It was the midnight hour, and the sky dark as pitch. The wind howled
dismally through the trees, and seemed to shake the very foundations of
this ancient hostelry. All the inmates of the 'Headless Lady' had
retired to rest; that is to say, all the members of the club. Our host
above was stirring, and had not yet made up his mind to go to roost. In
fact, he seemed disposed to make a night of it, and enjoy himself as
much as circumstances would permit.
The wind dashed the sleet against the window panes, and the ground was
getting fast covered with snow. But our host stirred the fire, put on a
fresh log, and filled himself up a glass of his own home brewed ale.
First he took a sip, then setting his glass down, he next walked
leisurely into the room adjoining for his tobacco box, with the
intention of filling his yard of clay. His back was no sooner turned
than the bulky figure of a man, in his stockinged feet, tripped lightly
across the hall, and, quick as thought, dexterously emptied a white
powder into the glass our host had left standing, then as speedily
vanished.
He had hardly disappeared, when our host, suspecting nothing,
re-appeared upon the scene, and proceeded to fill his churchwarden with
some of his strongest tobacco. He then lighted his pipe by the fire, and
throwing himself into an easy chair, puffed away complacently for a
time. He was apparently musing, when, as if suddenly recollecting that
his glass was at his elbow, he raised it to his lips and drained it to
the dregs; making a wry face, as if he had just tossed off a dose of
physic. He was on the point of filling up again from the jug close at
hand, when a yawn escaped him. He had grown unaccountably sleepy. This
feeling he at first endeavored to combat by having recourse to his snuff
box, but the effect of the pungent herb was only temporary, for soon his
eyelids fell, as if weighed down with lead, and he was now snoring loud,
and as utterly oblivious as a corpse.
"I've drugged the old boy," said the man in black to his master, with a
chuckle. "It's all plain sailing now. We've only got to pick the lock of
the lady's room, stuff a handkerchief in her mouth, and carry her
downstairs. The carriage is in readiness outside. Quick! Let's up and be
doing."
Upstairs tripped the ruffianly bully as lightly and noiselessly as a
grasshopper, followed closely by his aristocratic patron, and in a
moment the two men stood before the chamber of the unconscious sleeper.
It was locked, as they had anticipated; but with a deftness that argued
much practice in this art, the bully soon succeeded in causing the lock
to yield, and the door swung noiselessly back on its hinges. Aided by
the light of a taper, which his lordship carried, the ruffian was
enabled to make straight for the bed, and seizing the fair sleeper
roughly in his powerful arms, was in the act of rushing downstairs with
her when a shriek, so loud and piercing that it bid fair to waken the
dead, resounded through the walls of this ancient hostel, startling from
their sleep all its inmates, save our host, who was still as fast in the
arms of Morpheus as when we left him.
"Damnation!" cried the bully, between his teeth, as he thrust a
handkerchief into his victim's mouth, and hurried with her towards the
hall door, whilst Lord Scampford followed close at his heels, a horse
pistol in either hand.
The door of the inn was soon unbolted, and before any of the household
could hurry to the spot, the pair of scoundrels were already outside in
the bleak night air, and hailing his lordship's carriage, which now drew
up. The liveried footman had opened the door of the carriage, and in
another moment it would have closed securely upon these two arrant
scoundrels and their helpless victim, while a crack of the coachman's
whip would have carried them miles out of reach of all human opposition,
had not at this juncture something quite unforeseen occurred.
[Illustration: THE DUEL]
From out the darkness a cloaked figure, with broad sombrero drawn down
tightly over his eyes, suddenly emerged, and with a well-directed blow
from a leaden-headed cane upon the bare head of the man in black, felled
the gigantic bully, who measured his full length upon the ground covered
with snow, still clasping in his arms the terrified and trembling form
of our heroine, whose shrieks of "murder" and cries for help at length
brought all the members of the club to the spot.
