A tidy, active, intelligent little woman placed a plain but abundant
repast before the captain and his guest.
"I have taken to English customs," said the captain, "and Dame Tricot is
willing to please my taste, however much she may pity it. She cannot
talk much English, but you may talk French to her, and if you make her
your confidant I am sure that you will win her affections. There's
nothing an old woman likes so much as to be trusted by the young. I
believe that if you had committed a highway robbery and confessed it to
her she would not betray your confidence. I shall have to go into
Lynderton, and perhaps shall not return for some days; but you can
remain here, and I'm sure she will take very good care of you."
Harry, however, was anxious to see Mabel. If he did not go at once,
something might prevent him. He told the captain, therefore, that he
wished to visit his friends at Stanmore.
"Ah! you'll only find the colonel and Miss Everard there, for the
captain has got a ship, and gone away again to sea. My young friend,
the Baron de Ruvigny, is, I am told, a constant visitor there,
undoubtedly attracted by the _beaux yeux_ of Miss Mabel."
Harry felt uncomfortable. He thought that his friend was wrong in his
suspicions; at the same time, he did not like to hear them uttered. The
captain agreed to take his horse to Lynderton that it might be sent
back, while he proceeded on foot towards Stanmore. Harry set forth
soon. From a height which he reached he saw the blue sea stretching
before him, the rays of the setting sun lighting up the snowy cliffs of
the western end of the Isle of Wight, which rose like a lofty buttress
out of the glittering ocean. Several vessels were sailing in and out of
the narrow passage between the island and the main land. Some with
lofty canvas were standing out into mid channel, others were creeping
along in shore, lest during darkness an enemy's cruiser might approach
and carry them off as prizes. He was about to take a cut across the
fields, when he saw below him a figure sitting on a stile. A rich manly
voice burst forth with a stave of a ditty--
"British sailors have a knack,
Haul away ye ho, boys,
Of hauling down a Frenchman's Jack
'Gainst any one you know, boys.
"Come three to one, right sure am I
If we can't beat them, still we'll try
To make old England's colours fly,
Haul away, haul away, haul away ye ho, boys."
"That fellow has not much care at his heart," thought Harry, rather
disposed to avoid the singer.
Harry went on. He had, however, to ask him to move on one side to let
him pass.
"With all the pleasure in my life, my hearty," was the answer. "Why,
Master Harry Tryon, on my life!" exclaimed the singer, as Harry jumped
over the stile. "Stop, you are not going to cut an old friend, are
you?"
"I should scarcely have known you, Jacob Tuttle, if you had not spoken
to me," said Harry, taking the seat the other had vacated; "you are
grown into such a big burly fellow."
"Yes; a life at sea browns a fellow's phiz, and plenty of beef fills him
out; not that ours isn't often tough enough, and more likely covered the
bones of an old horse than an ox. But where are you bound to, Master
Harry?"
"I am going to pay a farewell visit to some friends, and then I have a
great mind to go to sea. I am sick of a shore life, and wish I had gone
three or four years ago."
"Not too late now," answered Tuttle. "You are rather old for an
officer, and I suppose you would be too proud to go before the mast."
"No, indeed I would not," answered Harry. "I am ready to go anyhow. If
I'm worth anything I hope to work my way up, as others have done, and if
I am worth nothing I must take my chance with the rest."
"Very rightly said, Harry; active hands like you are wanted. I am
thinking of going to Portsmouth to look out for a ship, and if you take
my advice you will volunteer on board the same. I will soon teach you
your duties, and you will be a petty officer before many months are
over. There were plenty of gentlemen's sons on board the last ship I
served in, or at all events they said they were. Some of them were
pretty wild blades, to be sure, and were `King's hard bargains;' but
that's not your style, I have a notion, and so, as I said before, come
along with me. I will rig you out as a seaman. And now I come to think
on't, you are a better one already than many a chap who has been two or
three years afloat. There are some cut out for sailors, and there are
others nothing can be made of."
This proposition jumped exactly with Harry's present notions.
"I have no time to lose," said Harry, "and I want to get rid of my
present long shore toggery as soon as possible."
"Well, then, mate," said Jacob, "my old mother's cottage, where I am
stopping, is not far from here, and if you like to come, I'll rig you
out in a seaman's suit, which I only got the other day, and never yet
put on. You can pay me for it or not, as you think fit; you are welcome
to it, at all events."
Rapid action was to Harry's taste. Within half an hour of the time he
fell in with Jacob Tuttle few would have recognised in the smart, young,
sailor-like-looking lad, the sedate London-dressed merchant's clerk.
Harry felt freer than before in his new dress, and promising to return
to old Dame Tuttle's cottage, he hurried away towards Stanmore. It was
dusk when he approached the house; but he knew every path and sylvan
glade in the grounds, and had already thought of the best place in which
to watch for a chance of meeting Mabel. By climbing a high paling he
got round to the garden side of the house. Lights were in several
windows. He could, he thought, approach the drawing-room--Mabel might
be there alone. He would then ask her to come out and talk with him.
