"(Private.)—I must now touch upon a subject which causes me the greatest anxiety. A report has reached me through an artist friend, who was staying on a visit to Lord Landborough, who, you will remember, bought my picture entitled 'The Landlord's Daughter.' Amongst other visitors at his country seat who were there at the time was one Lord Scampford, a young sprig of nobility, rich, accomplished, but of infamous character; a gamester, and a profligate of the first water, who had become so enamoured of my portrait of Helen, then hanging on the walls of the Academy, that in his cups he swore, by Gumdragon, that he would search the world over to find out the original, and that, willy-nilly, he would make her his paramour. Likewise, he would shoot any man dead who dared to stand in his way. Turning to my friend, he asked him if he knew the painter of the work: and upon his answering in the affirmative, he next asked him if he knew the model who had sat for the picture. This my friend was unable to tell him, as he was ignorant himself who it was. Hethen asked for my address, and being informed I lived in Rome, he at once set out for Italy, and, in fact, arrived here, and called upon me at my studio, but was denied admittance, as I was then laid up with the fever. After I had recovered, I heard that he had been the round of all the studios, and that of every artist he had been asking if, perchance, they could tell him where I had got my model from. Not one of them knew. Shortly after his arrival I heard that he had received a letter which necessitated his immediate return to England."This letter, it seems, was from his valet, a big powerful man, who generally accompanied him as his bully, and who aids him in his nefarious schemes. This man he had left behind him in England, with orders to scour the country for miles round about London, and to inform himself at every wayside inn, if the original of the picture on the Academy walls lived there. For a long time his search was fruitless. At last chance came to his aid. On one of his visits to the Royal Academy, just to refresh his memory of the features in the picture, he overheard a broadbacked old farmer, just up from the country, say to his wife,"'Why, dash my wig, Sally, if here ain't the face of dear little Helen Hearty, daughter of my old friend, Jack Hearty, as keeps the 'Headless Lady,' at the cross-roads.'"Upon hearing this, the valet stepped forward. 'Do I understand you to say that you know the original of this portrait?' he asked."'Know her!' exclaimed the farmer, 'Ay, marrydo I. Why she is my God-daughter? I've danced her on my knee since she were a kid, bless her heart! And now I remember, I did hear as how one o' them paintin' fellers—limners, they call 'em, was a puttin' up at the 'Headless Lady,' and a paintin' 'er likeness. Well, now, I never!—eh Sally?'"'Dear me!' remarked the valet, 'Howverystrange! Really, this ismostinteresting. Tell me, good man, what part of the country is this you speak of?'"'What! the hostel of the 'Headless Lady'? Why, at the cross-roads-parish of Littleboro', near Muddleton, on Slush Slopshire.'"'Ah, in that part, I see. Fine country they tell me, about there. Bracing air, good shooting—eh?' inquired the valet, as he opened his pocket-book and jotted down all the farmer told him."'Yes, sir, good air, good shooting, and as fine a bit of country, though I ses it, as shouldn't, seeing as how its my birthplace.'"Here, the valet took out his watch, and exclaimed, 'God bless my soul! How time flies! Why, it's just upon one o'clock, and I had an appointment at twelve, on urgent business. Good-day, my friend. Good-day, Ma'am,' addressing himself to the farmer's wife, and off he goes."'A pleasant, affable gentleman,' remarked the countryman to the wife of his bosom."'Ah, just ain't un,' acquiesced his spouse."That very day the valet penned a note to his lordand master, who returned to England in a great hurry at the news. You may imagine, my friend, what anxiety I feel, knowing that villain to be at large, and ready at any time to swoop down like a vulture into your peaceful dovecot and carry on his work of destruction, whilst I, being so far away, am unable to strike a blow in her defence. Though, God knows, I would willingly lay down my life, rather than that dear child should come to any harm. I write at once, having only just heard the news. God grant I may be in time for my warning to be of some avail. For all I know, the villain may be there before this letter arrives. I tremble at the thought. He is sure to travel in his own private coach, accompanied by his bully, and, doubtless, both of them will be armed to the teeth. You had better warn Jack Hearty at once, in order that he may put his daughter out of harm's way, until he has taken his departure. His lordship will stick at nothing—even at drugging her, and carrying her off insensible, and being armed, it will be dangerous work to oppose him. I would advise Jack Hearty, as soon as he can find an opportunity to extract the bullets from his horse pistols, for depend upon it he means mischief. This is all the advice I can give him. Do whatever you can to frustrate the plot of this villian, and write me the result. No time for more. With kind remembrances to all your friends, as well as to our worthy host and family,"Your anxious friend,"Vandyke McGuilp."
