Charles Tyrrell was up early on the following morning. He was one of
those who are born without the consciousness of fear. Though eager and
enthusiastic by nature, vehement and rapid in character, his was not
one of those weak-toned minds easily hurried on to violent actions, to
be regretted the next moment, or to unsustained daring, which
evaporates with the excitement of the hour. When he had struck an
officer in the king's service, he knew the consequences likely to
ensue, and he was quite as ready to meet those consequences after calm
reflection as at the moment when he had committed the act.
There was, indeed, only one condition under which Charles Tyrrell
regretted his actions, which was, when the impetuosity and vehemence
of his nature led him to do anything which his own heart condemned.
Such, however, was not the case in the present instance. He felt
solemnly that there was a chance of his meeting death in the encounter
to which he was voluntarily going. He felt that he might very likely
be torn, in a moment, from the side of a mother to whom he was the
only source of consolation, comfort, and support. He felt that he
might be taken, too, from one who had wakened in his bosom, for the
first time, the noblest, the most endearing, the most kindly of
affections; and, therefore, on two strong motives, he hoped and prayed
that life might be continued to him.
But those feelings were very different from apprehension of death. He
could not bring his mind to grasp the terror with which some people
regard that event. It seemed as if his mind were insusceptible of the
idea of danger, and he set about all his proceedings for going out to
meet Arthur Hargrave as calmly and tranquilly as he had made his
preparations on the preceding day for going to Oxford.
Weighing the chances, however, he sat down and wrote three brief notes
to the three persons whom he thought the most interested in his
existence. One was, as may well be supposed, to Lucy Effingham, and
another to his mother. The third was addressed to his father, and was
addressed to him in terms of affection and kindness, as if there had
never existed dispute or angry feelings between them. Before he ended
it, however, he spoke of his mother, and besought Sir Francis Tyrrell,
in terms which he thought would touch him, if read when the hand that
wrote them was cold in death, to render her life happier by a change
of conduct towards her.
When he had done it, Charles was well pleased that he had thought of
so doing; for he felt that there are events which form epochs in the
life of man, changing or influencing his very character itself; and he
believed that the death of an only son, under such circumstances,
might well form such an epoch in the life of Sir Francis and Lady
Tyrrell, and might teach him to control that violent and bitter
disposition which had rendered the existence of his wife an existence
of misery.
He had concluded the whole of these arrangements some time before Mr.
Driesen knocked at his door. That gentleman entered with a cheerful
face, carrying his pistol-case under his arm, and saying, "Early
rising, Charles, early rising; very good for the health this. A breeze
upon Harbury Hill will do us a great deal of good; but we shall find
it necessary, Charles, to jump out of your window, I think, for it
seems to me the only one open in the house; all the rest are as dark
as the pit of Acheron, or, to use a not less classical simile, as dark
as a dog's mouth. Those lazy jades of yours are never up before six
o'clock in the morning, so that, when I come down sometimes to seek
for a book in the library, I find them walking about, with their
brooms in their hands, like the apotheosis of a March wind, enveloped
in a cloud of dust. But I see you are ready, and so am I, and so are
the pistols; for I looked at them last night, and there is not a speck
upon them. You see I always cram them, Charles, when I put them into
their cases, with a piece of dry tow, wrapped up first in a piece of
chamois leather, and that wrapped up again in a piece of fine green
cloth. I have got little instruments made, too, for stopping the
touch-holes, so that not the slightest particle of flue or dust can
get in. But now we had better set off; for we must walk quietly, you
know; no running and scampering to-day."
Charles was quite willing to set out; and, unlocking one of the doors
which led into the courtyard for themselves, they proceeded calmly
towards Harbury Hill, Mr. Driesen himself carrying the pistols, for
which he seemed to have a high veneration and respect. The walk was
long and beautiful, the scenery varying every moment, the new-risen
sun lighting up hill and dale with all the fresh and varying
loveliness of morning, and the wind blowing the foliage about, and
carrying here and there a light cloud rapidly across the sky.
It was a scene to look upon, and to think of long life and manifold
enjoyments; and there was something in gazing upon it, and thinking of
death and departure from all known and habitual pleasures, which had
some thing solemn in it even to the heart of Charles Tyrrell.
Finding that they had plenty of time, Mr. Driesen insisted upon
Charles climbing the hill slowly, declaring that any great exertion
unsteadied the hand. He also made him quit the road, which was covered
with large, hard stones, and, mounting the bank, proceed over the
short soft turf which clothed the old Roman encampment.
Before they reached the top, however, he said, "They are there before
us; I saw a man's head at that corner. However, as we have fully five
minutes to the time, we need not hurry."
When they had reached the top, however, they found that the head which
Mr. Driesen had seen belonged to a no less innocent person than an old
shepherd, who, accompanied by his two faithful dogs, sat upon the brow
of the hill while his sheep fed quietly on the grassy side. There was
nobody else there; and when they had reached the flat top, Mr. Driesen
having laid down the pistol-case, put on his spectacles, and, mounting
upon a part of the old intrenchments, looked over the country to see
if their adversaries were coming.
"It's very odd," he said, "very odd indeed. One can see all
round here, and yet I can perceive nothing like them on any of
the roads. Well, we must wait;" and thereupon he took out his silk
pocket-handkerchief, and tied on his hat to prevent it being blown
away by the wind.
After waiting some short time longer, Charles began to be apprehensive
that his watch might have been slow, and that his opponent might have
been on the spot before him and gone away; under which supposition he
advanced to the shepherd, and asked him how long he had been there.
"Why, for this hour and a half, Master Charles," replied the man, who
knew him well; "I always set out pretty earlyish, and have been
sitting here ever since."
