"Well," said I, "and is not that probable enough?"
"Yes; but it could not have carried off the bank-notes—which were all gone—-likewise. Could it Grimjaw?"
Thus appealed to, the ancient dog set up a quavering howl, which might easily have been mistaken for the cry of an accusing spirit.
"Good Heavens! this is too horrible," cried I. "Be careful, Marmaduke, that you do not mention this to others. It is a frightful slander."
"Slander!" returned my companion calmly. "It is you who slander, if you suspect anybody. I have only told you what everybody knew at the time the mur...—well, then, when Sir Wentworth had his fit. The thing strikes you as it does me, that is all."
"But is it not inconceivable," urged I, "if the crime was committed by the person we are thinking of, that he should retain this dumb witness of his atrocity, that he should let it live, far less should keep it in his private sitting-room—"
"No!" interrupted Marmaduke firmly. "On the contrary, it strengthens my suspicions. You do not know the man as I do. It gives him gratification to subdue even a dog. This creature has no love for my uncle; but its excessive terror of him, which endured for months, nay, years, has gradually worn off. He obeys him now; whereas, as I have been told, it was long before it could do anything but shiver at the sound of his voice. After dinner, when I have been sitting with Sir Massingberd alone, he will sometimes give the dog a biscuit, saying with an awful smile: "Here, Grimjaw; you and I know something that nobody else knows; don't we?"
"Great Heavens!" cried I in horror; "and what does he do that for?"
"Because," replied Marmaduke bitterly, "he loves to see me tremble."
Marmaduke had scarcely concluded his narration, when steps were heard in the passage. I daresay I turned pale at the thought of seeing the man of whom I had just heard such frightful things, for my companion observed, as if to reassure me, "It is only Mr. Long."
"Are you quite sure?" said I.
Marmaduke smiled sadly.
"Do you think that I do not know my uncle's step? I should recognize it amongst a score of others. If he overtook me in a crowded street, I should feel that he was coming and shudder as he passed beside me...—Pray, come in, sir."
"Well," cried my tutor, entering, radiant with, his good news, "no more moping at home, my lads; you are to be henceforth cavaliers—you are to scour the country. Boot and saddle! boot and saddle! Your uncle will not trust me to get you a steed, Marmaduke; there are none good enough for you, it seems, at Crittenden; he is going to send to London for an animal worthy of you. But never mind, Peter; you shall have the best mount that can be got in Midshire, and we will pit the country nag against the town."
My tutor's voice revived me like a cordial: after the morbid horrors I had been listening to, his cheery talk was inexpressibly grateful, as the dawn and ordinary sounds of waking life are welcome to one who has suffered from a nightmare.
"I was just about to show Meredith the Hall," said Marmaduke.
"Well it is time that we should be at our work, like good boys," observed Mr. Long, consulting his watch; "but still, for one morning, it does not matter, if you would like to stay, Peter."
"I would rather go home, sir," cried I, with involuntary eagerness. I was sorry the next moment, even before I saw the pained expression of my young companion.
"He has had enough of Fairburn Hall already," said he, bitterly. Then his face softened sadly, as though he would have said: "Am I not, therefore, to be pitied, who pass every day and night under this accursed roof?"
"Come," exclaimed Mr. Long, gaily, "I do not believe, Master Meredith, in this new-born devotion to your books. Let us go over the house first. I will accompany you as cicerone, for I once knew every hole and corner of it—a great deal better, I will venture to affirm, than the heir himself here." With these words he led the way into the passage.
"Every chamber on this floor is the facsimile of its neighbour," said Marmaduke: "since you have seen mine, you have seen all—an immense bed, a piece of carpet islanded amid a black sea of oak, a cupboard or two large enough to live in, and shepherdesses, with swains in ruffles, occupying the walls." There was, indeed, no appreciable difference in any of the rooms, except with regard to their aspect.
"When I first came to Fairburn, I slept here," continued Marmaduke, as we entered an apartment looking to the north, "and had that long illness, which you doubtless remember, sir. Heavens, what dreams I have had in this room! I have seen people standing by my bedside at night as clearly as I see you now. They called me delirious, but I believe I was stark mad."
"I remember it well," said Mr. Long, "although I did not recollect that you occupied this room. How was it that you came to change your quarters?"
"Oh, the doctor recommended the removal very strongly. Sir Massingberd said it was all nonsense about the look-out from my window, and that the east was as bad as the north for a boy in a fever; but he was obliged to give way. And I certainly benefited by the change. The Park is a much more cheerful sight than that forest of firs, and one is glad to see the sun, even when one cannot get out of doors. At all events, I had no such evil dreams."
"Yet this is what always used to be held the state-chamber," replied my tutor. "Charles I. occupied that bed while he was yet king; and before your ancestor, Sir Hugh, turned Puritan—a part he was very unfitted to play—it is said he used to swear through his nose. Peter the Great, too, is said to have passed a night here. Your dreams, therefore, should have been historical and noteworthy. I forget which of these smiling Phyllises is so complaisant as to make way when you would leave the room without using the door."
Two full-length female portraits were painted in panel, one on either side of the huge chimney-piece; a circlet of roses carved in oak surrounded each by way of frame. Mr. Long advanced towards the one on the right, and touched the bottom rose; it did not move. He went to the other, and did likewise; the rose revolved in his fingers, and presently, with a creak and a groan, the whole picture slid sideways over the wall, disclosing a narrow flight of wooden stairs.
"That is charming," cried I. "That is the 'Mysteries of Udolpho' realized. Where does it lead to, Marmaduke?" There was no answer. Mr. Long and I looked round simultaneously. The lad was ghastly pale. He stared into the dusty, gaping aperture, as though it had been a grave's mouth.
"I do not know," he gasped with difficulty.
"Not know?" cried my tutor. "Do you mean to say that you have never been told of Jacob's Ladder? The foot of it is in the third bookcase on the left of the library door; the spring is somewhere in the index to "Josephus." It is evident you never attempted to take down that interesting work, which in this case is solid wood. The idea of your not knowing that! And yet Sir Massingberd is so reticent that, with the exception of Gilmore, the butler, I dare say nobodydoesknow it now. It is twenty years ago since I made Phyllis move aside, to the astonishment of Mr. Clint, who came down here on business with poor Sir Wentworth. I dare say nobody has moved her since."
"Yes, yes," cried Marmaduke, passionately; "my uncle has moved her. Those visions were not dreams. I see it all now. He wanted to frighten me to death, or to make me mad. When I knew the door was fast locked, he would come and stand by my bedside, and stare at me. Cruel, cruel coward!"
"Hush, hush, Marmaduke; this is monstrous—this is impossible!" cried Mr. Long, endeavouring to pacify the boy, who was rocking himself to and fro in an agony of distress and rage. "See how you terrify Peter! Be calm, for Heaven's sake! Your uncle will hear you presently, and you know how he hates to be disturbed."
At the mention of his uncle, Marmaduke subdued his cries by a great effort, but he still sobbed and panted, as if for breath.
"Oh," moaned he, "consider how I came hither from my dead mother's arms to this man's house—my only living relative, my father's brother—and was taken ill here, a mere child; then this wretch, this demon, my host, my...—Oh, Mr. Long, could you conceive it even of a Heath? He came up to my lonely room by that secret way, and stood without speaking by my pillow, while I lay speechless, powerless, imagining myself to be out of my mind!"