"(Private.)—I must now touch upon a subject which causes me the greatest anxiety. A report has reached me through an artist friend, who was staying on a visit to Lord Landborough, who, you will remember, bought my picture entitled 'The Landlord's Daughter.' Amongst other visitors at his country seat who were there at the time was one Lord Scampford, a young sprig of nobility, rich, accomplished, but of infamous character; a gamester, and a profligate of the first water, who had become so enamoured of my portrait of Helen, then hanging on the walls of the Academy, that in his cups he swore, by Gumdragon, that he would search the world over to find out the original, and that, willy-nilly, he would make her his paramour. Likewise, he would shoot any man dead who dared to stand in his way. Turning to my friend, he asked him if he knew the painter of the work: and upon his answering in the affirmative, he next asked him if he knew the model who had sat for the picture. This my friend was unable to tell him, as he was ignorant himself who it was. Hethen asked for my address, and being informed I lived in Rome, he at once set out for Italy, and, in fact, arrived here, and called upon me at my studio, but was denied admittance, as I was then laid up with the fever. After I had recovered, I heard that he had been the round of all the studios, and that of every artist he had been asking if, perchance, they could tell him where I had got my model from. Not one of them knew. Shortly after his arrival I heard that he had received a letter which necessitated his immediate return to England.
"This letter, it seems, was from his valet, a big powerful man, who generally accompanied him as his bully, and who aids him in his nefarious schemes. This man he had left behind him in England, with orders to scour the country for miles round about London, and to inform himself at every wayside inn, if the original of the picture on the Academy walls lived there. For a long time his search was fruitless. At last chance came to his aid. On one of his visits to the Royal Academy, just to refresh his memory of the features in the picture, he overheard a broadbacked old farmer, just up from the country, say to his wife,
"'Why, dash my wig, Sally, if here ain't the face of dear little Helen Hearty, daughter of my old friend, Jack Hearty, as keeps the 'Headless Lady,' at the cross-roads.'
"Upon hearing this, the valet stepped forward. 'Do I understand you to say that you know the original of this portrait?' he asked.
"'Know her!' exclaimed the farmer, 'Ay, marrydo I. Why she is my God-daughter? I've danced her on my knee since she were a kid, bless her heart! And now I remember, I did hear as how one o' them paintin' fellers—limners, they call 'em, was a puttin' up at the 'Headless Lady,' and a paintin' 'er likeness. Well, now, I never!—eh Sally?'
"'Dear me!' remarked the valet, 'Howverystrange! Really, this ismostinteresting. Tell me, good man, what part of the country is this you speak of?'
"'What! the hostel of the 'Headless Lady'? Why, at the cross-roads-parish of Littleboro', near Muddleton, on Slush Slopshire.'
"'Ah, in that part, I see. Fine country they tell me, about there. Bracing air, good shooting—eh?' inquired the valet, as he opened his pocket-book and jotted down all the farmer told him.
"'Yes, sir, good air, good shooting, and as fine a bit of country, though I ses it, as shouldn't, seeing as how its my birthplace.'
"Here, the valet took out his watch, and exclaimed, 'God bless my soul! How time flies! Why, it's just upon one o'clock, and I had an appointment at twelve, on urgent business. Good-day, my friend. Good-day, Ma'am,' addressing himself to the farmer's wife, and off he goes.
"'A pleasant, affable gentleman,' remarked the countryman to the wife of his bosom.
"'Ah, just ain't un,' acquiesced his spouse.
