"Oh, very well, sir," replied the landlady with a bland smile, "but if you don't mind me taking her away now, as I am rather behind-hand with the work."
"Certainly, Dame Hearty," said Mr. Oldstone, with a wave of the hand.
Helen followed her mother, and the door closed behind them. Then our antiquary occupied himself vigorously with his writing, until the other members of the club returned from their ramble, hungry for their mid-day meal.
It is not our object to weary the reader with superfluous details relating to the doings and sayings of the members of the club, nor to follow up the story of their lives from day to day. We will, therefore, suppose some two years to have passed away since our artist's departure for Rome. In two years' time much may transpire,i.e., in a large town where there is much business and traffic. In this ancient hostelry, however, situated about a mile from any habitable dwelling, things went on from year to year in much the same monotonous way. Jack Hearty was just as genial and attentive as ever, and looked no older. Dame Hearty was just as active, bustling, and good-humoured. And Helen, what of her? Ah! herewasa change. Was she falling into a decline? Did her cheek grow paler and paler, her step listless, her eye vacant, her manner distracted? No; nothing of the sort. All these signs had vanished long ago, thanks to a course of steel that Dr. Bleedem had prescribed for her, and insisted on her taking. What a feather in the good doctor's cap it was when he saw the sallow, sunken face fill out, the rose of perfect health once more return to her cheek, theelasticity to her step, and the merry ring to her voice. No wonder he blew his own trumpet. Who would not have done the same?
But there was one among the members who smiled quietly, and with an air of superiority, whenever the doctor vaunted himself.
"I don't know what you mean, sir," said Dr. Bleedem, one day, irritated at what he conceived to be an expression of incredulity on our antiquary's countenance, "but if you think that my medicine did not effect the marvellous cure we have been discussing, I should like to know what did, that's all."
"Well, sir," replied Mr. Oldstone, still with a quizzical look in his eye, "I said nothing."
The doctor, far from being pacified, gave a snort, then resumed severely, "And I'll tell you what it is, Oldstone, if you don't take more care of your constitution, you won't last much longer. You may depend upon that. If you pass many more nights like that one on the eve of Mr. McGuilp's departure, and think that you know better than I do, your sand will run speedily down. Then will follow a state of utter prostration—the death rattle—the silent tomb. Ha! ha! how will you like that?"
Having thus delivered himself, this son of Æsculapius felt better, and deeming he had completely vanquished his antagonist, he proceeded to fill his yard of clay with some of his most pungent tobacco, lighted it, and throwing himself back in his chair, and crossing hislegs, gave several defiant puffs at his pipe, causing the smoke to stream through his nostrils, which gave him somewhat the appearance of a fiery dragon.
"Well, man," said Mr. Oldstone, meekly, "don't croak like a bird of ill omen. It is like having the skeleton at the feast, as was the custom amongst the ancient Egyptians."
"Yes, by Gumdragon! it is," assented the leech, "and it would be good for several of you if you profited by the lesson, for I could mention some who have progressed precious little since those times."
"Come, come, doctor," insisted Oldstone, "I've seen you yourself take very kindly to your little glass of punch at our convivial meetings." (Here the antiquary winked furtively at some of the older members, as if he had scored something.)
"No, sir; never to the extent of being carried to bed helplessly drunk, as I have seen you, sir—not unfrequently, I regret to say," replied the doctor, indignantly.
A general laugh from all the members of the club, in which our antiquary heartily joined, was a signal for a cessation of hostilities, and good humour was restored.
It may interest our readers, before we go further, to learn some news of our artist since his departure. According to his promise he had written, first from London and later from Rome, to announce his safe arrival. He had written many times since, and always to Mr. Oldstone. His first letters had been short, and contained little more than the bare news we have stated; desiring, at the sametime, to be remembered to all the inmates of the hostel, including our landlord and his family.
These letters were promptly and voluminously replied to by our antiquary, who, besides local news, of which there was certainly a dearth, managed to fill up his letters with wise saws and some fatherly advice, delicately, not obtrusively given—such as is not unbecoming from an elderly man towards one considerably his junior. The tone of these letters seemed to call for a reply something in the same spirit. It was impossible for our artist to ignore the fact that the old man had taken a prodigious liking to him—loved him, in fact, as we have said, like a son. He could not reply curtly or coldly to words that so evidently came from the good man's heart, so he sat him down and penned equally long epistles, relating his adventures, the people he had met, and the places he had seen; thanking our antiquary at the same time for the kindly interest he had always taken in him.
It soon became apparent to our artist, from sundry hints carefully worded by his antiquarian friend, that the latter was no stranger to the secret he held within his breast. He doubted not but that all the members of the club knew it, and this thought caused him some annoyance; but there was something in the veiled sympathy of this fatherly old man, with his covert innuendos, his tact and discretion, that touched him deeply, and made it impossible not to open his heart to him and pour forth the secrets of his soul.
The ice was broken. Letters poured in thicker than ever, and the other members, recognising always the same handwriting, wondered what there could be so much in common between a young man like McGuilp and one of Mr. Oldstone's years. Moreover, they noticed that the antiquary never vouchsafed to read these letters aloud, merely certain portions here and there, where it referred to themselves, and these were short enough, while they watched their aged member as he gloated over page after page of close writing with evident satisfaction. There seemed a certain want of confidence in this, which each secretly resented; but they said nothing, merely venting their spleen among themselves by alluding to our artist as "the old un's protégé."
