Happily for Ralph Woodhall, the morning was bright and beautiful: I
say happily, because, although as far as his own person was concerned,
he would have little cared had the rain poured down as it has never
poured since the days of Noah, yet the sparkling brilliancy of the
morning cheered his spirits, and lightened the weight of parting with
those he loved. It is curious how much there is in association, and
how a sort of latent, diffusible superstition mingles with all
associations, especially those connected with the weather. "Happy is
the bride that the sun shines upon; happy is the dead that the rain
rains upon," is an old proverb. The day is said to "frown" upon an
enterprise; and who is there that, undertaking any thing in which
great interests are involved, sees a gloomy and menacing sky over his
head, and does not thence draw evil auguries?
The morning was bright and smiling when Ralph Woodhall set out upon
his journey. All nature appeared to rejoice; the fresh green trees,
the sparkling river, even the dark brown moor seemed to revel in the
sunshine; the light air waved the branches, and carried now and then a
small floating shadow from a hardly-seen cloud over the bosom of the
landscape, bringing out the brightness with stronger effect. The
moment was one which Ralph had dreaded. The parting had been very
different before: first, because the tenderer ties which bound him to
that spot had not been so strong; and, secondly, because, on every
former occasion, there had been a fixed limit to his proposed absence.
He had gone to the university for his term, and knew or hoped that,
when it was ended, he should return. But now all was vague and misty.
Months, years, the better part of life itself, might wane before he
saw his father's house again; and then the long, long absence from his
Margaret! It was in vain that he reasoned with himself--that he argued
that departure afforded the only chance of winning her; that to linger
on there, spending hours which should be devoted to active exertion in
the storm-foretelling calm of temporary happiness, was only to insure
bitter disappointment, and to render that disappointment ten times
more bitter. It was all in vain. He had looked forward to the moment
of parting with dread; but, as I have said, the brightness and the
light, and the sparkling of the scene, gave preponderance to hope
against fear. It seemed a happy omen to him; it seemed to promise the
smile of Heaven upon his endeavors, the sunshine of success to light
his way.
Early in the morning, with the first light, he had risen from his bed,
and made his final arrangements for departure. All that he intended to
take absolutely with him had been packed into two large leathern bags,
commonly used by travelers in those days, which strapped to the back
of the saddle. A large trunk-mail stood filled with a variety of
little articles that he prized, books, gifts from friends, some
curious relics of olden times, and all the fine apparel that he
possessed, to go by one of those innumerable carriers who at that time
traversed the country in every direction, following often paths
peculiar to themselves, and at one time, when the plague was raging in
the land, actually tracking out new roads, or changing small by-lanes
into high-ways, in order to avoid infected places.
When he was dressed and ready, he descended quietly to his father's
room, and opened the door with a gentle hand, for Mr. Woodhall was
never a very early riser, and Ralph fancied that he might be still
asleep. He found him, however, lying reading in his bed, and, after
taking a brief parting, not without its tenderness and depth of
feeling, however few the words might be, the young man retired. When
he was near the door, however, old Mr. Woodhall exclaimed, "Ralph!
Ralph!" and added, when his son turned toward him, "you have not
forgotten your Cicero, I hope; you said you would put him in your
saddle-bags; he is a good companion, Ralph." His son assured him that
Cicero had not been forgotten, and then departed.
The next parting was a silent one, but not less full of emotion. There
was a little rise in the ground upon the road which he traveled,
whence the whole of one side of the mansion of Woodhall was visible to
the wanderer's eye. The house was indeed so near that small ornaments
of stone-work could be easily distinguished across the stream, and at
one of the windows, which, by one means or another, he had learned to
know better than any of the rest, there was a fair face gazing out
upon the road. Ralph paused for an instant, and waved his hand; a hand
was waved in return, and then Margaret retreated hastily from the open
window, and he thought he could see her kneel down at the foot of the
bed, as if to pray or weep.
"I will win her or die," said Ralph to himself, and that last
interview armed him, perhaps, more than all else, to struggle with the
difficulties before him. There is nothing in the world so invigorating
to the wrestler, man, in his combat with the world, as a strong
passion and a strong resolution.