"I do remember now," said my tutor, gravely, "how you harped upon that theme of your evil dreams, and how the doctor thought you were in reality losing your reason. Let us be thankful, however, that you were preserved from so sad a fate; you are no longer a child now; Sir Massingberd can frighten you no more, even if he had the wish. It was a wicked, hateful act, whatever was the motive. But let us forget it. In a few years you will be of age; then you will leave the Hall; and in the meantime your uncle will annoy you no more. It will be his interest to make a friend of you. Even now, you see, he provides you with the means of enjoyment. You will ride out with your friend whenever you please; and I will take measures so that you shall be more with us at the rectory, and less at this melancholy place, which is totally unfit for you. Mr. Clint shall be spoken with, if necessary. Yes, yes," added Mr. Long, reversing the rose, and thereby replacing the shepherdess, but quite unaware that he was still speaking aloud, "there must be a limit to the power of such a guardian; the Chancellor shall interfere, and Sir Massingberd be taught—"
"Nay, sir," cried Marmaduke in turn; "for Heaven's sake, let no complaint be made against my uncle upon my account; perhaps, as you say, I may now meet with better treatment. I will be patient. Say nothing of this, I pray you, Meredith. Mr. Long, you know—"
"Yes, I know all," interrupted my tutor, with excitement. "You have a friend in me, Marmaduke, remember, who will stick by you. I have shut my eyes and my ears long enough, and perhaps too long. If things get worse with you, my lad, do not forget that you have a home at the rectory. Once there, you will not return to this house again. I will give evidence myself; I will—"
"Thank you, thank you," replied Marmaduke, hurriedly. "All will now be well, doubtless; but my uncle will wonder at your long delay—he will suspect something. I think it will be better if you left."
He led the way down the great staircase, throwing an involuntary glance over his shoulder, as we crossed the mouth of the dark passage leading to the baronet's room. "This is a wretched welcome, Meredith; some day, perhaps, I may take your hand at this Hall door under different circumstances. Good-by, good-by."
And so we parted, between the two grim griffins.
"Peter," said my tutor, gravely, as we went our way, "whatever you may think of what has passed to-day, say nothing. I am not so ignorant of the wrongs of that poor boy as I appear to be; but there is nothing for it but patience."
I obeyed my tutor and my friend in keeping all I knew regarding Sir Massingberd to myself; but the knowledge weighed heavily upon my spirits for several days. Soon, however, my mind recovered its youthful elasticity. I began to think that Marmaduke's morbid disposition had perhaps exaggerated matters; that the baronet was not so black as was painted; that my friend would soon be his own master; and, in short, I laid all that flattering unction to my soul which is so abundant in the case of the misfortunes of others, and so difficult to be procured when the calamity is our own. Moreover, in a few days I was in possession of an excellent horse, and there is nothing more antagonistic to melancholy—especially when it is vicarious—than a good gallop. Nay, more, after a little, Marmaduke had a horse also. He came to call for me, that we should go out for a ride together the first day, and I shall not easily forget it. How handsome and happy he looked! As if the high-conditioned animal he bestrode had imparted to him some of his own fire and freedom, he wore scarcely any trace of his habitual depression. "This is our 4th of July," said he gaily; "my day of independence, as the rebels say!"
It happened to be his birthday also, he was seventeen, so that all things conspired to make it a gala-day. My tutor, who was a judge of horseflesh, examined the new steed with great attention. "He is superb," said he, "and you sit him, Marmaduke, considering your scanty experience, like a young centaur. No one could imagine that your equestrianism had been heretofore limited to a keeper's pony; and, moreover, Oliver's ponies are not apt to be very high-couraged. But what a tight curb has this Bucephalus! He will not give you much trouble to hold him. So-ho, so-ho, my nag! Are you a hypocrite, then, that you need be so alarmed at being inspected?" The sleek bay plunged and curveted, so that my own sober brown began to dance in rivalry. "By the by," continued Mr. Long, as though a sudden thought had struck him, "I have occasion to visit Mr. Jervis of the farm at Staplehurst some day this week; if it is the same to you, let us go there to-day; it will be an object for your ride, while I shall have the pleasure of your company."
In a few minutes, my tutor's old white mare was brought round to the Rectory door by the gardener, who was groom and butler also, and we set out together at a foot's pace. Mr. Long never took his eyes off the bay, and therefore did not observe Sir Massingberd, who, with his huge arms resting on a gate by the roadside, watched us pass with a grim smile. "Well, parson," exclaimed he—and at the sound of his voice I perceived my tutor start in his saddle—"what think you of the little Londoner?"
"I cannot say at present, Sir Massingberd," returned my tutor with deliberation. "He is a beauty to look at; and if he has no vice, is a bargain at five-and-thirty pounds."
"Vice! Why should he have vice, man? A child might ride him for that matter. I got him with the best of characters. But you'll never teach those lads to ride if you are always at their stirrup-leather, like this. Let them ride alone, and race together. Don't treat them like a brace of mollycoddles. Why, at their age, I could have backed any horse in Christendom without a saddle. I wonder you don't give Miss Marmaduke a leading-rein."
The colour, which had faded from the lad's cheeks, returned to them again at this sneer; but Mr. Long only remarked: "If you had had a leading-rein yourself, Sir Massingberd, at seventeen, it would have been a great deal better for you," and rode on without the least consciousness, as I believe, of having made any such observation.
When we had advanced about a mile, and had left the village quite behind us, my tutor expressed a wish to change horses with Marmaduke.
"I want to try his paces," said he; and certainly, if he had been a horse-breaker by profession, he could not have taken more pains with the animal. He trotted, he cantered, he galloped; he took him into a field, and over some fences; he forced him by a wind-mill in full work; and, in short, he left no means untried to test his temper. In the end, he expressed himself highly satisfied. "Really," said he, "Sir Massingberd has got you a first-rate steed, with plenty of courage, yet without vice; he makes me quite dissatisfied with my poor old mare."
The next day, and the next, we rode again without my tutor; and on the fourth day it was agreed that we should take an expedition as far as Crittenden, some ten miles away, where Mr. Long wished us to do some commissions for him. By this time, Marmaduke was quite accustomed to his recent acquisition; enjoyed the exercise greatly; and since Sir Massingberd was much engaged with his guests, passed altogether more agreeable days. On the afternoon in question, the Hall party were out shooting, and had taken with them all the stable domestics except a raw lad who scarcely knew how to saddle a horse.
"I cannot think what is the matter this afternoon with 'Panther'" (we so called his skittish animal), exclaimed Marmaduke, as he rode up to the Rectory door. "I could scarcely get him to start from the yard, and he came here mostly upon his hind-legs. Is there anything wrong with his girths, think you? Ned did not know where to lay his hands on anything, and my uncle has taken William with him to 'mark.'"
"Nay," said I, "I see nothing the matter. We will soon take off his superfluous energy over Crittenden Common."