Now, about a year previous, Mr. Oldstone had received some important news from his young friend in Rome. He had lately completed a life-size half-length portrait, in which he had made use of the study he had taken of our landlord's daughter. The head he had copied from this study, but he had added a figure, which made it more interesting as a picture. The work had been finished in Rome, and sent to England to be exhibited at the Royal Academy, then held at Somerset House. It had not only been accepted, but hung upon the line, besides receiving high eulogiums from the President, Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, on a private view day, had been observed holding forth before a knot of students and expatiating upon the merits of thischef d'œuvre.
One of the students, a friend of our artist, had written to him to congratulate him on his success, at the same time enclosing him a slip from theAthenæum, being a critique in which his work was extolled to the skies, and alluded to asthepicture of the season, and the painter as "a great genius who had taken the world by storm, and had already reached the temple of fame."
This excerpt our artist in his turn enclosed to his friend Oldstone, and wound up his letter by saying that the picture had already been sold for a considerable sum to Lord Landborough, a great patron of art, who possessed a magnificent gallery at his country seat, Feathernest, in Middleshire, filled with the choicest specimens of ancient and modern art, in which company our artist's picture, which he had chosen to designate "The Landlord's Daughter," was destined to find a place. In a postscript he referred to having just read an account of a visit from their Majesties King George III. and Queen Charlotte to Somerset House. They had taken their eldest son, George, Prince of Wales, with them to see the pictures. It is reported that the young prince was so enamoured of the portrait entitled "The Landlord's Daughter," that he cried when they took him away, and said that he wanted her for his nurse. His Majesty, ever indulgent towards his children, suggested that to discover the original of the portrait would not be impossible, in which case——. But here his royal spouse interposed, and with a vicious tap at her snuff-box declared she would never allow such a faceinherhousehold—notshe. So the King of England caved in.
Now, our antiquary affected no secrecy with regard to this particular letter. There was no reason for it. On the contrary, it treated of a public event which, in all probability, the members of the club would read for themselves in the papers, so calling our host and hostess as well as their daughter together, he began thus in the presence of all:
"You remember Mr. McGuilp, Jack?"
"Ay, sir, sure enough," responded our host. "I hope he is very well."
"I believe so, Jack," said Oldstone. "Now listen to this, all of you."
Here he read the letter aloud, from beginning to end, adding, at its conclusion, on his own account, "There, I knew my boy had it in him. I saw it from the first, as soon as I set eyes on the portrait he painted of our Helen."
"Never blush, girl!" ventured Mr. Parnassus, but a stern look from Mr. Oldstone checked further banter.
"Well, well, well!" muttered our landlord. "To think thatourdaughter should have her portrait exhibited at the Royal Academy. That the Royal family should see it, and, moreover, that it should have been bought by a peer of the realm, and paid for money down. Why! it passes belief. Don't it Molly?" Our hostess thus appealed to by her spouse, admitted that itdidseem strange, and suggested that perhaps allthat got into the papers might not be true. The suggestion was instantly howled down. Cries of "Yes, yes, every word of it," from Mr. Crucible. "Especially that part where the Queen wouldn't have such a face about her at any price," chimed in Professor Cyanite.
"Just like the old cat, jealous of her husband," added Mr. Blackdeed.
"Exactly so," agreed Dr. Bleedem.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, a truce to this," now interrupted Mr. Oldstone. "I propose that we meet together this evening at eight o'clock, over a steaming bowl of rum punch, such as our good host here understands so well how to brew, and that we drink to the health of our artist friend, with a three times three." This proposition was unanimously applauded, and subsequently carried out. We much fear that on this occasion our worthy chairman was again carried away rather too much by his—emotion.
The next morning our antiquary came down late for breakfast, rather muddled in the upper regions, with, moreover, several sharp twinges of gout, which reminded him that he was not so young as he used to be. His coffee had got cold, and he had been left to finish his breakfast alone, all the other members having been drawn away to their several avocations.
"Do you want anything, sir?" asked Helen, appearing at the door.
"Well, yes, my girl," answered Oldstone. "I want you to sit down here, and keep me company."
"I can't stay for long, sir," replied Helen. "Mother is sure to be calling me."
"No matter. Wait till she calls. Now, Helen, tell me, what do you think of that letter I read out to you yesterday—eh?"
For answer Helen rubbed her hands together for joy, and flushed all over her face. Then clasping her hands upon her breast, and looking upwards, muttered as if unconscious of anyone's presence, "Iknew, I knew he loved me!"
"Yes, I am afraid he does, you dangerous young puss," observed Oldstone. "Too much so for his peace of mind, poor boy!"
"Perhaps, but not more thanIlovehim.Thatwere impossible."
"And you're not afraid of confessing as much tome, you brazen hussy?" demanded the old man, playfully chucking her under the chin.
"Toyou, you know I am not," replied the girl. "To you, sir, I feel I could, nay, Imust, tell everything, and oh! itissuch a comfort to have a real true friend from whom one need hide nothing!"
"Well, well, my dear," said Oldstone, "I am sure I have always wished to be your true friend, but whether I am doing right in encouraging you in a passion which cannot end wisely——"
"It need never end," interrupted Helen. "I will love him eternally, even if he should cease to loveme."
"You would!" exclaimed the antiquary with surprise, looking at her curiously.
"Yes, sir, I would. What of that?"