"That very day the valet penned a note to his lordand master, who returned to England in a great hurry at the news. You may imagine, my friend, what anxiety I feel, knowing that villain to be at large, and ready at any time to swoop down like a vulture into your peaceful dovecot and carry on his work of destruction, whilst I, being so far away, am unable to strike a blow in her defence. Though, God knows, I would willingly lay down my life, rather than that dear child should come to any harm. I write at once, having only just heard the news. God grant I may be in time for my warning to be of some avail. For all I know, the villain may be there before this letter arrives. I tremble at the thought. He is sure to travel in his own private coach, accompanied by his bully, and, doubtless, both of them will be armed to the teeth. You had better warn Jack Hearty at once, in order that he may put his daughter out of harm's way, until he has taken his departure. His lordship will stick at nothing—even at drugging her, and carrying her off insensible, and being armed, it will be dangerous work to oppose him. I would advise Jack Hearty, as soon as he can find an opportunity to extract the bullets from his horse pistols, for depend upon it he means mischief. This is all the advice I can give him. Do whatever you can to frustrate the plot of this villian, and write me the result. No time for more. With kind remembrances to all your friends, as well as to our worthy host and family,
"Your anxious friend,"Vandyke McGuilp."
"Dear! dear! dear!" muttered Oldstone to himself. "This is terrible news indeed. I must seek Jack Hearty at once, and inform him." Then, thrusting the letter into his pocket, and with a troubled expression on his face, he left the room, and beckoning to the landlord, whom he found outside, he took him by the arm and walked with him some considerable distance down one of the cross-roads, and read to him the latter part of our artist's letter. The landlord looked grave and stern.
"Humph," he grunted at length, "and this is all through me allowin' my daughter's portrait to be exhibited at the Royal Academy. If I had only known!"
"Look here, Jack," said Oldstone. "This is a thing that no one could foresee. Let us now think of the remedy."
"What remedy?" asked Jack, gloomily. "Can I refuse to take a traveller in—a nobleman, too, with a handle to his name?"
"It is a desperate case, and we must be on the alert," observed Oldstone. "I would suggest that we take Dr. Bleedem into our confidence."
"Why?"
"Perhaps he may be able to administer to them both a sleeping draught on going to bed, and whilst they are both sound asleep, you can enter their rooms and extract the bullets from their pistols, so that if perchance they should attempt to use them against us, we shall have nothing to fear on that score."
"The very thing!" exclaimed our host. "Let us seek the doctor at once."
This was done. At first the man of medicine hummed and hawed, put on a look of importance, and talked of his reputation, etc., but at length allowed himself to be over-ruled, seeing the extreme urgency of the case, and consented to give the landlord a little harmless sleeping dose, which he could mix with their wine or whatever they called for.
Dr. Bleedem now went inside, presumably to concoct the charm by which occult power the evil designs of their enemies were to be frustrated, leaving our host and the antiquary discoursing together outside in low tones. As these two individuals were gazing towards the horizon, a small cloud of dust was presently discernible.
"Seems to be coming this way," said our host, after a pause. "Wonder if——"
"Ah, just so," broke in Oldstone. "Shouldn't wonder if itwereour expected guest. He won't make any unnecessary delay, I warrant."
"Sure enough it's a carriage and pair with a liveried coachman and footman," observed the landlord. "How they tear along! Oh, it's his lordship, without doubt. I must go and warn my daughter."
Our host was somewhat tardy in arriving at this decision, for a stately carriage emblazoned with an escutcheon with innumerable quarterings, and surmounted by a coronet, had now driven up to the doorof the inn, and both Dame Hearty and Helen were on the doorstep to welcome the new arrivals.
A gorgeous footman descended to open the carriage door, and out stepped a young man of middle height, slim and somewhat graceful of figure, dressed in the very height of fashion. Behind him stepped a powerfully-built man, respectably dressed in black, with a plebeian and repulsive countenance.
Our landlord came forward and saluted both guests gravely.
"We want two bedrooms and a sitting-room, landlord, and should like to dine in an hour," said Lord Scampford; for it was none other. Then putting up his spy-glass, he gazed at Helen from head to foot in an impertinent manner, and the two men exchanged a look of intelligence. The coachman and footman likewise followed their lord's gaze, and smiled approvingly.
Our antiquary was making his observations in the background whilst Jack Hearty was busying himself with the luggage. As our host passed his daughter in the passage he found time to say,sotto voce, "Helen, my girl, shut yourself up in your room till I call you. I want to speak to you."