Long, however, before we reached that spot, we had had galloping enough and to spare. Twice had Panther fairly taken the bit between his teeth (as the romance-writers term it, and Heaven forbid that a mere sportsman should correct them), and sped along the hard high-road at racing pace; and twice had Marmaduke, by patience and hard pulling, recovered the mastery, albeit with split gloves and blistered hands. It was not enjoyment to ride in this fashion, of course, and had it not been for the commissions which had been entrusted to us, it is probable that we should have returned home. It puzzled us beyond measure to account for the change of conduct in the bay. The difference was as decided as that between a high-spirited child who requires, as we say, "careful treatment," and a vicious dwarf: heretofore he had been frisky, now he was positively fiendish. He shied and started, not only at every object on the roadside, but before he arrived at them. At the end of the high table-land which is called Crittenden Common, and descends into the quiet little market-town of the same name, there really was something to shy at. A gipsy encampment, with fire and caldron, and tethered donkey, which had been concealed in a hollow, came suddenly into view as we cantered by; an old crone, with a yellow handkerchief in lieu of a bonnet, and shading her beady eyes with her hand, watched with malicious enjoyment the struggle between man and horse which her own appearance had gone far to excite. In a very few moments, Marmaduke's already overtaxed muscles gave way, and the bay, maddened with resistance, and released from all control, rushed at headlong speed down the steep chalk-road that led by many a turn and zigzag into Crittenden. It was frightful to watch from the summit of this tamed precipice—this cliff compelled into a road—the descent of that doomed pair. No mule could be surer footed than was Panther, but the laws of gravitation had nevertheless to be obeyed. At the second turning, the bay, after one vain effort to follow the winding of the road, pitched, head first, down the grassy wall which everywhere separated the zigzags from one another; over and over rolled horse and rider to the hard road below, and there lay, their horrible and abnormal movements exchanged for a stony quiet. I jumped off my horse, and ran down the two steep slopes, which at another time I should have descended hand over hand. Yet on my way I had time to think with what sorrow this news would be received at Fairburn Rectory, with what joy at the Hall! Marmaduke's hand still held the rein, which I disentangled from it with feverish haste, lest that four-footed fiend, which snorted yet through its fiery nostrils, and glared defiance from its glazing eyes, should arise and drag the dear lad's corpse among the cruel stones. After what I had seen of his fall, I had scarcely a hope that he was alive. There was blood at his mouth, blood at his ears, blood everywhere upon the white and dazzling road. "Marmaduke, Marmaduke," cried I, "speak, speak, if it be but a single word! Great Heaven, he is dead!"
"Dead! no, not he," answered a hoarse, cracked voice at my ear. "He'll live to do a power of mischief yet to woman and man. The devil would never suffer a Heath of Fairburn to die at his age."
"Woman," cried I, for it was the old gipsy crone, who had somehow transported herself to the spot with incredible speed, "for God's sake, go for help! There is a house yonder among those trees."
"And why should I stir a foot," replied she fiercely, "for the child of a race that has ever treated me and mine as though we were dogs?"
"Because," said I, at a venture, "you have children yourself."
"You are right," exclaimed she, clapping her skinny hands together, and seating herself calmly on the turf. "It is well that you have mentioned my kith and kin. One lad is across the seas, and will never see the green lanes and breezy commons of England more; another lies caged in yonder jail—and both for taking the wild creatures of the earth and air, to which such men as Massingberd Heath lay claim; while my little sister—ah, my Sinnamenta, my fair pearl!—may the lightning strike him in his wickedest hour! nay, let him perish, inch by inch, within reach of the aid that shall never come, ere the God of the Poor takes him into his hand!—Boy, you may talk to that flintstone, and it will rise up and get you help for that lad there—bonny as he is, and the bonnier the worse for them he sets his wilful eyes on—before you get this hand to wag a finger for him."
"Woman," said I, despairingly, "if you hate Massingberd Heath, and want to do him the worst service that lies in your power, flee, flee to that house, and bid them save this boy's life, which alone stands between his beggared uncle and untold riches."
"Is it so?" cried the old woman, rising up with an agility for which no one would have given her credit, and looking at me with furious eyes. "Is it indeed so, boy?"
"Yes, woman, upon my soul!"
Revenge accomplished what pity had failed to work. In an instant, she was with me down by Marmaduke's side; from her pocket she produced a spirit-flask in a leathern case, and applied it to his lips: after a painful attempt to swallow, he succeeded; his eyelids began tremulously to move, and the colour to return to his pallid lips.
"Keep his head up," cried she, "and give him another drop of this, if assistance does not arrive within five minutes."
Before she had finished speaking, she had lifted the latch of the gate that opened from the road into the grounds of the house in question, and in another instant I was alone—alone with what I believed to be a dying man, and surrounded with the blood that had flowed in a mingled stream from him and the dead horse, for Panther had ceased to move—alone with recollections and anticipations scarcely less horrible than the visible scene; and yet, so strangely constituted is the human mind, that I could not forbear to glance with some sort of curiosity at the flask the gipsy had left with me, and to wonder exceedingly that its worn and tarnished top of silver bore upon it a fac-simile of one of those identical griffins which guarded each side of the broad stone steps that led to Fairburn Hall.
After an interval, which doubtless appeared much longer than it really was, there issued from the gate a groom and butler, bearing between them a small sofa, and accompanied by a young and lovely girl. The scene that presented itself was enough to shock persons even of strong nerves, and I hastily exclaimed, "The young lady had better not see this." But she came on nevertheless.
"I am not afraid of blood," said she, "and perhaps I may be of use." Then she directed her servants how to handle the wounded man; and when he was gently lifted on to the couch, she applied a handkerchief dipped in Eau-de-Cologne to his forehead, and walked by his side regulating the pace of his bearers, like some Miss Nightingale of a generation and a half ago. "Let him be placed in your master's room, James: and then take my pony, Thomas, and ride as fast as you can for Dr. Sitwell; and as you come back—but think of nothing but bringing the doctor first—call at the nursery-garden for your master; he said he should go there about those roses." And some other directions she gave, as the men moved on with their ghastly burden, like one who knew the value of time. Notwithstanding this presence of mind, her anxious eyes betrayed that she was not wanting in sensibility, and with every groan which the motion of the fitter extracted from the sufferer, her own lip quivered. I dare say that I saw nothing of her exceeding beauty at that dreadful time; but while I write of Lucy Gerard now, a vision of surpassing loveliness perforce presents itself before me. A tall, lithe, graceful form; a face, nay, rather a soft, sad smile overspreading and pervading every feature—a smile that I never saw surpassed save on her own fair countenance after Love had taken her sweet soul captive—a smile the reflex of all good and kindly thoughts that dwelt within. There are some so great and noble that they smile, where other good folks can only weep and wail; the true sympathizer with human griefs wears no lugubrious aspect; the angels smile when they weep over human wretchedness—they know that it is only for a little while, for that the gates of heaven are standing open very, very near; and some such knowledge, or happy faith, seems to influence the best of mortals, or how should they go smiling through this world?
So Marmaduke was carried along the gravel-drive, and across a little flower-studded lawn, to the room in Mr. Gerard's house which was called the master's room, it being half a sleeping-chamber, and half a library, which Lucy's father used both night and day. This was so evident from the appearance of the place, that when I had, with James' help, put Marmaduke to bed there, where he lay breathing heavily, but quite unconscious, I went to the young lady of the house, and expressed my apprehension that my poor friend, being in that apartment, would cause additional inconvenience in the household.
"I understand," said I, "that it is Mr. Gerard's room."
"Ah, sir," said she, with a glance of pride more becoming, if that were possible, than even her ordinary modest look, "you do not know my father. When I say that it will give him the greatest pleasure to find that his favourite room has been of service to your friend, I use a conventional phrase which literally expresses what he will feel Please to forget that there is anybody in this house but yourselves; it is only right that sickness should be considered before health; though, alas! every room to those who are ill is but an hospital. This little drawing-room, which your glance tells me you think pretty, with its conservatory and fountain, and the rest, my poor young sister was very, very weary of before she died, on yonder sofa, after fourteen months of the gay prison."
Her voice trembled as she spoke, and I thought I detected in it that shade of bitterness with which some affectionate persons speak of the sufferings of those they love, as though they would almost arraign that Providence for unnecessary harshness, which might inflict any misery upon, themselves without evoking one impatient thought.