From that spot he rode on rapidly, gaining the high country by
degrees, sometimes sweeping over a bare hill side, sometimes passing
along under a bank from which stretched forth a canopy of trees. At
the distance of about four miles there was a small hamlet, from which
the inhabitants of the cottages had principally gone forth to their
early labors in the field; but one old woman, withered and blear, with
such a face as would easily have made a witch in any land not more
than fifty years before, was sitting spinning at one of the doors. As
the young traveler came up she raised her eyes, and said aloud, "Ay,
those ride fast who ride to ill."
Ralph heard the words, and, somewhat more impressible that morning
than usual, he checked his horse and turned to the old crone: "Why say
you so, mother?" he asked; "I have never done you any ill, but good,
and to your son's family too."
"Ay, it does not matter, Master Ralph," replied the old woman, shaking
her head; "what I said is true, notwithstanding;" and she repeated it.
"Do you mean to say I am riding to do ill or to suffer ill?" asked the
young man.
"Ay, to suffer more than you know of," replied the woman.
"Then I do not thank you for telling me so," said Ralph, half angrily;
and, turning his horse, he rode away at the same quick pace as before.
For an instant or two the old woman's words made some impression on
his mind; but then hope and expectation bounded up again. He looked to
the bright blue heaven, and the glorious sun, and the sparkling
landscape, and unconsciously giving a wave of his hand toward it, he
exclaimed, "I go with no evil purpose; I will do no base deed; and the
God who made all these, who rolls the stars aloft, and brightens the
skies above, and sends rain to fertilize, and sunshine to vivify, will
guide, provide for, and protect me also."
The distance to Halling's Corner, where he was to meet his new
servant, was considerable, but when he reached the spot no one was to
be seen. It was a place where two roads crossed, and Ralph looked up
and down each of them. No one was in sight; and, taking out one of the
cumbrous watches of the day, the young man found that, by dint of
riding fast, he had arrived nearly half an hour before the time
appointed. There was nothing for it but patience, and, dismounting, he
loosened the girths, and walked the horse up and down. At the end of
about twenty minutes, while he was a few yards distant from the
corner, he heard the voice of some one singing a common country air of
the time; and when he could see down the other road, he perceived
another horseman coming quietly up at a jog-trot. Rightly concluding
that it was his new man, Gaunt Stilling, he waved his hand for him to
make haste, and proceeded to refix his saddle The other, however, did
not hurry his pace in the least; and when he reached the spot, Ralph
told him, somewhat impatiently, that he had been waiting half an hour.
Stilling smiled good-humoredly, and replied, "Well, sir, you are now
master, and I am man, and it is bad for the master to wait upon the
man; but I have heard that, in point of punctuality, it is as bad to
be too soon as too late. It wants just five minutes of the hour, if I
judge the time right."
"No harm can happen from being a little too soon," replied Ralph.
"Sometimes, sir," answered Gaunt Stilling; "many a man has got his
bones broken for being half an hour too soon; as, for instance, If a
man appoints another to help him in a fray, and gets to his enemy half
an hour before his friend, he will have time to take a mighty good
drubbing for his lack of punctuality."
"True, true," answered Ralph; "punctuality is, I believe, the best
rule, after all, and punctuality admits of no deviations. My horse
carried me somewhat more speedily than usual."
"More's the pity, sir," replied Stilling, "for his pace will not be so
good, nor his strength so enduring as if he had come slower. Take a
horse out coolly--bring him in cool, is a good maxim in my part of the
country. But here is a letter I have to give you."
Ralph took it and looked at the superscription, which imported, "To
his grace the Duke of Norfolk, greeting. These by the hands of Ralph
Woodhall, Esquire, a gentleman of mark."
"Who gave you this for me?" asked the young gentleman.
"I know not, sir," answered Stilling; "it was left at our house."
"I have another letter for the duke," said Ralph, thoughtfully; "who
can this be from?"
"Two are always better than one," replied his companion; "one may hit
the nail that another misses."
"If so, it is fortunate," rejoined the young gentleman, "for I am
going straight to the duke's house in Norwich, judging that he might
best forward my views."
"I fancied that you would wing your flight thither, sir," said the
other, "as soon as I saw that letter."
"Why so?" demanded Ralph, "if you know not from whom this came?"
