A Chapter on Ghosts, and a Ghost-story.
The events detailed in the last chapter, or at least that portion of
them in which he himself had borne a share, were related by Ned
Hayward to the party at Sir John Slingsby's after he had rejoined them
at the dinner table, having done his best to remove the traces of his
adventure from his personal appearance. The smoke and sand were washed
away, the burnt and singed garments had been changed for others, and
Ned Hayward still appeared a very good-looking fellow, not the less
interesting perhaps in the eyes of the ladies there present for all
that he had done and suffered. Nevertheless, the fine wavy curls of
his brown hair, which had been burnt off, were not to be recovered in
so short a time, and both his hands showed evident signs of having
been injured by the fire. He was in high spirits, however, for the
assurance that there could be nobody else in the cottage but the boy,
unless it were Gimlet the poacher himself, of which there was no
probability, had relieved the young gentleman's mind of a heavy
weight, and he jested gaily with Sir John Slingsby, who vowed that
with those hands of his he would not be able to throw a line for a
fortnight, replied that he would undertake to catch the finest trout
in the whole water before noon the next day.
"And now, my dear Sir," he continued, turning to the clergyman, "as
you seem to know something of this good gentleman, Gimlet, and his
affairs, I wish you'd give me a little insight into his history."
"It is a sad and not uncommon one," answered Dr. Miles, gravely, "and
I will tell it you some other time. My poor parishioners have a
superstitious feeling about that pit, and that cottage, for a man was
murdered there some years ago. You will find multitudes of people who
will vouch for his ghost having been seen sitting on the bank above,
and under a solitary birch-tree."
"It won't sit there any more," answered Ned Hayward, laughing, "for
the birch-tree and I rolled down into the pit together, as I tried to
drop down by its help, thinking it was quite strong enough to support
me."
"Then I am afraid the ghost is gone altogether for the future," said
Dr. Miles, in a tone of some regret.
"Afraid! my dear doctor," exclaimed Miss Slingsby, "surely you do not
want ghosts among your parishioners?"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Sir John Slingsby, with a merry, fat,
overflowing chuckle, "Isabella means, my dear doctor, that you may
make your flock as spiritual as you please, but not reduce them quite
to spectres."
"No, papa, you are a wrong interpreter," rejoined his daughter, "I
meant to say that of all men on earth, I should have thought Dr. Miles
was the last to patronise a ghost."
"I don't know, my dear," replied the worthy clergyman, "a ghost is
sometimes very serviceable in a parish. We are but children of a
bigger growth, and a bugbear is as necessary sometimes for great
babies as small ones, not that I ever used it or should use it; but
the people's own imagination did that for me. I have heard, Sir John,
that some men when they were lying out to shoot your deer, were scared
away by one of them fancying he saw the ghost, and you saved two good
haunches of venison, to say nothing of the pasty."
"By Jove, that was a jolly ghost indeed," answered Sir John Slingsby,
"and I'll give him a crown the first time I meet him. Doctor, a glass
of wine."
"If ghosts have such effects upon poachers," said Beauchamp, who had
been speaking in a low tone to Miss Slingsby, "how happens it that
this man, the father of the boy whom Captain Hayward brought hither,
fixed his abode in the spirit's immediate neighbourhood?"
"Oh he is a sad unbelieving dog," said Dr. Miles; but then suddenly
checking himself he added, "and yet I believe in that I do him
injustice; there is some good in the man, and a great deal of
imagination. Half his faults proceed from an ill-disciplined fancy;
but the truth is, being a very fearless fellow, and of this
imaginative disposition, I believe he would just as soon have a ghost
for a next door neighbour as not. Therefore, I do not suppose that it
was from any doubt of the reality of the apparition, but rather in
defiance of it, that he setup his abode there; and perhaps he thought,
too, that it might serve as a sort of safeguard to him, a protection
against the intrusion of persons less bold than himself, at those
hours when ghosts and he himself are wont to wander. He knew well that
none of the country people would come near him then, for all the
ignorant believe in apparitions more or less."
"Now, dear Dr. Miles, do tell me," cried Isabella Slingsby with a gay
laugh, "whether some of the learned do not believe in them too. If it
were put as a serious question to the Rev. Dr. Miles himself, whether
he had not a little quiet belief at the bottom of his heart in the
appearance of ghosts, what would he answer?"
