Rindermere
Feltram looked grim and agitated when Sir Bale came up to him, as he
stood on the flat-stone by which the boat was moored.
"You found him?" said he.
"Yes."
"The lady in black was there?"
"She was."
"And you played with him?"
"Yes."
"And what is that in your hand?"
"A bag of something, I fancy money; it is heavy; he threw it after me.
We shall see just now; let us get away."
"He gave you some of his wine to drink?" said Feltram, looking darkly in
his face; but there was a laugh in his eyes.
"Yes; of course I drank it; my object was to please him."
"To be sure."
The faint wind that carried them across the lake had quite subsided by
the time they had reached the side where they now were.
There was now not wind enough to fill the sail, and it was already
evening.
"Give me an oar; we can pull her over in little more than an hour," said
Sir Bale; "only let us get away."
He got into the boat, sat down, and placed the leather bag with its
heavy freightage at his feet, and took an oar. Feltram loosed the rope
and shoved the boat off; and taking his seat also, they began to pull
together, without another word, until, in about ten minutes, they had
got a considerable way off the Cloostedd shore.
The leather bag was too clumsy a burden to conceal; besides, Feltram
knew all about the transaction, and Sir Bale had no need to make a
secret. The bag was old and soiled, and tied about the "neck" with a
long leather thong, and it seemed to have been sealed with red wax,
fragments of which were still sticking to it.
He got it open, and found it full of guineas.
"Halt!" cried Sir Bale, delighted, for he had half apprehended a trick
upon his hopes; "gold it is, and a lot of it, by Jove!"
Feltram did not seem to take the slightest interest in the matter.
Sulkily and drowsily he was leaning with his elbow on his knee, and it
seemed thinking of something far away. Sir Bale could not wait to count
them any longer. He reckoned them on the bench, and found two thousand.
It took some time; and when he had got them back into the leather bag,
and tied them up again, Feltram, with a sudden start, said sharply,
"Come, take your oar--unless you like the lake by night; and see, a wind
will soon be up from Golden Friars!"
He cast a wild look towards Mardykes Hall and Snakes Island, and
applying himself to his oar, told Sir Bale to take his also; and nothing
loath, the Baronet did so.
It was slow work, for the boat was not built for speed; and by the time
they had got about midway, the sun went down, and twilight and the
melancholy flush of the sunset tints were upon the lake and fells.
"Ho! here comes the breeze--up from Golden Friars," said Feltram; "we
shall have enough to fill the sails now. If you don't fear spirits and
Snakes Island, it is all the better for us it should blow from that
point. If it blew from Mardykes now, it would be a stiff pull for you
and me to get this tub home."
Talking as if to himself, and laughing low, he adjusted the sail and
took the tiller, and so, yielding to the rising breeze, the boat glided
slowly toward still distant Mardykes Hall.
The moon came out, and the shore grew misty, and the towering fells rose
like sheeted giants; and leaning on the gunwale of the boat, Sir Bale,
with the rush and gurgle of the water on the boat's side sounding
faintly in his ear, thought of his day's adventure, which seemed to him
like a dream--incredible but for the heavy bag that lay between his
feet.
As they passed Snakes Island, a little mist, like a fragment of a fog,
seemed to drift with them, and Sir Bale fancied that whenever it came
near the boat's side she made a dip, as if strained toward the water;
and Feltram always put out his hand, as if waving it from him, and the
mist seemed to obey the gesture; but returned again and again, and the
same thing always happened.
It was three weeks after, that Sir Bale, sitting up in his bed, very
pale and wan, with his silk night-cap nodding on one side, and his thin
hand extended on the coverlet, where the doctor had been feeling his
pulse, in his darkened room, related all the wonders of this day to
Doctor Torvey. The doctor had attended him through a fever which
followed immediately upon his visit to Cloostedd.
"And, my dear sir, by Jupiter, can you really believe all that delirium
to be sober fact?" said the doctor, sitting by the bedside, and actually
laughing.
"I can't help believing it, because I can't distinguish in any way
between all that and everything else that actually happened, and which I
must believe. And, except that this is more wonderful, I can find no
reason to reject it, that does not as well apply to all the rest."
"Come, come, my dear sir, this will never do--nothing is more common.
These illusions accompanying fever frequently antedate the attack, and
the man is actually raving before he knows he is ill."
"But what do you make of that bag of gold?"