"But if he could not marry you," rejoined her counsellor.
"Didn't I tell you that the thought of marriage never entered my head," persisted the girl.
"You did, my child, but it won't do in this world," and the old man shook his head.
"What! can I not love the man of my choice—especially if I know that he loves me? Who will prevent me loving him, thinking of him, praying for him,dyingfor him, if need be? Who shall tear his image from my heart, through whatever trials I may have to pass forhissake?"
"Helen, you are a noble girl?" cried our antiquary with enthusiasm. I have no more arguments to use. I wish there were a few more like you in the world. But hark ye, my child, there are others who have felt like yourself for a time—but how long has it lasted?
"The greater part of your sex, I fear, find it easy to overthrow an old love for a new one. Then follow other new ones in succession, till they end perhaps in marrying someone they don't love, and can't love; all for wealth, title, or position."
"You surely don't thinkIcould be so base, Mr. Oldstone," cried the girl, recoiling in horror.
"No, my dear. That is the very last thing I should believe ofyou," replied her friend.
"I am glad of that," said the girl.
"Helen!" cried the voice of Dame Hearty, outside;"Where are you?" "Here, mother," answered her daughter. "I was only having a word with Mr. Oldstone," and she hurried away, leaving the antiquary alone with his writing materials.
The breakfast having been cleared away, Oldstone drew his chair up to the table and proceeded to pen a reply to his young protégé. When the letter was concluded, our antiquary reperused it, carefully dotting eachiand crossing eacht, until he found no more to correct.
If our reader is not more scrupulous than we are ourselves, he will join us, in imagination, in an act not generally considered respectable—viz., that of playing the spy on the old man, by peering over his shoulder, and reading what he has written, before he folds it up, seals it, and sends it to the post.
Letter from Mr. Oldstone to Mr. Vandyke McGuilp."My Dear Boy,"I cannot express to you the joy and pride I felt in perusing your last letter, and I hasten to offer you my best congratulations, and I think I may add those of the rest of our members, on having achieved what I must needs call such unprecedented success. I read your letter, together with the critique from theAthenæumenclosed, aloud, before the whole club, our worthy host and his family being also present. You should have seen the blush that suffused our dear Helen's cheek at the mention of the success of herportrait. It was as if she had said, 'Lo, he has become great, and all throughme.Myface it was that inspired him to achieve such fame.Myprayers and good wishes that buoyed him up with energy to thus distinguish himself!' Some such thoughts must have passed through her mind, if I am any reader of faces—and I think I am."One of the younger members seemed disposed to offer some banter, but I frowned him down. I never will sanction any unseemly levity towards that girl, or allow her to be treated as if she were a mere hackneyed barmaid, used to the coarse jokes of any Tom, Dick or Harry. To me she is something very precious, and I love her as my own child. Poor little one! She always comes to me for sympathy in her troubles. Not even to her own parents will she confide everything—much less to the other members. If you were to see the change that has come over her of late! She has lost all that raw awkwardness so common to growing girls, and has now developed into mature womanhood."Since your departure, young man, I could not but pity the poor child with her sunken cheek, her downcast eyes, and listless manner. I knew she had a secret that weighed upon her, and I guessed what it was. I came forward to offer her my friendship and advice, and encouraged her to open her heart to me. The poor child's gratitude was so touching! Theremustbe an outburst when the heart is full, and she could confide in no one else."Ever since she found she had a true friend to lean on, I have noticed a marked change in the girl. The rose returned to her cheek, the light to her eye, an expression came into her face that I never observed before—nay, a variety of expressions which seem to chase each other with marvellous rapidity over a countenance lovely, intelligent, and pure."Dr. Bleedem, poor man! seeing her looking mopish, prescribed her a course of steel medicine. She declares that he only gave her one dose, which he made her take in his presence. The rest of the medicine he left her to take by herself. Now the girl insists positively that, not liking the medicine, she threw it all away."Dr. Bleedem, of course, is under the impression that she took it all, and naturally attributes her sudden change of health for the better to his drugs. I am of opinion that it was medicine of another sort that brought back the roses to her cheek. She is now eighteen, and by our peasantry would be considered of a marriageable age; but oh! Idobegrudge her to any of these country bumpkins, who come in for their mug of ale and their chaff. There is no one for miles round anything like good enough for her. Of one thing, however, I feel quite certain, and that is, that she would never allow herself to be coaxed, cajoled, or threatened into marrying any man whom she did not love, however advantageous the match might appear in the eyes of the world. No, the girl has character, and would never give her hand where she had not set her affections.She would far sooner not marry at all. Whoever should win her affections will be a lucky man, for he will get a treasure in such a wife."Excuse the wanderings of an old dotard, my friend, but when I once get upon this topic, I am inexhaustible; and as for local news, there simply is none. When last I spoke to Helen about writing to you, she desired me to send her duty to you. Pretty soul!dutyindeed. Now, my dear boy, I must really draw this epistle to a close. Trusting that you are enjoying the best of health and spirits, and wishing you continued and ever increasing success in your art."I remain,"Your doting but affectionate old friend,"Obadiah Oldstone."
Letter from Mr. Oldstone to Mr. Vandyke McGuilp.