The most secure approach to it was by a long straight avenue
overshadowed by trees which led up one side of the grounds. He hurried
along it, keeping as much as possible on the turf on one side, that he
might run no risk of making a noise, when he heard footsteps
approaching, and presently a man's figure appeared in the centre of the
walk. Who could it be? It might possibly, he thought, be the colonel,
though it was not his custom to walk out at night. Harry drew behind a
tree by which he was completely concealed. The person passed on, but so
thick was the gloom that Harry could not distinguish his features. By
his height it was certainly not the colonel. The person went up the
avenue, then turned, and walked once more in the direction of the house.
Harry did not move for fear of being discovered: he watched the person
narrowly. A gleam of light came through an opening in the trees. He
saw clearly the outline of the figure. His jealous feelings told him at
once that it was the Baron de Ruvigny.
"I thought he loved poor Lucy," he muttered to himself. "But Mabel! can
it be to see her that he comes here? I might give her up for her own
sake, but I would never yield her to a Frenchman."
He came forward from his concealment, and confronted the young
Frenchman.
"We don't allow people in England to skulk about houses," he whispered,
seizing the young man's arm.
"Why, I know that voice--you are Harry Tryon. Surely you would not mock
me?" answered the baron, not attempting to withdraw his arm from Harry's
grasp.
"Mock you! no; but what brings you here? I ask," exclaimed Harry. "I
have a right to know that."
"To indulge in my grief," answered the baron. "I have lost one who had
won my deepest affections, and I come here, like an uneasy spirit, to
wander over the ground on which she trod. Harry Tryon, I thought you
knew how I loved her."
"I thought you did, and I now feel sure you did," answered Harry, his
anger vanishing. "You know also that I love her cousin; I wish even now
to see her. I am very unhappy. I cannot venture into the house. Will
you, therefore, act the part of a true friend, and bear a message from
me to her? and also will you pass your word of honour not to try and win
her affections during my absence? Your attentions might annoy her, and
yet you might be tempted to pay them."
"Again you mock me, Tryon," said the young baron. "Can you suppose that
my affections, which are buried in the grave of her sweet cousin, should
so soon be restored to life? I will, however, give you my promise as
you desire it."
It is possible that the young baron's affections were not so deeply
buried as he supposed. However, he spoke with sincerity, and Harry
believed him. He agreed to go round to the front door, and enter as an
evening visitor, and to deliver Harry's message, should he have an
opportunity of doing so without being overheard by the colonel or Madame
Everard.
Lucy had constructed an arbour with woodwork, interspersed with flowers
and paths winding among it. A rustic bridge crossed a sparkling stream,
which ran murmuring down in front towards the lake. There was but one
approach, so that strangers could not easily find it. Here Harry begged
that Mabel would come to him. He sat down in the bower, anxiously
waiting her approach. More than once he started up, thinking that he
heard her footsteps, but his senses had deceived him. At length he
could restrain his anxiety no longer. Had the baron deceived him, or
could not Mabel venture out? He wished he had not trusted to another
person. He might have written, or he might, by watching patiently, have
seen her during the day as she walked about the grounds. He was going
once more towards the house, when he saw a figure coming along the
gravel walk towards him. He was sure it was Mabel. At the risk of
being mistaken he hurried to meet her.
"Speak, speak! Is it Miss Everard? is it Mabel?" he asked.
"Oh, Harry, your voice has relieved me, for not expecting to see you in
the dress you wear, as the moonlight fell on you I feared that I might
be mistaken. Oh! tell me, what has brought you down so suddenly. The
Baron de Ruvigny's manner made me very anxious."
"Come and sit down here, and I will tell you all," said Harry, taking
her hand and leading her to the arbour. "I have folly to confess. I am
lowered in my own sight, and I fear I must be in yours," said Harry, in
a trembling voice, very unlike his usual tone.
"What is it you have done?" asked Mabel, much agitated. "Nothing wrong,
surely; nothing wrong?"
"Yes, I have done much that is wrong. I was wrong to trust to a false
friend, to visit scenes of dissipation with him, to stake money I could
not afford to lose, to lose my senses so as no longer to have command
over my actions. He plied me with wine till I knew not what I was
about, and during that time I put my name to papers which have brought
irretrievable ruin on me. My honour, oh! Mabel, my honour is lost! No
one will again trust me."
"But who is the person of whom you speak, Harry? who could gain such
influence over you--surely not Mr. Kyffin?"
"Oh! no, no. Had I remained with him, this would not have happened. He
is one whose name I scarcely like to mention to you, Mabel; for he is, I
believe, related to you. He is Silas Sleech, the son of the lawyer at
Lynderton."
"Oh, he is a man I never could endure, even as a girl. His countenance
alone made me always fancy he must be a hypocrite. But how could such a
man gain an influence over you, Harry?"