"Then you are left all alone here, Miss Gerard. With such a sad reminiscence, this spot must—"
"Alone!" interrupted she, with astonishment. "What! when I have my father? See, he is coming through the shrubbery now, and Dr. Sitwell with him. Let us meet them. How glad I am that he has lost no time."
It was easy to distinguish the doctor, with his cane, his ruffles, and stiff professional appearance, a little impaired, however, by hot haste; moreover, his companion indicated him with his finger as we rapidly approached one another, exclaiming, "This is your man, young gentleman; don't waste one word on me at present."
So, rapidly detailing what had happened as we went, I took the man of physic to Marmaduke's bedside. As we entered the room, and first caught sight of his pale features distorted with pain, my companion stood for an instant aghast. "Great Heaven!" murmured he, "I thought the horse had trodden upon the poor lad's forehead; but now, I see it is an old scar."
"No," returned I; "it is not a scar; it is only a mark which in moments of pain or anger comes out more distinctly than at other times. All the Heath family have it. This is Mr. Marmaduke Heath, the nephew of Sir Massingberd."
"Indeed—indeed, sir!" exclaimed the doctor with an accession of sympathy. "Dear me, how sad! What a fine property to risk losing at his time of life. But the eye, you see, gives us hope; the brain has suffered but slightly. He has not been sick, you say—not been sick; he has not been sick, sir."
It was the worthy doctor's habit to reiterate his last sentence in an arrogant manner, as though he had been contradicted on a matter of fact, while in reality his mind was entirely occupied by quite other thoughts. Thus, at the present speaking, he was engaged in manipulating Marmaduke's head, and examining his ribs and limbs with the greatest attention. I waited for his verdict in anxious silence, and presently it was delivered. "It is my opinion, sir, that the young man will live to be a baronet."
Life and Death, the immortalities of Heaven and Hell, were matters that had but small space in Doctor Sitwell's mind compared to this all-important futurity; he was accustomed tothemin connection with the merest paupers and persons of no sort of consequence; but it was not every day in the week that a gentleman of Marmaduke's condition was pitched on his head within the Crittenden doctor's professional orbit.
"Mr. Marmaduke Heath must be kept perfectly quiet; he must not be moved from hence upon any consideration—it may be, for weeks. What science can do, through my humble agency, shall be done for the young gentleman; but rest and quiet are essential. Sir Massingberd should be sent for instantly; the responsibility upon my shoulders would otherwise be too great. He will doubtless yearn to be by the bedside of his beloved nephew. You had better arrange with Mr. Gerard for this being done, as I have my round to make, which to-day is all-important. The Hon. Mrs. Flinthert—widow of the late admiral, you know—she requires constant supervision; nature has to be supported; but for brandy, she must have sunk before this. Then Mr. Broadacres, who lives Fairburn way—by the by, that is a very curious case. However, my post is here, of course, until my assistant arrives, who will remain in my absence. You may leave your friend now without the least anxiety. When he awakes to consciousness, you shall be sent for—you shall be sent for, sir."
Upon this, I returned to the drawing-room to give a much more cheerful report of the patient's case than I had ventured to anticipate. I found our host issuing orders for his comfort and attendance, as though he had quite made up his mind to make him his guest for a lengthened period. A noble-looking gentleman he was, as like his daughter as an old man can be to a young girl. Harvey Gerard's face was wrinkled neither by years nor care, though marked here and there with those deep lines which indicate the Thinker—one whom the gods have placed above the drudgery of life, with a disposition to philosophize—a man among men rather than of them, who stands apart from the high-road somewhere half-way up the hill of Fortune, and watches the toilers above and below with a quiet but not cynical smile. "The news you bring me of our patient, Mr. Meredith," said he, "is most welcome; but I think we should still lose no time in communicating with his friends."
"That is also the opinion of Dr. Sitwell, sir; he, too, recommends that my poor friend's nearest relative should be sent for; but in circumstances of this kind, it would be wrong not to say at once that that relative and the invalid here are on the worst of terms, and that his coming would most certainly aggravate any bad symptoms, and retard his cure."
"I am sorry to hear," returned Mr. Gerard, gravely, "that the young gentleman is not on good terms with his own flesh and blood; that is a bad sign."
"However that maybe, sir, generally," replied I, with warmth, "it is not so in this instance. Mr. Long, the rector of Fairburn, and tutor to my friend, will certify to his being a most well-conducted and excellent youth. His uncle, however, Sir Massingberd Heath—"
"I will not have that person under my roof," interrupted Mr. Gerard, "under any circumstances whatsoever." This he said without the least trace of irritation, but with a firmness and decision which left me nothing to apprehend upon Marmaduke's account. Then turning to his daughter, as if in explanation, he added, "The man I speak of, my love, is a wicked ruffian—worse than any poor fellow who has ever dangled yonder outside of Crittenden jail."
Miss Gerard did not answer except by a look of gentle remonstrance, which seemed to me to murmur, "But, dear papa, for all we know, this gentleman may be a friend of his."
I hastened, therefore, to observe with energy, that Mr. Gerard's view of the baronet's character was a perfectly just one, as far as I knew, or, if anything, rather lenient. I recommended that Mr. Long should be apprised of what had happened, and that he should give Sir Massingberd to understand that while his nephew was receiving every attention at the Dovecot—for so I had learned the house was called—its doors were immutably closed against himself. It was not a pleasant task to impose upon the good rector, but it was a necessary one; for, independently of Mr. Gerard's determination, I felt it was absolutely essential to Marmaduke's life that his uncle should be kept away from his bedside. If in health his presence terrified him, how much worse would it be for him in his prostrate and perilous condition! It was arranged, too, that I should remain to look after my sick friend, and the messenger was instructed to bring back with him all that we required from the Rectory and the Hall. Mr. Long arrived at the Dovecot late that same afternoon, in a state of great anxiety. He had come away almost on the instant after receiving the news of Marmaduke's mis-chance, and without seeing Sir Massingberd, who had not yet returned from shooting; but he had left a letter for him, explaining the circumstances as well as he could. "My only fear," said he, after visiting his pupil, who still lay in a lethargic slumber, "is that he will come here immediately, and insist on seeing his nephew—a desire that would appear to be natural enough to persons who are unacquainted with the circumstances."
"Nay," said I; "but surely he cannot do this in the face of Mr. Gerard's prohibition."
"Ah, my boy, you do not know Sir Massingberd yet," observed my tutor, gravely; "he will come where and when he will."
"Nay," returned I; "but neither do you know Mr. Harvey Gerard. From what I have seen of that gentleman, he understands how to say 'No,' and to suit to the word the action. When the strong man armed keepeth his house, his goods, including his sick guest, are in peace."
"But where a stronger than he cometh," added the rector, shaking his head, "what then?"
"We shall see," said I, "what will happen. It is plain, at all events, that our host is well aware of the sort of man with whom he has to deal. Mr. Gerard is a most pleasant person, and his daughter is charming beyond measure: they are far the most interesting people I have yet seen about Fairburn. How is it I have never heard any mention of them?"
"The Gerards have always lived a very retired life," returned my tutor. "The old gentleman entertains, it is said, some strange opinions. In fact, I have never met them myself but once, and that on some public occasion; so you must introduce me, Peter."
