1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books/about/
The_Gates_of_Dawn.html?id=fkGaAAAAIAAJ
(University Of California, Santa Cruz)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE GATES OF DAWN
BY
FERGUS HUME.
"The red light flames in the eastern skies,
The dew lies heavy on lea and lawn,
Grief with her anguish of midnight flies,
And Joy comes up thro' the Gates of Dawn."
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY
_LIMITED_,
St. Dunstan's House,
Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.C.
1894.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. The Pleasures of the Road.
II. Palmistry.
III. Tithonus.
IV. The Peacock in Jackdaw's Feathers.
V. Tinker Tim.
VI. The First Letter to a London Friend.
VII. Diana of Farbis.
VIII. The Recluse.
IX. Village Gossip.
X. Parson Jarner.
XI. Farbis Court.
XII. The Portrait in the Gallery.
XIII. Under the Greenwood Tree.
XIV. Dan's Secret.
XV. Retrospection.
XVI. Afternoon Tea.
XVII. The Second Letter to a London Friend.
XVIII. An Elizabethan Ancestor.
XIX. The Pale Ladye.
XX. In the Oak Parlour.
XXI. The Days pass by.
XXII. A Dreamer of Dreams.
XXIII. Parson Jarner is astonished.
XXIV. A Woman scorned.
XXV. Jealousy.
XXVI. Cupid in Arcady.
XXVII. The Third Letter to a London Friend.
XXVIII. Fire and Flame.
XXIX. The Gipsy's Prophecy.
XXX. The Final Letter to a London Friend.
THE GATES OF DAWN.
CHAPTER I.
THE PLEASURES OF THE ROAD.
The caravan rolled slowly along the dusty road with creakings and
groanings and jingling of horse-bells. It was painted a dark-green
colour, with white-curtained windows picked out in rose pink, and
bright red shafts and wheels. The corrugated iron roof showed no signs
of exposure to wind, rain, or sun, while the brasswork on door and
harness glittered like fine gold. Evidently it was quite new, and this
was its first journey into rural England. The sleek black animal that
drew the gaily tinted structure picked his steps leisurely; his driver
strolled alongside with sauntering step and whistling lip. A
complacent fox-terrier followed at his master's heels with an
observant eye for stray rabbits. Man, and horse, and dog, and house on
wheels looked fitter for play than for work. There was something
exasperating in their idle looks and lazy meanderings. A holiday
company in holiday humour.
It was very pleasant creeping across the broad heath in the twilight.
Overhead, the sky, a dome of opal tints, showed here and there a
twinkling star; underfoot, the grass, dry with summer heat, revealed
moorland flowers. Between heaven and earth blew cool winds laden with
many odours. In vague immensity the plain spread on every side towards
the luminous horizon, and the caravan with its attendant life was but
a speck on its vast bosom. Bird and beast and insect had retired to
rest, and over all this large empty world brooded a dead silence. It
was less like a moor in crowded England than a trackless wilderness in
some unexplored country.
For over an hour man and animals pursued their way. With their backs
to the sunset, they pressed steadily onward, as if in search of some
unseen goal. Then the fox-terrier grew weary, and jumped up on the
doorstep behind, where he whimpered angrily for his victuals. His
master merely laughed at such doggish impatience, and kept a keen
look-out for the sign whereby to determine his halting-place for the
night. Shortly a mighty ridge topped by stunted pines heaved up like a
wave on the plain. The horse stopped at a signal from his driver.
"It cannot be far off now," murmured the latter; "there are the pines,
but I don't see the tall one."
Here the road curved to the right, and round this the horse plodded
of his own accord. The change of position brought into sight a
many-branched pine, which showed proudly above its fellows. When he
saw the tree loom black against the clear sky, the owner of the
caravan gave a nod of satisfaction as at an expected sight, and looked
thoughtfully from road to heath. His meditation only lasted two
minutes.
"I must go cross country," said he, and guided the horse on to the
yielding turf.
