"Heavens, Mr. Sheridan, it is to you I am indebted for my preservation
from those rascals!" said Mr. Long.
Dick took off his hat in acknowledgment of the compliment.
"May I venture to hope that you have not received any severe injuries,
sir? Your hand----"
Dick could see that there were some dark spots on the portions of the
handkerchief that Mr. Long had managed to tie about his wrist and his
knuckles.
"Only flesh wounds--scratches," said Mr. Long. "But you followed the
fellows, Mr. Sheridan? That was brave of you. My mind was greatly
relieved when I saw you returning. I am glad that you were not so
foolish as to rush into what may have been a trap. I suppose that, like
rats--other vermin--they escaped by the river?"
"Two of them escaped by the river--I followed them down to the very
brink, sir, and saw one of them safely into the water," said Dick. "His
companion went headlong into a boat and picked him up. The third I lost
sight of shortly after they turned aside from the road."
"Let them go," said Mr. Long. "'Twas God's mercy, Mr. Sheridan, that
you were within earshot when I called for help. They attacked me on the
road without a moment's warning."
"Footpads!" said Dick.
"H'm--perhaps footpads," said Mr. Long doubtfully.
"I never heard that they infested this road, sir," said Dick. "They
must be the lowest in practice at this work. The chance passengers so
far out of the city are not frequent after dusk."
"I have my suspicions," said Mr. Long. "I must have been followed
by those scoundrels--or they may have lain in wait for me. I was
supping with Mr. Lambton at his house on the Circus, and did not
leave until late. Then I ventured to take a walk of a mile, tempted
by the curiously beautiful night. I assure you I was not dreaming of
an attack; but it came. Luckily the fellows rushed out upon me from
the shrubbery along the carriage drive to that house, leaving the gate
ajar. I had barely time to parry the thrusts of the foremost of the
band, and by a disconcerting movement to get within the gate and close
it. I saw that my only chance lay in keeping the bars between us. I
will do them the justice to say that they also perceived that this was
the case. But they only lacerated my hand and wrist."
"You fought bravely and adroitly, sir," cried Dick.
"At the same time, Mr. Sheridan, I know that if you had not come up at
that instant I should now be a dead man," said Mr. Long.
"Oh no, sir; you would most probably have run some of them through
the body," said Dick. "Cowardly rascals they must be! They showed
themselves ready enough to run; they did not give me a chance of a
single thrust at any one of them."
"I sympathise with you, Mr. Sheridan," said Mr. Long. "But your sword
will be the less soiled. Five minutes--perhaps two--would have done
for me. A gate with bars is no effective barrier where the small sword
is concerned; and then---- Well, I'm not so young a man as I once was,
sir; I was heartily glad at your coming on the scene. If you are
walking back to the town I hope that I may claim your escort to my
house."
"I shall feel proud to walk with you, sir," replied Dick, with
alacrity. "But I venture to hope, sir, that you will see a surgeon
before you retire."
"I assure you there is no need, Mr. Sheridan. I have an excellent
servant; there is scarce a wound that he could not heal--he even
professes to deal with those of the heart; but there, I think, he
professes overmuch. I should like to put his skill to the test; so if
you have a friend who is in an evil case in any matter pertaining to
that organ, you have only to let me know. By the way, Mr. Sheridan, it
may sound ungenerously inquisitive on my part to inquire to what happy
accident I owe my life? Is it a usual custom with you to take a rural
walk after midnight? Pray, sir, rebuke my impertinence as it deserves
by refusing to answer me, if it so please you."
They had now begun to walk in the direction of Bath. The moon had risen
high in the sky, and no cloud was visible. The night was so clear that
Dick could not help feeling that the gentleman by his side saw his
blushes that followed the inquiry. For the first time Dick perceived
that he might have some little difficulty in explaining how it was
that he came to be outside Bath on foot at that hour. When he had set
out on his midnight stroll it had not occurred to him that he might
be asked to give an explanation as to the impulse that had sent him
forth. He hoped that Mr. Long did not notice his blush. It was only the
suddenness of the question that had caused it.
"I took the walk because I had something to--to--think over," he said,
without any particular readiness.
"Then you did well to walk at this hour and on such a night," said
Mr. Long. "For myself, I can say that I have never yet faced any
question that refused to be answered after a night's walk and a night's
thoughts. And now I will place myself on a confessional level with
you, by telling you before you ask--you are not so impertinent as to
ask--if it be habitual with me to take a midnight walk? I will answer
'No' to that question, sir, and tell you that my walk was due to a
certain want of confidence on my part in respect of Mr. Lambton's
excellent--too excellent French cook. I supped at Mr. Lambton's, as I
believe I mentioned?"
"Mr. Linley said you were going to Mr. Lambton's house, sir," said Dick.