I had been watching for Mr. Long at the entrance-gate, and taken him straight into Marmaduke's room upon his arrival, so that he had seen neither our host nor hostess; and I thought it strange that my tutor did not speak of them with more enthusiasm, after their great kindness to Marmaduke; something evidently a little chilled his feelings towards them. When he and Mr. Gerard met, I thought there was more cordiality upon the part of the latter than of the former; the expression of Mr. Long's gratitude was earnest, but not genial. His admiration of Miss Lucy, although not to be concealed, was mitigated, as it seemed, by some sort of compassion; he regarded her with a shade of sadness. Boy as I was, it was evident to me that some antagonism existed between my host—for whom I naturally entertained most kindly feelings—and my respected tutor; and this troubled me more than I should have liked to say.
Miss Lucy presently left the drawing-room, and then I was continually appealed to by one or the other, on various trifling matters, as though they found a third party a relief to their conversation. At last Mr. Long requested me to narrate particularly the circumstances of Marmaduke's accident, and I did so, down to the period when I found him bleeding on the road.
"Well," observed my tutor, "I am totally at a loss to account for poor Panther's behaviour. I confess, upon the first day I saw him, I did not like the look of his eye: you remember, Peter, that I made Marmaduke exchange horses with me, and endeavoured, by every means in my power, to find out the peculiarities of the animal. I wish Sir Massingberd had permitted me to choose a horse for his nephew myself, when I bought your honest brown."
"Sir Massingberd selected his nephew's horse himself, did he?" inquired Mr. Gerard, carelessly.
"Yes," replied my tutor; "he sent for him from town a few weeks ago. He was a mettlesome frisky creature, it is true; but his curb was a very powerful one, and seemed quite sufficient to subdue him."
"Does Sir Massingberd himself ride when he is in the field?" observed our host. "He must be a great weight for a shooting pony."
"Well, if you had asked me yesterday, I should have said he almost never rides; but it so happens that he did take the keeper's nag with him this morning. His great stables are all empty now, for, as probably you are aware, things are not kept up as they used to be at the Hall. Old Dobbin is the only representative of the magnificent stud that was once maintained there, now that Panther is dead. By the by, what has been done with him?"
"The carcass has been taken into the town," said Mr. Gerard. "He must have been a fine creature."
"His mouth, however, was of iron," said I. "Poor Marmaduke had no control over him whatever, at last; he had almost pulled his arms off."
"Notwithstanding the powerful bit?" observed Mr. Gerard.
"Yes," replied my tutor; "the bit was not only powerful, I should have almost called it cruel; but Sir Massingberd is a very good judge of all things belonging to a horse, and seems to have known that, at all events, no less was required. It was a town-made article, and came down from London with the animal."
"Ah, indeed," remarked Mr. Gerard. "But you have never told us, Mr. Meredith, how you managed to give the alarm here, without leaving your poor friend."
I am ashamed to say I had never given the old gipsy crone a thought from the moment that help arrived, although it was of her sending.
"The very woman whose appearance frightened the horse, repaired, as far as she could accomplish it, that mischief. She left in my hands, too, this fine old case-bottle, of which I should be sorry to rob her; and very curious is it that it has the Heath griffin, or some crest very like that, upon its stopper."
"It is the very crest," said the rector. "I am quite sure of that, although it is long since it last saw plate-powder. It is but too likely that the dark lady came wrongfully by it."
"Let us not be hasty to impute crime," observed Mr. Gerard, gravely. "This is a shooting-flask carried about the person; and gipsies are rarely pickpockets. When the owner is at home, it lies in someplace of safety; and gipsies are not burglars."
"Ably reasoned," observed Mr. Long. "It may, however, have been a case of 'findings, keepings,' as the school-boys say. I should think the Cingari claimed for themselves all flotsam and jetsam."
"It is too heavy, and has too much bulk, not to have been missed by him who carried it as soon as it fell," continued Mr. Gerard, taking up the flask. "It has but very little spirit left in it—see—and yet how—"
Here the butler entered somewhat hurriedly, and was about to speak, when a figure brushed by him, and set him aside. The daylight was beginning to wane; but it was impossible to mistake that herculean form, and its irresistible motion, even if I had not heard the harsh decisive voice of Sir Massingberd saying, "By your leave, sirrah; but in this good company I will announcemyself!"
Sir Massingberd's unlooked-for entrance into the drawing-room at the Dovecot had a result that must seem almost farcical to those who read it, but which to me, who dwelt among big trembling vassals, and had learned, day by day, to fear and hate him more and more, had nothing in it extraordinary. I, Peter Meredith, bolted straightway into the conservatory, and there ensconced myself within the shadow of an orange-tree, while the Rev. Matthew Long left the room with equal celerity by the door. As for me, I confess that I was actuated by panic on my own account; my tutor's apprehensions were aroused on behalf of another. The instant after he disappeared, I heard the lock of the library door shot into its staple, and knew that Marmaduke was in a friend's keeping, and safe from any incursion of his uncle. I could see that Mr. Gerard knew this too, for a gleam of pleasure passed over his face, and then left it determined, defiant, and almost mocking, as when he had first set eyes upon the intruder. There was a fire in the otherwise darkening room, and from my place of concealment, I could watch the lineaments of both its inmates—and two more resolved and haughty countenances I had never beheld.
"Is it the custom of your respectable family, Sir Massingberd Heath," observed my host, "to force themselves into houses whose owners do not desire the honour of their presence?"
"It is their custom to hold their own, sir," answered the baronet curtly; "and I am come after my nephew."
It is impossible to convey the effect which this audacious speech had upon me, its unseen hearer; unblushing, scornfully open as it was, an awful threat seemed to lie within it, and above all, a consciousness of the power to carry it into effect. Even Mr. Gerard, who could have had no knowledge of the things that I knew, and had never heard the history of Grimjaw, seemed to feel a tremor as he listened.
"Your nephew, sir, is not in a condition to receive you," returned my host. "The consequences of seeing you might, I do not hesitate to say, be fatal to him."
"The opinion of his medical man is different," observed Sir Massingberd with a sneer. "Dr. Sitwell—a most estimable person, I should say, and endowed with excellent sense—has been so very kind as to ride over himself to Fairburn as soon as he could leave his patient, in order to apprise me exactly how the matter stands. He recommends my seeing Marmaduke in his first lucid interval—'There is no knowing,' said he, 'whether that may not be your poor dear nephew's last.'"
"Your poor dear nephew," repeated Mr. Gerard, with great distinctness. "Very dear, doubtless, but not what one would call poor, at least in the matter of expectations."
"Poor or rich, sir," retorted the other, "he has been placed in my hands as being those most fitted to take care of him."
Mr. Gerard shrugged his shoulders, and smiled sardonically.
"You seem to conceive that confidence misplaced, sir," continued the baronet. "The want of your good opinion afflicts me beyond measure. I am aware that I fail to satisfy pious persons in some particulars, but that Mr. Harvey Gerard's susceptibilities should be offended is indeed a serious consideration; it is as though the devil himself should cry, 'For shame!'"
"Sir Massingberd Heath, you are under my roof, although unbidden and unwelcome," returned my host; "your tongue, therefore, is chartered, so far as I am concerned. I could not, I confess, help my countenance expressing some astonishment when you spoke of your fitness for the education of youth."
There was a pause here for which I could not account. Sir Massingberd's eyes were riveted upon something on which the firelight danced and shone. I should very much misrepresent the baronet's character, and probably even exaggerate his capabilities, if I said he blushed, but certainly his countenance changed. Then he broke out fiercely, "I live as I choose, sir, and am answerable to no man, least of all to you. The parsons had their say, and have got their reply long ago, but am I also to be arraigned by—"
"You cannot justify yourself by any quarrel with me," interrupted Mr. Gerard. "I have, as you say, although not for the foolish reason you would mention, no right to be either your judge or accuser. But, Sir Massingberd, there is a God whom we have both good cause to fear."