Before they arrived, however, the mysterious stranger, who had so
opportunely come to the rescue, had succeeded in releasing Helen from
the clasp of the unconscious ruffian, and carried her inside, but not
before Lord Scampford had discharged his brace of horse pistols at
him--we need not say without any effect, save that of startling the
horses so terribly that they became perfectly unmanageable, and bolted
with the carriage, before the footman had time to spring to the box. His
lordship, finding his pistols useless, flung them from him, and drawing
his rapier, made for the stranger, who likewise drew _his_ sword, and a
skirmish ensued.
At this moment all the inmates of "The Headless Lady" hurried
downstairs, half dressed, with lighted candles, and armed with what
weapons of offence they could first lay their hands upon. One carried a
torch, by the light of which the spectators could clearly note the
position of affairs. Lord Scampford and the Unknown were still in the
thick of the fray, and appeared well matched, when suddenly an opening
presented itself, and the sword of the Unknown pierced the heart of his
lordship, who fell back lifeless on the snow.
The greatest confusion reigned. Questions were asked on all hands, and
no one seemed to be wiser than his neighbour, yet the main facts of the
case were apparent to all. Helen had retreated hurriedly to her chamber,
and locked herself in afresh. Our host seemed not yet sufficiently
conscious to be able to take in the situation. It was not till the small
hours of the morning that each returned to his bed. On looking round for
the stranger he had vanished.
* * * * *
Now, it will readily be imagined that at the breakfast table next
morning, at which our members assembled rather late, little else was
discussed save the adventures of the previous night.
"The scoundrels!" thundered out Mr. Oldstone, with an indignant snort.
"The villains!" chimed in Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible together.
"The world is well rid of such a pair of jail birds," said Mr. Hardcase;
"only it is a pity that they were allowed to cheat the gallows."
"Poor Helen!" sighed Parnassus; "I think there is matter for an epic
poem in her misadventure."
"You are right," agreed Mr. Blackdeed. "The incident was pre-eminently
dramatic; just suited to the stage, and would certainly bring down the
house. I intend to dramatise it at my earliest convenience."
"And how is our patient, Dame Hearty?" enquired Dr. Bleedem of our
hostess, who was waiting upon the members at table this morning instead
of her daughter.
"Still very feverish, doctor," was the reply. "The poor child has caught
a dreadful cold from being turned out of her warm bed and carried into
the cold night air and the snow by those ruffians, and she with scarce a
stitch of clothing on."
"Poor dear!" cried Dr. Bleedem, compassionately. "I'll come and see how
she is getting on after breakfast."
"Why, doctor," observed Mr. Crucible, "you've got your work pretty well
cut out for you. There's his lordship--well, you can dissect him; and
his man, too, for the matter of that. Then there's the coachman, who was
brought back here in his lordship's carriage early this morning, with
his shoulder-blade broken; then the horses, with their knees broken: and
now it's our sweet Helen----"
"Say, doctor," broke in Professor Cyanite, "was that rascally bully
sufficiently conscious before his death to give an account of himself?"
"Oh, yes, he was conscious, though he hadn't time to say much. I saw
from the first that the case was fatal. He admitted that he had been a
d----d scoundrel, but added that his lordship was every whit as bad--and
worse. He alleged that had he taken a situation as servant under an
honest man, instead of entering the service of an unprincipled rake and
debauchee like Lord Scampford, that he himself might have become an
honest man. He showed some contrition for the part he had played last
night, and begged me to ask the lady's forgiveness for the same, as well
as to pray for his soul. Then his mind seemed to wander, and he called
out: 'There's his lordship! I see him enveloped in a sheet of flame,
with fire issuing from his eyes and mouth, and from the tips of his
fingers. He is beckoning to me! He is calling me down to Hell! How
horrible the forms that hover round me. Mercy! mercy! Oh! my God,' Here
he uttered a despairing groan, and spoke no more."