"My Dear Boy,
"I cannot express to you the joy and pride I felt in perusing your last letter, and I hasten to offer you my best congratulations, and I think I may add those of the rest of our members, on having achieved what I must needs call such unprecedented success. I read your letter, together with the critique from theAthenæumenclosed, aloud, before the whole club, our worthy host and his family being also present. You should have seen the blush that suffused our dear Helen's cheek at the mention of the success of herportrait. It was as if she had said, 'Lo, he has become great, and all throughme.Myface it was that inspired him to achieve such fame.Myprayers and good wishes that buoyed him up with energy to thus distinguish himself!' Some such thoughts must have passed through her mind, if I am any reader of faces—and I think I am.
"One of the younger members seemed disposed to offer some banter, but I frowned him down. I never will sanction any unseemly levity towards that girl, or allow her to be treated as if she were a mere hackneyed barmaid, used to the coarse jokes of any Tom, Dick or Harry. To me she is something very precious, and I love her as my own child. Poor little one! She always comes to me for sympathy in her troubles. Not even to her own parents will she confide everything—much less to the other members. If you were to see the change that has come over her of late! She has lost all that raw awkwardness so common to growing girls, and has now developed into mature womanhood.
"Since your departure, young man, I could not but pity the poor child with her sunken cheek, her downcast eyes, and listless manner. I knew she had a secret that weighed upon her, and I guessed what it was. I came forward to offer her my friendship and advice, and encouraged her to open her heart to me. The poor child's gratitude was so touching! Theremustbe an outburst when the heart is full, and she could confide in no one else.
"Ever since she found she had a true friend to lean on, I have noticed a marked change in the girl. The rose returned to her cheek, the light to her eye, an expression came into her face that I never observed before—nay, a variety of expressions which seem to chase each other with marvellous rapidity over a countenance lovely, intelligent, and pure.
"Dr. Bleedem, poor man! seeing her looking mopish, prescribed her a course of steel medicine. She declares that he only gave her one dose, which he made her take in his presence. The rest of the medicine he left her to take by herself. Now the girl insists positively that, not liking the medicine, she threw it all away.
"Dr. Bleedem, of course, is under the impression that she took it all, and naturally attributes her sudden change of health for the better to his drugs. I am of opinion that it was medicine of another sort that brought back the roses to her cheek. She is now eighteen, and by our peasantry would be considered of a marriageable age; but oh! Idobegrudge her to any of these country bumpkins, who come in for their mug of ale and their chaff. There is no one for miles round anything like good enough for her. Of one thing, however, I feel quite certain, and that is, that she would never allow herself to be coaxed, cajoled, or threatened into marrying any man whom she did not love, however advantageous the match might appear in the eyes of the world. No, the girl has character, and would never give her hand where she had not set her affections.She would far sooner not marry at all. Whoever should win her affections will be a lucky man, for he will get a treasure in such a wife.
"Excuse the wanderings of an old dotard, my friend, but when I once get upon this topic, I am inexhaustible; and as for local news, there simply is none. When last I spoke to Helen about writing to you, she desired me to send her duty to you. Pretty soul!dutyindeed. Now, my dear boy, I must really draw this epistle to a close. Trusting that you are enjoying the best of health and spirits, and wishing you continued and ever increasing success in your art.
"I remain,"Your doting but affectionate old friend,"Obadiah Oldstone."
We have said that Mr. Oldstone was prompt in answering the letters of his protégé. Neither was our artist, as a rule, tardy in answering those of his aged friend. Seldom more than a month passed between a letter and its answer, on either side. Yet to this letter no reply came. Month followed month, and no tidings arrived of our artist. Such delay was most unusual, and Mr. Oldstone now began to be seriously alarmed. What had happened to the boy? Was he ill? He knew by experience that the summer months in Rome were extremely unhealthy, on account of the malaria. Was he laid up with Roman fever? Had he met with an accident? Or was there anything inthe tone of his letter that had given offence? He tried to recollect. No, he thought not; in fact, he did not know what to think. The gloomiest fancies rushed across his mind as he paced the breakfast room alone.
Presently his eye caught the portrait of Helen, that McGuilp had presented to the club, and which he, Oldstone, had with his own hands hung up over the mantel. "Ah! my pretty puss," said he, addressing the painted canvas smiling down at him, "I dare not infect you with my fears. I don't want to makeyouunhappy."
Just then the door gaped ajar, and the original of the portrait appeared at the opening. As the antiquary had not yet noticed her, his eyes being still fixed on the portrait, Helen stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Then, walking straight up to Oldstone, she said, "Please sir, has anything happened?"
"Happened, my dear! What should happen in this dead-and-alive place? Nothing ever happens here."
"Ah! sir," rejoined Helen, "you but evade my question. You know what I would ask."
"My dear, how should I?" demanded her friend and counsellor, with most provokingsang froid.
A gesture of impatience escaped the girl. Then fixing her eyes steadily on those of the antiquary, as if to read his inmost soul, she said with some approach to severity in her tone, "Mr. Oldstone, you are keeping something from me. Something has happened to Mr. McGuilp, and you won't tell me what it is."
"On my honour, my sweet child," replied her friend, "I know no more than you do yourself. I wish I did. Here have I been waiting now about six months for a reply to my letter, when he used often to write by return of post. I can't make head or tail of it."
"Then somethingiswrong, you may depend upon it," cried the girl. "Oh, dear! oh, dear! Surely he is laid up with some dreadful illness—away from me, and in a strange country, with no one to attend upon him. Oh, merciful Heaven! help him! Oh, help him. Whatever it is, let me know the worst!"