The vehicle swung and swayed and dipped and rose on the uneven ground,
but by leading the horse carefully an upset was avoided. In a quarter
of an hour the man and his belongings halted at the foot of the ridge
immediately below the tall pine. A dull murmur like the buzzing of
bees became audible, and the man stilled the impatient yapping of the
dog to listen.
"The sea!"
Hardly had the last word left his lips, when an old woman--ugly as the
witch of Endor--with red coif and scarlet cloak, hobbled out of the
wood and planted herself deliberately before him. Her brown face,
peaked eyes, and sharply cut features would have proclaimed her
Romany, even without her fantastic garments and dazzling gold coins.
From ears and neck and wrists depended strings of sequins, which
jingled musically as she shivered in the keen air and stared at the
new-comer. He beheld a withered gipsy hag, she a splendidly handsome
young man. In her feminine eyes he was well worth looking at. Brown
velveteen coat and knickerbockers, grey cloth shirt with blue
neckerchief, cloth cap, gaiters, and heavy boots. There you have his
dress--that of a gamekeeper. Yet the wearer would not have escaped the
guillotine in the Reign of Terror. Aristocrat was writ largely on face
and bearing. His six feet of stalwart manhood showed the influence of
athletic training; his masterful mien, and the imperious look of his
grey eyes, firm lips, and wide nostrils, betrayed the class to which
he belonged. A glance revealed that this dominating nature was derived
from long generations of men accustomed to command. His attempt to
pass as a man of the people was a dismal failure. A step, a word, a
gesture, proclaimed his breeding, and showed him superior to his
surroundings. With the astuteness of her race, the gipsy saw the stamp
of birth in this shabbily dressed vagrant, and framed her speech
accordingly.
"Cross my hand with gold, my fair-faced lord, and let the poor gipsy
tell your fortune."
The man addressed smoothed his moustache, and looked down with a quiet
smile at the red-cloaked dame. He reflected before making answer, and
even when he opened his mouth gave her but little satisfaction.
"With you, no doubt, every one to be wheedled is a lord."
"Trust a Romany to trick a Gorgio," said she, with a flicker of mirth
in her glazed eye; "but truth will out at times. You are a gentleman,
rye."
He glanced at the vehicle behind him, at his rough clothes and heavy
boots, and dismissed her speech with a contemptuous shrug of the
shoulders.
"A gentleman! A lord! And tramping the country tinker-fashion! Your
eyes are not sharp, mother."
"Glib tongue! Steady eye. A rare lie, my dearie; but Mother Jericho
ain't no fool. Can an eagle hide in goose-feathers? No! nor can you
hide gentle birth in rough clothes."
"I am having greatness thrust upon me," he answered smiling. "You are
quite wrong, mother. Some rags of gentility, some scraps of learning,
I may have picked up; but I am neither lord nor gentleman. My name is
Dan, and I set up for being a cheap-jack."
"Can you patter, rye?"
"Can I what?" asked he, unable to understand her speech.
"He! he!" mocked Mother Jericho. "A fine cheap-jack, truly! Why, he
doesn't even know the lingo of the road! No, no, my dearie; I'm too
fly to be taken in. Give me your hand and I'll tell your fortune. Then
you can go."
Dan was rather annoyed at this speech, which convicted him of being an
impostor, and turning away, led his horse past Mother Jericho. She
followed, screaming alternate blessings and cursings on his
indifference, but neither had the effect of making him pause. Seeing
it was useless to gain anything from such imperturbability, the old
woman marched off in the opposite direction with a farewell shake of
her fist. When the flare of her red cloak was no longer visible, Dan
laughed quietly, and patted the fox-terrier.
"Gipsies about, hey, Peter! We must keep a good watch to-night, or we
may wake to find ourselves robbed of everything. Here is a chance for
you to distinguish yourself, lad."