"Ha! Quite dramatic again," remarked the tragedian, who had no thought
but what had reference to the stage; "the repentant sinner on his
death-bed--excellent! I will take a note of that, and introduce it into
my next play."
"Then there is the rescuer; you forget him," observed the poet. "The
mysterious stranger, with cloak and slouched hat, appearing on the spot
in the very nick of time to succour Beauty in distress."
"True, true," assented the tragedian; "I had nigh forgot. If this
episode wouldn't bring down the house I don't know what would."
"I wonder who he was," observed Mr. Oldstone. "His sudden appearance was
most remarkable; his disappearance no less so."
In the middle of this discussion, the door opened, and our host entered
with a letter, which he handed to the antiquary, who mechanically put
it in his pocket as of no immediate importance, without even looking at
the handwriting, while he joined in the merry banter of the other
members, who, as soon as our landlord made his appearance fixed upon him
at once as the butt of their satire.
"Hullo, Jack!" cried one, "got over your little nap at last, eh?"
"That last glass of your home-brewed ale, by way of a night cap was most
effectual," jeered another.
Our host, however, did not view the matter by any means in the light of
a joke, and answered savagely, "Ah! the dastardly cowards! They _did_ me
at last. Can't make out how they found time to do it. Such a trick was
never played me before, and I'll take jolly good care they don't catch
me again."
"Well, that's not likely under the circumstances, is it, Jack?" replied
Mr. Hardcase.
"Just like these lawyer fellows," observed Professor Cyanite, "they are
always tripping one up."
"Nor yet anyone else," persisted the landlord. Then added, "To think
that _my_ daughter who has been brought up from a kid under my very
eyes, and never seen no one save her parents and you gentlemen of the
club, who have always treated her with courtesy as though she were a
high born lady--she, what's never heard a word in her life as she didn't
oughter have heard--what never knowed nothink of the ways of this wicked
world--that _she_, poor child, should be subjected to outrage from two
ruffianly bullies--one o' them a peer of the realm, forsooth, and all on
account of her picter being exhibited at that d----d Royal Academy!" He
concluded with a thump of his fist on the breakfast table that set all
the cups and saucers rattling, and felt better afterwards.
"Yes, it was a narrow shave. Wasn't it, Jack?" remarked Parnassus. "If
it hadn't been for that stranger----"
"Ah! I'ld like to find out who _he_ was. _That_ I would. Can any of you
gentlemen guess?" demanded our host.
"Not I."
"Nor I," replied several voices at once.
"Why on earth don't he show hisself?" asked Jack. "Well, he's a trump,
whoever he is, say I."
The company now broke up, and the members of the club began to set about
their several avocations. Dr. Bleedem went upstairs to visit his fair
patient, and Mr. Oldstone found himself once more alone. He paced the
room slowly, with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin upon
his breast, as if lost in a reverie. Then suddenly blurted out, with a
snort, "The d----d rascals! The double-dyed sons of Belial! To dare to
carry off _my_ Helen! That sweet child that I love as if she were my own
flesh and blood. And how nearly they succeeded!" Here his eyes filled
with tears, and thrusting his hand into his large pocket in search of
his handkerchief, his fingers clutched something crisp, and he
recollected the letter that Jack Hearty had put into his hand at
breakfast. "Some shoemaker's bill, I suppose," he muttered, as he mopped
his eyes with his handkerchief. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, glancing at the
handwriting. "What! am I dreaming? Isn't this the writing of my young
friend Vandyke McGuilp? But how? I am only just in possession of his
letter from Rome, and this letter bears no postmark, being brought here
by some casual messenger. Then he must be _here_! Don't understand it at
all." Here he broke the seal and read as follows:
"_Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone_
"MY DEAR FRIEND,
"I am nearer to you than you imagine. I send these lines by a boy from
a neighbouring village, where I slept last night, but which I leave
this morning, without being able to call upon you, as I have important
family business in the adjacent county of ---- which I cannot afford
to neglect. I had no sooner sent off to you my last letter, dated from
Rome, when I received orders to return post haste to England at all
costs, as my uncle had been taken suddenly ill, and now lies on his
death-bed. He is not expected to last long, and I must be in the house
when he dies, and remain till the funeral is over.