"Some one has lent it. You had better ask all about it of Feltram when
you can see him; for in speaking to me he seemed to know all about it,
and certainly did not seem to think the matter at all out of the
commonplace. It is just like that fisherman's story, about the hand that
drew Feltram into the water on the night that he was nearly drowned.
Every one can see what that was. Why of course it was simply the
reflection of his own hand in the water, in that vivid lightning. When
you have been out a little and have gained strength you will shake off
these dreams."
"I should not wonder," said Sir Bale.
It is not to be supposed that Sir Bale reported all that was in his
memory respecting his strange vision, if such it was, at Cloostedd. He
made a selection of the incidents, and threw over the whole adventure an
entirely accidental character, and described the money which the old man
had thrown to him as amounting to a purse of five guineas, and mentioned
nothing of the passages which bore on the coming race.
Good Doctor Torvey, therefore, reported only that Sir Bale's delirium
had left two or three illusions sticking in his memory.
But if they were illusions, they survived the event of his recovery, and
remained impressed on his memory with the sharpness of very recent and
accurately observed fact.
He was resolved on going to the races of Rindermere, where, having in
his possession so weighty a guarantee as the leather purse, he was
determined to stake it all boldly on Rainbow--against which horse he was
glad to hear there were very heavy odds.
The race came off. One horse was scratched, another bolted, the rider of
a third turned out to have lost a buckle and three half-pence and so was
an ounce and a half under weight, a fourth knocked down the post near
Rinderness churchyard, and was held to have done it with his left
instead of his right knee, and so had run at the wrong side. The result
was that Rainbow came in first, and I should be afraid to say how much
Sir Bale won. It was a sum that paid off a heavy debt, and left his
affairs in a much more manageable state.
From this time Sir Bale prospered. He visited Cloostedd no more; but
Feltram often crossed to that lonely shore as heretofore, and it is
believed conveyed to him messages which guided his betting. One thing is
certain, his luck never deserted him. His debts disappeared; and his
love of continental life seemed to have departed. He became content with
Mardykes Hall, laid out money on it, and although he never again cared
to cross the lake, he seemed to like the scenery.
In some respects, however, he lived exactly the same odd and unpopular
life. He saw no one at Mardykes Hall. He practised a very strict
reserve. The neighbours laughed at and disliked him, and he was voted,
whenever any accidental contact arose, a very disagreeable man; and he
had a shrewd and ready sarcasm that made them afraid of him, and himself
more disliked.
Odd rumours prevailed about his household. It was said that his old
relations with Philip Feltram had become reversed; and that he was as
meek as a mouse, and Feltram the bully now. It was also said that Mrs.
Julaper had one Sunday evening when she drank tea at the Vicar's, told
his good lady very mysteriously, and with many charges of secrecy, that
Sir Bale was none the better of his late-found wealth; that he had a
load upon his spirits, that he was afraid of Feltram, and so was every
one else, more or less, in the house; that he was either mad or worse;
and that it was an eerie dwelling, and strange company, and she should
be glad herself of a change.
Good Mrs. Bedel told her friend Mrs. Torvey; and all Golden Friars heard
all this, and a good deal more, in an incredibly short time.
All kinds of rumours now prevailed in Golden Friars, connecting Sir
Bale's successes on the turf with some mysterious doings in Cloostedd
Forest. Philip Feltram laughed when he heard these stories--especially
when he heard the story that a supernatural personage had lent the
Baronet a purse full of money.
"You should not talk to Doctor Torvey so, sir," said he grimly; "he's
the greatest tattler in the town. It was old Farmer Trebeck, who could
buy and sell us all down here, who lent that money. Partly from
good-will, but not without acknowledgment. He has my hand for the first,
not worth much, and yours to a bond for the two thousand guineas you
brought home with you. It seems strange you should not remember that
venerable and kind old farmer whom you talked with so long that day. His
grandson, who expects to stand well in his will, being a trainer in Lord
Varney's stables, has sometimes a tip to give, and he is the source of
your information."
"By Jove, I must be a bit mad, then, that's all," said Sir Bale, with a
smile and a shrug.
Philip Feltram moped about the house, and did precisely what he pleased.
The change which had taken place in him became more and more pronounced.
Dark and stern he always looked, and often malignant. He was like a man
possessed of one evil thought which never left him.
