“Away, away, my steed and I,Upon the pinions of the wind,All human dwellings left behind,We sped like meteors through the sky,With glossy skin and dripping mane,And reeling limbs, and reeking flank,The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strainUp the repelling bank.We gained the top, a boundless plainSpreads onward.My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore,And throbbed awhile, then beat no more,The sky spun like a mighty wheel,And a slight flash sprang o'er my eyes,Which saw no farther.”Mazeppa.
OUT of consideration for the excitable disposition of Mad Bess we took our way along the least bustling streets we could select; directing our course towards the outskirts of the town, behind which extended for some miles aportion of the range of hills known as the South Downs, over the smooth green turf of which we promised ourselves a canter. As we rode along Coleman questioned me as to what could have passed while he was seeing Punch saddled, to make me determine to ride the chestnut mare, whose vicious disposition was, he informed me, so well known, that not only would no one ride her who could help it, but that Snaffles, who was most anxious to get rid of her, had not as yet been able to find a purchaser. In reply to this I gave him a short account of what had occurred, adding my more than suspicion that the whole matter had been arranged by Cumberland, in which notion he entirely agreed with me.
“I was afraid of something of this sort, when I said I was sorry you had made that remark about cheating to him this morning—you see, he would no doubt suppose you had heard the particulars of his gambling affair, and meant to insult him by what you said, and he has done this out of revenge. Oh, how I wish we were safely at home again; shall we turn back now?”
“Not for the world,” said I—“you will find, when you know me better, that when once I have undertaken a thing, Iwillgo through with it—difficulties only make me more determined.”
“Ah!” said Coleman, “you should get somebody to write a book about you, that is the kind of disposition they always give to the heroes of novels, the sort of character that will go and run his head against a brick wall to prove that it is the harder and thicker of the two—they knock out their brains though, sometimes, in doing it, when they happen to have any—it is very pretty to read about, splendid in theory, but I much doubt its acting so well if you come to put it in practice.”
“You may laugh at me, if you please,” replied I; “but depend upon it, a man of energy and determination will undertake great deeds, aye, and perform them too, which your prudent, cautious character would have considered impossibilities.”
“Perhaps it may be so,” was the reply; “I know I am not the sort of stuff they cut heroes out of—woa, Punch! steady, old boy; holloa, what ails him? this is getting serious.”
During this conversation we had been gradually leaving the town behind us and approaching the downs, and had arrived at a point where the road became a mere cart-track, and the open country lay spread for miles before us. Our two steeds, which had up to the present timeconducted themselves with the greatest propriety, now began to show signs of excitement, and, as the fresh air from the downs blew against their nostrils, they tossed their heads, snorted, and exchanged the quiet jog-trot pace at which we had been proceeding, for a dancing, sidelong motion, which somewhat disturbed Coleman's equanimity, and elicited from him the expressions above recorded. The road at the same time becoming uneven and full of ruts, we agreed to turn our horses' heads, and quit it for the more tempting pathway afforded by the green-sward. No sooner, however, did Punch feel the change from the hard road to the soft elastic footing of the turf, than he proceeded to demonstrate his happiness by slightly elevating his heels and popping his head down between his forelegs, thereby jerking the rein loose in Coleman's hand; and, perceiving that his rider (who was fully employed in grasping the pommel of his saddle in order to preserve his seat) made no effort to check his vivacity, he indulged his high spirits still further by setting off at a brisk canter.
“Pull him in,” cried I, “you'll have him run away with you; pull at him.”