"I daren't risk seeing you even for a moment, but I _had_ to be very
near you last night, though you knew me not. I had heard from the
gossip of the village that a grand carriage and pair with liveried
coachman and footman were putting up at 'The Headless Lady,' and I
guessed the worst and prepared myself accordingly to frustrate the
diabolical plans of those villains. If I were to be hanged to-morrow
for it, I should die happy in the consciousness of having rescued
innocence from the clutches of vice.
"Immediately after the fray I reported myself to the authorities, who
will by this time have sent over a constable to the hostel to
interview his lordship's coachman and footman. For the present I am
free, but I am bound to appear when called for at the next assizes.
Matters are apt to go hard with a commoner like myself when the slain
man happens to be a person of title; but I have hopes, as both the
serving men are bound to give evidence that my act was to protect
innocence; also that Lord Scampford first drew his sword upon me,
having previously attempted to shoot me. No more for the present. With
kind remembrances to all,--I remain,
"Your very faithful friend,
"VANDYKE MCGUILP."
Our antiquary had hardly finished reading the letter, and thrust it into
his pocket, when Dr. Bleedem re-entered the room with a very serious
expression on his face.
"Well, doctor," said Mr. Oldstone cheerily, not noticing his
countenance, "What news?"
"Bad, bad, very bad indeed," replied the leech gravely. "She is in a
high fever and delirious. Quite off her head. If I ever get her through
this----"
"Good heavens! doctor," ejaculated Oldstone, "you don't mean to say that
there is any actual danger of her life?"
"Very considerable danger, I am afraid," responded the physician. "She
will require the most careful nursing, such as I am afraid she is not
likely to get even from her own mother."
"Doctor, you frighten me," cried Oldstone. "Surely someone can be found
to attend upon her to relieve her mother."
"They are a rough lot about here, and not always dependable," answered
Bleedem. "It must be someone who will remain with her all night long
without going to sleep. If she ever _should_ get over it----"
"Nonsense! doctor. She _must_ get over it, if _I_ myself have to sit up
to attend upon her."
"Well, well, we must see how we can manage; but it is a very bad case,
for besides the chill she caught, which was of itself enough, there was,
in addition, the mental shock to the nervous system. She is so
delicately organised."
"Poor dear! poor dear!" whimpered Oldstone. "If _she_ dies under your
treatment, doctor, I shall never----"
"Under _my_ treatment!" exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, with vehemence. "God
bless the man! She'ld die all the sooner under anyone else's. Do you
think I shan't do my best to bring her round--if it were only for my
reputation. If _I_ fail, no man in the whole wide world will be able to
save her."
Our antiquary then, by way of changing the conversation, fearing he had
somewhat nettled the physician, inquired, "By the way, doctor, did she
discourse much during her delirium?"
"Lord, yes; a lot of rubbish, of course," replied the leech. "Imagined
she was undergoing again the adventure of last night. Thought Lord
Scampford was after her with his bully. Stretched out her arms for
succour towards an imaginary angel, whom she said had been sent down
from heaven to protect her; ever and anon confounding him with Mr.
McGuilp."
Here the man of medicine indulged in the ghost of a smile.
"Did she indeed, doctor? Well, this is most interesting. Now, while you
have a moment of leisure, oblige me by reading this letter."
Here the antiquary handed over the epistle of our artist to Dr. Bleedem.
The physician seized it gravely, read it through in silence to the end;
re-read it, slowly folded it up, and returned it to Oldstone.
"Humph! remarkable--very," he observed, after a pause.
Further discussion on the subject was checked by the entry of the other
members for their mid-day meal, during which no secret was made as to
the identity of the mysterious stranger.
