walking away erect, but
slowly, from the group, who gazed after him with amazement.
“Good night, sir,” said the landlord, which was echoed by those
present; and, when the stranger was gone, there was a general release
in their conversation from the constraint which the presence of the
last comer occasioned.
“Well, what do you think of him, Mr. Green?” inquired the landlord.
“The very same man I saw on the bank at the gallows corner.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
There was a general pause, as if there was something for them all to
think over; and their thoughts appeared to be so unsatisfactory, that
those who lived close at hand left the house, and those that remained
there went to their respective beds, and in half an hour the house was
quite silent.