The Haunted Forest
Sir Bale Mardykes walked in a straight line, by bush and scaur, over the
undulating ground, to the blighted ash-tree; and as he approached it,
its withered bough stretched more gigantically into the air, and the
forest seemed to open where it pointed.
He passed it by, and in a few minutes had lost sight of it again, and
was striding onward under the shadow of the forest, which already
enclosed him. He was directing his march with all the care he could, in
exactly that line which, according to Feltram's rule, had been laid down
for him. Now and then, having, as soldiers say, taken an object, and
fixed it well in his memory, he would pause and look about him.
As a boy he had never entered the wood so far; for he was under a
prohibition, lest he should lose himself in its intricacies, and be
benighted there. He had often heard that it was haunted ground, and that
too would, when a boy, have deterred him. It was on this account that
the scene was so new to him, and that he cared so often to stop and look
about him. Here and there a vista opened, exhibiting the same utter
desertion, and opening farther perspectives through the tall stems of
the trees faintly visible in the solemn shadow. No flowers could he see,
but once or twice a wood anemone, and now and then a tiny grove of
wood-sorrel.
Huge oak-trees now began to mingle and show themselves more and more
frequently among the other timber; and gradually the forest became a
great oak wood unintruded upon by any less noble tree. Vast trunks
curving outwards to the roots, and expanding again at the branches,
stood like enormous columns, striking out their groining boughs, with
the dark vaulting of a crypt.
As he walked under the shadow of these noble trees, suddenly his eye was
struck by a strange little flower, nodding quite alone by the knotted
root of one of those huge oaks.
He stooped and picked it up, and as he plucked it, with a harsh scream
just over his head, a large bird with heavy beating wings broke away
from the midst of the branches. He could not see it, but he fancied the
scream was like that of the huge mackaw whose ill-poised flight he had
watched. This conjecture was but founded on the odd cry he had heard.
The flower was a curious one--a stem fine as a hair supported a little
bell, that looked like a drop of blood, and never ceased trembling. He
walked on, holding this in his fingers; and soon he saw another of the
same odd type, then another at a shorter distance, then one a little to
the right and another to the left, and farther on a little group, and at
last the dark slope was all over trembling with these little bells,
thicker and thicker as he descended a gentle declivity to the bank of
the little brook, which flowing through the forest loses itself in the
lake. The low murmur of this forest stream was almost the first sound,
except the shriek of the bird that startled him a little time ago, which
had disturbed the profound silence of the wood since he entered it.
Mingling with the faint sound of the brook, he now heard a harsh human
voice calling words at intervals, the purport of which he could not yet
catch; and walking on, he saw seated upon the grass, a strange figure,
corpulent, with a great hanging nose, the whole face glowing like
copper. He was dressed in a bottle-green cut-velvet coat, of the style
of Queen Anne's reign, with a dusky crimson waistcoat, both overlaid
with broad and tarnished gold lace, and his silk stockings on thick
swollen legs, with great buckled shoes, straddling on the grass, were
rolled up over his knees to his short breeches. This ill-favoured old
fellow, with a powdered wig that came down to his shoulders, had a
dice-box in each hand, and was apparently playing his left against his
right, and calling the throws with a hoarse cawing voice.
Raising his black piggish eyes, he roared to Sir Bale, by name, to come
and sit down, raising one of his dice-boxes, and then indicating a place
on the grass opposite to him.
Now Sir Bale instantly guessed that this was the man, gipsy, warlock,
call him what he might, of whom he had come in search. With a strange
feeling of curiosity, disgust, and awe, he drew near. He was resolved to
do whatever this old man required of him, and to keep him, this time, in
good humour.
Sir Bale did as he bid him, and sat down; and taking the box he
presented, they began throwing turn about, with three dice, the
copper-faced old man teaching him the value of the throws, as he
proceeded, with many a curse and oath; and when he did not like a throw,
grinning with a look of such real fury, that the master of Mardykes
almost expected him to whip out his sword and prick him through as he
sat before him.