Now it was not often that her father spoke to her in so serious a tone, and these words, coupled with the impression she had already formed of Lord Scampford and his companion, which was not a favourable one, caused her to tremble and turn pale. She knew there was much in the world that she could not understand,and it seemed to be considered wise not to make enquiries. She asked no question therefore, but shut herself up within her room as desired. No sooner was the landlord able to break away from his new customers, than he ascended to his daughter's chamber and knocked at the door. Helen unlocked it, and her father entered.
"My daughter," he said, "I wish you to keep as much to yourself as possible during the stay of these gentlemen below. I have my reasons. I know more than you do, so do not ask why. Enough that it is my wish."
In the good old times, parents' commands were not disputed, but humbly and reverently obeyed. So Helen, with downcast eyes and hands crossed upon her breast, answered respectfully, "It is well, sir."
"If, by any chance, they should cross your path while you are engaged in your household duties," continued her father, "and should address you, let your answers be short, though civil. Remain not long in their presence, but speedily withdraw. Moreover, if they should be sitting over their wine and should invite you to drink, to pledge them in a toast, drink not. No, not even asipto please them. My daughter, there is danger ahead, and I warn you beforehand. You are young and unversed in the wickedness of the world, but obey me to the letter and you are safe. Heed not their advances or their flattery, but shun them as a pest."
Having thus delivered himself, our worthy host turned on his heel and left the chamber.
"I understand nothing, sir, but I obey," answered Helen, dutifully.
That evening Dame Hearty herself served his lordship and the man whom he was pleased to represent as his friend. Many were the questions that were put to our hostess about her daughter, and many the subterfuges she had to resort to in order to prevent Helen from putting in an appearance. Whilst thus engaged in conversation with the landlady, Jack Hearty found it no difficult task to enter the sleeping room of his guests and to extract all the bullets from their pistols, without having recourse to Dr. Bleedem's potent charm. The evening passed over quietly, and there was no appearance of Helen.
A week now passed by, and neither Lord Scampford nor his man seemed to be able to make any headway. "Tell you what it is, Tuppings," said his lordship one day to his bully, deeming himself unheard, although every word fell distinctly on the ears of our host, "I am getting tired of these eternal subterfuges. It's enough to kill a man outright withennui, to vegetate day after day in this wilderness; yet leave the place without her Iwillnot."
"You may depend upon it, my lord," said the man in black, "that they knew of our coming beforehand, and have been forewarned."
"I wish I knew who it was," rejoined his lordship; "I'ld be even with him. The only person interested in the matter would be Lord Dodgemore, who naturallywould do all in his power to make me lose my wager. I laid him a thousand pounds that I would make her my mistress within a fortnight, and I don't intend to become the laughing-stock of my friends on my return."
"Then your lordship has not a moment to lose. Half the time has already slipped by, and we are no nearer than on the evening of our arrival," murmured the bully.
"That we are being hoaxed is as plain as a pike-staff," observed his lordship.
"On our first evening the girl was engaged serving the members of the club. The next day she was indisposed and confined to her room. After that she was on a visit to her aunt, who is ill, and what with one excuse and then another—oh! it's sickening. I came across the little jade unexpectedly the other day, and tried to detain her with a little pleasant chat. You should have seen the dignified air she put on, as with a 'by your leave, my lord, I am overpressed for time,' she curtesyed and passed by. What has come to these simple seeming rustics of late I am at a loss to imagine."
"If your lordship should deign to follow my advice——"
"Well."
"I would suggest that we should take the bull by the horns and make short work of it."
"How?"
"Pick the lock of her bedroom door. Gag her and carry her out of bed downstairs, wrap a warm cloak around her, and lift her into the carriage, which must be waiting for us only a few paces off. Then, head for the nearest township, and so on, to London. In case of opposition on the way, we have our pistols. But hush! I thought I heard footsteps."
"Tut! the walls are thick enough in this antique hostelry," said his lordship. "Never fear."
They little knew that there was a sliding panel high up over the bedstead his lordship occupied, which was covered by a bad picture of His Majesty George II. on horseback, and which could be reached by a secret staircase within the thickness of the wall.