"Well, well, well," cried our host, when the mystery had been cleared
up. "If I didn't half suspect it all along. Why, bless my soul, if I
think there could be found another man in the world capable of it. Eh,
Molly?"
As for our hostess, she went right off into hysterics, and Mr. Oldstone
was not the only member of the club who was visibly affected.
A month had passed over, and it was now time for the case of that
memorable night to be tried at the assizes. Our host, the two serving
men, and every member of the club had received a summons to appear as
witnesses. Helen herself would have been obliged to put in an
appearance, had not Dr. Bleedem signed a certificate that her state of
health prevented her from attending. The greatest excitement prevailed
when our artist appeared in court. Nearly all were prepossessed in his
favour, and several women were overheard to express hopes that they
would not hang so good-looking a man. The two serving men were then
called, one after the other, and both deposed that their deceased
master, Lord Scampford, had first drawn his sword on the gentleman, who
was forced to act on the defensive.
The case was soon settled. The jury brought it in as justifiable
homicide, and in spite of some ineffectual opposition on the part of the
family of the defunct Lord Scampford, who wondered what had come of
nobility in these times, when a mere commoner like the defendant could
waylay and assassinate a peer of the realm and get off unscathed, etc.,
etc. In spite, however, of all opposition, our artist was acquitted and
left the court without a stain on his character, amid the cheers and
congratulations of the crowd. As he left the court house he was
accompanied to the "Headless Lady" by all the members of the club, who
vied with each other in the cordiality of their welcome.
Many changes of importance had taken place of late. Our artist's
relative had long since breathed his last, and he now slept with his
fathers. His nephew had sat up with him to the end, and was chief
mourner at his funeral. The will of deceased had been read, and our
friend Vandyke McGuilp was known to have inherited his entire fortune,
which was considerable, so that the once struggling limner was now
little short of a millionaire.
A sudden change for the better had taken place in the health of our
heroine, which now mended apace in a way that surprised the doctor.
Still, it was deemed advisable, for the present, to keep her in
ignorance of her hero's arrival on the scene.
After some discussion on the subject, _i.e._, when her medical attendant
pronounced her out of all danger, it was generally agreed upon that
considering the great confidence which had always existed between Mr.
Oldstone and the daughter of our host, that he should be the man
entrusted to break the joyful news to the patient.
Our antiquary accordingly bent him to the task; so mounting the
staircase, he tapped at the patient's door. On entering the chamber, he
was greeted by a beaming smile from its fair occupant.
"Why! my pretty pet!" cried the old man, cheerily, "what a time it seems
since I saw you last! Why! you _are_ pulled down, poor dear."
"Am I?" answered Helen. "I am feeling much better now, though; and I am
getting tired of lying in bed all day. I feel quite well now, and want
to get up."
"Don't do anything without Dr. Bleedem's permission," remonstrated
Oldstone, "or you may throw yourself back, and then what should we all
do without you?"
"Yes, Dr. Bleedem says I have been most seriously ill--that he has just
rescued me from the jaws of death."
"Ah!" remarked the antiquary with a quiet smile, "and someone else
rescued you quite lately from something very like the jaws of
death--only worse," he added, in a low tone.
"Oh!" she cried, covering her face with her hands, as if to shut out
some horrible vision; "don't mention those two villainous men, or I
shall go mad."
"No, no; we won't mention them again. They have gone to their account at
last--and--there, there, let us not judge, but try to forgive, as we
ourselves would wish to be forgiven," said Oldstone.
"But what harm had I done them? Why should they--I mean, what did they
want to do to me?" asked the girl, ingenuously.
"_Do_ to you, silly child! He! he! What all wicked men seek to do when
they get the chance," replied her friend. "Let us not talk of them, but
rather of the brave man who rescued you in the very nick of time from a
living death."
