"Hope springs eternal in the human mind,
I would be cruel only to be kind;
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
Survey mankind from Indus to Peru;
How long by sinners shall thy courts be trod?
An honest man's the noblest work of God."
_MS. Poem_--(original.)
Night, thick, heavy, deep night!--No star visible amid the
sulphureous blackness of the overcharged clouds; and silence,
dreadful as if distilled from the voicelessness of the graves
of a buried world! Night and silence, the twins that keep watch
over the destinies of the slumbering earth, which booms round
in ceaseless revolution, grand, mystic, sublime, but yearns in
the dim vastness of its sunless course, for the bright
morning-hour which shall again invest it with a radiance fresh
from heaven! Darkness, and night, and silence! and suddenly
rushing down, on whirlwind wings, the storm burst fearfully
upon their domain--wind and rain, and the hollow sound of the
swaying branches! And Lawleigh pressed onward. His horse, which
for several miles had shown symptoms of fatigue now yielded to
the difficulties it could no longer encounter; and after a few
heavy struggles, fell forward, and did not attempt to rise.
Thirteen hours had elapsed from the time the chase on that day
commenced, and unless for a short minute, he had seen nothing
of the fugitive. Yet he had dashed onward, feeling occasionally
his holsters, and satisfied that his pistols were in
serviceable condition. He was now nearly as much exhausted as
his horse; but determining to yield to no obstruction, he
seized the pistols, and proceeded through the wood, leaving his
gallant charger to its fate. Lawleigh was strong and active
beyond most men of his day; and, when excited, more vigorous
and determined than could have been supposed from the ordinary
equanimity of his character. But here a great murder had been
committed!--before his very eyes!--accusations had been
hazarded!--and one soft voice dwelt for ever on his ear--"Find
out the murderer, or see me no more." Had Lady Alice, indeed,
allowed a suspicion to invade her mind, that he had been
accessory to the death of Sir Stratford Manvers? But no!--he
would pursue the dreadful thought no further. Sufficient that,
after many efforts, he had regained a clue to the discovery of
the tall man he had seen escape into the thicket. He had
tracked him unweariedly from place to place--had nearly
overtaken him in the cave of Nottingham Hill--caught glimpses
of him in the gipsy camp at Hatton Grange--and now felt assured
he was close upon his track in the savage ranges of Barnley
Wold. Barnley Wold was a wild, uncultivated district,
interspersed at irregular intervals with the remains of an
ancient forest, and famous, at the period of our narrative, as
the resort of many lawless and dangerous characters. Emerging
from one of the patches of wood, which, we have said, studded
the immense expanse of the wold, Lawleigh was rejoiced to
perceive a faint brightening of the sky, which foretold the
near approach of the morning. He looked all around, and, in the
slowly increasing light, he thought he perceived, at the top of
a rising ground at some distance, a shepherd's hut, or one of
the rough sheds put up for the accommodation of the woodmen. He
strove to hurry towards it, but his gigantic strength failed at
length; and, on reaching the humble cottage, he sank exhausted
at the door. When he recovered consciousness, he perceived he
was laid on a rough bed, in a very small chamber, illuminated
feebly by the still slanting beams of the eastern sun. He
slowly regained his full recollection; but, on hearing voices
in the room, he shut his eyes again, and affected the same
insensibility as before.
"What could I do?" said a voice, in a deprecating tone.
"Leave him to die, to be sure," was the rough-toned answer. "I
thought thee had had enough of gentlefolks, without bringing
another fair-feathered bird to the nest." There was something
in the expression with which this was said, that seemed to have
a powerful effect on the first speaker.
"After the years of grief I've suffered, you might have spared
your taunt, George. The gentleman lay almost dead at the door,
and you yourself helped me to bring him in."
"'Twould have been better, perhaps, for him if we had led him
somewhere else; for your father seems bitter now against all
the fine folks together."
"Because he fancies he has cause of hatred to me--but he never
had," answered the girl.
"And the gentleman had pistols, too," said the man. "You had
better hide them, or your father will maybe use them against
the owner."
"I did not move them from the gentleman's breast. We must wake
him, and hurry him off before my father's return--but, hark! I
hear his whistle. Oh, George, what shall we do?"