"That he had never seen one, my dear," replied the clergyman, with a
good-humoured smile, "but at the same time I must say that a belief in
the occasional appearance of the spirits of the dead for particular
purposes, is a part of our religion. I have no idea of a man calling
himself a Christian and taking what parts of the Bible he likes, and
rejecting or explaining away the rest. The fact of the re-appearance
of dead people on this earth is more than once mentioned in Scripture,
and therefore I believe that it has taken place. The purposes for
which it was permitted in all the instances there noticed, were great
and momentous, and it may very possibly be that since the Advent of
Our Saviour, no such deviations from usual laws have been requisite.
Of that, however, I can be no judge; but at all events my own reason
tells me, that it is not probable a spirit should be allowed to
revisit the glimpses of the moon for the purpose of making an old
woman say her prayers, or frightening a village girl into fits."
"You are speaking alone of the apparition of the spirits of the dead,"
said Beauchamp, "did you ever hear of the appearance of the spirits of
the living?"
"Not without their bodies, surely!" said Miss Clifford.
"Oh yes, my dear Mary," answered Dr. Miles, "such things are recorded,
I can assure you, ay, and upon testimony so strong that is impossible
to doubt that the witnesses believed what they related, whether the
apparition was a delusion of their own fancy or not--indeed it is
scarcely possible to suppose that it was a delusion, for in several
instances the thing, whatever it was, made itself visible to several
persons at once, and they all precisely agreed in the description of
it."
"One of the most curious occurrences of the kind that ever I heard
of," said Beauchamp, "was told me by a German gentleman to whom it
happened. It was the case of a man seeing his own spirit, and although
we are continually told we ought to know ourselves, few men have ever
had such an opportunity of doing so as this gentleman."
"Oh do tell us the whole story, Mr. Beauchamp," cried Isabella,
eagerly, "I must beg and entreat that you would not tantalise us with
a mere glimpse of such a delightful vision, and then let fall the
curtain again."
"My dear Bella, you are tantalising him," exclaimed her father. "Don't
you see that you are preventing him from eating his dinner; at all
events, we will have a glass of wine first; shall it be Hermitage, Mr.
Beauchamp? I have some of 1808, the year before that rascal, Napoleon,
mixed all the vintages together."
The wine was drunk, but immediately this was accomplished, Isabella
renewed her attack, calling upon Mr. Beauchamp for the story, and in
her eagerness laying one round taper finger upon his arm as he sat
beside her, to impress more fully her commands upon him, as she said,
"I must and will have the story, Mr. Beauchamp."
"Assuredly," he replied, in his usual quiet tone, "but first of all, I
must premise one or two things, that you may give it all the weight it
deserves. The gentleman who told it to me was, at the time of my
acquaintance with him, a man of about seventy years of age, very
simple in his manners, and, however excitable his fancy might have
been in youth, he was at the time I speak of, as unimaginative a
person as it is possible to conceive. He assured me most solemnly, as
an old man upon the verge of eternity, that every word he spoke was
truth, and now I will tell it as nearly in his own language as I can,
and my memory is a very retentive one. You must remember, however,
that it is he who is speaking, and not I; and fancy us sitting
together, the old man and the young one, warming ourselves by a stove
on a winter's night, in the fine old town of Nuremberg."
BEAUCHAMP'S STORY.