"I don't want to frighten you, my pet," broke in Oldstone; "but I own I am much perplexed myself. Perhaps he never received the letter. Sometimes letters get lost. At any rate, we'll hope for the best."
"Oh, sir, sir!" cried the girl in agony, "do you think that likely?"
"Certainly, my dear. Why not? All sorts of things happen to prevent letters arriving—especially those sent abroad. Vessels go down at sea; the mail may be detained by an accident. Who can tell? Come, cheer up, girl; there is no good in brooding. If I don't hear from him in another week I'll write again."
"Why not write at once, sir?"
"Not a bad idea, Helen; so I will."
At this juncture voices and footsteps were heard outside. The other members of the club had just returned in time for their mid-day meal. So the letter was postponed.
Helen ran to lay the cloth, and the repast was served. The meal being over, pipes were lit, and some desultory conversation ensued, interspersed with wonderments about our artist's long silence and suggestions as to the reason of it. The weather still being fine, the members suggested a stroll, so off they went together, Mr. Oldstone being also of the party. Thus, what with one interruption and what with another, the writing of the letter was put off for that day.
Next morning, in the middle of breakfast, a knock was heard at the door, and our landlord let himself in with the newspaper in his hand and an expression like a sphinx on his face. He closed the door quietly after him, and walking up to Mr. Oldstone presented him with the paper, at the same time silently pointing out to him a paragraph that he had already marked with his thumb-nail. The door was no sooner closed than it silently re-opened, apparently by itself, and remained some three or four inches ajar. Few noticed this, or would have given it a thought if they had. Their attention was rivetted on Mr. Oldstone, as he settled his spectacles on his nose preparatory to reading out some tit-bit of news.
"Eh! What!" exclaimed the antiquary, trembling, and turning pale with extreme emotion. "Just listen to this, gentlemen, all of you:—
"'Captured by the Brigands."'The well-known artist, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, whose picture of "The Landlord's Daughter" caused such afurorelast exhibition at the Royal Academy, whilst taking a trip in the Sabine Mountains, in thevicinity of Rome, to recuperate his health, was suddenly surrounded by a band of brigands, about twelve in number, who sprang upon him from an ambush and compelled him to surrender. The painter was alone and unarmed, besides being hampered by the materials of his art. All resistance would have been worse than useless, so, finding himself perfectly defenceless, he had no choice but to "stand and deliver." They seized his gold watch and other trinkets, as well as all the coin that he carried about him. Not satisfied with this, they forced him to tramp with them high up in the fastnesses of the mountains, where he still remains in daily and hourly peril of his life. The brigand chief has demanded an exorbitant ransom, and threatens that if it does not arrive within five days they will cut off his ears and send them to his friends in a letter. Any attempt at rescue, they declare, will at once seal the fate of their captive. His position is one to cause the greatest anxiety to his friends, as the barbarity of these desperadoes is well known.'"
"'Captured by the Brigands.
"'The well-known artist, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, whose picture of "The Landlord's Daughter" caused such afurorelast exhibition at the Royal Academy, whilst taking a trip in the Sabine Mountains, in thevicinity of Rome, to recuperate his health, was suddenly surrounded by a band of brigands, about twelve in number, who sprang upon him from an ambush and compelled him to surrender. The painter was alone and unarmed, besides being hampered by the materials of his art. All resistance would have been worse than useless, so, finding himself perfectly defenceless, he had no choice but to "stand and deliver." They seized his gold watch and other trinkets, as well as all the coin that he carried about him. Not satisfied with this, they forced him to tramp with them high up in the fastnesses of the mountains, where he still remains in daily and hourly peril of his life. The brigand chief has demanded an exorbitant ransom, and threatens that if it does not arrive within five days they will cut off his ears and send them to his friends in a letter. Any attempt at rescue, they declare, will at once seal the fate of their captive. His position is one to cause the greatest anxiety to his friends, as the barbarity of these desperadoes is well known.'"
Our antiquary had proceeded thus far when all present were startled by a smothered shriek, which was followed by a dull thud, as from a heavy fall. All rushed to the door, and flung it open. Helen had fainted.
Need we relate with what agility Dr. Bleedem leapt to the fore; how carefully he raised the slim form in his arms, cut her stay lace, and applied restoratives; then, finally, with the assistance of our host, carried his patient upstairs, where he deposited her on her ownlittle bed, administering in every way to her comfort—this we will leave to the imagination of the reader—whilst, in the breakfast-room below, the various members talked to each other in subdued tones, and Mr. Oldstone looked thoughtful.
"Humph! I think I can see through the spoke ofthatwheel," muttered Mr. Hardcase to his neighbour.
"Yes, a dreadful blow though, poor girl!" sighed Mr. Parnassus.
"Quite dramatic in its effect," remarked Mr. Blackdeed.
A snort came from Mr. Oldstone, who had turned his back on the group and begun reperusing the newspaper that he had thrust into his capacious pocket, when Dr. Bleedem re-entered the room.
"Well, doctor," inquired Professor Cyanite, "and what of your patient?"
"Recovered now, of course, but dreadfully shaken," replied our medico. "The nervous system has sustained a terrible shock. Luckily, she has suffered no injuries from her fall."
"Poor young thing!" observed Mr. Crucible, compassionately. "Well, who can wonder at it?"