Lawleigh, who lost not a syllable of the conversation,
imperceptibly moved his hand to his breast, and grasped the
pistol. The man and the girl, in the mean time, went to the
door, and, in a minute or two, returned with a third party--an
old man dressed like a gamekeeper, and carrying a short, stout
fowling-piece in his hand. His eyes were wild and cruel, and
his haggard features wore the impress of years of dissipation
and recklessness. "Does he carry a purse, George?" said the
new-comer, in a low whisper, as he looked towards the bed.
"Don't know--never looked," said George. "Where have you been
all the week? We expected you home three days ago."
"All over the world, boy--and now you'll see me rest quiet and
happy--oh, very! Don't you think I looks as gleesome, Janet, as
if I was a gentleman?"
The tone in which he spoke was at variance with the words; and
it is likely that his face belied the expression he attributed
to it; for his daughter, looking at him for the first time,
exclaimed--
"Oh, father! what has happened? I never saw you look so wild."
"Lots has happened, Janet--sich a lot o' deaths I've been in
at, to be sure--all great folks, too, none o' your paltry
little fellows of poachers or gamekeepers, but real quality.
What do you think of a lord, my girl?"
"I know nothing about them, father."
"You used, though, when you lived at the big house. Well, I was
a-passing, two nights since, rather in a hurry, for I was a
little pressed for time, near the house of that old fellow that
keeps his game as close as if he was a Turk, and they was his
wives--old Berville--Lord Berville, you remember, as got Bill
Hunkers transported for making love to a hen pheasant. Well,
thinks I, I'll just make bold to ask if there's any more of
them in his lordship's covers, when, bing, bang goes a great
bell at the Castle, and all the village folks went up to see
what it was. I went with them, and there we seed all the
servants a rummaging and scrummaging through the whole house,
as if they was the French; and, as I seed them all making free
with snuff-boxes, and spoons, and such like, I thought I'd be
neighbourly, and just carried off this gold watch as a keepsake
of my old friend."
"Oh, father! What will his lordship do?"
"He'll rot, Janet, without thinking either about me or his
watch; for he's dead. He was found in his bed that very morning
when he was going to sign away all the estate from his nephew.
So that it's lucky for that 'ere covy that the old boy slipt
when he did. People were sent off in all directions to find
him; for it seems the old jackdaw and the young jackdaw wasn't
on good terms, and nobody knows where he's gone to."
"They would have known at Rosley Castle," said the girl, but
checked herself, when her father burst out--
"To the foul fiend with Rosley Castle, girl! Will you never get
such fancies out of your head. If you name that cursed house to
me again, you die! But, ha! ha! you may name it now," he added,
with a wild laugh. "We've done it."
"Who? Who have done it?"
"She and I," said the ruffian, and nodded towards the
fowling-piece, which he had laid upon the table; "and now we're
safe, I think; so give me some breakfast, girl, and ask no more
foolish questions. You, George, get ready to see if the snares
have caught us anything, and I'll go to bed in the loft. I'll
speak to this springald when I get up."
"Done what, father?" said the girl, laying her hand on the old
man's arm. "For mercy's sake, tell ne what it is you have
done--your looks frighten me."
"Why, lodged a slug in the breast of a golden pheasant, that's
all--a favourite bird of yours--but be off, and get me
breakfast."
While waiting for his meal, he sat in an arm-chair, with his
eyes fixed on the bed where Lawleigh, or, as we must now call
him, Lord Berville, lay apparently asleep. What the ruffian's
thoughts were we cannot say, but those of his involuntary guest
were strange enough. His uncle dead, and the fortune not
alienated, as, with the exception of a very small portion, he
had always understood his predecessor had already done--his
life at this moment in jeopardy; for a cursory glance at the
tall figure of the marauder, as he had entered, had sufficed to
show that the object of his search was before him--and too well
he knew the unscrupulous villany of the man to doubt for a
moment what his conduct would be if he found his pursuer in his
power. If he could slip from the bed unobserved, and master the
weapon on the table, he might effect his escape, and even
secure the murderer; for he made light of the resistance that
could be offered by the young woman, or by George. But he felt,
without opening his eyes, that the glance of the old man was
fixed on him; and, with the determination to use his pistol on
the first demonstration of violence, he resolved to wait the
course of events. The breakfast in the mean time was brought
in, and Janet was about to remove the fowling-piece from the
table, when she was startled by the rough voice of her father,
ordering her to leave it alone, as it might have work to do
before long.