"Because I judged that no one would send you a letter for a place to
which they did not know you were going," was Stilling's reply; and
with it Ralph was obliged to be content, for it was very clear that if
the man did really know more, he was in no mood for telling it. One
question, however, he did ask, after they had mounted and were on
their way: "Do you know, Stilling," he said, "whether this letter is
or is not from old Lady Coldenham? My conduct in regard to it will be
decided by your answer: for if it be from her, I will not present it:
not that I fear the nature of its contents, for she can say naught
truly against me, but because I will receive no favor at her hands,
from reasons of my own."
"Would that all others had such reasons, or had attended to them,"
replied the servant, in a somewhat bitter tone; but then, suddenly
changing his manner, he added, "the contents you can easily see, sir,
for the letter is unsealed; but I am certain it is not from the dame
at the castle, as I know her hand-shrift right well."
"I shall certainly not open it," answered Ralph, as they rode on; "I
hold that the man who opens a letter intrusted to his care, and reads
the contents, whatever be his excuse, must feel himself a base and
degraded being forever--worse, far worse than an eaves-dropping spy;
for the latter has nothing trusted to his honor, the other every
thing."
"What, sir, if the letter is left open for the purpose!" inquired the
other.
"Ay, under any circumstances," answered Ralph; "we can not widen the
line between honorable and dishonorable dealing. Unless I am clearly
told that a letter is intended for my reading, nothing should induce
me to read it."
"Did all men hold so," answered Gaunt Stilling, "many a famous general
would have been defeated, many a famous army beaten, many a great
victory lost."
"Not so," replied Ralph; "when I am at war, any property I can take
from my enemy is mine, and his secrets against myself above all; but
for opening any other letter except those intercepted from an enemy,
there is no excuse. No man can tell what may be in them; no one can
tell that secrets, which the writer would not have published for the
world, and not at all affecting those to whose sense of honor they are
confided, may not lie hid within that little fold of paper. Oh! how we
ought to blush, if, venturing upon such an act on any pretense, we
were to find within that which no man of honor ought ever to have
seen. No, no, Stilling, I will never look into a letter intrusted to
we, let the consequences to myself be what they may."
"I don't suppose the consequences could well be bad," replied
Stilling, "for I suppose that no one would give you an open letter
containing abuse of yourself, unless, indeed, they knew your
prejudices about such things; so you can put the letter by, and give
it to the duke in all safety, I believe."
"I have another letter for the duke," replied Ralph, "which I shall
deliver first, as I know who it comes from."
Ralph somewhat quickened his pace, but Gaunt Stilling, though
exceedingly respectful, seemed to have a will of his own, and not to
be at all inclined to over-hurry the beast that bore him. He lingered
behind, then, and the conversation consequently dropped. At the end of
about a mile and a half, however, Ralph, who had ridden on for about
three or four hundred yards, and might well be supposed by any
observer to have no connection with the young man who followed, had
his ear attracted by some sound behind him, and, turning round his
head, beheld his new servant off his horse, and undergoing the very
unpleasant process of being well cudgeled by three stout men. It was a
woody part of the country, properly suited for an ambush, somewhat
like the scenes which the famous Dutch painter chose for his attacks
by banditti. To save him as much as possible from the infliction which
he was undergoing, Ralph returned at full speed; and as Stilling was
struggling with all his might, which was not little, and had nearly
mastered one of his opponents, although the others were beating him
all the time, his master's coming to his help turned the strife in his
favor. An immediate inclination to flight displayed itself on the part
of his assailants; but Ralph contrived to get a thrust at one of them
with his sword-blade ere he ran away, and, at all events, drew blood;
while Stilling, taking advantage of the assistance afforded, pummeled
the one on whom he had principally fixed his attention in no very
gentle manner before he let him go.
The men, who speedily disappeared in the wood, were disguised with
handkerchiefs tied round and partly over their faces; but Stilling
seemed either to know them, or to have very little curiosity; for when
his master asked him in one breath whether he was hurt, and if he knew
the men who had attacked him, or their object, he replied, very
briefly, that he was not hurt, and as to the men, that he knew all
about them, and what brought them there. He showed, in short, so
little disposition to be communicative, that Ralph resolved to ask no
further questions, but only bidding him follow more closely, hurried
on at a quicker pace than ever, and soon after reached a better-beaten
and more-traveled road.