There was, besides, the good old Gothic superstition of a bargain or
sale of the Baronet's soul to the arch-fiend. This was, of course, very
cautiously whispered in a place where he had influence. It was only a
coarser and directer version of a suspicion, that in a more credulous
generation penetrated a level of society quite exempt from such follies
in our day.
One evening at dusk, Sir Bale, sitting after his dinner in his window,
saw the tall figure of Feltram, like a dark streak, standing movelessly
by the lake. An unpleasant feeling moved him, and then an impatience. He
got up, and having primed himself with two glasses of brandy, walked
down to the edge of the lake, and placed himself beside Feltram.
"Looking down from the window," said he, nerved with his Dutch courage,
"and seeing you standing like a post, do you know what I began to think
of?"
Feltram looked at him, but answered nothing.
"I began to think of taking a wife--_marrying_."
Feltram nodded. The announcement had not produced the least effect.
"Why the devil will you make me so uncomfortable! Can't you be like
yourself--what you _were_, I mean? I won't go on living here alone with
you. I'll take a wife, I tell you. I'll choose a good church-going
woman, that will have every man, woman, and child in the house on their
marrow-bones twice a day, morning and evening, and three times on
Sundays. How will you like that?"
"Yes, you will be married," said Feltram, with a quiet decision which
chilled Sir Bale, for he had by no means made up his mind to that
desperate step.
Feltram slowly walked away, and that conversation ended.
Now an odd thing happened about this time. There was a family of
Feltram--county genealogists could show how related to the vanished
family of Cloostedd--living at that time on their estate not far from
Carlisle. Three co-heiresses now represented it. They were great
beauties--the belles of their county in their day.
One was married to Sir Oliver Haworth of Haworth, a great family in
those times. He was a knight of the shire, and had refused a baronetage,
and, it was said, had his eye on a peerage. The other sister was married
to Sir William Walsingham, a wealthy baronet; and the third and
youngest, Miss Janet, was still unmarried, and at home at Cloudesly
Hall, where her aunt, Lady Harbottle, lived with her, and made a
dignified chaperon.
Now it so fell out that Sir Bale, having business at Carlisle, and
knowing old Lady Harbottle, paid his respects at Cloudesly Hall; and
being no less than five-and-forty years of age, was for the first time
in his life, seriously in love.
Miss Janet was extremely pretty--a fair beauty with brilliant red lips
and large blue eyes, and ever so many pretty dimples when she talked and
smiled. It was odd, but not perhaps against the course of nature, that a
man, though so old as he, and quite _blasé_, should fall at last under
that fascination.
But what are we to say of the strange infatuation of the young lady? No
one could tell why she liked him. It was a craze. Her family were
against it, her intimates, her old nurse--all would not do; and the
oddest thing was, that he seemed to take no pains to please her. The end
of this strange courtship was that he married her; and she came home to
Mardykes Hall, determined to please everybody, and to be the happiest
woman in England.
With her came a female cousin, a good deal her senior, past
thirty--Gertrude Mainyard, pale and sad, but very gentle, and with all
the prettiness that can belong to her years.
This young lady has a romance. Her hero is far away in India; and she,
content to await his uncertain return with means to accomplish the hope
of their lives, in that frail chance has long embarked all the purpose
and love of her life.
When Lady Mardykes came home, a new leaf was, as the phrase is, turned
over. The neighbours and all the country people were willing to give the
Hall a new trial. There was visiting and returning of visits; and young
Lady Mardykes was liked and admired. It could not indeed have been
otherwise. But here the improvement in the relations of Mardykes Hall
with other homes ceased. On one excuse or another Sir Bale postponed or
evaded the hospitalities which establish intimacies. Some people said he
was jealous of his young and beautiful wife. But for the most part his
reserve was set down to the old inhospitable cause, some ungenial defect
in his character; and in a little time the tramp of horses and roll of
carriage-wheels were seldom heard up or down the broad avenue of
Mardykes Hall.
Sir Bale liked this seclusion; and his wife, "so infatuated with her
idolatry of that graceless old man," as surrounding young ladies said,
that she was well content to forego the society of the county people for
a less interrupted enjoyment of that of her husband. "What she could see
in him" to interest or amuse her so, that for his sake she was willing
to be "buried alive in that lonely place," the same critics were
perpetually wondering.
A year and more passed thus; for the young wife, happily--_very_ happily
indeed, had it not been for one topic on which she and her husband could
not agree. This was Philip Feltram; and an odd quarrel it was.