Whether my advice was acted upon or not I was unable to observe, as my whole attention was demanded by Mad Bess, who appeared at length resolved to justify the propriety of her appellation. Holding her in by means of the snaffle alone had been quite as much as I had been able to accomplish during the last ten minutes, and this escapade on the part of Punch brought the matter to a crisis. I must either allow her to follow him, i.e., to run away, or use the curb to prevent it. Seating myself, therefore, as firmly as I could, and gripping the saddle tightly with my knees, I took up the curb rein, which till now had been hanging loosely on the mare's neck, and gradually tightened it. This did not, for a moment, seem to produce any effect, but as soon as I drew the rein sufficiently tight to check her speed, she stopped short, and shook her head angrily. I attempted gently to urge her on—not a step except backwards would she stir—at length in despair I touched her slightly with the spur, and then “the fiend within her woke,” and proceeded to make up for lost time with a vengeance. The moment the mare felt the spur she reared until she stood perfectly erect, and fought the air with her forelegs. Upon this I slackened the rein, and, striking her over the ears with my riding-whip, brought her down again;—no sooner, however, had her forefeet touched the ground than she gavetwo or three violent plunges, which nearly succeeded in unseating me, jerked down her head so suddenly as to loosen the reins from my grasp, kicked viciously several times, and, seizing the cheek of the bit between her teeth so as to render it utterly useless (evidently an old trick of hers), sprang forward at a wild gallop. The pace at which we were going soon brought us alongside of Punch, who, having thoroughly mastered his rider, considered it highly improper that any steed should imagine itself able to pass him, and therefore proceeded to emulate the pace of Mad Bess. Thereupon a short but very spirited race ensued, the cob's pluck enabling him to keep neck and neck for a few yards; but the mare was going at racing speed, and the length of her stride soon began to tell; Punch, too, showed signs of having nearly had enough of it. I therefore shouted to Coleman as we were leaving them: “Keep his head up hill, and you'll be able to pull him in directly”. His answer was inaudible, but when I turned my head two or three minutes afterwards I was glad to see that he had followed my advice with complete success—Punch was standing still, about half a mile off, while his rider was apparently watching my course with looks of horror. All anxiety on his account being thus at an end, I proceeded to take as calm a view of my own situation as circumstances would allow, in order to decide on the best means of extricating myself therefrom. We had reached the top of the first range of hills I have described, and were now tearing at a fearful rate down the descent on the opposite side. It was clear that the mare could not keep up the pace at which she was going for any length of time: still she was in first-rate racing condition, not an ounce of superfluous flesh about her, and, though she must have gone more than two miles already, she appeared as fresh as when we started. I therefore cast my eyes around in search of some obstacle which might check her speed. The slope down which we were proceeding extended for about a mile before us, after which the ground again began to rise. In the valley between the two hills was a small piece of cultivated land, enclosed (as is usual in the district I am describing) within a low wall, built of flint-stones from the beach. Towards this I determined to guide the mare as well as I was able, in the hope that she would refuse the leap, in which case I imagined I might pull her in. The pace at which we were going soon brought us near the spot, when I was glad to perceive that the wall was a more formidable obstacle than I had at first imagined, being fully six feet high, with a ditch infront of it. I therefore selected a place where the ditch seemed widest, got her head up by sawing her mouth with the snaffle, and put her fairly at it. No sooner did she perceive the obstacles before her than, slightly moderating her pace, she appeared to collect herself, gathered her legs well under her, and, rushing forward, cleared wall, ditch, and at least seven feet of ground beyond, with a leap like a deer, alighting safely with me on her back on the opposite side, where she continued her course with unabated vigour.
We had crossed the field (a wheat stubble) ere I had recovered from my astonishment at finding myself safe, after such a leap as I had most assuredly never dreamt of taking. Fortunately there was a low gate on the farther side, towards which I guided the mare, for though I could not check, I was in some measure able to direct, her course. This time, however, she either did not see the impediment in her way, or despised it, as, without abating her speed, she literally rushed through the gate, snapping into shivers with her chest the upper bar, which was luckily rotten, and clearing the lower ones in her stride. The blow, and the splintered wood flying about her ears, appeared to frighten her afresh, and she tore up the opposite ascent, which was longer and steeper than the last, like a mad creature. I was glad to perceive, however, that the pace at which she had come, and the distance (which must have been several miles), were beginning to tell—her glossy coat was stained with sweat and dust, while her breath, drawn with short and laboured sobs, her heaving flanks, and the tremulous motion of her limbs, afforded convincing proofs that the struggle could not be protracted much longer. Still she continued to hold the bit between her teeth as firmly as though it were in a vice, rendering any attempt to pull her in utterly futile. We had now reached the crest of the hill, when I was not best pleased to perceive that the descent on the other side was much more precipitous than any I had yet met with. I endeavoured, therefore, to pull her head round, thinking it would be best to try and retrace our steps, but I soon found that it was useless to attempt it. The mare had now become wholly unmanageable; I could not guide her in the slightest decree; and, though she was evidently getting more and more exhausted, she still continued to gallop madly forwards, as though some demon had taken possession of her, and was urging her on to our common destruction. As we proceeded down the hill our speed increased from the force of gravitation, till we actually seemed tofly—the wind appeared to shriek as it rushed past my ears, while, from the rapidity with which we were moving, the ground seemed to glide from under us, till my head reeled so giddily that I was afraid I should fall from the saddle.
Page44 Mad Bess
We had proceeded about half way down the descent when, on passing one or two stunted bushes which had concealed the ground beyond, I saw, oh, horror of horrors! what appeared to be the mouth of an old chalk-pit, stretching dark and unfathomable right across our path, about 300 yards before us. The mare perceives it when too late, attempts to stop, but from the impetus with which she is going is unable to do so. Another moment, and we shall be over the brink! With the energy of despair I lifted her with the rein with both hands, and drove the spurs madly into her flanks;—she rose to the leap, there was a bound! a sensation of flying through the air! a crash! and I found myself stretched in safety on the turf beyond, and Mad Bess lying, panting, but uninjured beside me.