"Oh, then you supped at the Linleys'?" said Mr. Long; "or did you
merely meet Mr. Linley in the course of the night after he left me?"
"I supped with the family, sir. Mrs. Linley has had the kindness to
treat me as one of the family. She expressed her regrets that you did
not come to eat her pastry. She also expressed her want of confidence
in Mr. Lambton's cook."
Mr. Long laughed.
"Our fears were not wholly groundless," he said. "I think I made
as frugal a supper as is possible in a house where a French cook
possessing some determination and four new dishes reigns in the
kitchen. And yet I own that an hour after supper, I--I--well, I felt
that a brisk walk of a mile might at least prevent my forming an
unjust judgment on the cook. On the whole, however, so far as I can
gather, I am inclined to believe that Mr. Lambton's cook is merciful
as he is powerful. Neither you nor I, Mr. Sheridan, can know into
what temptations to tyranny a first-class cook is led. He cannot
but be conscious of his own power; and yet Mr. Lambton's cook is, I
understand, as approachable as if he were an ordinary person like
one of ourselves. Nay, I have heard that some Cabinet Ministers are
infinitely more frigid to their colleagues than he is to the other
members of the Lambton household. There's a man for you! And yet
people say that the French nation---- But I have not asked you if Mrs.
Linley's pastry was as crisp as usual."
"It could scarcely be surpassed, sir, even if it had been made under
the superintendence of an university of cooks," replied Dick.
"Then it was not to get rid of the thoughts impelled by your supper
that you set out on your walk?" said Mr. Long. "I have heard it said
that no man can be a poet who has not been subjected to a course of
bad cooking. 'Tis a plausible theory. You have read the poem of the
great Italian, Dante, Mr. Sheridan? Well, sir, will any one have the
temerity to assert that it was not penned under the influence of a
series of terrible suppers? 'Twas but one step further, you will
see, from the supper to the Inferno? And there was Milton--well, he
follows the Biblical account of the curse falling upon humanity owing
to the indiscreet breakfast indulged in by the lady of the garden.
And John Bunyan--a great poet, sir, except when he tried his hand at
verse-making--his description of the terrors of that Slough of Despond
was most certainly written under the influence of a dinner in Bedford
gaol. But perhaps you do not think of being a poet, Mr. Sheridan?"
"I have had my dreams in that direction, sir," said Dick, and once
again he was led to hope that Mr. Long would not notice his blush. He
could not understand how it was that Mr. Long succeeded in getting him
to confess so much--more than he had ever confessed to another man.
"You have had your dreams, sir? I am glad to hear it. I would not give
much for a lad who has not, before he is twenty, had dreams of becoming
a poet. As a matter of fact, Mr. Sheridan, all men who do anything in
the world are poets before they are twenty. The practical men are the
men who have imagination; and to be a man of imagination is to be a
poet. Now you, Mr. Sheridan, will do something in the world, I fancy."
"Ah, sir, that was my hope--long ago--long ago."
"Long ago--long---- Heavens! you talk of long ago, when you cannot
have more than reached the age of twenty-one! Why, I am sixty, sir,
and do not venture to speak of long ago. Your life is all before you,
Mr. Sheridan; and permit me to say that 'twill be your own fault if it
be not a noble life--a notable life 'tis bound to be, considering your
parentage. Your mother was one of the most remarkable women of this
period of the century. Her novels possess extraordinary merit; I say
that, and I was a friend of Mr. Richardson. Your father's genius is
recognised. And think of the variety of his attainments. He is not only
a great actor, he is a scholar as well; but if he were neither the one
nor the other, he might still claim attention as a writer. His theories
respecting the importance of elocution are valuable. One has only to
hear you speak to become a convert to your father's theories. If you
some day obtain recognition as an orator, you will have to thank your
father for his admirable training of your voice. You intend, of course,
to enter yourself as a student for the Bar?"
"That was also my hope, sir; but I cannot persuade my father to give me
his permission to my studying for the Bar."
"What! does he wish you to enter the Church and become as distinguished
as your grandfather--one of the few friends and the many victims of the
Dean of St. Patrick's?"
"He does not seem to think it necessary for me to enter any profession,
Mr. Long. He says I have not sufficient ability to do credit to him and
the family--'tis in my brother Charles he has placed his hopes. He has
been striving for some time to secure for Charles an appointment under
the Government."
"I hope that he may be successful. And does he make no suggestion to
you in regard to your future?"