"So you make your own sermons, I perceive," exclaimed the other, bitterly. "That is the reason, is it, why the good folks never see you at church? Cant amuses me always; but religion out of your mouth is humorous, indeed. Pray go on, sir, if my dear nephew can wait a little, for I should be sorry to miss him altogether. You were affirming, I think, the existence of a God."
"I was about to urge," continued Mr. Gerard, with grave severity, "since howsoever persons differ on religious matters, they generally acknowledge a common Father, that if there is one crime more hateful to Him than another, it is the deliberate debauchery of the mind of youth. I had no intention of making any particular accusation, such as the sight of this flask seems to have suggested to you. I know nothing—but what I guess—of its history. It has only been in my hands a very few minutes. The person by whose means it came into this house was, I believe, an old gipsy woman, and you are, doubtless, well aware how it got into her possession."
Mr. Gerard paused. Sir Massingberd, who, though smiling scornfully, had been beating the ground with his foot, here observed, with a forced calmness, "She is a liar; she is a thief, and the mother of thieves."
"Did she steal this flask?" inquired Mr. Gerard, regarding the other attentively. "It has your crest upon it. She did not. Good. It was then, I suppose, only agage d'amourof yours."
A lurid light came over Sir Massingberd's evil face; for a moment I trembled for the man who dared to speak such words to him, but almost instantly he recovered his usual cruel calm.
"Your sagacity, Mr. Gerard," returned he, "is truly admirable. Is it the result of experience or intuition? or has this old ginger-faced harridan made you her favoured confidant? With your fondness for all such vagabonds I am well acquainted."
"The reprobation of a man like you, Sir Massingberd, should be dearer than the praise of ordinary mortals; but this matter does not concern myself in any way."
The baronet muttered something between his set teeth.
"Pshaw! man," continued Mr. Gerard, with unutterable scorn; "think not to frightenme. I am stronger than you, because I am richer; you are as poor as those very vagabonds whom you despise; your very existence depends upon the alms of a stranger. That you are unscrupulous in your revenges, I do not doubt; but you would have to deal in Harvey Gerard with one who only uses honourable weapons with an honourable foe. If you did me or mine a mischief, I swear to you that I would shoot you like a dog."
The frame of the speaker shook with contemptuous passion. Defiant as was his language, it fell far short of the disdain expressed in his tone and manner. It was not in Sir Massingberd's nature to be overawed, but his truculent features no longer maintained their grimness—their cruel humour. He could not put aside a man like Gerard with a brutal jest. I do not say that he was conscious of his own inferiority, but he knew that his opponent not only did not fear, but actually despised him. This was wormwood.
"I am ashamed," continued Mr. Gerard, after a pause, "to have lost my temper with you, Sir Massingberd, upon my own account. I wish to have nothing in common with you—not even a quarrel. We were speaking of this gipsy woman, and you called her thief, and what not. Whatever may be her faults, however, it does not become you to dwell on them; but for her and her prompt assistance, your nephew would not at this moment be alive. Out of this very flask she administered to him—" So frightful an execration here broke from the baronet's lips that I anticipated it to be the prelude to a personal assault upon my host. Mr. Gerard, however, stood quietly stirring the fire, with his eyes fixed firmly but calmly on those of Sir Massingberd, just as a mad doctor might regard a dangerous patient.
"That is a very singular exclamation of gratitude," observed Mr. Gerard, sardonically, "to one who has just performed you—or at leastyours—so great a service. It really seems as though you almost regretted that itwasperformed."
A look of deadly hatred had now taken the place of all other expressions on the baronet's face. It forgot even to wear its sneer.
"I have been insulted enough, I think," said he, with a calmness more terrible than wrath. "Even as it is, I shall scarcely be able to requite you, though, be sure, I will do my best. But, with respect to my errand, I am come here to see my nephew, and that I will do."
"That you shall not do, Sir Massingberd, so surely as this house is mine."
"And who shall prevent me?" exclaimed the baronet, contemptuously measuring his foe from head to foot.
"Not I, sir, indeed," returned Mr. Gerard; "but I will see that my servants put you out of doors by force," and as he spoke he laid his hand upon the bell.
"Before night, then, I shall send for Marmaduke, and he shall be carried back to Fairburn, which, after all, is his proper home, and be there nursed."
"Nursed!" repeated my host, hoarsely. "Nursed by the grave-digger, you mean."
Sir Massingberd turned livid and sat down; then, as one who acts in his sleep, he passed his handkerchief once or twice across his forehead. "How dare you speak such things to me?" said he, looking round about him. "To hear you talk, one would think that I had tried to murder the boy."
"Iknowyou did," cried Mr. Gerard, solemnly, laying his finger upon the baronet's arm. "If your nephew, Marmaduke, dies, his blood is on your head."
"On mine! how on mine? How, in the name of all the devils, could I have hindered the lad's horse from running away with him?"
"I will tell you how. You might have suffered Mr. Long to purchase a horse for the boy, as he offered to do, and not have sent to London for a confirmed run-away."
"He rode it half a dozen times without any harm," replied Sir Massingberd, sullenly.
"Yes, with a curb that would have tamed a wild horse fresh from the lasso. But when you took that curb for the keeper's pony, riding with gun in hand for the first time in your life—and sent your nephew forth upon that devil with a snafflebridle—nay, I have it yonder, sir—don't lie; you calculated that if what you wished should happen all would be laid to chance. A change of bridles is an accident like enough to happen; lads are thrown from horseback every day. See, I track your thoughts like slime. Base ruffian! rise; begone from beneath this roof, false coward—"
Sir Massingberd started up like one stung by an adder.
"Yes, I say coward! Heavens! that this creature should still feel the touch of shame! Be off, be off; molest not any one within this house, at peril of your life—murderer—murderer!"
Without a word, without a glance of reply, Sir Massingberd seized his hat, and hurried from the room. I felt some alarm lest he should make some violent effort to visit Marmaduke; but Mr. Gerard's countenance gave me comfort. He stood quite still, listening with grim satisfaction to the baronet's retreating footsteps.
They were heard for an instant striding along the floor of the hall, and then were exchanged for the sound of his horse's hoofs urged to speed along the carriage-drive. Sir Massingberd Heath had met for once with his match—and more.
So entirely engrossed had I been with the action and dialogue of the speakers in the preceding scene, that it scarcely struck me while it was going on that I had not paid for my place in the pit in the usual fashion, but was a mere eavesdropper under an orange-tree.
So soon as Sir Massingberd was really gone, however, I became conscious of the impropriety of my situation, and not wishing to own what I had done, I stole noiselessly out into the garden, and then re-entered the conservatory, and thereby the drawing-room, as though I had been out of sight and hearing all the time. It was not quite a chivalrous act; but I do not think that the boys of my time, myself included, were quite so honourable and frank as Mr. Tom Brown describes those of the present day to be. There was something, moreover, about Mr. Harvey Gerard which told me he would have loathed a listener, nor would have been very ready to have accepted fear as any excuse for my conduct. He was a man of noble bearing, nearly six feet in height, and extremely well formed. He was dressed in a blue lapelled coat, light waistcoat and kerseys, and Hessian boots. These last I had not seen before upon any person, and I remember them well. I think they were the most graceful covering for the leg that has yet been devised, although, I own, they may not have been so convenient as the modern knickerbockers. He wore his own grey hair—which was not very usual with persons of his rank of life—and rather long. His features were large, but handsome; and there was a kind of youthful blandness about them which gave his face a most agreeable expression in ordinary. When excited by passion, however, as I had lately seen him, his appearance greatly changed. His thin lips parted contemptuously, and showed his threatening teeth, while his blue eyes, gentle almost to dreaminess, became blood-streaked, and almost started from their sockets. As I now beheld him calmly kindling a lamp on the drawing-room table, no one could have been a greater contrast than himself to the man who had just driven Sir Massingberd Heath from the room with such a hail-storm of invective.