To spring upon my feet, and seize the bridle of the mare, who had also by this time recovered her footing, was the work of a moment. I then proceeded to look around, in order to gain a more clear idea of the situation in which I was placed, in the hope of discovering the easiest method of extricating myself from it. Close behind me lay the chalk-pit, and, as I gazed down its rugged sides, overgrown with brambles and rank weeds, I shuddered to think of the probable fate from which I had been so almost miraculously preserved, and turned away with a heartfelt expression of thanksgiving to Him who had mercifully decreed that the thread of my young life should not be snapped in so sudden and fearful a manner. Straight before me the descent became almost suddenly precipitous, but a little to the right I perceived a sort of sheep-track, winding downwards round the side of the hill. It was a self-evident fact that this must lead somewhere, and, as all places were alike to me, so that they contained any human beings who were able and willing to direct me towards Helmstone, I determined to follow it. After walking about half a mile, Mad Bess (with her ears drooping, and her nose nearly touching the ground) following me as quietly as a dog, I was rejoiced by the sight of curling smoke, and, on turning a corner, I came suddenly upon a little village green, around which some half dozen cottages were scattered at irregular distances. I directed my steps towards one of these, before which acrazy sign, rendered by age and exposure to the weather as delightfully vague and unintelligible as though it had come fresh from the brush of Turner himself, hung picturesquely from the branch of an old oak.
The sound of horse's feet attracted the attention of an elderly man, who appeared to combine in his single person the offices of ostler, waiter, and boots, and who, as soon as he became aware of my necessities, proceeded to fulfil the duties of these various situations with the greatest alacrity. First (as of the most importance in his eyes) he rubbed down Mad Bess, and administered some refreshment to her in the shape of hay and water; then he brought me a glass of ale, declaring it would do me good (in which, by the way, he was not far from right). He then brushed from my coat certain stains which I had contracted in my fall, and finally told me my way to Helmstone. I now remounted Mad Bess, who, though much refreshed by the hay and water, still continued perfectly quiet and tractable; and, setting off at a moderate trot, reached the town, after riding about eight miles, without any further adventure, in rather less than an hour.
As I entered the street in which Snaffles' stables were situated I perceived Coleman and Lawless standing at the entrance of the yard, evidently awaiting my arrival.
When I got near them Coleman sprang eagerly forward to meet me, saying:—
“How jolly glad I am to see you safe again, old fellow! I was so frightened about you. How did you manage to stop her?”
“Why, Fairlegh, I had no idea you were such a rider,” exclaimed Lawless; “I made up my mind you would break your neck, and old Sam be minus a pupil, when I heard you were gone out on that mare. You have taken the devil out of her somehow, and no mistake; she's as quiet as a lamb,” added he, patting her.
“You were very near being right,” replied I; “she did her best to break my neck and her own too, I can assure you”
I then proceeded to relate my adventures, to which both Lawless and Coleman listened with great attention; the former interrupting me every now and then with various expressions of commendation, and when I had ended he shook me warmly by the hand, saying:—
“I give you great credit; you behaved in a very plucky manner all through; I didn't think you had it in you; 'pon my word, I didn't. I shall just tell Cumberland andSnaffles a bit of my mind, too. Here, Snaffles, you confounded old humbug, where are you?”
“Oh, don't say anything to him,” said I; “it's never worth while being angry with people of that kind; besides, Cumberland made him do it.”
“That does not signify; he knew the danger to which he was exposing you, perhaps better than Cumberland did. He had no business to do it, and I'll make him beg your pardon before we leave this yard. Here, you ostler fellow, where's your master?” shouted Lawless, as he turned into the yard, where I soon heard the loud tones of his voice engaged in angry colloquy with Snaffles, whose replies were inaudible.
In a short time the latter approached the spot where I was standing, and began a very long and humble apology, saying that he should never have thought of giving me the mare if he had not seen at a glance that I was a first-rate rider, and much more to the same purpose, when Lawless interrupted him with:—
“There, cut it short; Mr. Fairlegh does not want any more of your blarney; and mind, if anything of the sort occurs again, I shall hire my horses somewhere else, and take care to let all my friends know why I do so. Now, let's be off; it's getting near dinner-time.”
So saying, he turned to leave the yard, a movement which, as soon as I had found my friend James, returned his spurs, and given him the promised half-crown, I proceeded to imitate: and that ended the episode of Mad Bess.
...” What 'tisTo Have a stranger come—It seems you know him notNo, sir! not I.”—Southey.“Either forbear... or resolve youFor more amazement: if you can behold it,I'll make the statue move indeed.”—Winter's Tale.“Since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on hisforwardness.... You shall try but one fall.”—As You Like It.
ON reaching home the door was opened by Thomas, who accosted us with:—
“Here's such a bit of fun, gentlemen! The new pupil's arrived, and ain't he a rum un, jest? Oh, I never!”
"Why, how do you mean? what's he like, then?” asked Lawless.
“Oh, he's very well to look at, only he's as tall as a life-guardsman; but he's sich a free and easy chap, and ain't he got a pretty good notion of making himself comfortable, too!—that's all. But come in, gents, you'll soon see what I mean. He chucked the flyman who brought him here half a guinea, and when I asked him if he did not want the change, for the fare was only half a crown, he merely said 'Pooh!' and told me not to talk, for it tired him.”