"Were there two gentlemen here then," said Charles, "just before we
came?"
"No, Master Charles, no," answered the man. "There's been nobody here
since I was here. What happened before I came I can't say: but there's
been nobody here since, not a living soul, except one of the two old
ravens that live in those trees there. He came, old boy, and swung
himself backward and forward on his feet, putting down his head, and
croaking as if he had got hold of a sheep. I thought it boded no good
to the old north country ram, that has been ailing like for the last
week; but he seems better to-day. No, Master Charles, not a living
soul but the old raven."
So far satisfied, Charles walked back to Mr. Driesen, whom he found
engaged in the humane and rational sport of pelting a lizard to death,
which he had found sunning itself among the stones. He left off,
however, as Charles Tyrrell approached, and said,
"This is very odd, Charles; it's near a quarter past the hour. Do you
think this can be a white feather, my boy? We must give 'em a little
more time, however; watches may differ, and, though mine goes well,
yet it may be found at fault when compared with one regulated by
observation taken from the deck of his majesty's revenue cutter,
the--what is she called, Charles?"
"I am sure I do not know," answered Charles Tyrrell; "but I think I
see somebody coming along the farther part of that road. Oh yes, it is
certainly; I saw him pass the trees."
Mr. Driesen now looked, and anxiously; but in a moment after he said,
"That's but a single person, and looks to me too little for a man.
It's a boy, Charles, it's a boy. He's making straight for the hill,
however; perhaps they've sent him on to say they're coming."
They watched the person who approached, and whom they could plainly
distinguish to be a boy of no very great age, as he came along the
road to the hill, and then mounted directly towards them. He was soon,
however, seen to be a mere country lad in a smock frock; and Mr.
Driesen, concluding that he was one of the shepherd's sons, or
something of that kind, was turning away, when the youth came up and
stared, with an inquiring countenance, first at him and then at
Charles.
"Are you one of the gentlemen I was to find upon the hill?" said the
boy, addressing the latter.
"I really do not know," replied Charles Tyrrell. "Pray, who told you
you would find anybody here?"
"Ay, that I can't tell either," replied the boy, "but he looked like a
sea-captain."
"What is that you've got in your hand, my man?" said Mr. Driesen; "I
dare say it is for us; let me look at it;" and, without ceremony, he
took from the reluctant hands of the boy a note, which he found to be
directed to ---- Tyrrell, Esq. "There, Charles, there," continued Mr.
Driesen, "that's for you. Let us hear what all this is about."
Charles took the note, which was wafered, and opened it, when he found
written within, in a hasty and nearly illegible manner,
"Sir,
"I am sorry to inform you that unexpected events will prevent my
friend Lieutenant Hargrave from giving you the meeting proposed for
this morning. I have not time to explain this matter farther; but have
only to add, that you will hear either from him or me in a few days,
and that I am,
"Sir,
"Your most obedient servant," &c., &c.
"White feather! Charles," said Mr. Driesen. "White feather, no doubt
of it! Well, you have done with the matter. If the fellow comes in
your way again, horsewhip him, that's all; but don't suffer yourself
to be tempted to meet him any more. Sometimes these cowardly fellows,
after hanging back for a time, screw themselves up to behave like
gentlemen; but you are not to be trifled with by such a scoundrel. You
have kept your engagement, and been to your time, and that's quite
enough. Hark you, my man," he continued, turning to the boy, "what did
they give you for bringing this note?"
"They gave me a shilling, sir," said the boy.
"Give it me," said Mr. Driesen. "There's half a crown for you instead.
Now I want you to do two things. If ever you meet that gentleman
again, tell him it would not pass current, and so you had the broad
arrow stamped upon it; and, here, take this mahogany case, and walk on
before us to that house that you see in the park beyond the trees
there. We are close behind you; but take no notice; give the case to
one of the servants, and tell him to put it in Mr. Driesen's room; Mr.
Driesen's room, mind!"
The boy pulled the front lock of his hair and took the pistol case;
and Driesen, turning to Charles, led the way homeward, saying, "Come,
Charles, come. My walk has given me an appetite, and I don't think it
has taken yours away, though something has taken away the stomach of
your adversary, seemingly. I shall go and coax Mrs. Housekeeper to
make me a cup of chocolate; for it wants an hour and a half to the
breakfast-time yet, and I should be starved if I were to wait so
long."
Charles determined he would do so likewise, and they accordingly
returned to the house with a more rapid pace than that with which they
had left it.
When there, Charles Tyrrell destroyed the notes that he had written,
and the whole party met at breakfast, he having once more prepared to
set out for Oxford immediately after. Sir Francis, in reality ashamed
of what had taken place the day before, but forcing down the throat of
his own conscience a persuasion that he had been very much ill treated
by his son, enshrouded himself in sullen dignity, read the newspaper,
and scarcely spoke to anyone. Lady Tyrrell was present, but sad at her
son's departure; and the burden of conversation devolved upon Mr.
Driesen, who, to do him but justice, bore it up stoutly.
When breakfast was over, Charles ordered his packages to be taken down
to the lodge, and bade his mother farewell. Lady Tyrrell melted into
tears, and retired immediately into her own room. Sir Francis shook
hands with his son, wished him good-by, and returned to his newspaper
again. Mr. Driesen accompanied Charles to the lodge, and left him
fully satisfied that he had established a hold upon the young man's
regard which he had never before possessed.
The coach came up in a few minutes, the luggage was taken up, Charles
mounted on the top, the horses started, and he was borne away from the
scenes which were endeared to him by early reflections, but still more
by the one sweet attaching tie of his love for Lucy Effingham.