During these remarks, to which Mr. Oldstone paid no attention whatever, being absorbed in the reperusal of his newspaper, he was suddenly observed to flush as with pleasure. His brow cleared, his eye sparkled. Then, suddenly rising from his chair, he crumpled up his paper, thrust it again into his pocket, rubbed hishands with satisfaction, then with a relieved expression in his face he slowly left the room without a word.
"Wonder what's come over Oldstone!" muttered one of them. "He seems quite himself again."
No sooner was our antiquary outside the door than he beckoned the landlord aside, who was still looking grave, and asked him how he had left his daughter.
"Dreadful cut up like, sir, 'bout somethin' or other," replied that worthy, "but Dr. Bleedem says as how we ain't got no call to be afeared, and that when she has finished the cordial she'll come round agin as right as a trivet."
"Now look here, Jack," began our antiquary, rubbing his hands together cheerily, and with difficulty repressing his delight. "What'll you bet that in five minutes time I don't bring her round again, cordial or no cordial?"
"Do you think you could, sir?" asked our host, somewhat incredulously, yet becoming infected, in spite of himself, by Mr. Oldstone's assurance and good humour.
"I do, mine host, most certainly I do," replied the antiquary.
"Can I see the patient?"
"Willingly, sir," rejoined the landlord. "There is her room," and pointed to the door.
"Now, Jack, you shall see which is the best doctor, Bleedem or I. If in five minutes I don't lead her out by the hand, smiling and in her right mind, my name's not Obadiah Oldstone."
Here, he opened Helen's chamber door, and for the space of five minutes was closeted with her, leaving our host completely bewildered. The girl started at seeing her friend and adviser enter her chamber, and looked at him inquiringly. "Helen, my pet," he began, "I am the bearer of good news—news that will do you more good than any cordial Dr. Bleedem can give you."
The girl looked hopeful, seeing her counsellor's cheerful manner, though her eyes were still red and swollen with weeping. "Tell me, tell me!" she cried in agony.
"Patience, patience," replied the antiquary, in the most provoking manner; "all in due time. Well, my dear," he continued, "all that I read out in the paper this morning, and which you unfortunately overheard (Oh! you wicked puss, for playing the eavesdropper); well, child, all that happened a fortnight ago. Since then there is later news. The boy has been rescued by a band of carabineers who have long been on the track of the brigands, who were taken completely by surprise. A skirmish took place, and the brigands were exterminated to a man; a few only of the carabineers being wounded. Your friend, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, was at once set at liberty, and he is now enjoying the best of health and spirits. So cheer up, girl."
"Oh! sir," cried Helen, half laughing and half crying, "you are not trying to comfort me by——."
"By a false report," broke in Oldstone. "Certainlynot, child. Here, read for yourself. Can't you believe me?"
Helen took up the paper with trembling hands, and ran her eyes eagerly over the column. Then with a sweet smile and sign of relief she sank back on her cushions, crying, "Thank God." She then burst out again into a fresh fit of weeping, from sheer weakness, which, however, soon changed into a laugh. Then rousing herself, she leapt from her bed, bathed her face with cold water, and having dried it, she seized the hand of her aged friend and counsellor and kissed it, saying, "God bless you, sir. You were ever my good angel."
"Then follow me downstairs, and look as beaming as you can. Your parents will wonder at the change, but I shall say nothing." Seizing her hand, Oldstone led her down the flight of steps, at the foot of which stood her father, watch in hand.
"There, Jack," said the antiquary in triumph, "What did I say? Have I been successful? Look at her, and tell me if I am a good doctor or no."
Our host scanned his daughter's now happy features, then turning to Mr. Oldstone, he said, "Well, sir, its just wonderful! It's like witchcraft a'most. I don't know what you have been doing to her, sir, but I never see such a change in my life."
Here Dame Hearty made her appearance, caressed her daughter, and began to ask questions.
"Now, no questions, Dame Hearty, from either you or your husband," broke in Oldstone. "That's our secret.You may, if you like, set it down to Dr. Bleedem's cordial."
"Well, we won't bother her, if as how you don't wish it, sir," answered her father. Helen then followed her mother into the kitchen, and was soon slaving away harder than she had ever done before in her life.
"Well, boys," said Mr. Oldstone, cheerily, addressing his fellow-members as they looked enquiringly at him on his return, "I suppose you want to know the reason of the change in my countenance since the morning. Well, take this paper and read for yourselves. You will see where I have marked it." Here he handed the paper to Mr. Hardcase, who, taking it from him, proceeded to read the account of our artist's fortunate rescue from the brigands by the carabineers, which we need not repeat.
"Ah!" observed the lawyer, at the conclusion, "this accounts for everything. Now, Oldstone, if you had read this article first, and the other afterwards, we should have been spared a scene."
Oldstone answered with something like a snort, "Bah! who could tell that the girl was eavesdropping?" Then noticing the quizzical expression on the faces of some of the members, and guessing that they were about to make Helen's little love episode a subject for discussion or banter, he raised his hand as if in prohibition, being determined to nip it in the bud, and bringing it down with a bang on the table, he began, "Gentlemen, to change the conversation, I proposethat we celebrate our young friend McGuilp's miraculous escape from his captors by assembling this evening round a merry bowl of punch—eh, doctor?—and drinking his health with a three times three."
"Take care, Oldstone!" remonstrated Dr. Bleedem; but the rest of the members applauded the proposition of the chairman, and prevailed. In fact, a merry evening was spent, when our artist's health was drunk, as proposed, as well as that of all his family and belongings. Our host was then called in, and had to drain a glass to the health and prosperity of our artist. Dame Hearty was next called in, and had to do the same. One of the members voted for Helen also drinking the toast.