"Well, young gentleman," exclaimed he, cheerfully, "the enemy is repulsed, you see, although, I confess, your friend the baronet is rather a formidable fellow. He's uncommonly like Front de Boeuf. I daresay you have read the new romance of 'Ivanhoe,' have you not?"
"Marmaduke has, sir, I believe," replied I; "but I am sorry to say I am no great reader."
"That is not well, Mr. Meredith; youth is the time for reading. A knowledge of books, if they are sufficiently varied, is half-way towards the knowledge of men. It is true that a student may turn out a fool, because he may have been a book-worm; but the probability is greater of that misfortune befalling one who has been 'no great reader.' I would not say so much, if you were older than you are, and had not plenty of time before you to redeem the past. There is nothing more contemptible than ignorance; save, perhaps"—here he sighed—"than knowledge misapplied. What a dangerous villain would that man be, for instance, who has just been here, had his natural powers been cultivated by study. As it is, he rushes headlong, like the bull." Here he turned upon me gaily. "Did he ever toss you, my young friend?"
"Well, sir," returned I, remembering that interview in the churchyard, "he bellowed at me once a little."
"Did he, my boy, did he?—the cowardly brute! Well, I've put a ring through his nose for a considerable time to come, I flatter myself. Ilikea bull-fight. I think I should have made a capital matador," cried Mr. Gerard, rubbing his hands and laughing.
"How did you—how did you manage toringhim, sir?" inquired I, with hesitation, for I was curious to see whether Mr. Gerard would make me a confidant of what had passed.
"Oh, I watched him carefully—never took my eyes off him for a moment. When he was calm in his white malice, then I irritated him by waving my red flag—this silver-headed brandy-flask put him in a horrible rage. When he made his rushes, I stood aside, and let him go where he would. When he had exhausted himself, I stepped in, and gave him the steel. I wonder," soliloquized Mr. Gerard, aloud, as he slowly paced up and down the room—"I wonder if it would be safe to give him thecoup de grace!"
"But," said I, "were you not afraid—"
"My dear young friend," said my host, with seriousness, but placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder, "an honest man should never be afraid of a fellow-creature. 'Fear God,' it is written; but even the king is only to be honoured."
It is impossible to express the grave and noble air with which Mr. Gerard spoke those words: I felt such an affectionate awe of him from that moment, as no other person has ever inspired within me.
"But," continued I, "supposing he had made a personal assault upon you: he is perfectly reckless, and a much more powerful man, I should think."
"Very true, my young friend; and indeed at one time I thought he would certainly have done it; that was why I placed the poker in the fire. It would not have been a romantic action; but so sure as he laid finger upon me, I would have played Bailie Nicol Jarvie, and 'burned a hole in him one might put a kail-pat through.' It would have give me genuine pleasure."
"Burned a hole in Sir Massingberd!" cried I aghast.
"Ay, that would I. As it was, I threatened him with my servants; and had he ventured to force his way into yonder room, they should have flogged him, though he were ten times Sir Massingberd. Better men than he are often flogged for less offences. Did you hear of Admiral Flinthert's funeral at Crittenden a month ago or so? You did; and I daresay you were told that he was a good man and a brave sailor."
"So it was said, indeed, sir," replied I. "Mr. Long attended the funeral out of respect, and I believe a great number of gentlemen of the county."
"Yet, for all that, he was a bad man, and a coward," returned Mr. Gerard, his voice rising, and his blue eyes flashing with indignation. "One part of the naval creed—'to hate the French'—it is true, he did believe, and acted in that faith; but he omitted the other, and the more important, 'to hate the devil.' He loved and served the devil of his own arrogant passions; he made the men miserable over whom he ruled; his ship was called the Floating Hell. When the carriage of the lord-lieutenant had driven away from the church, with all its load of sympathy—for there was nothing else inside it—and the county gentry were rolling homewards, congratulating themselves that they had paid due reverence to a gallant officer and a friend of order and good government, I will tell you what happened. The very evening those honoured remains were laid in their resting-place, a sailor called at the house of old Marks, the sexton, and begged to be shown the admiral's coffin. 'I have sailed with him for years,' said he, 'and I have made right away from Portsmouth on purpose to do this; and though I cannot see his face, I should like at least to look upon that which contains it.'
"Now, old Marks did not fancy unlocking the church, and descending into a damp vault; beside which, he had really no right to enter the last home of the Flintherts without due occasion. So said he, 'I cannot admit you to where the admiral lies, and certainly not at this hour; it is as much as my place is worth.'
"Then the sailor, who was as fine and hearty-looking a man, said Marks, as need be, held up half a sovereign between his finger and thumb. 'I have been just paid off,' said he, 'and will gladly give you this for your trouble; while as for your scruples, why, don't you think the admiral's family here, and all his great friends who came to do him honour to-day, would be glad enough that a poor tar should pay a humble tribute to his memory?'
"'Well,' said Marks, regarding, I daresay, the half-sovereign, rather wistfully, 'what you have just said seems certainly to alter the matter. I will take you to the church, and you shall see the coffin, for the vault is not yet sealed.'
"So they started with a lantern, and Marks was for going first to show the way, but the sailor went ahead, saying that he knew the road blindfold, for that he had been brought up in that neighbourhood, and knew it well.
"'Well,' said old Marks, 'I thought I recognized something about you, although you are much changed in the last twenty years. You are Will Moody, who got into trouble with Sir Wentworth Heath about poaching; only he couldn't quite prove it agin you.'
"'No,' returned the sailor; 'but he went to work by a surer way than even the law—he got me pressed when I went to visit my sister down at Deal.'
"That, my young friend," observed Mr. Gerard, interrupting himself, "is a method by which not only we man our fleet, but rid the country of a number of obnoxious persons."[1]
"'Yes,' continued the sailor, 'I was pressed; if it had not been for that I should not have sailed under Admiral Flinthert.' He spoke no more till they had entered the church, and had moved away the stone, which had been only dropped, and not yet fastened over the mouth of the vault. Then they descended the steps, and old Marks turned his lantern on to the spot where the first—that is, the latest—coffin of the long row was lying. 'That is the admiral's,' said he; 'you may read his name upon the silver plate.'
"William Moody spelled it out aloud, so as to be quite sure. 'Well,' said he, 'I will tell you a little story about that dead man, and then we will come away.'
"'Tell us the story when we get home,' replied the sexton.
"'No, no, man; I will tell it here, else you would think ill of me, may be, for what I am going to do. Now listen. For a long time after I was pressed, I hated and detested what I had to do, and also those who gave me my orders; but after a bit I got more used to the work, and some of the officers I learned to like very well, especially our captain. I was a strong active fellow, without home-ties to think upon and sadden me, for mother had other sons to maintain her, and in that respect I was luckier than most. There were pressed men on board of the same ship, man, whose wives and helpless children were starving because their bread-winner was taken from them, and who knew not whether he was dead or alive. However, as I say, I soon got used to my new position, and became so good a sailor that I was made what is called captain of the main-top. When our ship was paid off, which was not, however, for a long time, I liked the salt water so well, that after I had been home for a little, I volunteered to serve again.