With our feelings of curiosity somewhat excited by this account we hastened into the pupils' room, anxious to behold the individual who had so greatly astonished Thomas.
Seated in Dr. Mildman's arm-chair, and with his legs resting upon two other chairs, so arranged as to form a temporary sofa, reclined a young man, apparently about eighteen, though his length of limb, and the almost herculean proportions of his chest and shoulders, seemed rather to belong to a more advanced age. He raised his head as we entered, disclosing a set of features which, in spite of an expression of languor and indifference, must have been pronounced unusually handsome. His complexion was a rich nut-brown; the high forehead, white as snow, contrasting well with the dark hue of his hair, which, in short clustering curls, harmonised well with the classical outline of his head, reminding one involuntarily of the young Antinous. The short curling upper-lip, and well-chiselled nostril, told a tale of pride and resolution, strongly at variance with the mild sleepy appearance of the large dark hazel eyes, to which the long silken lashes that shaded them imparted an almost feminine expression. He did not attempt to alter his position as we approached, but, merely turning his head, gazed at us steadfastly for a moment, and then observed in a slow, half-absent manner:—
“Oh, the other pupils, I suppose—how do you do, all of you?”
Lawless, who was foremost, was so much surprised, and so little pleased at this nonchalant style of address, that he made no reply, but turning on his heel proceeded to leave the room, in order to divest himself of his hunting costume, muttering as he went, “Cool enough that, by Jove, eh!”
The duty of doing the polite having thus devolved upon Coleman, he winked at me by way of preliminary, and,making a low bow in the true dancing-master style, replied as follows:—
“Your penetration has not erred, Mr. Oaklands; wearethe other pupils; and in answer to your obliging inquiries, I have much pleasure in informing you that we are all in perfect health and very tolerable spirits; and now, sir, in return for your kind condescension, allow me, in the absence of my superiors, to express a hope that you are feeling pretty comfortable—ahem!”
Having thus delivered himself, Coleman drew up his figure to its utmost height, and, folding his arms with an air of pompous dignity, awaited an answer.
“Oh yes, I'm comfortable enough,” was the reply; “I always am; only I'm so done up, tired as a dog—the least thing fatigues me; I'm as weak as a rat! Don't they give you sofas here, Mr. What's-your-name?”
“My name is Norval—I mean Coleman; my father divides his time between feeding his flocks on the Grampian Hills, and fleecing his clients in Lincoln's Inn; though I must confess that ever since I can remember, he has dropped the shepherd, and stuck to the solicitor, finding it pays best, I suppose. Regarding the sofa, we have not one at present, but Dr. Mildman went to town this morning; I did not till this moment know why. But now I see it all—he was doubtless aware you would arrive to-day, and, finding he could not get a sufficiently comfortable sofa for you in Helmstone, he is gone to London on purpose to procure one. There is still time to write by the post, if there is any particular way in which you would like to have the stuffing arranged.”
This speech made Oaklands raise his head, and look Coleman so fixedly in the face, with such a clear, earnest, penetrating gaze, that it appeared as if he would read his very soul. Having apparently satisfied himself, he smiled slightly, resumed his former attitude, and observed in the same half-sleepy tone:—
“No, I'll leave all that to him; I am not particular. What time do you dine here?”
I replied (for the look I have described seemed to have had the wonderful effect of silencing Coleman), “At five o'clock”.
“Very good; and I believe there's a Mrs. Mildman, or some such person, is there not? I suppose one must dress. Will you be so kind as to tell the servant to bring some hot water, and to look out my things for me at a quarter before five? I hate to be obliged to hurry, it tires one so.”
Having said this, he took up a book which was lying by his side, and, murmuring something about “talking being so fatiguing,” soon became buried in its contents.
Whilst I was dressing for dinner Lawless came into my room, and told me that he had been speaking to Cumberland with regard to the way in which he had behaved to me about the mare, and that Cumberland professed himself exceedingly sorry that the affair had so nearly turned out a serious one, declaring he meant it quite as a joke, never expecting that when I saw the mare I should venture to mount her.
“So you see,” continued Lawless, “he merely wanted to have a good laugh at you—nothing more. It was a thoughtless thing to do, but not so bad as you had fancied it, by any means.”
“Well,” replied I, “as he says so, I am bound to believe him; but his manner certainly gave me the impression that he intended me to ride her. He went the right way to make me do so, at all events, by hinting that I was afraid.”
“Ah! he could not know that by intuition, you see,” said Lawless; “he thought, I daresay, as I did, that you were a mere molly-coddle, brought up at your mother's apron-string, and had not pluck enough in you to do anything sporting.”
“It's not worth saying anything more about,” replied I; “it will never happen again: I am very much obliged to you, though.”
“Oh, that's nothing,” said Lawless; “if Cumberland had really meant to break your neck, I should have fallen out with him; that would have been too much of a good thing: however, as it is it's all right.”
