On the Course--Beeswing, Falcon, and Lightning
As he rode towards Golden Friars, through which his route lay, in the
early morning light, in which the mists of night were clearing, he
looked back towards Mardykes with a hope of speedy deliverance from that
hated imprisonment, and of a return to the continental life in which he
took delight. He saw the summits and angles of the old building touched
with the cheerful beams, and the grand old trees, and at the opposite
side the fells dark, with their backs towards the east; and down the
side of the wooded and precipitous clough of Feltram, the light, with a
pleasant contrast against the beetling purple of the fells, was breaking
in the faint distance. On the lake he saw the white speck that indicated
the sail of Philip Feltram's boat, now midway between Mardykes and the
wooded shores of Cloostedd.
"Going on the same errand," thought Sir Bale, "I should not wonder. I
wish him the same luck. Yes, he's going to Cloostedd Forest. I hope he
may meet his gipsies there--the Trebecks, or whoever they are."
And as a momentary sense of degradation in being thus beholden to such
people smote him, "Well," thought he, "who knows? Many a fellow will
make a handsome sum of a poorer purse than this at Heckleston. It will
be a light matter paying them then."
Through Golden Friars he rode. Some of the spectators who did not like
him, wondered audibly at the gallant show, hoped it was paid for, and
conjectured that he had ridden out in search of a wife. On the whole,
however, the appearance of their Baronet in a smarter style than usual
was popular, and accepted as a change to the advantage of the town.
Next morning he was on the race-course of Heckleston, renewing old
acquaintance and making himself as agreeable as he could--an object,
among some people, of curiosity and even interest. Leaving the
carriage-sides, the hoods and bonnets, Sir Bale was soon among the
betting men, deep in more serious business.
How did he make his book? He did not break his word. He backed Beeswing,
Falcon, and Lightning. But it must be owned not for a shilling more than
the five guineas each, to which he stood pledged. The odds were
forty-five to one against Beeswing, sixty to one against Lightning, and
fifty to one against Falcon.
"A pretty lot to choose!" exclaimed Sir Bale, with vexation. "As if I
had money so often, that I should throw it away!"
The Baronet was testy thinking over all this, and looked on Feltram's
message as an impertinence and the money as his own.
Let us now see how Sir Bale Mardykes' pocket fared.
Sulkily enough at the close of the week he turned his back on Heckleston
racecourse, and took the road to Golden Friars.
He was in a rage with his luck, and by no means satisfied with himself;
and yet he had won something. The result of the racing had been curious.
In the three principal races the favourites had been beaten: one by an
accident, another on a technical point, and the third by fair running.
And what horses had won? The names were precisely those which the
"fortune-teller" had predicted.
Well, then, how was Sir Bale in pocket as he rode up to his ancestral
house of Mardykes, where a few thousand pounds would have been very
welcome? He had won exactly 775 guineas; and had he staked a hundred
instead of five on each of the names communicated by Feltram, he would
have won 15,500 guineas.
He dismounted before his hall-door, therefore, with the discontent of a
man who had lost nearly 15,000 pounds. Feltram was upon the steps, and
laughed dryly.
"What do you laugh at?" asked Sir Bale tartly.
"You've won, haven't you?"
"Yes, I've won; I've won a trifle."
"On the horses I named?"
"Well, yes; it so turned out, by the merest accident."
Feltram laughed again dryly, and turned away.
Sir Bale entered Mardykes Hall, and was surly. He was in a much worse
mood than before he had ridden to Heckleston. But after a week or so
ruminating upon the occurrence, he wondered that Feltram spoke no more
of it. It was undoubtedly wonderful. There had been no hint of repayment
yet, and he had made some hundreds by the loan; and, contrary to all
likelihood, the three horses named by the unknown soothsayer had won.
Who was this gipsy? It would be worth bringing the soothsayer to
Mardykes, and giving his people a camp on the warren, and all the
poultry they could catch, and a pig or a sheep every now and then. Why,
that seer was worth the philosopher's stone, and could make Sir Bale's
fortune in a season. Some one else would be sure to pick him up if he
did not.
So, tired of waiting for Feltram to begin, he opened the subject one day
himself. He had not seen him for two or three days; and in the wood of
Mardykes he saw his lank figure standing among the thick trees, upon a
little knoll, leaning on a staff which he sometimes carried with him in
his excursions up the mountains.
"Feltram!" shouted Sir Bale.
Feltram turned and beckoned. Sir Bale muttered, but obeyed the signal.