"So that is their little game, is it?" muttered our host to himself, who had been eavesdropping. "All right, my men, all right."
It was the midnight hour, and the sky dark as pitch. The wind howled dismally through the trees, and seemed to shake the very foundations of this ancient hostelry. All the inmates of the 'Headless Lady' had retired to rest; that is to say, all the members of the club. Our host above was stirring, and had not yet made up his mind to go to roost. In fact, he seemed disposed to make a night of it, and enjoy himself as much as circumstances would permit.
The wind dashed the sleet against the window panes, and the ground was getting fast covered with snow. But our host stirred the fire, put on a fresh log, and filled himself up a glass of his own home brewed ale. First he took a sip, then setting his glass down, he next walked leisurely into the room adjoining for his tobacco box, with the intention of filling his yard of clay. His back was no sooner turned than the bulky figure of a man, in his stockinged feet, tripped lightly across the hall, and, quick as thought, dexterously emptied a white powder into the glass our host had left standing, then as speedily vanished.
He had hardly disappeared, when our host, suspecting nothing, re-appeared upon the scene, and proceeded to fill his churchwarden with some of his strongest tobacco. He then lighted his pipe by the fire, and throwing himself into an easy chair, puffed away complacently for a time. He was apparently musing, when, as if suddenly recollecting that his glass was at his elbow, he raised it to his lips and drained it to the dregs; making a wry face, as if he had just tossed off a dose of physic. He was on the point of filling up again from the jug close at hand, when a yawn escaped him. He had grown unaccountably sleepy. This feeling he at first endeavored to combat by having recourse to his snuff box, but the effect of the pungent herb was only temporary, for soon his eyelids fell, as if weighed down with lead, and he was now snoring loud, and as utterly oblivious as a corpse.
"I've drugged the old boy," said the man in black to his master, with a chuckle. "It's all plain sailing now. We've only got to pick the lock of the lady's room, stuff a handkerchief in her mouth, and carry her downstairs. The carriage is in readiness outside. Quick! Let's up and be doing."
Upstairs tripped the ruffianly bully as lightly and noiselessly as a grasshopper, followed closely by his aristocratic patron, and in a moment the two men stood before the chamber of the unconscious sleeper. It was locked, as they had anticipated; but with a deftness that argued much practice in this art, the bully soonsucceeded in causing the lock to yield, and the door swung noiselessly back on its hinges. Aided by the light of a taper, which his lordship carried, the ruffian was enabled to make straight for the bed, and seizing the fair sleeper roughly in his powerful arms, was in the act of rushing downstairs with her when a shriek, so loud and piercing that it bid fair to waken the dead, resounded through the walls of this ancient hostel, startling from their sleep all its inmates, save our host, who was still as fast in the arms of Morpheus as when we left him.
"Damnation!" cried the bully, between his teeth, as he thrust a handkerchief into his victim's mouth, and hurried with her towards the hall door, whilst Lord Scampford followed close at his heels, a horse pistol in either hand.
The door of the inn was soon unbolted, and before any of the household could hurry to the spot, the pair of scoundrels were already outside in the bleak night air, and hailing his lordship's carriage, which now drew up. The liveried footman had opened the door of the carriage, and in another moment it would have closed securely upon these two arrant scoundrels and their helpless victim, while a crack of the coachman's whip would have carried them miles out of reach of all human opposition, had not at this juncture something quite unforeseen occurred.
From out the darkness a cloaked figure, with broad sombrero drawn down tightly over his eyes, suddenlyemerged, and with a well-directed blow from a leaden-headed cane upon the bare head of the man in black, felled the gigantic bully, who measured his full length upon the ground covered with snow, still clasping in his arms the terrified and trembling form of our heroine, whose shrieks of "murder" and cries for help at length brought all the members of the club to the spot.
The Duel
Before they arrived, however, the mysterious stranger, who had so opportunely come to the rescue, had succeeded in releasing Helen from the clasp of the unconscious ruffian, and carried her inside, but not before Lord Scampford had discharged his brace of horse pistols at him—we need not say without any effect, save that of startling the horses so terribly that they became perfectly unmanageable, and bolted with the carriage, before the footman had time to spring to the box. His lordship, finding his pistols useless, flung them from him, and drawing his rapier, made for the stranger, who likewise drewhissword, and a skirmish ensued.