"I am of an Italian family," said my friend, "but my father and my
grandfather were both born in Germany; exceedingly good people in
their way, but by no means very wealthy. My elder brother was being
educated for a physician, and had just finished his course of study,
when my father, having given me as good an education as he could in
Nuremberg, thought fit to send me to Hamburg, that I might pursue my
studies there, and take advantage of any opportunity that might occur
for advancing myself in life. My stock of all kinds was exceedingly
small when I set out; my purse contained the closely-estimated
expenses of my journey, and the allowance made for my maintenance
during six months, which did not admit the slightest idea of luxury of
any kind. I was grateful, however, for what was given, for I knew that
my father could afford no more, and I had no hope of another 'heller'
till my half year was out. I had my ordinary travelling dress, and my
mother gave me six new shirts, which she had spun with her own hands;
besides these, my portmanteau contained one complete black suit, two
pair of shoes, and a pair of silver buckles, which my father took off
his own feet and bestowed them upon me with his benediction. My elder
brother always loved me, and was kind to me; and when my going was
first talked of, he regretted deeply that he had nothing to give me;
but my little preparations occupied a fortnight, and during that time
good luck befriended him and me, and he treated and killed his first
patient. Thus he obtained the means of making me a sumptuous present
for my journey, which consisted of a straight-cut blue mantle, with a
square collar. Let me dwell upon the mantle, for it is important. It
was in the Nuremberg fashion, which had gone out of vogue over all
Germany for at last thirty years, and when I first put it on, I felt
very proud of it, thinking that I looked like one of the cavaliers in
the great picture in the town-hall. However, there was not another
mantle like it in all Germany, except in Nuremberg--sky-blue, falling
three inches below the knee, with a square-cut collar. I will pass
over my journey to Hamburg, till my arrival in a little common inn, in
the old part of the town. Not having a pfennig to spare, I set out
early the next morning to look out for a lodging, and saw several that
would have suited myself very well, but which did not suit my
finances. At length, seeing the wife of a grocer standing at the door,
with a good-humoured countenance, in a narrow and dark street,
containing some large, fine houses, which had seen the splendours of
former times, I walked up to her and asked if she could recommend a
lodging to a young man who was not over rich. After thinking for a
moment, she pointed over the way, to a house with a decorated front,
which had become as black as ink with age. The lower story was
entirely occupied by an iron-warehouse; but she said that up above on
the first floor I should find Widow Gentner, who let one room, and who
had, she believed, no lodger at the time. I thanked her many times for
her civility, and walking across the street to the point she
indicated, I looked up at the cornices and other ornaments which were
displayed upon the facade. Dirty they were beyond all doubt. A pair of
stone ladies with baskets in their hands, which had probably been once
as white as snow, now displayed long dripping lines of black upon
their garments; their noses had disappeared, but the balls of the eyes
were of the deepest brown, though above the centre appeared a white
spot, which seemed to show the presence of cataract. The fruit in the
baskets, however, consisted apparently of black cherries, and a dingy
cornucopia, which stood by the side of each, vomited forth swarthy
fruit and flowers of a very uninviting quality. I gazed in surprise
and admiration, and asked myself if it ever would be my fate to live
in so fine a mansion. Taking courage, however, I inquired at the
ironmonger's which was the door of Widow Gentner, and of the three
which opened into the lower part of the house, I was directed to the
second. On the first floor I found a tidy little maid, who introduced
me to the presence of her mistress, a quiet, dry old lady, who was
seated in a room which had apparently formed part of a magnificent
saloon--I say formed part, for it was evident that the size of the
chamber had been much curtailed. On the ceiling, which was of the most
magnificent stucco work I ever saw, appeared various groups of angels
and cherubs in high relief, as large as life, and seated amidst clouds
and bunches of flowers as big as feather-beds. But that ceiling
betrayed the dismemberment of the room; for all along the side where
ran the wall behind the good lady were seen angels' legs without the
heads and bodies, baskets of flowers cut in two, and cherubs with not
above one-half of the members even, which sculptors have left them.