"'My next captain was this man who lies here. He was as cruel a tyrant as ever trod a quarter-deck, and a terror to good and bad alike. You could never please him, do what you would. If an officer is worth his salt at all, he knows and respects those men who do their duty well under him. Captain Flinthert knew, but did not respect them; on the contrary, he behaved towards them as though he resented some imaginary claims on their part to his consideration. I held in his ship the same position that I held in the last, for it did not contain a more active sailor. Yet he found occasion—I should rather say he made it—to get me punished. I swear to you that I had not committed even that slight fault which he laid to my charge; if I had done so, it was one for which the stopping of a day's grog would have been chastisement enough. This ruffian'—here he smote the coffin with his clenched hand—'ordered me three dozen lashes. Now, I had never been flogged yet, and when I went to the captain with almost tears in my eyes, and told him so, and that I had never even been reported for misconduct, he replied with a sneer that I was too good by half, and that it was high time I should become acquainted with the cat-o'-nine tails. "To prevent mistakes, you shall have it at once," said he: "call up the boatswain's mate." Now, I thought to myself, in the pride of my manliness and independence, that such a disgrace should never happen to William Moody, but that I would die first; so I walked straight from that part of the deck where I had been speaking with Captain Flinthert, and leaped from the bulwarks into the sea. I believed I tried at first to drown myself, but I was a strong swimmer, and nature compelled me presently to strike out. The cry of "A man overboard!" had caused the boat to be lowered at once, and though we had been sailing very fast, I was picked up, not much exhausted, and almost in spite of myself. As soon as I had got on board, and put on dry things, the captain sent for me on deck, where I found the boatswain's mate at the grating, and all hands piped for punishment. "William Moody," said that ruffian in a mocking voice, "I had ordered you three dozen lashes for a certain offence, but you have now committed a much graver one in endangering, by your late act, the life of one of his majesty's sailors; you will therefore now receivesixdozen instead. Boatswain, do your duty."
"'I was, therefore, tied up and punished. I don't think I suffered much at the time, although I was laid up in the sick ward for long afterwards. I was entirely occupied with thoughts of revenge. When I was able to get about again, Captain Flinthert had got another ship, and was away out of my reach. I never met him, again, or he would not have lived to the age that is inscribed on yonder plate; but as soon as I heard that he was dead, I swore to come and spit upon the tyrant's coffin.'
"Then the sailor suited the action to the word, and turned from the dishonoured corpse with a lighter step than that with which he had approached it; and old Marks followed him from the vault, as he confessed to me himself, 'half frightened out of his wits.'"
"I do not wonder," said I to Mr. Gerard, "it was a terrible revenge."
"Ay, but how much worse was the provocation; from the very man, too, placed in authority of him, whose duty was to foster, not to oppress him. Verily, they that are in honour, and understand not, are as the beasts that perish."
"True," returned I, "but then the wretch was dead."
"Just so, young sir," replied Mr. Gerard, impetuously, "was dead, and never felt the insult. The sailor felt both the insult and the lashes. How is it that, at your age, you have already learned to be the apologist of the rich in high places?"
"Nay, sir, I—?"
"Yes,you," continued my host with vehemence; "your pity is for the admiral, and does not descend to the captain of the maintop. Still," added he, in a milder tone, "I should not judge you harshly, even if you so judge others. You were brought up in India, were you not? where in the eyes of the cowering natives, to be white is to be powerful, and wise, and all in all—save to be good. Great heavens, what a retribution is waiting for us there!" Again my host paced the room, but this time rapidly, wildly, and uttering exclamations like a sibyl inspired by her god. "If the nabobs we see here are specimens of those who rule the East, Heaven help the ruled! What blindness, what infatuation! Do you know, young man, the very men that cause revolutions am the last to believe in them?" This was an observation so entirely beyond me, that I could only murmur that such was doubtless the case, although I did not remember having heard it remarked before. "It is so," continued Mr. Gerard, positively, "and it always has been so. It was so in France. I suppose you have always been taught to consider the French Republicans the vilest and wickedest of men, and the Revolution to be the mother that produced them at one monstrous birth. Yes, when the day of reckoning comes, and the ruin is undeniable, Democracy, forsooth, is blamed. The taunt is hurled—
'"Behold the harvest that we reapFrom popular government and equality!"Whereas, in truth, 'tis neither these, nor aughtOf wild belief ingrafted on their namesBy false philosophy, have caused the woe,But a terrific reservoir of guiltAnd ignorance, filled up from age to age,That can no longer hold its loathsome charge,But bursts, and spreads in deluge through the land.'
High truth embalmed in noble verse, yet no one heeds. The author of those lines, my friend, is the greatest poet in Great Britain, and has never possessed an income of a hundred pounds a year. They say that my Lord Castlereagh has thirty thousand...—Stay, do you not hear wheels? That must be Sitwell's gig. I have not the patience to see him now. His sycophantic officiousness in fetching Sir Massingberd was too contemptible. How can a man who has two legs given him to stand upright upon, persist in grovelling through life upon all-fours?
'Heaven grant the man some noble nook;For, rest his soul! he'd rather beGenteelly damned beside a dukeThan saved in vulgar company.'
Do you receive him, Mr. Meredith; and tell him from me that it is no thanks to him that his patient is yet alive. Now that the siege is raised, I will just step in and see how the lad is getting on."
My host had left the room only a few seconds when Dr. Sitwell entered it.
"My dear young friend!" exclaimed he, in an excited manner, "what on earth has happened to Sir Massingberd Heath? He very nearly rode me down ten minutes ago on Crittenden Common; and when I inquired after his nephew, he replied—Well, I cannot repeat the exact words, because they are so excessively shocking. Why, he must be out of his mind with grief! I trust he did nothing impetuous, nothing that is to be regretted, here?"
"No, sir," replied I; "he did not, thanks to our good host, who withstood all his attempts to see his nephew. It was, however, most indiscreet of you to send him hither. Mr. Harvey Gerard was exceedingly annoyed by your doing so."
"My dear young friend," observed Dr. Sitwell, sinking his voice to a confidential whisper, "Mr. Harvey Gerard is annoyed at many things which would give most sensible persons a great deal of pleasure. He would as soon admit a rattle-snake within his doors as a man of title, unless, indeed, it be his friend, Sir Charles Wolseley. By the by, it is to Sir Charles that my dear patient, Mr. Broadacres, is indirectly indebted for his wound. If Sir Charles had not convened that revolutionary meeting at Bangton, Mr. Broadacres would not have had to read the Riot Act, and eventually got shot by mistake by his own men. It is denied by the government, I perceive, that ball was fired by the troops at the first discharge; but between ourselves such was certainly the case; for I extracted the bullet from poor Mr. B. myself, and he has had to lie upon his face ever since. Good heavens, sir, what a position for a man whose family came in with the Conqueror!"
"Is this Sir Charles Wolseley, then, of whom one reads so much in the papers, a friend of Mr. Gerard's?" said I. "I have heard Mr. Long remark that he was a very dangerous man."
"So he is, sir. He'll be hung some day, as sure as he lives. And the gentleman in whose house we stand is tarred with the same brush. It's terrible to think of. Why, do you know, Mr. Meredith, that Mr. Harvey Gerard goes the length"—here the doctor looked about him to be sure that we were alone, and placing his lips close to my ear, whispered solemnly, "of wearing a white hat!"