"None whatever. 'Twas my dear mother who insisted on my being sent to
Harrow, and I know that her intention was that I should in due time go
to Oxford. Unhappily for us all, however, she died before her hopes
were realised; and when my father returned from France with my sisters
and brothers, I was taken from Harrow and brought here to waste my
time. He seemed to think that I should be content to become a hanger-on
of some fine gentleman. That is why he has always encouraged me to
mingle only with people of title. Our bitterest quarrels--and we have
had some, Mr. Long--have been about the Linleys. He has so exaggerated
an opinion of the importance of our family, he thinks that it is not
fitting that we should associate with the Linleys because they sing in
public--because Mr. Linley is merely a teacher of music."
"You amaze me, Mr. Sheridan! Has your father never asked himself
wherein lies the difference between a man who teaches singing and one
who teaches elocution? I had no idea that he was so narrow in his
views. Why, he is worse than Dr. Johnson. 'Twas Dr. Johnson who declared
that if your father got a pension from the king, 'twas time that he
gave up his. That was a very narrow-minded theory to pretend to have--I
say 'pretend,' for when your father got his pension, the good Doctor
showed no intention of relinquishing his. Still, that contemptible
Mr. Boswell had no right repeating in every direction what Johnson
may have said in his haste. You have heard Mr. Garrick drawing on the
fool for the entertainment of a company? Every one knows that it was
Dr. Goldsmith's humour to say to Johnson, 'Why do you call me "Goldy,"
sir--"Goldy," when you are well aware that I haven't even silver in my
pocket?' And yet Garrick got Boswell to tell us the story t'other night
as proof positive of Dr. Goldsmith's vanity. But this is beside the
point, the point being that you would not give up the Linleys, however
narrow-minded your father was. Well, Mr. Sheridan, I do not say that
you were in the wrong. You have known Miss Linley for some years, have
you not?"
"Ever since we were children, sir."
"What! so long ago as that?" Mr. Long laughed, but quite
pleasantly--not as some people would have laughed at that moment. "Then
I hope, Mr. Sheridan, that you did not fail to offer the lady your
congratulations on having accepted the offer of marriage made to her a
few days ago? By the way, now that I come to think on it, the one to be
congratulated in this case is not the lady, but the gentleman. Is not
that your view of the matter?"
"I think, sir, that Miss Linley is the sweetest girl that lives in
the world, and that any man whom she loves is fortunate above all his
fellows."
"And I agree with you, with all my soul. The man whom Elizabeth Linley
loves is fortunate above all the rest of the world. What I am wondering
just at this moment, Mr. Sheridan, is whether that man be you or I.
Here we are at Millsom Street. I lodge in the last house, where I hope
you will be polite enough to call to-morrow to make inquiries after my
health. Pray do not forget that I owe my life to you. The man who saves
the life of another accepts a fearful responsibility. You will find
that out before you have done with me."
He was holding Dick by the hand. But Dick heard nothing of his
invitation delivered in so unconventional a formula. A previous phrase
of Mr. Long's had taken complete possession of his mind.
"I should like to know, sir, what you meant by saying--by suggesting
that--that----"
Dick's stammering was interrupted.
"Good heavens, Mr. Sheridan! you cannot be in earnest in demanding
an explanation of anything I say at this hour?" cried Mr. Long,
with uplifted hands. "This, sir, is accepting your responsibility a
little too seriously. You will be genteel enough to pay me a visit
to-morrow--that is, to-day, for 'tis more than an hour past midnight.
In the meantime, may I beg of you to--to ... that is, not to ...
ah, on second thoughts, I will not beg anything of you. Good-night,
good-night."
He took off his hat, and Dick mechanically raised his own. Mr. Long had
turned down the street, but Dick still remained at the corner. Mr. Long
had actually pulled the bell at the door of his house before Dick ran
to his side.
"Mr. Long," he cried, "it has just occurred to me that--that it might
be as well for you to say nothing to Miss Linley about the little
affair that happened to-night. You know that she is nervous, and to
hear that an attack was made upon you might prostrate her."
Mr. Long looked at him in a strangely penetrating way for some moments;
then he said:
"You have given expression to the request which I was about to make
to you just now. After a moment's consideration I withheld it: I
remembered that you were an Irishman, and therefore that there was no
need for me to ask you to remain silent in regard to an incident of
which you were the hero. Mr. Sheridan, I will respect your wishes. Miss
Linley shall not, unless I find reason to act differently, hear of your
heroism through me."
"Oh, sir--heroism! that is too strong a word," said Dick.
"Perhaps it is, considering that it was only my life that you saved.
Well, we shall say your good-fortune. Will you accept the compromise?"
"Gladly, sir: I shall always think of the incident as the most
fortunate of my life."
"And I hope that neither of us, nor Miss Linley, will ever have
occasion to think of it as otherwise; and so I wish you good-night
again, my dear boy--my dear boy."
He gave Dick his hand once more, and Dick felt his fingers pressed with
more warmth than he had ever received from his own father.
He rather wished that Mr. Long was his father.