THE RENCONTRE.
THE quaint old cathedral town of A---- is some twenty-five miles from
Carrington, and often an excursion-point to the inhabitants of the
latter, as an excellent hotel rendered them tolerably secure of a good
dinner. I had often threatened a sketching visit to it, which bad
weather, and a strict routine of duty, in consequence of the expected
disturbances, had hitherto prevented my fulfilling. It was, therefore,
with no common alacrity I started on my expedition, armed with a
large sketch book, which bid defiance to the suspicion of my brother
officers. The weather though gloomy was no longer wet, and a walk of
about half a mile brought me from the railway to the walls of the
old city. Rough, red, and weather beaten, they, at the first glance,
showed many a point equally available to a draughtsman or an enemy.
Once considered almost impregnable, they are now chiefly valued as a
dry and pleasant promenade for the citizens. I am no great antiquarian,
but I believe those splendid old Romans, who have supplied all Europe
with interesting relics, are accountable for the original foundation of
A----. Various princes and potentates have added their endeavours, and
at present it is, perhaps, the most picturesque old town in England.
At each step I took, some delicious carved gable or galleried front,
overhung the street, mingled with modernised shops, it is true; yet
as a whole, charming to my eye, of late accustomed only to the
unmitigated squareness of modern brick and modern iron, accompanied,
as they are at Carrington, by all the abominations of _soi disant_
civilisation without one of its beauties.
Over all rose with a grave paternal air the Abbey towers, which seemed
to infect the atmosphere of the place with a calm ecclesiastical repose
well suited to its aspect; these general views I took in while pursuing
my way towards the principal hotel, where I intended to put up more as
an excuse for pushing my enquiries than for any other reason. During
my way thither, diverted by the various sketchable points I constantly
passed, the immense difficulties of my search did not so strikingly
present themselves, till, entering the hotel I called for the landlord
and the _carté_, and endeavoured to describe the man with the seals
as a most agreeable individual whose acquaintance I wished to renew,
but could only remember the first letter of his name; mine host was
impenetrable, he knew many who answered to my description; but none
I was likely to have met: there was Wilkins, the first butcher in the
city; Wiggins, the tobacconist; Dr. Worthington, a highly respectable
chemist; Mr. White, the methodist parson? No, no, it could be none of
these. What! my beautiful incognita under the chaperonage of a butcher,
a tobacconist, or a chemist. The landlord was departing, when a sudden
spasm of memory seemed to seize him, "Could it be Winter? There was
a very pleasant gentleman of that name lived in the Abbey garden; he
painted pictures, grand pictures, and had a nice farm in right of his
wife?" "Was he a gentleman?" "Oh yes, he used often to dine at the
Dean's, and sometimes with the Bishop. Mr. Winter was thought a deal
of?"
"Perhaps Winter was the name; well I will try. Let me have dinner at
six, and now for the Abbey."
I spent two or three hours very agreeably in exploring the aisles and
passages and beautiful choir of this irregular but impressive old
pile, feeling the deep effect which may be produced by the simple
sense of weight and size. The Town Hall, quaint enough, a subterranean
chapel, the remains of the castle and a Roman bath, made up the sum of
sight seeing, and still I pondered on the chances of "Winter" turning
out to be the veritable "man with the seals." I walked on the walls and
saw Prince Rupert's and King Charles' towers, and finally asked my way
to the Abbey garden; it was a good sized square, near the Cathedral,
full of substantial houses, and walking round I saw the name of J.
Winter on the hall door of one of them. Should I knock? No, for that
beautiful girl was not their daughter; indeed she seemed to exercise
more authority over them than they over her, and I should only land
myself in a scrape, perhaps lose by precipitancy. "No, I will not
knock, but like the sage captain in 'Ali Baba or the Forty Thieves,' I
will mark the house, and next week being off duty, take up my abode,
sketch book, and all in the old city for a few days; and 'the Devil's
in the dice,' as poor O'Brien of the 88th used to say, if I do not
make the plump little artist's acquaintance before they are over." Thus
resolving, I again turned to the walls, which here approached a river
sufficiently broad and winding for beauty, though not for grandeur.
This was the only side at which the town appeared to overflow the
limits of its walls; but here a straggling and inconsiderable suburb
stretched for a short distance, and even one unusually large church,
with a lofty detached tower, seemed to have burst bounds and sought the
vicinity of the river, towards which the ground sloped rather abruptly,
and was altogether lower than that within the walls, from which a
flight of rude steps led to the road beneath. A few remarkably fine old
trees, a broken rocky red bank, scarcely high enough to be dignified
with the name of cliff, at the other side of the river, with undulating
meadows, and a distant line of blue hills beyond, made up a scene of
much unpretending beauty. I gazed at it long with quiet pleasure,
anticipating my _séjour_ among its attractions, and trying to persuade
myself I had much better give up the pursuit I had embarked in with
such ardour. "One throw more," said I half aloud, "and if this Winter
does not turn out to be my man of the seals, I'll give it up; though by
all the saints that adorn that old gateway, it would be for the good
of my soul to see those eyes and hear that voice again; but pshaw!