And so the conversation ended, though I felt far from satisfied in my own mind as to the innocence of Cumberland's intentions.
On reaching the drawing-room I found the whole party assembled with the exception of Mr. Henry Oaklands, who had not yet made his appearance. At the moment of my entrance Mrs. Mildman, who had not seen the new arrival, and who, like the rest of her sex, was somewhat curious, was examining Coleman (who stood bolt upright before her, with his hands behind him, looking like a boy saying his lesson) as to his manners and appearance.
“Very tall, and dark hair and large eyes,” continued Mrs. Mildman; “why, he must be very handsome.”
“He seems as if he were half-asleep,” observed I.
"Not always,” said Coleman; “did you see the look he gave me? he seemed wide-awake enough then; I thought he was going to eat me.”
“Dear me I why he must be quite a cannibal! besides, I don't think you would be at all nice to eat, Mr. Coleman,” said Mrs. Mildman, with a smile.
“Horrid nasty, I'm sure,” muttered Mullins, who was seated on the very edge of his chair, and looked thoroughly uncomfortable, as was his wont in anything like civilised society.
At this moment the door opened, and Oaklands entered. If one had doubted about his height before, when lying on the chairs, the question was set at rest the instant he was seen standing: he must have measured at least six feet two inches, though the extreme breadth of his chest and shoulders, and the graceful setting-on of his finely formed head, together with the perfect symmetry and proportion of his limbs, prevented his appearing too tall. He went through the ceremony of introduction with the greatest ease and self-possession; and though he infused rather more courtesy into his manner towards Mrs. Mildman than he had taken the trouble to bestow on us, his behaviour was still characterised by the same indolence and listlessness I had previously noticed, and which indeed seemed part and parcel of himself. Having bowed slightly to Cumberland and Lawless he seated himself very leisurely on the sofa by Mrs. Mildman's side, altering one of the pillows so as to make himself thoroughly comfortable as he did so. Having settled it to his satisfaction, he addressed Mrs. Mildman with:—
“What a very fatiguing day this has been; haven't you found it so?”
“No, I can't say I have,” was the reply; “I daresay it was warm travelling: I'm afraid, in that case, Dr. Mildman will not have a very pleasant journey—he's gone to town to-day.”
“Ah, so that short, stout young gentleman” (the first two adjectives he pronounced very slowly and distinctly) “told me.”
“Mr. Coleman,” insinuated Mrs. Mildman.
“Pleasant that,” whispered Coleman to me.
“Take care,” replied I, “he will hear you.”
“I'm afraid,” continued Oaklands, “the old gentleman will be quite knocked up. I wonder he does not make two days' journey of it.”
“Dr. Mildman is not soveryold,” observed Mrs. Mildman, in rather an annoyed tone of voice.
"I really beg pardon, I scarcely know why I said it,” replied Oaklands, “only I somehow fancied all tutors were between sixty and seventy—very absurd of me. My father sent all kind of civil messages to the o—— to Dr. Mildman, only it is so much trouble to remember that sort of thing.”
At this point the conversation was interrupted by the announcement of dinner. Oaklands (from whom I could not withdraw my eyes, so unlike anything I had ever met with before was he) was evidently preparing to hand Mrs. Mildman down to dinner, as soon as he could summon sufficient energy to move, but, perceiving Cumberland approach her for that purpose, he appeared to recollect himself, smiled slightly as if at what he had been about to do, and, taking me by the arm, said:—
“Come, Master Curlylocks, you shall be my lady, and a very pretty girl you would make, too, if you were properly bemuslined”; adding, as we went downstairs together, “You and I shall be great friends, I'm sure; I like your face particularly. What a lot of stairs there are in this house! they'll tire me to death.”
When we returned to the pupils' room after dinner Lawless found, lying on the table, the note Dr. Mildman had written in such a mysterious manner before he left home in the morning, and proceeded to open it forthwith. Scarcely had he glanced his eye over it, when he was seized with so violent a fit of laughter, that I expected every moment to see him fall out of his chair. As soon as he had in some measure recovered the power of speaking he exclaimed:—
“Here, listen to this! and tell me if it is not the very best thing you ever heard in your lives “. He then read as follows:—
“'It is not without much pain that I bring myself to write this note; but I feel that I should not be doing my duty towards your excellent father, if I were to allow such extreme misconduct on the part of his son to pass unreproved. I know not towards what scene of vulgar dissipation you might be directing your steps, but the simple fact (to which I was myself witness) of your leaving my housein the low disguise of a carter's smock-frock, affords in itself sufficient proof that your associates must belong to a class of persons utterly unfitted for the companionship of a gentleman. Let me hope this hint may be enough, and that conduct so thoroughly disgraceful in one brought up as you have been may not occur again. I presume I need scarcely say that, in the event of yourdisregarding my wishes upon this point, the only course left open to me would be to expel you, a measure to which it would deeply grieve me to be obliged to resort.'”