"I understand nothing of their object, and I can't get anyone to explain
to me; but I want to know more of the brave man who, at the risk of his
own life, came to my assistance."
"Perhaps I can tell you something of _him_, too," said Oldstone,
mysteriously. "Did you note him well?"
"Not I. How could I? I was half fainting when he carried me into the
hall. Besides, he was so muffled up in a cloak and hat that I was unable
to see his face."
"True; neither could any of us--he was so successfully disguised. But we
have discovered since who he was, for all that."
"Then you have seen him--spoken to him? Please convey him my most
sincere thanks and blessings for his heroic conduct towards a perfect
stranger."
"Perhaps you would like to thank him yourself--some day--when you are
able to get up, and feel quite well again," suggested Oldstone.
"I suppose I ought," replied Helen. "I feel most grateful to him, I am
sure; for don't I owe him my life? But I am so shy with
strangers--and--and I don't know what to say," pleaded the girl. Then,
at length, "Tell me what manner of man he is?"
"Oh! he's a gentleman," replied Oldstone; "you may depend upon
that--and, what is more, he's young, and, _I_ think, very good-looking.
I am sure you would say so, too."
Here a knowing look came into the antiquary's face, which puzzled the
patient, who, with eyes and mouth wide open, appeared to scan his
countenance as if to read the very secrets of his soul. Then, like a
Pythoness of old, suddenly inspired, she exclaimed, "I have it! In vain
you try to keep it from me. Mr. McGuilp has returned. It was _he_----"
Oldstone marvelled at her penetration, but replied only by a succession
of little nods of his head, fixing his eyes steadily, yet laughingly,
upon her the while.
"I knew it; I knew it!" she exclaimed. "My dreams confirmed it. Oh, God
be praised," and she clasped her hands in ecstasy.
"Calm yourself; calm yourself, my sweet one," began Oldstone, now
seriously alarmed lest the patient should suffer a relapse, "What would
Dr. Bleedem say to me if he knew I had been so precipitate?"
"Dr. Bleedem! Does _he_ then know of our----?"
"Oh! I never said anything to him about it, you may be sure. What I mean
is--he wishes you to be spared all emotion, lest you should throw
yourself back, and all his care be in vain."
"Oh! no fear of that," replied Helen. "I feel so much better since you
told me. Stay!--if you have seen him, he is here. Perhaps in this very
inn--tell me!"
"Well, not very far off, I dare say," said Oldstone, cautiously.
"Mr. Oldstone!" cried the girl, "you can hide nothing from me. I _know_
he is here, and I _insist_ upon seeing him."
"My dear! my dear! How can you? Just think! You must wait till you are
well enough to get up," protested her friend and counsellor. "Dr.
Bleedem will decide all that."
"I want to see him _now_, _this instant_."
"What! In your bedroom!" exclaimed Oldstone. "My dear child! It's not
proper."
"Then why do you come yourself, and Dr. Bleedem?"
"That is a very different matter? I am an old man, and Dr. Bleedem is
your medical attendant," replied the antiquary. "Mr. McGuilp is
young--and people _might_ talk."
"Nonsense! If you don't let me see him, I'll make myself ill and die,"
exclaimed the patient, petulantly.
The antiquary began to be alarmed, but tried to pacify her by saying he
would see Dr. Bleedem, and consult with him as to what were best to be
done.
As he did so, the doctor mounted the stairs. He came to administer a
cordial.
"She seems much better now, doctor," remarked Mr. Oldstone.
Here a muttered consultation took place just outside the patient's door.
After which the physician entered the sick-room, and finding his
patient's nerves somewhat excited, administered a calm soothing dose
which sent her off into a peaceful sleep, while our antiquary sought his
young protege, and explained that, owing to the patient having taken a
composing draught, the doctor's advice was, that he had better postpone
his visit till the morrow.