I've been in love before and found it not insurmountable, and now I
am not in love, only curious." And with this wise conclusion I ate my
dinner and returned to Carrington, where I was met by Burton's rather
anxious, "Well, what success?" "Why, not much, but I'am going over next
week."--He smiled.
A few days after, I fulfilled my intention, and installed myself and
a formidable array of sketching materials at the Royal; and about
noon the following day sallied forth to revisit the walls where they
command the view which had so much pleased me. Proceeding leisurely
along the thinly peopled streets, my eye was caught by a figure in
strong contrast to all that had hitherto passed me; it was that of an
old gentleman, tall, erect, and still vigorous; the greatest symptom of
his age being the perfect whiteness of the profuse hair which curled,
or rather waved, under his hat; the old fashioned buff waistcoat, blue
coat, and gilt buttons, together with his colored cravat and frilled
shirt, had an air of perfect freshness, making a _tout ensemble_
thorough-bred and remarkable. An expression of easy benevolence sat on
his aquiline and aristocratic features, and his bright blue eyes had
an eagle look, not unmingled with humour. While I gazed unobservedly,
for he was at the opposite side of the street, the countenance grew
strangely familiar to me, and in a moment a curtain seemed, as it were,
raised from my memory, and scenes in which we had both been actors
stood before me with all the startling vividness that sometimes invests
circumstances which the rush of life jostle for a while into hidden
nooks of memory, where they are preserved, as it were, by darkness,
from loss of their pristine colors.
Some ten years before, a raw stripling, I joined my regiment, when
quartered in a singularly remote and beautiful district in the west
of Ireland, where still, though much diminished, some remnants of the
old national custom of duelling remained, chiefly among the inferior
gentry. At a large gathering of the magnates and smaller fry too, some
anniversary dinner, it was my ill-fate to get into an absurd dispute,
which a little manly self-command would have soon concluded, but
which the impetuosity and inexperience of boyhood rapidly fanned into
a promising quarrel; my antagonist, a man sufficiently qualified by
birth to associate with gentlemen, had not as yet by character quite
forfeited the claim, so that affairs soon wore an unpleasant aspect.
With heightened complexion and quickening pulse, stung by his insolent
assumption of superior experience, I was imperiously reiterating some
not very amiable opinion; when a gentleman of striking appearance
begged, with polished courtesy, to know the subject in dispute, a
mere trifle, the folly of which struck me as I explained it; then in
few words, and with the consummate tact of a man of feeling, as well
as of the world, backed by a tone of kindly authority his dignified
appearance fully warranted, he stilled our dispute without one scratch
to the _amour propre_ of either party. Presenting himself as Colonel
D'Arcy Vernon, he begged to have the pleasure of knowing me, adding,
with a few laughing words on my impetuosity, "There is something in
your spirit I can well sympathise with, and I hope you will do me the
favour to accompany your brother officers, Captain Dashwood and Mr.
Hauton, whom I expect next week for a little shooting at Dungar."
I readily accepted; and often, while the regiment remained in that
part of the world, enjoyed the hospitality of Dungar, and the real
pleasure of Colonel Vernon's society.
Of a high family, which formerly possessed an immense territory, now
sadly dwindled, he had only just retired from the command of the
County Militia, having never held higher rank than that of Captain
in the Army. When I last saw him, though no longer keeping hounds,
his house was a model of all that was most agreeable and luxurious,
notwithstanding unpleasant remarks as to the incumbrances of his
estates, rife almost at his own table.
To return from this long digression. Colonel Vernon had always held an
indisputable place in my memory, not only for the kindness and pleasure
I had received from him, but as a model of chivalrous courtesy. With
the utmost amazement I now recognised him, and determined to renew
an acquaintance; crossing the street with this intention, just as I
reached him, a passing workman jostled him rudely and shook his gold
headed cane from his grasp; seizing this opportunity for accosting
him, I stooped for the cane and restored it to him. Raising his hat,
and bowing with _sauve_ grace, he said, "Sir, you are very good, I am
extremely obliged to you."
I bowed, smiled, and still standing in front of him, said, "I fear sir
you have forgotten my name as well as my face, nevertheless, Fred.
Egerton, of the -- Dragoons, is most happy to see Colonel Vernon
looking as well as he did ten years ago."
"Egerton, God bless my soul! so it is. My dear boy, I am truly glad to
see you. I remember you perfectly, and 'gad, it takes ten years from my
life to see you again."
And we were shaking hands with a forty-horse power of cordiality; then
turning with me he took my arm.