This was soon explained: the widow informed me that she had divided
her chamber into three, of which she reserved one for herself, another
for her little maid, and let the third, which had a staircase to
itself opening from the street. She had done so with a good wall, she
said, to support the plafond, so that if I wanted to see the room she
had to let, I must go down again with her and mount the other stairs,
as there was no door of communication. I admired her prudence, and
accompanied her at once to a small room, arrived at by a small
staircase with its own street-door; and there I found on the ceiling
above my head the lost legs and wings of the angels on the other side,
besides a very solid pair of cherubims of my own. It contained a
little narrow bed, a table, a scanty proportion of chairs and other
things necessary for the existence of a student; and though an
unpleasant feeling of solitude crept over me as I thought of
inhabiting an apartment so entirely cut off from all human proximity,
yet as the widow's rent was small, I closed the bargain at once, and
soon was installed in my new abode. The good lady was very kind and
attentive, and did all she could to make me comfortable, inquiring,
amongst other things, what letters of introduction I had in Hamburg. I
had but one which I considered of any value, which was addressed,
with many of those flourishes which you know are common amongst us, to
Mr. S., a famous man in his day, both as a philosopher and literary
man, and who was also a man of sense of the world, and what is more
than ali, of a kind and benevolent heart. I went to deliver it that
very day, and met with a most kind and friendly reception from a
good-looking old gentleman, of perhaps sixty-three or four, who at
once made me feel myself at home with him, treating me with that
parental air which inspired both respect and confidence. He asked
several questions about my journey, where I lodged, how I intended to
employ my time, and last, what was the state of my finances. I told
him all exactly as it was, and when I rose to depart, he laid his hand
on my arm with the most benevolent air in the world, saying, 'You will
dine with me to-morrow at twelve o'clock, and I shall expect to see
you at dinner three days in the week as long as you stay. From eight
to ten at night I am always at home, and whenever you have nothing
else to do, come in and spend those hours with us.' I will not pretend
to say I was not quite well aware that the place thus granted me at
his dinner-table was offered from a knowledge of the limited state of
my finances; but pride in my case was out of the question, and I was
exceedingly grateful for the act of kindness, which saved me a
considerable sum in my housekeeping, and enabled me to indulge in a
few little luxuries which I could not otherwise have commanded.
"It was the autumn of the year when I arrived at Hamburg, but the time
passed very pleasantly. All the day I was engaged in my studies; at
twelve o'clock I dined, either at my own chamber or at worthy Mr.
S.'s, and almost every evening was spent at his house, where he failed
not to regale me, either with a cup of fine coffee, or sometimes as a
great treat, with a cup of tea, according to your English mode. In
short, I became his nightly guest, and as the evenings grew dark and
sometimes foggy, I bought a little lantern to light myself through the
long and lonely streets which I had to pass from his house to my own.
On these occasions, too, as the weather grew intensely cold, my blue
cloak with the square collar proved a most serviceable friend, and
every night at ten o'clock I might be seen in precisely the same
attire, with my black suit, in great part covered by the azure mantle,
and the small lantern in my hand, finding my way homeward to my
solitary abode. Mr. S. lived in the fine new part of the town, where
he had a handsome house, with two maid-servants and his coachman, but
the latter slept at the stables. I lived, as I have before said, in
the old part of the town, well-nigh a mile distant; thus, in coming
and going, I got exercise at night, if I did not in the day, and I
mark it particularly, that I used to enjoy my walk to his house and
back, and used to look forward to it with pleasure during my hours of
study, in order that you may see, that on the occasion of which I am
about to speak, I was affected by no fantastical melancholy.
"At length, one night in the winter of 17--, after passing the evening
at the house of Mr. S., where I had taken nothing but a cup of coffee
and a slice of brown bread-and-butter, I took leave of my friend, put
on my blue mantle with a square collar, lighted my lantern at the
housemaid's candle, and having safely shut the glass, set out on my
walk home. It was about a quarter-past ten, and the night was clear
and very dark; the sky, indeed, was full of stars, which looked
peculiarly bright as I gazed up at them, between the tall houses, as
if from the bottom of a well, and I felt a sort of exhilarating
freshness in the air that raised my spirits rather than otherwise. I
walked along to the end of the first street with a light step, turned
into the second, and was just entering the third, when I saw a figure
some thirty or forty paces before me, standing in a corner as if
waiting for some one. Although the streets, in the good old days of
Hamburg, were generally by that time of night quite deserted, yet
there was nothing extraordinary in my meeting one or two persons as I
went home, so that I took little or no notice of this figure, till I
had advanced to within about twenty paces, when it turned itself full
towards me, and at the same time the light of my lantern fell direct