Before Oldstone could offer any opposition, our landlord called out, "Now, then, Helen, my girl, come and drink to the health and prosperity of Mr. McGuilp, your portrait painter, with a hip, hip, hip, hurrah!—d'ye hear? Come, now, you can't get out of it."
The girl would willingly have hidden herself, and had literally to be dragged in by her father, blushing and timid. Loud cheers greeted the girl's appearance, and a glass was filled for her from the punch-bowl by Mr. Oldstone himself with the silver ladle, at the bottom of which a golden guinea had been inlaid.
"All right, my girl," said Mr. Oldstone, "toss it off. No harm in just one glass. Now, then, all—to the health of our absent artist friend, Mr. Vandyke McGuilp, and all his belongings—also to his speedy return—with a hip, hip, hip, hurrah!"
With a charming modesty and grace, like that of a high-born lady, did this simple country girl join in the toast proposed; then, putting down her glass on the table, she curtseyed elegantly to the company, and wishing them all good-night retired.
Loud applause followed this flying visit of Helen to their orgie, and they would have recalled her; but a glance from Mr. Oldstone kept them in check. At midnight the party broke up, and each returned to his bed comfortable, without having indulged to excess, and even Mr. Oldstone walked bravely off to his bed unassisted.
A week had passed since our last chapter. Our antiquary, finding himself once more alone, had brought out his writing materials, determined no longer to put off his much-delayed letter to his friend, when a smart tap at the door, and immediately afterwards the entry of our host's pretty daughter, caused him to look up. She appeared more radiant than ever, and held up a bulky epistle with a foreign post mark. Full well she knew the handwriting. It was addressed to Mr. Oldstone, as usual, so she placed it in his hands.
"At last!" exclaimed the antiquary. "Now we shall see for ourselves. Sit down, my girl, sit down."
The invitation had been hardly given when the daughter of our host had already seated herself, and leaning her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, looked all attention.
Oldstone broke the seal, put on his spectacles, and thus began:—
Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone."Rome, Oct. —, 17—."My Esteemed Friend,"I offer you my most humble apologies for mydelay in answering your interesting and most welcome letter, which, in fact, I have only just received. You will see by what follows that there were some extenuating circumstances, which may go far towards exculpating my apparent neglect. Your letter arrived at the 'Café Greco,' where I usually have my letters directed, the day after my departure from Rome. They could not forward it, not knowing my whereabouts, so I did not get it until after my return."I must now go back some months to explain to you how, from over anxiety about finishing a picture, I had put off my trip for the summer so late as to be about the last man left in Rome; for all those who can abandon the Eternal City before the great heat comes on. At the time I speak of I actually believe there were more statues in Rome than living men. The models even had all returned to their respective villages, and the steps of the Spanish Staircase in the Piazza di Spagna were deserted. You may remember, sir, how even in your day they congregated in groups on this broad and elegant flight of steps, waiting for custom, lighting up the scene with their bright costumes. Well, the heat grew at length unbearable, till, what with over-work and the climate, I found myself prostrate with Roman fever. I was necessarily confined to my bed, and it was with difficulty that I could find a doctor. At last they sent me a Capuchin friar, who professed to have some knowledge of medical science—very limited, I should imagine, though perhaps enough for my purpose. He prescribedme medicine, and sent to attend upon me the cobbler's wife, who lives on the ground floor, and who makes my bed and sweeps out my room for me. The poor old woman has a sick husband, and looks far from healthy herself. She is yellow, almost toothless, with a strong beard, very far from clean—and oh! her breath! There, I will say no more. The poor old thing did her best, no doubt, and I don't want to be ungrateful. I couldn't help wishing, I remember, that instead of being laid up here I could have been laid up in England—somewhere in the country—say at the 'Headless Lady,' and had the pretty Helen to wait upon me. It would be worth while getting ill then."
Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone.
"Rome, Oct. —, 17—.
"My Esteemed Friend,
"I offer you my most humble apologies for mydelay in answering your interesting and most welcome letter, which, in fact, I have only just received. You will see by what follows that there were some extenuating circumstances, which may go far towards exculpating my apparent neglect. Your letter arrived at the 'Café Greco,' where I usually have my letters directed, the day after my departure from Rome. They could not forward it, not knowing my whereabouts, so I did not get it until after my return.
"I must now go back some months to explain to you how, from over anxiety about finishing a picture, I had put off my trip for the summer so late as to be about the last man left in Rome; for all those who can abandon the Eternal City before the great heat comes on. At the time I speak of I actually believe there were more statues in Rome than living men. The models even had all returned to their respective villages, and the steps of the Spanish Staircase in the Piazza di Spagna were deserted. You may remember, sir, how even in your day they congregated in groups on this broad and elegant flight of steps, waiting for custom, lighting up the scene with their bright costumes. Well, the heat grew at length unbearable, till, what with over-work and the climate, I found myself prostrate with Roman fever. I was necessarily confined to my bed, and it was with difficulty that I could find a doctor. At last they sent me a Capuchin friar, who professed to have some knowledge of medical science—very limited, I should imagine, though perhaps enough for my purpose. He prescribedme medicine, and sent to attend upon me the cobbler's wife, who lives on the ground floor, and who makes my bed and sweeps out my room for me. The poor old woman has a sick husband, and looks far from healthy herself. She is yellow, almost toothless, with a strong beard, very far from clean—and oh! her breath! There, I will say no more. The poor old thing did her best, no doubt, and I don't want to be ungrateful. I couldn't help wishing, I remember, that instead of being laid up here I could have been laid up in England—somewhere in the country—say at the 'Headless Lady,' and had the pretty Helen to wait upon me. It would be worth while getting ill then."