Our artist's disappointment at being refused an interview with his
_inamorata_ after so long an absence may be imagined, but he was
consoled in a measure by the doctor's promise that she would be well
enough to see him on the following day. On one thing he had thoroughly
made up his mind, and that was to ask her in marriage of her father. He
had never ceased to love her all the time he had been absent, but up to
the present he had no position to offer her. Were she to marry one of
the many country bumpkins who flocked around her, it would be affluence
to what he could have offered her. He could not afford to have
quarrelled with his only relative. The consequences would have been
fatal. Now everything had changed. He was rich, and could afford to
please himself. Therefore on the morrow he was resolved to speak to her
father.
It will readily be imagined that our artist's return to his native land,
to say nothing of the chain of events that followed--his heroism, his
trial and acquittal, were events that could not be passed over without
celebration. Therefore it is needless to say that the evening was spent
round the merry punch bowl, as usual on festive occasions.
Mr. Oldstone was again elected chairman, which post none of the members
felt inclined to dispute with him. The evening opened with a
congratulatory speech from the chairman, addressed to our artist, to
which he replied with brevity and grace. To say that his health was
drunk with the usual three times three would be superfluous.
Jack Hearty was called in to join in the toast and invited to take a
seat, while our artist was called upon by the members of the club to
give an account of his adventures among the brigands, which he did in a
manner so graphic, and with such grace and easy command of language,
that the company remained spellbound, drinking in every detail of his
narrative, whether it were a description of natural scenery or
climate--the dress or physiognomy of his captors--their attitudes, their
language, or what not. Nothing was forgotten. His trials and privations,
his thoughts of home, and the friends he had left behind him. (He
mentioned nothing of the girl he left behind him). Then he described the
final tussle with the carabineers, and his subsequent rescue. Thus he
rambled on in one continual flow of diction like a mill stream without
interruption, carried away by his enthusiasm in such a manner as to
leave no doubt in the minds of his hearers as to his having taken part
himself in the adventures he described.
"Now, mine host," said the chairman, at the conclusion of this somewhat
prolonged narrative, "what do you say to that?"
"Well, well, well," replied that worthy, musingly. "To think that all
that should have happened to one of my gentlemen customers, what's been
in furren parts. Why, it beats the story books out and out. Blessed if I
can't see it all a goin' on before my very eyes."
"True, Jack," agreed Mr. Oldstone, "such is the power of our young
friend's eloquence, that one feels that we ourselves have taken part in
it."
"Might I point out to the company," began Mr. Blackdeed, "the intensely
dramatic situation of----"
"Also the highly poetical episode----" broke in Mr. Parnassus.
"And if you had been there," interrupted our artist in his turn, "you
would have noticed the vivid colouring, the fine grouping of the
figures, the chiaroscuro--the fantastic light and shade that would have
impressed the scene upon your memory in a way never to be forgotten."
"Hark at him! Hark at him!" cried several members at once, as they
refilled their glasses from the punch-bowl.
The conversation then drifted towards more recent adventures, and our
artist explained in full his sudden appearance on the spot in time to
frustrate the designs of the ravishers, and rescue innocence from
pollution.
"And to think that you rescued _my_ daughter from those ruffians, sir,
and at the risk of your own life, too. Why it was admirable! But there,
sir, I can't find no words to thank you with--that I can't."
Here our worthy host became very moist; but the chairman filled up his
glass again for him, which he tossed off at a gulp, and felt better.
"And now, gentlemen," said the chairman, rising, "just one more toast
before I dismiss this honourable meeting, which I am sure you will all
join in. Here is 'Health, long life, and happiness, both to the rescuer
and the rescued!'"--(Shouts of "Hear, hear!" and "Yes; none but the
brave deserve the fair.")--"Then, here goes with a 'Hip! hip!
hip!--hurrah!'"
Our artist, somewhat taken aback, blushed up to his scalp, and drank off
the toast good humouredly, after which there was shaking of hands all
round, and every one retired to his dormitory in a comfortable frame of
mind and body.