"But what lucky wind has blown you here, Egerton?"
"Why, we are quartered at Carrington, and I am here on a sketching
expedition; imagine my surprise and pleasure at recognising you in
about the last place in the world I should have anticipated such a
rencontre; but tell me, how goes the world at beautiful Dungar?"
I felt a sudden pressure on my arm, "Ah! my dear Egerton, I really do
not know; poor Dungar has not been mine for several years; in short,
I am living very quietly here; and having led the usual life of an
Irish proprietor, short and sweet, I am now atoning for it; though God
forgive the word, I am very happy, and you must come and dine with
me in my crib, small as it is, for by gad I am very glad to see you,
though till you spoke I did not recognise you, you have grown so dark
and, I fancy, taller."
"And your little granddaughter? Was there not one with you in Ireland,
a pretty fair-haired child, who was always in mischief?" "Yes, yes,"
said he with a pleasant sparkle of the eye, "I'll introduce you to
her." Talking copiously of past times and people, sometimes laughing
at some droll reminiscence, sometimes glancing off from topics I could
see made my companion wince, he directed my steps towards an old
gateway, passing through which we pursued a narrow lane, between two
rows of ancient red stone houses, opening on a road which I recognized,
by a flight of steps descending from the city wall and the large old
church in front, to be the same I had observed on my first visit.
A low wall surrounded the church yard, in which were few graves, a
great deal of grass, and several venerable yew trees; altogether a
good sized enclosure. We entered it through a wrought-iron gate, of
curiously ancient workmanship, standing between two large yew trees,
and wide open; opposite to which a low deep arch of vast thickness
showed the church door within. A square and lofty tower rose beside
the church, independently, from the ground, at the western extremity
where we entered; and the edifice itself, ponderous looking and most
picturesquely irregular, stretched out for a considerable distance.
Following my companion by the path along the side of the church, and
listening to and answering his observations, my eye took in, without
an effort, these details, and reaching the east end, I perceived
that much of this portion of the building was in ruins, although the
exterior walls were still in tolerable preservation; several branches
of trees waved over them, and here was a small but perfect round arch,
surmounted by some old Gothic inscription I had not time to decipher,
and filled up by a green wicket clenched with nails, which my kind old
friend pushed open, and, shaking me by the hand, welcomed me to his new
but diminutive territory with true Irish warmth, and yet with a tinge
of melancholy. I could only return his pressure in silence, as I stood
enchanted with the beauty of the spot into which I was ushered.
This end of the building had, as I have said, fallen into decay, and
the present east window was some fifty yards within the old one, and
peeped out through the feathery foliage of a splendid ash and several
acacias, which grew almost against it, while the rugged red wall was
covered with ivy and other creepers. The little enclosure formed by
the ruined walls was divided in two by a row of three low ornamented
arches, somewhat broken, and beyond these rose clear against the sky
the lace-like tracery of the old window, much of which remained,
together with the remnant of a round tower.
At the side where we entered, a magnificent spreading elm filled the
inner enclosure with grace and shade, and both were carpeted with
the greenest, softest grass; a few red and white roses mixed with
evergreens adorning the larger of the two enclosures, and a straight
neatly gravelled walk led to a door opposite, half glass, the entrance
to a red stone cottage forming one side of the quadrangle; a time-worn
Madonna and Child and a quaint-looking and rather plump Saint, saying
his prayers, stood sentry right and left of this humble portal,
advancing to which the Colonel rung the bell, observing, "You admire
this? Kate will be enchanted; it was the Vicar's residence, but the
present man is too great for so small a place, and lets me rent it
This is not a common church, but managed I do not quite know how. They
call it St. Augustine's Priory, and this cottage is known as the Priory
House."
As the door opened, "Walk in; is Miss Kate at home, Nelly?"
This question was addressed to the servant, a fat dignified old lady
in black, with an apron and cap of irreproachable whiteness; there
was a volume of character in her rather wide mouth, slightly drawn at
the corners, and the decided _nez retroussé_ bespoke a somewhat sharp
temper.
"No, sir, she tuck a roll of music, and Cormac went with her; I dare
say she'll be in soon."
"Well, we'll wait for her," said Vernon, "but by the bye, Nelly, don't
you remember this gentleman at all? he used to be often at Dungar."