His voice was here drowned by a chorus of laughter from all present who were aware of the true state of the case, which lasted without interruption for several minutes. At length Lawless observed:—
“I'll tell you what, it will be a death-blow to Smithson; a Macintosh made by him to be taken for a smock-frock! he'll never recover it.”
“Mildman might well look like a thunder-cloud,” said Coleman, “if that was the notion he had got in his head; what a jolly lark, to be sure!”
“How do you mean to undeceive him?” inquired Cumberland.
“Oh, trust me for finding a way to do that,” replied Lawless; “'the low disguise of a carter's smock-frock,' indeed! What fun it would be if he were to meet my governor in town to-day, and tell him of my evil courses! why, the old boy would go into fits! I wonder what he means by his 'scenes of vulgar dissipation'? I daresay he fancies me playing all-fours with a beery coalheaver, and kissing his sooty-faced wife; or drinking alternate goes of gin-and-water with a dustman for the purpose of insinuating myself into the affections of Miss Cinderella Smut, his interesting sister. By Jove! it's as good as a play!”
More laughter followed Lawless's illustration of Dr. Mildman's note. The subject was discussed for some time, and a plan arranged for enlightening the Doctor as to the true character of the mysterious garment.
At length there was a pause, when I heard Coleman whisper to Lawless:—
“Thomas was pretty right in saying that new fellow knows how to make himself comfortable, at all events”.
“He's a precious deal too free and easy to please me,” muttered Lawless, in an undertone; “I shall take the liberty of seeing whether his self-possession cannot be disturbed a little. I have no notion of such airs. Here, Mullins!”
And laying hold of Mullins by the arm, he pulled him into a chair by his side, and proceeded to give him some instructions in a whisper. The subject of their remarks, Harry Oaklands, who had, on re-entering the room, taken possession of the three chairs near the window, was still reclining, book in hand, in the same indolent position, apparently enjoying the beauty of the autumnal sunset, without concerning himself in the slightest degree about anything which might be going on inside the room.
Lawless, whose proceedings I was watching with an anxious eye, having evidently succeeded, by a judicious mixture of bullying and cajollery, in persuading Mullins to assist him in whatever he was about to attempt, now drew a chair to the other side of the window, and seated himself exactly opposite to Oaklands.
“How tired riding makes a fellow! I declare I'm regularly baked, used completely up,” he observed, and then continued, glancing at Oaklands, “Not such a bad idea, that. Mullins, give us a chair; I don't see why elevating the extremities should not pay in my case, as well as in other people's.”
He then placed his legs across the chair which Mullins brought him, and, folding his arms so as exactly to imitate the attitude of his opposite neighbour, sat for some minutes gazing out of the window with a countenance of mock solemnity. Finding this did not produce any effect on Oaklands, who, having slightly raised his eyes when Lawless first seated himself, immediately cast them upon the book again, Lawless stretched himself, yawned, and once more addressed Mullins.
“Shocking bad sunset as ever I saw—it's no go staring at that. I must have a book—give me the Byron.”
To this Mullins replied that he believed Mr. Oaklands was reading it.
“Indeed! the book belongs to you, does it not?”
Mullins replied in the affirmative.
“Have you any objection to lend it to me?”
Mullins would be most happy to do so.
“Then ask the gentleman to give it to you—you have a right to do what you please with your own property, I imagine?”
It was very evident that this suggestion was not exactly agreeable to Mullins; and although his habitual fear of Lawless was so strong as completely to overpower any dread of what might be the possible consequences of his act, it was not without much hesitation that he approached Oaklands, and asked him for the book, as he wished to lend it to Lawless.
On hearing this Oaklands leisurely turned to the fly-leaf, and, having apparently satisfied himself, by the perusal of the name written thereon, that it really belonged to Mullins, handed it to him without a word. I fancied, however, from the stern expression of his mouth and a slight contraction of the brow, that he was not as insensible to their impertinence as he wished to appear.
Lawless, who had been sitting during this little scenewith his eyes closed, as if asleep, now roused himself, and saying, “Oh, you have got it at last, have you?” began turning over the pages, reading aloud a line or two here and there, while he kept up a running commentary on the text as he did so:—
“Hum! ha! now let's see, here we are—the 'g-i-a-o-u-r,'—that's a nice word to talk about. What does g-i-a-o-u-r spell, Mullins? You don't know? what an ass you are, to be sure!—
'Fair clime, whose every season smilesBenignant o'er those blessed isles'—
blessed isles, indeed; what stuff!—
''Tis Greece, but living Greece no more;'
that would do for a motto for the barbers to stick on their pots of bear's grease!—
'Clime of the unforgotten brave;'
unforgotten! yes, I should think so; how the deuce should they be forgotten, when one is bored with them morning, noon, and night, for everlasting, by old Sam, and all the other pastors and masters in the kingdom? Hang me, if I can read this trash; the only poetry that ever was written worth reading is 'Don Juan'.”