The girl's looks must have conveyed an enquiry; he answered
them with a shake of his head towards the bed. "I may have
business to settle with _him_," he said, in a hoarse whisper;
and the girl pursued her task in silence. The old man, after
cautioning her not to touch the gun, turned to the dark press
at one end of the room, and in about half a minute had filled
his pipe with tobacco, and re-seated himself in the chair. But
Janet had seized the opportunity of his back being turned, and
poured the hot water from the teapot into the touch-hole, and
was again busy in arranging the cups and saucers.
"Where's George?" enquired the father; "but poh, he's a
chicken-hearted fellow, and would be of no use in case of a
row"---- So saying, he went on with his breakfast.
"He's awake!" he said suddenly. "I seed his eye."
"Oh no, father! he's too weak to open his eyes--indeed he is."
"I seed his eye, I tell ye; and more than that, I've seed the
eye afore. Ha! am I betrayed?"
He started up, and seized the fowling-piece. His step sounded
across the floor, and Berville threw down the clothes in a
moment, and sprang to his feet.
"_You_ here?" cried the ruffian, and levelled the gun, drew the
trigger, and recoiled in blank dismay when he missed fire, and
saw the athletic figure of Berville distended to its full size
with rage, and a pistol pointed with deadly aim within a yard
of his heart. He raised the but-end of his gun; but his
daughter, rushing forward, clung to his arm.
"Fire not--but fly!" she cried to Berville. "Others are within
call, and you are lost."
"Villain!" said Berville, "miscreant! murderer! you have but a
moment to live"--and cocked the pistol.
"Let go my arm, girl," cried the old man, struggling.
"I have saved your life--I hindered the gun from going off--all
I ask you in return is to spare my father." She still retained
her hold on the old man's arm, who, however, no longer
struggled to get it free.
"What! you turned against me?" he said, looking ferociously at
the beautiful imploring face of his daughter. "You, to revenge
whom I did it all! Do you know what I did? I watched your
silken wooer till I saw him in the presence of this youth--I
killed Sir Stratford Manvers"----
"And shall die for your crime," cried Berville; "but the death
of a felon is what you deserve, and you shall have none other
at my hands. In the mean time, as I think you are no fit
companion for the young woman to whom I am indebted for my
life, I shall offer her the protection of my mother, and take
her from your house. If you consent to let us go in peace, I
spare your life for the present; and will even for three days
abstain from setting the emissaries of the law in search of
you. After that, I will hunt you to the death. Young woman, do
you accept my terms? If you refuse, your father dies before
your face."
"Shall I accept, father?"
"If you stay, I lodge a bullet in your brain," said the old
savage, and drew himself up.
"Come, then," said Berville, leading Janet to the door. She
turned round ere she quitted the cottage, but met a glance of
such anger and threatening, that she hurried forward with
Berville, who pursued his way rapidly through the wood."
["That fits in very nicely," said Jack Stuart; "and you may be getting
ready the five pound note, for I feel sure you know you back the losing
horse. Can any thing be more like a genuine, _bona fide_ novel, the work
of one man, and a devilish clever man too? Confess now, that if you
didn't know the trick of it, you would have thought it a splendid
original work? But perhaps you're throat's dry with so much reading?
Here's another bottle of Lafitte; and we can miss over a volume and a
half of foreign scenes, which you can imagine; for they are to be found
in every one of the forty novels I sent for. Just imagine that the
Countess takes her daughters abroad--that Berville encounters them in
the Colosseum by moonlight--quarrels--doubts--suspicions--and a
reconciliation; finally, they all come home, and you will find the last
chapter of the last volume in this."
Jack handed me a volume, evidently popular among circulating library
students, for it was very dirty; and I was just going to commence when
Jack interrupted me.
"Stay," he said; "you must have a motto. Do you know Italian?"
"Not a word."
"Or Spanish, or German?"
"No."
"Well, you surely can recollect some Greek--for next to manuscript
quotations and old plays, you can't do better than have some foreign
lines at the beginning of the chapter. What Greek do you remember?--for,
'pon my honour; I've forgotten all mine."
"My dear Jack, I only know a line here and there."
"Out with them. Put them all in a row, and never mind the meaning."