The two horsemen rode on their way. Neither spoke for several minutes.
Sir Philip Hastings pondering sternly on all that had passed, and his
younger companion gazing upon the scene around flooded with the
delicious rays of sunset, as if nothing had passed at all.
Sir Philip, as I have shown the reader, had a habit of brooding over
any thing which excited much interest in his breast--nay more, of
extracting from it, by a curious sort of alchemy, essence very
different from its apparent nature, sometimes bright, fine, and
beneficial, and others dark and maleficent. The whole of the
transaction just past disturbed him much; it puzzled him; it set his
imagination running upon a thousand tracks, and most of them wrong
ones; and thought was not willing to be called from her vagaries to
deal with any other subject than that which preoccupied her.
The young stranger, on the other hand, seemed one of those characters
which take all things much more lightly. In the moment of action, he
had shown skill, resolution, and energy enough, but as he sat there on
his horse's back, looking round at every point of any interest to an
admirer of nature with an easy, calm and unconcerned air, no one who
saw him could have conceived that he had been engaged the moment
before in so fierce though short a struggle. There was none of the
heat of the combatant or the triumph of the victor in his air or
countenance, and his placid and equable expression of face contrasted
strongly with the cloud which sat upon the brow of his companion.
"I beg your pardon, sir, for my gloomy silence," said Sir Philip
Hastings, at length, conscious that his demeanor was not very
courteous, "but this affair troubles me. Besides certain relations
which it bears to matters of private concernment, I am not satisfied
as to how I should deal with the ruffian we have suffered to depart so
easily. His assault upon myself I do not choose to treat harshly; but
the man is a terror to the country round, committing many an act to
which the law awards a very insufficient punishment, but with cunning
sufficient to keep within that line, the passage beyond which would
enable society to purge itself of such a stain upon it; how to deal
with him, I say, embarrasses me greatly. I have committed him two or
three times to prison already; and I am inclined to regret that I did
not, on this occasion, when he was in the very act of breaking the
law, send my sword through him, and I should have been well justified
in doing so."
"Nay, sir, methinks that would have been too much," replied his
companion; "he has had a fall, which, if I judge rightly, will be a
sufficient punishment for his assault upon you. According to the very
_lex talionis_, he has had what he deserves. If he has nearly broke
your arm, I think I have nearly broken his back."
"It is not his punishment for any offence to myself, sir, I seek,"
replied the baronet; "it is a duty to society to free it from the load
of such a man whenever he himself affords the opportunity of doing so.
Herein the law would have justified me, but even had it not been so, I
can conceive many cases where it may be necessary for the benefit of
our country and society to go beyond what the law will justify, and to
make the law for the necessity."
"Brutus, and a few of his friends, did so," replied the young stranger
with a smile, "and we admire them very much for so doing, but I am
afraid we should hang them, nevertheless, if they were in a position
to try the thing over again. The illustration of the gibbet and the
statue might have more applications than one, for I sincerely believe,
if we could revive historical characters, we should almost in all
cases erect a gallows for those to whom we now raise a monument."
Sir Philip Hastings turned and looked at him attentively, and saw his
face was gay and smiling. "You take all these things very lightly
sir," he said.
"With a safe lightness," replied the stranger.
"Nay, with something more," rejoined his companion; "in your short
struggle with that ruffian, you sprang upon him, and overthrew him
like a lion, with a fierce activity which I can hardly imagine really
calmed down so soon."
"O yes it is, my dear sir," replied the stranger, "I am somewhat of a
stoic in all things. It is not necessary that rapidity of thought and
action, in a moment of emergency, should go one line beyond the
occasion, or sink one line deeper than the mere reason. The man who
suffers his heart to be fluttered, or his passions to be roused, by
any just action he is called upon to do, is not a philosopher.
Understand me, however; I do not at all pretend to be quite perfect in
my philosophy; but, at all events, I trust I schooled myself well
enough not to suffer a wrestling match with a contemptible animal like
that, to make my pulse beat a stroke quicker after the momentary
effort is over."
Sir Philip Hastings was charmed with the reply; for though it was a
view of philosophy which he could not and did not follow, however much
he might agree to it, yet the course of reasoning and the sources of
argument were so much akin to those he usually sought, that he fancied
he had at length found a man quite after his own heart. He chose to
express no farther opinion upon the subject, however, till he had seen
more of his young companion; but that more he determined to see. In
the mean time he easily changed the conversation, saying, "You seemed
to be a very skilful and practised wrestler, sir."
"I was brought up in Cornwall," replied the other, "though not a
Cornish man, and having no affinity even with the Terse and the
Tees--an Anglo Saxon, I am proud to believe, for I look upon that race
as the greatest which the world has yet produced."
"What, superior to the Roman?" asked Sir Philip.
"Ay, even so," answered the stranger, "with as much energy, as much
resolution, less mobility, more perseverance, with many a quality
which the Roman did not possess. The Romans have left us many a fine
lesson which we are capable of practising as well as they, while we
can add much of which they had no notion."
"I should like much to discuss the subject with you more at large,"
said Sir Philip Hastings, in reply; "but I know not whether we have
time sufficient to render it worth while to begin."
"I really hardly know, either," answered the young stranger; "for, in
the first place, I am unacquainted with the country, and in the next
place, I know not how far you are going. My course tends towards a
small town called Hartwell--or, as I suspect it ought to be Hartswell,
probably from some fountain a which hart and hind used to come and
drink."
"I am going a little beyond it," replied Sir Philip Hastings, "so that
our journey will be for the next ten miles together;" and with this
good space of time before him, the baronet endeavored to bring his
young companion back to the subject which had been started, a very
favorite one with him at all times.