He then flung the book down, adding:—
“It's confoundedly cold, I think. Mullins, shut that window.”
This order involved more difficulties in its execution than might at first be imagined. Oaklands, after giving up the book, had slightly altered his position by drawing nearer the window and leaning his elbow on the sill, so that it was impossible to shut it without obliging him to move. Mullins saw this, and seemed for a moment inclined not to obey, but a look and a threatening gesture from Lawless again decided him; and with slow unwilling steps he approached the window, and laid his hand on it, for the purpose of shutting it. As he did so, Oaklands raised his head, and regarded him for a moment with a glance like lightning, his large eyes glaring in the twilight like those of some wild animal, while the red flush of anger rose to his brow, and we all expected to see him strike Mullins to the ground. Conquering himself, however, by a powerful effort of self-control, he folded his arms, and, turning from the window, suffered Mullins to close it without interruption. Still I could perceive, fromthe distended nostril and quivering lip, that his forbearance was almost exhausted.
“Ah, that's an improvement,” said Lawless; “I was getting uncommonly chilly. By the way, what an interesting virtue patience is; it is a curious fact in Natural History that some of the lower animals share it with us; for instance, there's nothing so patient as a jack-ass——”
“Except a pig,” put in Mullins; “they're uncommon—”
“Obstinate,” suggested Coleman.
“Oh, ah! it's obstinate I mean,” replied Mullins. “Well, you know donkeys are obstinate, like a pig; that's what I meant.”
“Don't be a fool,” said Lawless. “Deuce take these chairs, I cannot make myself comfortable anyhow—the fact is, I must have three, that's the proper number—give me another, Mullins.”
“I can't find one,” was the answer; “they are all in use.”
“Can't find one! nonsense,” said Lawless; “here, take one of these; the gentleman is asleep, and won't object, I daresay.”
When Mullins was shutting the window his head had been so turned as to prevent his observing the symptoms of anger in Oaklands, which had convinced me that he would not bear trifling with much longer. Presuming, therefore, from the success of his former attacks, that the new pupil was a person who might be insulted with impunity, and actuated by that general desire of retaliation, which is the certain effect bullying produces upon a mean disposition, Mullins proceeded,con amore, to fulfil Lawless's injunction. With a sudden snatch he withdrew the centre chair, on which Oaklands' legs mainly rested, so violently as nearly to throw them to the ground, a catastrophe which was finally consummated by Lawless giving the other chair a push with his foot, so that it was only by great exertion and quickness that Oaklands was able to save himself from falling.
This was the climax; forbearance merely human could endure no longer: Lawless had obtained his object of disturbing Harry Oaklands' self-possession, and was now to learn the consequences of his success. With a bound like that of an infuriated tiger, Oaklands leaped upon his feet, and, dashing Mullins into a corner with such force that he remained lying exactly where he fell, he sprang upon Lawless, seized him by the collar of his coat, and after a short but severe struggle dragged him to thewindow, which was about eight feet from the ground, threw it open, and taking him in his arms with as much ease as if he had been a child flung him out. He then returned to the corner in which, paralysed with fear, Mullins was still crouching, drew him to the spot from whence he had removed the chair, placed him there upon his hands and knees, and saying, in a stern voice, “If you dare to move till I tell you, I'll throw you out of the window too,” quietly resumed his former position, with his legs resting upon Mullins' back instead of a chair.
Page56 Lawless Finds his Level
As soon as Coleman and I had in some degree recovered from our surprise and consternation (for the anger of Oaklands once roused was a fearful thing to behold), we ran to the other window, just in time to see Lawless, who had alighted among some stunted shrubs, turn round and shake his fist at Oaklands (who merely smiled), ere he regained his feet, and rang the bell in order to gain admittance. A minute afterwards we heard him stride upstairs, enter his bedroom, and close the door with a most sonorous bang. Affairs remained in this position nearly a quarter of an hour, no one feeling inclined to be the first to speak. At length the silence was broken by Oaklands, who, addressing himself to Cumberland, said:—
“I am afraid this absurd piece of business has completely marred the harmony of the evening. Get up, Mr. Mullins,” he continued, removing his legs, and assisting him to rise; “I hope I did not hurt you just now.”
In reply to this Mullins grumbled out something intended as a negative, and, shambling across the room, placed himself in a corner, as far as possible from Oaklands, where he sat rubbing his knees, the very image of sulkiness and terror. Cumberland, who appeared during the whole course of the affair absorbed in a book, though, in fact, not a single word or look had escaped him, now came forward and apologised, in a quiet, gentlemanly manner (which, when he was inclined, no one could assume with greater success), for Lawless's impertinence, which had only, he said, met with its proper reward.
“You must excuse me, Mr. Cumberland, if I cannot agree with you,” replied Oaklands; “since I have had time to cool a little, I see the matter in quite a different light. Mr. Lawless was perfectly right; the carelessness of my manner must naturally have seemed as if I were purposely giving myself airs, but I can assure you such was not the case.”