upon it. Guess my surprise when I saw a being, so exactly like myself,
that I could have imagined I was looking in a glass. There were the
black legs, the shoes and silver buckles, the blue mantle with the
square-cut collar, and the little lantern with the handle at the back,
held just as I held mine. I stopped suddenly, and rubbed my eyes with
my left hand; but the figure immediately turned round and walked away
before me. At the same time my heart beat violently, and a sort of
strange dreamy sensation of horror came over me, like that which takes
possession of one sometimes when labouring under the nightmare. An
instant's reflection made me ashamed of what I felt, and saying to
myself, 'I'll look a little closer at this gentleman,' I walked on,
hurrying my pace. The figure, however, quickened its steps in the same
proportion. I did not like to run, but I was always a quick walker,
and I hastened as fast as ever I could; but it had no effect; the
figure, without the least apparent effort, kept always at the same
distance, and every moment I felt the sort of superstitious dread
which had taken possession of me increasing, and struggling against
the efforts of resolution. Resolution conquered, however, and
determined to see who this was that was so like me, without showing
him too plainly that I was chasing him, I stopped at a corner where a
street wound round, and entered again the one that I was pursuing at
some distance, and then taking to my heels, I ran as hard as I could
to get before my friend in the blue mantle. When I entered the other
street again, though I must have gained two or three minutes at least,
instead of seeing the figure coming from the side where I had left it,
there it was, walking on deliberately in the direction I usually
followed towards my own house. We were now within three streets of
Widow Gentner's, and though they were all of them narrow enough, I
generally took those which were most open. There was a lane, however,
to the left, which, passing by the grocer's I have mentioned, cut off
at least a quarter of the way, and as I was now overpowered by
feelings I cannot describe, I resolved to take the shortest path, and
run as hard as I could, in order to get home, and shut myself in
before the figure in the blue mantle reached the spot. Off I set then
down the narrow lane like lightning, but when I came to the grocer's
corner, my horror was complete, on beholding the same figure walking
along past the closed windows of the iron-shop, and I stopped with my
heart beating as if it would have burst through my ribs. With eyes
almost starting from my head, and the light of the lantern turned
full upon it, I gazed at its proceedings, when behold, it walked
quietly up to my door, stopped, turned round towards the house, put
the right-hand in its pocket, and seemed feeling for my key. The key
was produced, and stooping down, just as I should have done, after a
little searching for the keyhole, the door was opened, the figure went
in, and instantly the door closed again.
"If you had given me the empire of a world, I could not have made up
my mind to go in after it, and setting off more like a madman than any
thing else, I returned to the house of Mr. S., with the intention of
telling him what had occurred. The bell was answered quickly enough by
the housemaid, who gazed at my wild and scared appearance with some
surprise. She told me, however, that the old gentleman had gone to
bed, and that she could not think of waking him on any account; and
resolved not to go home, and yet not liking to walk the streets of
Hamburg all night, I persuaded her with some difficulty to let me sit
in the saloon till I could speak with Mr. S. in the morning. I will
not detain you by describing how I passed the night; but when my
friend came down the next day, I related to him all that occurred,
with many excuses for the liberty I had taken. He listened gravely,
and his first question naturally was, if I were quite sure I had gone
straight homeward, without entering any of those places where strong
drinks were sold. I assured him most solemnly that the only thing that
had entered my lips that night was the cup of coffee which I had taken
at his house.
"'The maid can tell you,' I said, 'that I had not been absent more
than three quarters of an hour when I returned.'
"'Well, my young friend,' he replied, 'I believe you fully; very
strange things occasionally happen to us in life, and this seems one.
However, we will have some breakfast, and then go and inquire into
it.'
"After breakfast we set out and walked to my house, I pointing out by
the way, all the different spots connected with my tale. When we
reached the gloomy old mansion, with its decorated front, I was going
direct to my own door, but Mr. S. said, 'Stay, we will first talk to
your landlady for a minute.' And we accordingly walked up to the rooms
of Widow Gentner by the other door and the other staircase. The widow
was very proud of the visit of so distinguished a person in the town
as Mr. S., and answered his questions with due respect. The first was
a very common one in that part of Germany, namely, whether she had
slept well that night. She assured him she had, perfectly well; and he
then proceeded with a somewhat impressive air, to inquire if nothing
had occurred to disturb her. She then suddenly seemed to recollect
herself, and answered, 'Now you mention it, I recollect I was awoke
about eleven o'clock, I think, by a noise on the other side of the
wall; but thinking that Mr. Z. had thrown over his table, or something
of that kind, I turned on the other side, and went to sleep again.'