Peter leaped up and whimpered as to assure Dan that he would do his
best; and once more set in motion, the caravan moved up the incline
between solemn files of pine trees. A pathway cut through the wood led
upward in gentle gradations, so that there was little difficulty in
making the ascent. It was now growing dark, and Dan pushed on rapidly
so as to reach his camping-place under the tall pine before it became
impossible to see his way.
At length the caravan arrived almost at the summit of the ridge, when
the road suddenly trended downward to the right and descended into a
small dell. This, hollowed in a rough semicircle, was immediately
below the tall pine, and being sheltered from the keen sea winds by
trees and rocky walls, made a very comfortable camping-place. The
limited area at the bottom bore marks of former wayfarers in the shape
of wheel-ruts, black ashes of ancient fires, and downtrodden grass.
With a nod of satisfaction, the individual who called himself Dan, and
asserted so strenuously that he was not a gentleman, halted his horse
and began to busy himself in preparations for his camp. He seemed to
know his business as pioneer and wanderer. The horse, who answered to
the unusual equine name of Simon, was unharnessed and turned loose to
feed on the plentiful grass which carpeted the bottom of the dell. Dan
rubbed him down in a most scientific manner, and then departed with
bucket and lantern to seek for water. Peter was left on guard, and as
a strong friendship existed between him and Simon, they bore the
absence of their master with less impatience than might have been
expected.
Nothing is so clearly defined as the pathway to a spring, for the
first act of all wayfarers is to search for water. Other paths may be
grass-grown and untrodden, but the way to the spring is always well
worn and plainly indicated. With the eye of a practical traveller, Dan
selected the most beaten path and followed its track, confident that
he would be able to fill his bucket where it ended. His expectations
proved correct, for a well of good water under the shadow of a rock
soon flashed in the rays of his lantern. Under the pines it was as
dark as midnight, and had not Dan been careful to lighten his steps
ahead, he would have pitched head foremost into the well. Had this
happened, Simon and Peter would have waited his return in vain. As it
was, they welcomed him back with neigh and bark. After filling the
tea-kettle, Dan placed the bucket before Simon, who buried his nose
therein with a grateful snort; nor did he lift his head till the water
was gone. His thirst thus satisfied, he betook himself again to his
grazing, and Dan, having been merciful to his beast, found time to be
merciful to himself. Peter took a deep interest in the movements of
his master. When the fire was lighted, he barked at the crackling of
the wood, and snapped fiercely at the flying sparks. As Peter danced
round it, the fire roared boisterously and lighted the rocky walls and
solemn pines with gleams of red flame. There is nothing more cheerful
than a fire, and even Dan, who had hitherto been silent, felt its
influence, for he broke into a merry song while getting out the food.
To the vagrant, where he lights his fire is home, and Dan, broiling
rashers of bacon over the friendly flame, felt that he was in his own
parlour.
Assisted by Peter, whose mouth watered at the smell and sight of
victuals, Dan made ready a plentiful meal. He was a most accomplished
cook, and carried with him a store of comestibles which it is certain
are unknown in gipsydom. Does your Romany know of _pâte de foie gras_,
or of Italian _salami_; or does he even guess at the existence of
olives, or of _caviare?_ All these toothsome morsels had this
luxurious young man in his caravan, thereby giving the lie to his
pretence of vagrancy. He was, without doubt, some outcast from
civilization who regretted the flesh-pots of Egypt. He loved the life,
but not the coarse fare, of the road, and was, so to speak, only
playing at being a gipsy. Thoreau would have scorned so half-hearted a
disciple, nor would Obermann have relished the company of so patent a
sybarite.
Yet on this special occasion Dan devoured none of his delicacies, but
contented himself with dry bread, broiled bacon, and capital tea. With
an appetite sharpened by keen air and long walks, he performed Homeric
feats in the way of eating. For Peter a mutton-bone was provided, and
he too proved a valiant trencher-dog--if such a term be allowable.
There have been worse meals than that enjoyed by those two in the
lonely dell, and when Dan finished his bacon and Peter his bone, both
were thoroughly content.