He paused for a moment, and then continued, with a half-embarrassed smile:—
"The fact is, I am afraid that I have been spoiled at home; my mother died when I was a little child, and my dear father, having nobody else to care about, thought, I believe, that there was no one in the world equal to me, and that nothing was too good for me. Of course, all our servants and people have taken their tone from him, so that I have never had any one to say to me, 'Nay,' and am therefore not at all used to the sort of thing. I hope I do not often lose my temper as I have done this evening; but really Mr. Lawless appears quite an adept in the art of ingeniously tormenting.”
“I am afraid you must have found so much exertion very fatiguing,” observed Coleman, politely.
“A fair hit, Mr. Coleman,” replied Oaklands, laughing. “No! those are not the things that tire me, somehow; but in general I am very easily knocked up—I am indeed—most things are so much trouble, and I hate trouble; I suppose it is that I am not strong.”
“Wretchedly weak, I should say,” rejoined Coleman; “it struck me that you were so just now, when you chucked Lawless out of the window like a cat.”
“Be quiet, Freddy,” said Cumberland, reprovingly.
“Nay, don't stop him,” said Oaklands; “I delight in a joke beyond measure, when I have not the trouble of making it myself. But about this Mr. Lawless, I am exceedingly sorry that I handled him so roughly; would you mind going to tell him so, Mr. Cumberland, and explaining that I did not mean anything offensive by my manner?”
“Exactly, I'll make him understand the whole affair, and bring him down with me in five minutes,” said Cumberland, leaving the room as he spoke.
“What makes Cumberland so good-natured and amiable to-night?” whispered I to Coleman.
“Can't you tell?” was the reply. “Don't you see that Oaklands is a regular top-sawyer, a fish worth catching; and that by doing this, Cumberland places him under an obligation at first starting? Not a bad move to begin with, eh? Besides, if a regular quarrel between Lawless and Oaklands were to ensue, Cumberland would have to take one side or the other; and it would not exactly suit him to break with Lawless, he knows too much about him; besides,” added he, sinking his voice, “he owes him money, more than I should like to owe anybody a precious deal, I can tell you. Now, do youtwig?”
“Yes,” said I, “I comprehend the matter more clearly, if that is what you mean bytwigging; but how shockingit all is! why, Cumberland is quite a swindler—gambling, borrowing money he can't pay, and——”
“Hush!” interrupted Coleman, “here they come.”
Coleman was not mistaken: Cumberland had been successful in his embassy, and now entered the room, accompanied by Lawless, who looked rather crestfallen, somewhat angry, and particularly embarrassed and uncomfortable, which, as Coleman whispered to me, was not to be wondered at, considering how thoroughly he had beenput outjust before. Oaklands, however, appeared to see nothing of all this; but, rising from his seat as they entered, he approached Lawless, saying:—
“This has been a foolish piece of business, Mr. Lawless; I freely own that I am thoroughly ashamed of the part I have taken in it, and I can only apologise for the intemperate manner in which I behaved.”
The frank courtesy with which he said this was so irresistible, that Lawless was completely overcome, and, probably for the first time in his life, felt himself thoroughly in the wrong. Seizing Oaklands' hand, therefore, and shaking it heartily, he replied:—
“I'll tell you what it is, Oaklands—we don't Mr. each other here—you are a right good fellow—a regular brick, and no mistake; and as to your shoving me out of the window, you served me quite right for my abominable impertinence. I only wonder you did not do it ten minutes sooner, that's all; but you really ought to be careful what you do with those arms of yours; I was like a child in your grasp; you are as strong as a steam engine.”
“I can assure you I am not,” replied Oaklands; “they never let me do anything at home, for fear I should knock myself up.”
“You are more likely to knock other people down, I should say,” rejoined Lawless; “and, by the way, that reminds me—Mullins! come here, stupid, and beg Mr. Oaklands' pardon, and thank him for knocking you down.”
A sulky, half-muttered “shan't,” was the only reply.
“Nay, I don't want anything of that kind; I don't indeed, Lawless; pray leave him alone,” cried Oaklands eagerly.
But Lawless was not so easily quieted, and Oaklands, unwilling to risk the harmony so newly established between them, did not choose to interfere further; so Mullins was dragged across the room by the ears, and was forced by Lawless, who stood over him with the poker (which, he informed him, he was destined to eat red-hot if he became restive), to make Oaklands a long andformal apology, with a short form of thanksgiving appended, for the kindness and condescension he had evinced in knocking him down so nicely, of which oration he delivered himself with a very bad grace indeed.
“And all went merry as a marriage-bell,” until we were summoned to the drawing-room, where we were regaled with weak tea, thin bread and butter, and small conversation till ten o'clock, when Mrs. Mildman proceeded to read prayers, which, being a duty she was little accustomed to, and which consequently rendered her extremely nervous, she did not accomplish without having twice called King William, George, and suppressed our gracious Queen Adelaide altogether.