"No further information being to be obtained, we descended to the
street, and taking out my keys, I opened the door, and we went in. My
heart beat a little as we mounted the stairs, but resolving not to
show any want of courage, I boldly unlocked the room-door and threw it
open. The sight that presented itself made me pause on the threshold,
for there on my bed, where I should have been lying at the very moment
of its fall, was the whole ceiling of that part of the room, angels'
legs, and cherubims' wings, flower-baskets, and every thing, and so
great was the weight and the force with which it had come down, that
it had broken the solid bedstead underneath it. As I do not suppose my
head is formed of much more strong materials, it is probable that it
would have been cracked as well as the bed, and I heartily thank God
for my preservation. All my good old friend ventured to say, however,
was, 'A most fortunate escape! Had you slept here last night, you
would have been killed to a certainty.' Though a doctor of philosophy,
he did not risk any speculations upon the strange apparition which I
had beheld the night before; but invited me to take up my abode in his
house till my room could be put in order, never afterwards mentioning
the appearance of my double; and I have only to add that from that
time to this, now between fifty and sixty years, I have never seen
myself again except in a looking-glass."
"Such," continued Beauchamp, "is the story of my German friend,
exactly as he told it to me. I must leave you to judge of it as you
will, for unless you could see the old man, and know his perfect
simplicity of character, and quiet matter-of-fact temper of mind, you
could not take the same view of his history that I do."
"In short, Mr. Beauchamp, you are a believer in ghosts," said Sir John
Slingsby, laughing; "well, for my part, I never saw any better spirit
than a bottle of brandy, and hope never to see a worse."
"Take care you don't find yourself mistaken, Sir John," answered Dr.
Miles, "for although it is rather difficult to meet with good spirits,
the bad ones are much more easily conjured up."
"I am not afraid, doctor," answered Sir John, "and mind, I've only had
three or four glasses of wine, so mine is not Dutch courage now; but
let us talk of something else than ghosts and such things, or we shall
all have the blue devils before we've done--a capital story,
nevertheless, Beauchamp; but this is a good story too, doctor, about
my sister being stopped on the king's highway. Has she told you about
it?"
Dr. Miles merely nodded his head, and Sir John went on,
"I can't make out the game of that old rascal Wittingham, who
seems devilish unwilling to catch the thieves, and had taken himself
out of the way when Ned Hayward and I called this morning. The old
linen-drapering scamp shall find that he can't treat Jack Slingsby in
this way."
"Indeed, my dear brother, I wish you would let the matter rest," said
Mrs. Clifford; "no harm was done, except frightening me very
foolishly, and to pursue it further may, perhaps, lead to disagreeable
consequences. The letter written beforehand, to bring me over by a
report of your illness, shows that this was no ordinary affair."
"A fig for the consequences," cried Sir John Slingsby, "if it were to
set half the town on fire, I would go on with it. Why, my dear
Harriet, am not I a magistrate, one of his majesty's justices of the
peace for the county of ----? Such a conscientious woman as you are,
would never have me neglect my solemn duties." And Sir John chuckled
with a low merry laugh, at the new view he chose to take of his
responsibilities.
In such conversation the evening went on to its close, the subjects
changing rapidly, for the worthy baronet was not one to adhere
tenaciously to any particular line of thought, and Mrs. Clifford,
but more particularly still her daughter, being anxious to quit the
topic just started as soon as possible. Miss Clifford, indeed, seemed
so much agitated and embarrassed, whilst the adventures of the
preceding night were under discussion, that Ned Hayward, who was the
kindest-hearted man alive, and not without tact, especially where
women were concerned, came zealously to her relief, and engaged her in
low and earnest conversation.
It was one of those cases in which two people without well knowing
what they are about, go on puzzling each other, though both may be as
frank as day. They talked of every simple subject which all the world
might have heard discussed--music, painting, poetry; but yet the whole
was carried on in so low a tone that to any one who did not know them
it would have appeared that they were making love. Miss Clifford was
puzzled, perplexed, to make out her companion's character, for she
certainly expected nothing from a man familiarly called Ned Hayward,
and more especially from a particular friend of her uncle's, but a
gay, rattling, good-humoured scapegrace at the best; yet in order to
gain her full attention, and withdraw her thoughts from a subject
which he saw annoyed her, Captain Hayward put off for the time his
usual careless, rapid manner, and spoke with so much feeling and good
taste, and what is more, good sense also, upon all the many topics
upon which their conversation ran--he showed her that he had read so
much, and thought so much, and felt so much, that she became convinced
before he had done, of the complete fallacy of all her preconceived
notions of his disposition. Such a change of opinion is always very
favourable to a man with a woman; for they are such generous
creatures, those women, that if they find they have done one
injustice, they are sure to go to the opposite extreme, and give us
credit for more than is our due.