After some time spent at this play, in which guineas passed now this
way, now that, chucked across the intervening patch of grass, or rather
moss, that served them for a green cloth, the old man roared over his
shoulder,
"Drink;" and picking up a longstemmed conical glass which Sir Bale had
not observed before, he handed it over to the Baronet; and taking
another in his fingers, he held it up, while a very tall slim old man,
dressed in a white livery, with powdered hair and cadaverous face, which
seemed to run out nearly all into a long thin hooked nose, advanced with
a flask in each hand. Looking at the unwieldly old man, with his heavy
nose, powdered head, and all the bottle-green, crimson, and gold about
him, and the long slim serving man, with sharp beak, and white from head
to heel, standing by him, Sir Bale was forcibly reminded of the great
old macaw and the long and slender kite, whose colours they, after their
fashion, reproduced, with something, also indescribable, of the air and
character of the birds. Not standing on ceremony, the old fellow held up
his own glass first, which the white lackey filled from the flask, and
then he filled Sir Bale's glass.
It was a large glass, and might have held about half a pint; and the
liquor with which the servant filled it was something of the colour of
an opal, and circles of purple and gold seemed to be spreading
continually outward from the centre, and running inward from the rim,
and crossing one another, so as to form a beautiful rippling net-work.
"I drink to your better luck next time," said the old man, lifting his
glass high, and winking with one eye, and leering knowingly with the
other; "and you know what I mean."
Sir Bale put the liquor to his lips. Wine? Whatever it was, never had he
tasted so delicious a flavour. He drained it to the bottom, and placing
it on the grass beside him, and looking again at the old dicer, who was
also setting down his glass, he saw, for the first time, the graceful
figure of a young woman seated on the grass. She was dressed in deep
mourning, had a black hood carelessly over her head, and, strangely,
wore a black mask, such as are used at masquerades. So much of her
throat and chin as he could see were beautifully white; and there was a
prettiness in her air and figure which made him think what a beautiful
creature she in all likelihood was. She was reclining slightly against
the burly man in bottle-green and gold, and her arm was round his neck,
and her slender white hand showed itself over his shoulder.
"Ho! my little Geaiette," cried the old fellow hoarsely; "it will be
time that you and I should get home.--So, Bale Mardykes, I have nothing
to object to you this time; you've crossed the lake, and you've played
with me and won and lost, and drank your glass like a jolly companion,
and now we know one another; and an acquaintance is made that will last.
I'll let you go, and you'll come when I call for you. And now you'll
want to know what horse will win next month at Rindermere
races.--Whisper me, lass, and I'll tell him."
So her lips, under the black curtain, crept close to his ear, and she
whispered.
"Ay, so it will;" roared the old man, gnashing his teeth; "it will be
Rainbow, and now make your best speed out of the forest, or I'll set my
black dogs after you, ho, ho, ho! and they may chance to pull you down.
Away!"
He cried this last order with a glare so black, and so savage a shake of
his huge fist, that Sir Bale, merely making his general bow to the
group, clapped his hat on his head, and hastily began his retreat; but
the same discordant voice yelled after him:
"You'll want that, you fool; pick it up." And there came hurtling after
and beside him a great leather bag, stained, and stuffed with a heavy
burden, and bounding by him it stopped with a little wheel that brought
it exactly before his feet.
He picked it up, and found it heavy.
Turning about to make his acknowledgments, he saw the two persons in
full retreat; the profane old scoundrel in the bottle-green limping and
stumbling, yet bowling along at a wonderful rate, with many a jerk and
reel, and the slender lady in black gliding away by his side into the
inner depths of the forest.
So Sir Bale, with a strange chill, and again in utter solitude, pursued
his retreat, with his burden, at a swifter pace, and after an hour or
so, had recovered the point where he had entered the forest, and passing
by the druidic stone and the mighty oak, saw down the glen at his right,
standing by the edge of the lake, Philip Feltram, close to the bow of
the boat.