At this moment all the inmates of "The Headless Lady" hurried downstairs, half dressed, with lighted candles, and armed with what weapons of offence they could first lay their hands upon. One carried a torch, by the light of which the spectators could clearly note the position of affairs. Lord Scampford and the Unknown were still in the thick of the fray, and appeared well matched, when suddenly an opening presented itself, and the sword of the Unknown pierced the heart of his lordship, who fell back lifeless on the snow.
The greatest confusion reigned. Questions were asked on all hands, and no one seemed to be wiser than his neighbour, yet the main facts of the case were apparent to all. Helen had retreated hurriedly to her chamber, and locked herself in afresh. Our host seemed not yet sufficiently conscious to be able to take in the situation. It was not till the small hours of the morning that each returned to his bed. On looking round for the stranger he had vanished.
Now, it will readily be imagined that at the breakfast table next morning, at which our members assembled rather late, little else was discussed save the adventures of the previous night.
"The scoundrels!" thundered out Mr. Oldstone, with an indignant snort.
"The villains!" chimed in Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible together.
"The world is well rid of such a pair of jail birds," said Mr. Hardcase; "only it is a pity that they were allowed to cheat the gallows."
"Poor Helen!" sighed Parnassus; "I think there is matter for an epic poem in her misadventure."
"You are right," agreed Mr. Blackdeed. "The incident was pre-eminently dramatic; just suited to the stage, and would certainly bring down the house. I intend to dramatise it at my earliest convenience."
"And how is our patient, Dame Hearty?" enquired Dr. Bleedem of our hostess, who was waiting upon the members at table this morning instead of her daughter.
"Still very feverish, doctor," was the reply. "The poor child has caught a dreadful cold from being turned out of her warm bed and carried into the cold night air and the snow by those ruffians, and she with scarce a stitch of clothing on."
"Poor dear!" cried Dr. Bleedem, compassionately. "I'll come and see how she is getting on after breakfast."
"Why, doctor," observed Mr. Crucible, "you've got your work pretty well cut out for you. There's his lordship—well, you can dissect him; and his man, too, for the matter of that. Then there's the coachman, who was brought back here in his lordship's carriage early this morning, with his shoulder-blade broken; then the horses, with their knees broken: and now it's our sweet Helen——"
"Say, doctor," broke in Professor Cyanite, "was that rascally bully sufficiently conscious before his death to give an account of himself?"
"Oh, yes, he was conscious, though he hadn't time to say much. I saw from the first that the case was fatal. He admitted that he had been a d——d scoundrel, but added that his lordship was every whit as bad—and worse. He alleged that had he taken a situation as servant under an honest man, instead of entering the service of an unprincipled rake anddebauchee like Lord Scampford, that he himself might have become an honest man. He showed some contrition for the part he had played last night, and begged me to ask the lady's forgiveness for the same, as well as to pray for his soul. Then his mind seemed to wander, and he called out: 'There's his lordship! I see him enveloped in a sheet of flame, with fire issuing from his eyes and mouth, and from the tips of his fingers. He is beckoning to me! He is calling me down to Hell! How horrible the forms that hover round me. Mercy! mercy! Oh! my God,' Here he uttered a despairing groan, and spoke no more."
"Ha! Quite dramatic again," remarked the tragedian, who had no thought but what had reference to the stage; "the repentant sinner on his death-bed—excellent! I will take a note of that, and introduce it into my next play."
"Then there is the rescuer; you forget him," observed the poet. "The mysterious stranger, with cloak and slouched hat, appearing on the spot in the very nick of time to succour Beauty in distress."
"True, true," assented the tragedian; "I had nigh forgot. If this episode wouldn't bring down the house I don't know what would."
"I wonder who he was," observed Mr. Oldstone. "His sudden appearance was most remarkable; his disappearance no less so."
In the middle of this discussion, the door opened, and our host entered with a letter, which he handed tothe antiquary, who mechanically put it in his pocket as of no immediate importance, without even looking at the handwriting, while he joined in the merry banter of the other members, who, as soon as our landlord made his appearance fixed upon him at once as the butt of their satire.