Ned Hayward's puzzle was of a different kind, but it proceeded from
the same source, namely, an erroneous preconception. He saw that Mary
Clifford was embarrassed, whenever the subject of the attack upon
their carriage was mentioned, that she changed colour, not from red to
white as would have been the case, had terror had aught to do with it,
but from white to red, which is generally a change produced by other
emotions. He therefore set it down as a certain fact, that the fair
lady's heart was a little engaged in the transaction; and yet, as they
went on talking in that same low voice, she twice returned to the
subject herself, not without some degree of embarrassment it is true,
but still as if she wished to say more, and Ned Hayward thought with
some degree of pique, "Well, my pretty friend, I am not quite old
enough to be made a confidant of yet."
At length, just as the dessert was being put upon the table, tiresome
Sir John Slingsby harped back upon the subject, asking Mr. Beauchamp
if he thought he could swear to any of the persons concerned; and
taking advantage of a quick and somewhat loud conversation which went
on between those two gentlemen and Dr. Miles, Miss Clifford suddenly
broke through what she was talking of with her companion on the right,
and said earnestly, but still almost in a whisper, "Captain Hayward,
you rendered me a very great service last night, for which I shall
ever feel grateful, and it will add immensely to the favour, if you
can prevent my uncle from pursuing the matter in the manner he seems
inclined to do. Particular circumstances, which I may some time have
an opportunity of explaining, would render it most painful to me to
have the scandalous outrage which was committed upon us last night
dragged into a court of justice; indeed, I think it would half kill
me, especially if I had to give evidence, as I suppose would be the
case."
"I will do my best," answered Ned Hayward, "but you must not be angry
or surprised, at any means I may take for that purpose. I could act
better, indeed, if I knew the circumstances."
"All I can say at present," answered the young lady, in a low tone,
"is, that this was not a case of robbery, as you all seem to suppose."
The colour mounted into her cheek as she spoke, and she added quickly,
"I cannot reproach myself with any thing in the affair, Captain
Hayward, although I have scrutinised my own conscience severely; but
yet at the same time, even to have my name talked of in connexion with
such a proceeding, and with such--such a person, would distress me
more than I can describe. I will say more another time."
"In the meanwhile, I will do my best," replied the other, and even
while he was speaking, the roll of wheels was heard driving up to the
door, and a minute or two after, one of the servants entered,
announcing that Mr. Wittingham was in the library.
"Let him stay, let him stay," said Sir John Slingsby, "he'll have an
opportunity there of improving his mind. What, what do you say?" he
continued, as the man whispered something over his shoulder, "we've
neither secrets of state nor high treason here,--speak out."
"Please you, Sir John, two of Mr. Wittingham's men have brought up
Stephen Gimlet, whom they call Wolf, with irons upon him. I have kept
him in the hall."
"Hang it!" cried Ned Hayward, "my little boy's father. I hope he has
not been doing any serious mischief!"
"I don't think it, I don't think it," said Dr. Miles, eagerly, "the
man has a heart and a conscience, a little warped, it is true; but
still sound--sound, I think--I will go and speak to him."
"Hang him, he steals my pheasants!" exclaimed Sir John Slingsby.
"Then why don't you put him to keep them, colonel?" asked Ned Hayward.
"He would make a capital keeper, I am sure. Set a thief to catch a
thief, Sir John."
"Not a bad idea, Ned," answered the baronet. "Stay, stay, doctor, he's
not condemned yet, and so does not want the parson. We had better talk
to old Wittingham first. We'll have him in and fuddle him. Give my
compliments to Mr. Wittingham, Matthews, and beg him to walk in. You
need not go, Harriet. He's quite a lady's man."
But Mrs. Clifford rose, not at all anxious to witness the process of
fuddling a magistrate, and withdrew with her daughter and her niece.