"I brought you here, because you can from this point with unusual
clearness today see the opening of the Clough of Feltram at the other
side, and the clump of trees, where you will find the way to reach the
person about whom you are always thinking."
"Who said I am always thinking about him?" said the Baronet angrily; for
he felt like a man detected in a weakness, and resented it.
"_I_ say it, because I _know_ it; and _you_ know it also. See that clump
of trees standing solitary in the hollow? Among them, to the left, grows
an ancient oak. Cut in its bark are two enormous letters H--F; so large
and bold, that the rugged furrows of the oak bark fail to obscure them,
although they are ancient and spread by time. Standing against the trunk
of this great tree, with your back to these letters, you are looking up
the Glen or Clough of Feltram, that opens northward, where stands
Cloostedd Forest spreading far and thick. Now, how do you find our
fortune-teller?"
"That is exactly what I wish to know," answered Sir Bale; "because,
although I can't, of course, believe that he's a witch, yet he has
either made the most marvellous fluke I've heard of, or else he has got
extraordinary sources of information; or perhaps he acts partly on
chance, partly on facts. Be it which you please, I say he's a marvellous
fellow; and I should like to see him, and have a talk with him; and
perhaps he could arrange with me. I should be very glad to make an
arrangement with him to give me the benefit of his advice about any
matter of the same kind again."
"I think he's willing to see you; but he's a fellow with a queer fancy
and a pig-head. He'll not come here; you must go to him; and approach
him his own way too, or you may fail to find him. On these terms he
invites you."
Sir Bale laughed.
"He knows his value, and means to make his own terms."
"Well, there's nothing unfair in that; and I don't see that I should
dispute it. How is one to find him?"
"Stand, as I told you, with your back to those letters cut in the oak.
Right before you lies an old Druidic altar-stone. Cast your eye over its
surface, and on some part of it you are sure to see a black stain about
the size of a man's head. Standing, as I suppose you, against the oak,
that stain, which changes its place from day to day, will give you the
line you must follow through the forest in order to light upon him. Take
carefully from it such trees or objects as will guide you; and when the
forest thickens, do the best you can to keep to the same line. You are
sure to find him."
"You'll come, Feltram. I should lose myself in that wilderness, and
probably fail to discover him," said Sir Bale; "and I really wish to see
him."
"When two people wish to meet, it is hard if they don't. I can go with
you a bit of the way; I can walk a little through the forest by your
side, until I see the small flower that grows peeping here and there,
that always springs where those people walk; and when I begin to see
that sign, I must leave you. And, first, I'll take you across the lake."
"By Jove, you'll do no such thing!" said Sir Bale hastily.
"But that is the way he chooses to be approached," said Philip Feltram.
"I have a sort of feeling about that lake; it's the one childish spot
that is left in my imagination. The nursery is to blame for it--old
stories and warnings; and I can't think of that. I should feel I had
invoked an evil omen if I did. I know it is all nonsense; but we are
queer creatures, Feltram. I must only ride there."
"Why, it is five-and-twenty miles round the lake to that; and after all
were done, he would not see you. He knows what he's worth, and he'll
have his own way," answered Feltram. "The sun will soon set. See that
withered branch, near Snakes Island, that looks like fingers rising from
the water? When its points grow tipped with red, the sun has but three
minutes to live."
"That is a wonder which I can't see; it is too far away."
"Yes, the lake has many signs; but it needs sight to see them," said
Feltram.
"So it does," said the Baronet; "more than most men have got. I'll ride
round, I say; and I make my visit, for this time, my own way."
"You'll not find him, then; and he wants his money. It would be a pity
to vex him."
"It was to you he lent the money," said Sir Bale.
"Yes."
"Well, you are the proper person to find him out and pay him," urged Sir
Bale.
"Perhaps so; but he invites you; and if you don't go, he may be
offended, and you may hear no more from him."
"We'll try. When can you go? There are races to come off next week, for
once and away, at Langton. I should not mind trying my luck there. What
do you say?
"You can go there and pay him, and ask the same question--what horses, I
mean, are to win. All the county are to be there; and plenty of money
will change hands."
"I'll try," said Feltram.
"When will you go?"
"To-morrow," he answered.
"I have an odd idea, Feltram, that you are really going to pay off those
cursed mortgages."
He laid his hand with at least a gesture of kindness on the thin arm of
Feltram, who coldly answered,
"So have I;" and walked down the side of the little knoll and away,
without another word or look.