"Hullo, Jack!" cried one, "got over your little nap at last, eh?"
"That last glass of your home-brewed ale, by way of a night cap was most effectual," jeered another.
Our host, however, did not view the matter by any means in the light of a joke, and answered savagely, "Ah! the dastardly cowards! Theydidme at last. Can't make out how they found time to do it. Such a trick was never played me before, and I'll take jolly good care they don't catch me again."
"Well, that's not likely under the circumstances, is it, Jack?" replied Mr. Hardcase.
"Just like these lawyer fellows," observed Professor Cyanite, "they are always tripping one up."
"Nor yet anyone else," persisted the landlord. Then added, "To think thatmydaughter who has been brought up from a kid under my very eyes, and never seen no one save her parents and you gentlemen of the club, who have always treated her with courtesy as though she were a high born lady—she, what's never heard a word in her life as she didn't oughter have heard—what never knowed nothink of the ways of this wicked world—thatshe, poor child, should be subjectedto outrage from two ruffianly bullies—one o' them a peer of the realm, forsooth, and all on account of her picter being exhibited at that d——d Royal Academy!" He concluded with a thump of his fist on the breakfast table that set all the cups and saucers rattling, and felt better afterwards.
"Yes, it was a narrow shave. Wasn't it, Jack?" remarked Parnassus. "If it hadn't been for that stranger——"
"Ah! I'ld like to find out whohewas.ThatI would. Can any of you gentlemen guess?" demanded our host.
"Not I."
"Nor I," replied several voices at once.
"Why on earth don't he show hisself?" asked Jack. "Well, he's a trump, whoever he is, say I."
The company now broke up, and the members of the club began to set about their several avocations. Dr. Bleedem went upstairs to visit his fair patient, and Mr. Oldstone found himself once more alone. He paced the room slowly, with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin upon his breast, as if lost in a reverie. Then suddenly blurted out, with a snort, "The d——d rascals! The double-dyed sons of Belial! To dare to carry offmyHelen! That sweet child that I love as if she were my own flesh and blood. And how nearly they succeeded!" Here his eyes filled with tears, and thrusting his hand into his large pocket in search of his handkerchief, his fingers clutched somethingcrisp, and he recollected the letter that Jack Hearty had put into his hand at breakfast. "Some shoemaker's bill, I suppose," he muttered, as he mopped his eyes with his handkerchief. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, glancing at the handwriting. "What! am I dreaming? Isn't this the writing of my young friend Vandyke McGuilp? But how? I am only just in possession of his letter from Rome, and this letter bears no postmark, being brought here by some casual messenger. Then he must behere! Don't understand it at all." Here he broke the seal and read as follows:
"Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone"My Dear Friend,"I am nearer to you than you imagine. I send these lines by a boy from a neighbouring village, where I slept last night, but which I leave this morning, without being able to call upon you, as I have important family business in the adjacent county of —— which I cannot afford to neglect. I had no sooner sent off to you my last letter, dated from Rome, when I received orders to return post haste to England at all costs, as my uncle had been taken suddenly ill, and now lies on his death-bed. He is not expected to last long, and I must be in the house when he dies, and remain till the funeral is over."I daren't risk seeing you even for a moment, but Ihadto be very near you last night, though you knew me not. I had heard from the gossip of the village thata grand carriage and pair with liveried coachman and footman were putting up at 'The Headless Lady,' and I guessed the worst and prepared myself accordingly to frustrate the diabolical plans of those villains. If I were to be hanged to-morrow for it, I should die happy in the consciousness of having rescued innocence from the clutches of vice."Immediately after the fray I reported myself to the authorities, who will by this time have sent over a constable to the hostel to interview his lordship's coachman and footman. For the present I am free, but I am bound to appear when called for at the next assizes. Matters are apt to go hard with a commoner like myself when the slain man happens to be a person of title; but I have hopes, as both the serving men are bound to give evidence that my act was to protect innocence; also that Lord Scampford first drew his sword upon me, having previously attempted to shoot me. No more for the present. With kind remembrances to all,—I remain,"Your very faithful friend,"Vandyke McGuilp."