But the stranger seemed to have his hobbies as well as Sir Philip, and
having dashed into etymology in regard to Hartwell, he pursued it with
an avidity which excluded all other topics.
"I believe," he said, not in the least noticing Sir Philip's
dissertation on Roman virtues--"my own belief is, that there is not a
proper name in England, except a few intruded upon us by the Normans,
which might not easily be traced to accidental circumstances in the
history of the family or the place. Thus, in the case of Aylesbury, or
Eaglestown, from which it is derived, depend upon it the place has
been noted as a resort for eagles in old times, coming thither
probably for the ducks peculiar to that place. Bristol, in Anglo
Saxon, meaning the place of a bridge, is very easily traceable; and
Costa, or Costaford, meaning in Anglo Saxon the tempter's ford,
evidently derives its name from monk or maiden having met the enemy of
man or womankind at that place, and having had cause to rue the
encounter. All the Hams, all the Tons, and all the Sons, lead us at
once to the origin of the name, to say nothing of all the points of
the compass, all the colors of the rainbow, and every trade that the
ingenuity of man has contrived to invent."
In vain Sir Philip Hastings for the next half hour endeavored to bring
him back to what he considered more important questions. He had
evidently had enough of the Romans for the time being, and indulged
himself in a thousand fanciful speculations upon every other subject
but that, till Sir Philip, who at one time had rated his intellect
very highly, began to think him little better than a fool. Suddenly,
however, as if from a sense of courtesy rather than inclination, the
young man let his older companion have his way in the choice of
subject, and in his replies showed such depth of thought, such a
thorough acquaintance with history, and such precise and definite
views, that once more the baronet changed his opinion, and said to
himself, "This is a fine and noble intellect indeed, nearly spoiled by
the infection of a corrupt and frivolous world, but which might be
reclaimed, if fortune would throw him in the way of those whose
principles have been fixed and tried."
He pondered upon the matter for some short time. It was now completely
dark, and the town to which the stranger was going distant not a
quarter of a mile. The little stars were looking out in the heavens,
peering at man's actions like bright-eyed spies at night; but the moon
had not risen, and the only light upon the path was reflected from the
flashing, dancing stream that ran along beside the road, seeming to
gather up all the strong rays from the air, and give them back again
with interest.
"You are coming very near Hartwell," said Sir Philip, at length; "but
it is somewhat difficult to find from this road, and being, but little
out of my way, I will accompany you thither, and follow the high road
onwards."
The stranger was about to express his thanks, but the Baronet stopped
him, saying, "Not in the least, my young friend. I am pleased with
your conversation, and should be glad to cultivate your acquaintance
if opportunity should serve. I am called Sir Philip Hastings, and
shall be glad to see you at any time, if you are passing near my
house."
"I shall certainly wait upon you, Sir Philip, if I stay any time in
this county," replied the other. "That, however, is uncertain, for I
come here merely on a matter of business, which may be settled in a
few hours--indeed it ought to be so, for it seems to me very simple.
However, it may detain me much longer, and then I shall not fail to
take advantage of your kind permission."
He spoke gravely, and little more was said till they entered the small
town of Hartwell, about half through which a large gibbet-like bar was
seen projecting from the front of a house, suspending a large board,
upon which was painted a star. The light shining from the windows of
an opposite house fell upon the symbol, and the stranger, drawing in
his rein, said, "Here is my inn, and I will now wish you good night,
with many thanks, Sir Philip."
"Methinks it is I should thank you," replied the Baronet, "both for a
pleasant journey, and for the punishment you inflicted on the ruffian
Cutter."
"As for the first," said the stranger, "that has been more than
repaid, if indeed it deserved thanks at all; and as for the other,
that was a pleasure in itself. There is a great satisfaction to me in
breaking down the self-confidence of one of these burly bruisers."
As he spoke, he dismounted, again wishing Sir Philip good night, and
the latter rode on upon his way. His meditations, as he went, were
altogether upon the subject of the young stranger; for, as I have
shown, Sir Philip rarely suffered two ideas to get any strong grasp of
his mind at the same time. He revolved, and weighed, and dissected
every thing the young man had said, and the conclusion that he came to
was even more favorable than at first. He seemed a man after his own
heart, with just sufficient differences of opinion and diversities of
character to make the Baronet feel a hankering for some opportunity of
moulding and modelling him to his own standard of perfection. Who he
could be, he could not by any means divine. That he was a gentleman in
manners and character, there could be no doubt. That he was not rich,
Sir Philip argued from the fact of his not having chosen the best inn
in the little town, and he might also conclude that he was of no very
distinguished family, as he had not thought fit to mention his own
name in return for the Baronet's frank invitation.
Busy with these thoughts Sir Philip rode on but slowly, and took
nearly half an hour to reach the gates of Mrs. Hazleton's park, though
they stood only two miles' distance from the town. He arrived before
them at length, however, and rang the bell. The lodge-keeper opened
them but slowly, and putting his horse to a quicker pace, Sir Philip
trotted up the avenue towards the house. He had not reached it,
however, when he heard the sound of horses feet behind him, and, as he
was dismounting at the door, his companion of the way rode quickly up
and sprang to the ground, saying, with a laugh--
"I find, Sir Philip, that we are both to enjoy the same quarters
to-night, for, on my arrival at Hartwell, I did not expect to visit
this house till to-morrow morning. Mrs. Hazleton, however, has very
kindly had my baggage brought up from the inn, and therefore I have no
choice but to intrude upon her to-night."
As he spoke the doors of the house were thrown open, servants came
forth to take the horses, and the two gentlemen were ushered at once
into Mrs. Hazleton's receiving-room.