"Stay," broke in Helen; "does he say that? Let me see. You are not joking with me, sir?"
"No, my dear," answered Oldstone, "I am not joking. You may see for yourself; but I don't know if I ought to read you all this nonsense. Won't it content you just to know that he is alive and well?"
Without heeding her friend and counsellor, Helen rubbed her hands together with glee, and laughed, saying, "Oh! Idowish he would come and be ill in our house—oh! no, I don't mean that, do I? I mean that he would come and live here altogether, without being ill, and that I could be with him always, all day long, and never leave him."
"Yes, my dear," replied Oldstone; "I know what you mean. You would like—there, never mind. The thing can't be, so what is the use of thinking about him?"
"Why not, if it makes me happy?" was the rejoinder.
"There, there, I can never argue with a woman," muttered Oldstone. "I've a good mind not to read you any more of his nonsense."
"Mr. Oldstone," cried Helen, "you know you couldn't be so cruel."
"Well, my dear," asked her friend, "what more do you want to know? I can't wade knee-deep through all this. There isn't time. Your mother will be calling you soon."
"Oh, yes, sir, please. Just a little more before mother calls. Then I'll go at once," pleaded Helen, coaxingly.
The antiquary was as wax in her hands. "Well, then, he goes on to say:"
"As soon as I was fairly recovered, I thought I would delay my holiday no longer, and accordingly took the diligence, only too glad to leave the infected city behind me, and to breathe a little fresh mountain air. What a complete change of climate I experienced high up in these mountain regions! And, oh! I cannot describe to you the extreme beauty and wildness of the scenery; the quaintness of some of these mountain villages, and the primitive state of their inhabitants! I had not been long in one of these out-of-the-way places when one morning I was tramping along in search of the picturesque, laden with my painting materials, when from behind some rocky crags some dozen brigands surrounded me."'Faccia in terra' (face on the ground), cried the brigand chief and the rest of the band in chorus, as they levelled their carbines at me."I was alone and unarmed, so had no choice but to do as I was commanded, so I prostrated myself, face to the ground. Several brigands came forward to search me, robbed me of my gold watch and all my loose cash. Then they opened my pocket-book, where, besides finding paper money, they came upon my passport. This they handed to their chief."'So,' said he, after perusing it; 'so it seems you are an Englishman. Good. The English are rich. You must put up with our company until your friends can disburse the sum of ten thousand pounds sterling.'"In vain I tried to explain to him that I was only a poor artist, who earned his living by the sweat of his brow. I saw I was not believed."'But you have rich friends,' he persisted. 'I know it by your face; so you don't fool me.'"He then made a sign for me to follow them, so I had to tramp higher and higher up into the mountains, till I was ready to drop, while these well trained mountaineers leapt from crag to crag with the agility of a chamois, till they reached a cave, where they halted."
"As soon as I was fairly recovered, I thought I would delay my holiday no longer, and accordingly took the diligence, only too glad to leave the infected city behind me, and to breathe a little fresh mountain air. What a complete change of climate I experienced high up in these mountain regions! And, oh! I cannot describe to you the extreme beauty and wildness of the scenery; the quaintness of some of these mountain villages, and the primitive state of their inhabitants! I had not been long in one of these out-of-the-way places when one morning I was tramping along in search of the picturesque, laden with my painting materials, when from behind some rocky crags some dozen brigands surrounded me.
"'Faccia in terra' (face on the ground), cried the brigand chief and the rest of the band in chorus, as they levelled their carbines at me.
"I was alone and unarmed, so had no choice but to do as I was commanded, so I prostrated myself, face to the ground. Several brigands came forward to search me, robbed me of my gold watch and all my loose cash. Then they opened my pocket-book, where, besides finding paper money, they came upon my passport. This they handed to their chief.
"'So,' said he, after perusing it; 'so it seems you are an Englishman. Good. The English are rich. You must put up with our company until your friends can disburse the sum of ten thousand pounds sterling.'
"In vain I tried to explain to him that I was only a poor artist, who earned his living by the sweat of his brow. I saw I was not believed.
"'But you have rich friends,' he persisted. 'I know it by your face; so you don't fool me.'
"He then made a sign for me to follow them, so I had to tramp higher and higher up into the mountains, till I was ready to drop, while these well trained mountaineers leapt from crag to crag with the agility of a chamois, till they reached a cave, where they halted."
"There, Helen, run along," said Mr. Oldstone, as he had got thus far. "There's your mother calling you."
Off rushed Helen to her mother, who was waiting for her at the door of the kitchen.
"Come, girl," cried Dame Hearty, "I can't thinkwhat you find to talk about with Mr. Oldstone every day. You are quite losing your head. Now, set to work, for we are terribly behind-hand."
The door once closed upon Helen, our antiquary read his friend's letter slowly through to the end. It gave an elaborate account of our artist's experience with the brigands, which we need not relate. Stay!—here was something at the end of the letter, marked "Private," that promised to be interesting. What could it be?