Harry had to enter more into details than he had before done. Still,
"blessed in the faith of woman," Mabel could not believe him as guilty
as he was inclined to consider himself.
"Such is my history," he said at last, "since I parted from you; and
now, Mabel, I come to set you free. I have no right to bind you to so
lost, so penniless a wretch as I am; and yet with the thought that I
might still be worthy of you, I feel confident that I could once more
rise to a position in which I might be worthy of your love. I am still
young. I have resolved to enter the navy, and work my way up to the
quarter-deck. Once there, I may rise to the rank your father holds. He
was a post-captain when still a young man, and why should not I be,
Mabel?--fame and fortune are before me. For your sake I feel sure that
I may achieve them. Mabel, it was this I came to tell you. I could not
go away without seeing you, and bidding you farewell. Mabel, pray for
me; pray that my life may be saved, and that I may win a name worthy to
offer to you. Still believe me, I could love no one but you, though you
are free."
Neither spoke for some time.
"I dare not urge you to take any other course," Mabel said at last, "but
I wish you could have consulted my kind uncle. He is too ill, however,
I fear, to see you; still, he would give you wise counsel, I am sure. I
would rather, indeed, that you had remained in London, and, braving the
anger of Mr. Coppinger, have exposed the villainy of that wretched man,
Silas Sleech."
"It is too late now, Mabel," said Harry; "there are many things I ought
to have done, and ought not to have done."
Much more the lovers spoke to the same effect. Mabel did not in any way
express her thanks to Harry for offering to give her up. On the
contrary, she spoke as if she was more firmly bound to him than ever.
At last, as they sat in the bower, forgetting everything else, the light
of a lantern fell upon them. They started and saw before them the tall
figure of Paul Gauntlet.
"Why, Master Harry, no one knew you were in these parts," he said,
letting the light of the lantern fall on his face; "but you should not
have been keeping the young lady out so long as this. Miss Mabel, Madam
Everard has been quite in a taking about you for the last quarter of an
hour. You must come in at once, and wish this young gentleman good-bye,
unless he wants to come in, too."
Harry knew very well that the old soldier would not betray him if he put
confidence in him. He therefore at once told him the reason of his
visit to Stanmore.
"Ah! Master Harry," said Paul, "the only advice I can give you is to
come in and talk the matter over with the colonel. He will tell you
what to do better than any other man. That's more than I can do. I
have learned to obey orders, and I know how to obey them, but I never
was much of a hand at giving orders. You, Master Harry, as I say, just
come and tell your troubles to the colonel. He is so wise and good that
he is sure to show you the best thing to be done."
"I cannot, I dare not tell the colonel," answered Harry. "I thank you
sincerely, Gauntlett, but you don't know how he would look on these
things."
"Well, well, Mr. Tryon, you must act as you think best, if you won't
take the advice of an old soldier who loves you as if you were his son."
Saying this, Paul walked on ahead, as if to show the way with his
lantern, though it is just possible he might have suspected the young
people would rather be by themselves for a few minutes, without the
bright light of his lantern falling on them.
When Paul got close to the house, he stopped, intending once more to
urge his advice on Harry, but when he looked round Mabel was alone.
Harry had bade her a hurried farewell and rushed off, unable any longer
to trust his feelings, and unwilling to take the advice which he
suspected the old soldier would again proffer.
Paul let Mabel come up with him before entering the house.
"Do you know where he has gone to, Miss Mabel?" he asked. "I am afraid
he has got some wrong notion into his head, and will be doing something
desperate when there's no necessity for it. There are often two ways of
looking at the same thing, and in my mind he has been looking the wrong
way."
"I think indeed that he has," answered Mabel; "but I tried also to get
him to speak to my uncle. His guardian, Mr. Kyffin, is away in Ireland.
I fear they are the only two people who could have persuaded him to act
differently. He told me that he intended to remain for the night at the
cottage of Dame Tuttle. You might find him there to-morrow morning, and
perhaps his mind may by that time be calmer."
Mabel found her aunt very anxious about her long absence. The baron had
gone away some little time before she quitted the drawing-room, so that
she knew that Mabel had not gone out to speak to him. She was so
thankful, however, at seeing her back, that she did not press her with
questions, merely observing: "Since that fearful evening, the
commencement of poor Lucy's illness, I have been so nervous, dear, that
I am anxious even when you are more than a few minutes absent from me."
Mabel, however, had no wish to conceal the fact of her having met Harry
Tryon; for she knew that her aunt would sympathise with her in her
sorrow. She felt somewhat relieved when she had told her grief; but
though the two ladies talked the matter over, they could see no
immediate way of extricating Harry from his difficulties. Mabel was for
writing at once to Mr. Kyffin. At length she bethought her of her
godfather, Mr. Thornborough. "He knows Mr. Kyffin, Harry has told me,
and he would be able to intercede both with him and Mr. Coppinger."
Many other plans were thought of and discussed. The two ladies,
however, agreed to wait till the following morning before they settled
the one they would adopt.