"Why, now," she returned with a keen glance; "I _dis_remember; sure
there was thousands of them, all with hair on their faces, just like
his honour; but at all ivints ye're heartily welcome, sir, for its
seldom I see a gentleman, barring the masther." Bowing and thanking
her for the compliment, I followed Colonel Vernon across a little
square arched hall, its only light derived from the glass door, to one
opposite, leading into a pretty modern room, to which a bow window,
occupying one entire side, gave light and space; it looked into a small
pleasure ground where towered an ancient and gigantic oak, beyond which
the bank sloped steeply to the river, winding blue and peaceful at its
foot. The room was redolent of heliotrope and mignionette, and gay with
brilliant dahlias, fuchsias, and, though late in the season, roses; a
pianoforte, some worked chairs, and a print of John Anderson my Joe,
then not quite so common as now, over the mantle-piece, were the only
articles in the room at all removed from the simplest and commonest
style of furniture. Yet a spirit of grace and refinement pervaded all
its arrangements, and breathed, I know not what of purity and peace,
into its atmosphere. All this time I was expressing my admiration of
his domicile to my friend, the Colonel, who was evidently delighted
by my encomiums. "Yes," he said, "quiet and snug, this and the dining
room were additions by a wealthy rector some thirty years ago, but
the little hall was formerly an entrance into a large confessional or
penitentiary, and so was the outer gate leading to it; Kate can tell
the whole story; I know it very imperfectly. By the way, what has
become of that curious fellow with the stutter, that used always to
forget the most essential part of every story?"
And we again plunged into reminiscences; half an hour must have
elapsed, and I was just meditating some enquiries as to the existence
in A----, of a party such as I had met at Carrington, when something
scratched at the door; the handle turned, it opened, and in walked, in
shawl and bonnet, but in unmistakeable _propriâ personâ_, my beautiful
incognita, my nameless partner, the object of my search! followed by a
huge majestic looking dog, shaggy and stern. I had risen as the door
opened, and now stood transfixed, while the lady started, and blushed
to the eyes.
"Kate, my love," said her grandfather, "let me present Captain Egerton,
an old acquaintance of mine."
"And of mine too, grandpapa," she replied, with a smile indescribably
arch, and recovering herself completely, "I had the pleasure of meeting
Captain Egerton last week at Carrington, and it appears we had known
each other long ago."
"Oh! was this the gentleman; how extraordinary," and he laughed most
heartily.
Recovering my self-possession, I said, "I have been most anxious to
apologise for encouraging your mistake the other evening, and came to
A---- in the vague hope of discovering you for that purpose; but since
Colonel Vernon is, I see, acquainted with the affair, he will, I am
certain, admit the temptation was irresistible."
"Faith I do, boy! but there was no mistake at all."
"How?" I asked, again plunged in bewilderment.
"Speak for yourself, Miss Kate," said the old gentleman.
"Indeed, Captain Egerton," began Kate with a bright blush and merry
laugh, "I scarce know how to excuse my escapade; first you must know
it was rather a sudden thought of my kind chaperons to go to the
ball, and, knowing no one, we merely meant to look at the proceedings
and return. We were standing near a pillar, and I was thinking how
I would like to dance, when my attention was attracted by some one
exclaiming, rather loudly, 'I have it; I'll pretend to recognise an
acquaintance;--profound deference; get up a little conversation, eh?'
I could not help smiling at the scheme, and, wishing to witness its
_dénouement_, you may imagine my surprise, when a few minutes after
you addressed me. I knew your voice; and, as you spoke, it glanced
across my mind that it would be pleasant to dance, and better still
to punish you with your own device by pretending to remember you. I
was fully satisfied, for though a little nervous at first, I soon
gathered confidence from your frequent confusion. How I wish, dear
grandpapa, you could have heard our conversation; I do not think I ever
was more amused; but, Captain Egerton, you certainly played your part
with infinite tact, and sometimes, grandpapa, whenever he grew too
much at his ease, I used to throw him into confusion by some question
or allusion that utterly puzzled him." Then turning to me, "You must
promise to forgive, and not think me very wild, but the temptation to
retaliate was irresistible!"
"Forgive you, oh! Miss Vernon; what an uncalled for request; it is I
that should pray for forgiveness for my presumption; I deserved a great
deal more severity, and while I must compliment you for your inimitable
acting, thank you for your forbearance and the delightful hour I passed
in your society."
"Oh! I had the game in my own hands; it was you who played your part
well."
"We are, then, quite reconciled I hope," said I.
"Perfectly," she replied, "but how did grandpapa find you out?"
Vernon explained; "I spoke warmly of the happy days I spent with him in
Ireland."
"Dear Dungar!" said Miss Vernon softly, with her eyes bent down; she
sat silent for a few moments, then, looking up with something that
glistened like a tear, she looked at me steadily, and said, "Then I do
remember Captain Egerton; he let me win the race on my pony Midge."
"The same," said Colonel Vernon. "Indeed, I am very glad to see you at
the Priory," she continued, in her peculiarly frank manner, so cordial
and so well bred; "and you are staying here for a few days?"
"Yes," replied the Colonel, "and will dine with us to-day, will you not
Egerton?"
I accepted most readily, scarcely believing that my oft reviled luck
was about to make me so ample a return for past disagreeables as
to place me at once on a footing of intimacy with the much-admired
incognita, now incognita no more!