"Letter from Mr. Vandyke McGuilp to Mr. Oldstone
"My Dear Friend,
"I am nearer to you than you imagine. I send these lines by a boy from a neighbouring village, where I slept last night, but which I leave this morning, without being able to call upon you, as I have important family business in the adjacent county of —— which I cannot afford to neglect. I had no sooner sent off to you my last letter, dated from Rome, when I received orders to return post haste to England at all costs, as my uncle had been taken suddenly ill, and now lies on his death-bed. He is not expected to last long, and I must be in the house when he dies, and remain till the funeral is over.
"I daren't risk seeing you even for a moment, but Ihadto be very near you last night, though you knew me not. I had heard from the gossip of the village thata grand carriage and pair with liveried coachman and footman were putting up at 'The Headless Lady,' and I guessed the worst and prepared myself accordingly to frustrate the diabolical plans of those villains. If I were to be hanged to-morrow for it, I should die happy in the consciousness of having rescued innocence from the clutches of vice.
"Immediately after the fray I reported myself to the authorities, who will by this time have sent over a constable to the hostel to interview his lordship's coachman and footman. For the present I am free, but I am bound to appear when called for at the next assizes. Matters are apt to go hard with a commoner like myself when the slain man happens to be a person of title; but I have hopes, as both the serving men are bound to give evidence that my act was to protect innocence; also that Lord Scampford first drew his sword upon me, having previously attempted to shoot me. No more for the present. With kind remembrances to all,—I remain,
"Your very faithful friend,"Vandyke McGuilp."
Our antiquary had hardly finished reading the letter, and thrust it into his pocket, when Dr. Bleedem re-entered the room with a very serious expression on his face.
"Well, doctor," said Mr. Oldstone cheerily, not noticing his countenance, "What news?"
"Bad, bad, very bad indeed," replied the leech gravely. "She is in a high fever and delirious. Quite off her head. If I ever get her through this——"
"Good heavens! doctor," ejaculated Oldstone, "you don't mean to say that there is any actual danger of her life?"
"Very considerable danger, I am afraid," responded the physician. "She will require the most careful nursing, such as I am afraid she is not likely to get even from her own mother."
"Doctor, you frighten me," cried Oldstone. "Surely someone can be found to attend upon her to relieve her mother."
"They are a rough lot about here, and not always dependable," answered Bleedem. "It must be someone who will remain with her all night long without going to sleep. If she evershouldget over it——"
"Nonsense! doctor. Shemustget over it, ifImyself have to sit up to attend upon her."
"Well, well, we must see how we can manage; but it is a very bad case, for besides the chill she caught, which was of itself enough, there was, in addition, the mental shock to the nervous system. She is so delicately organised."
"Poor dear! poor dear!" whimpered Oldstone. "Ifshedies under your treatment, doctor, I shall never——"
"Undermytreatment!" exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, with vehemence. "God bless the man! She'ld dieall the sooner under anyone else's. Do you think I shan't do my best to bring her round—if it were only for my reputation. IfIfail, no man in the whole wide world will be able to save her."
Our antiquary then, by way of changing the conversation, fearing he had somewhat nettled the physician, inquired, "By the way, doctor, did she discourse much during her delirium?"
"Lord, yes; a lot of rubbish, of course," replied the leech. "Imagined she was undergoing again the adventure of last night. Thought Lord Scampford was after her with his bully. Stretched out her arms for succour towards an imaginary angel, whom she said had been sent down from heaven to protect her; ever and anon confounding him with Mr. McGuilp."
Here the man of medicine indulged in the ghost of a smile.
"Did she indeed, doctor? Well, this is most interesting. Now, while you have a moment of leisure, oblige me by reading this letter."
Here the antiquary handed over the epistle of our artist to Dr. Bleedem.
The physician seized it gravely, read it through in silence to the end; re-read it, slowly folded it up, and returned it to Oldstone.
"Humph! remarkable—very," he observed, after a pause.
Further discussion on the subject was checked by the entry of the other members for their mid-day meal,during which no secret was made as to the identity of the mysterious stranger.
"Well, well, well," cried our host, when the mystery had been cleared up. "If I didn't half suspect it all along. Why, bless my soul, if I think there could be found another man in the world capable of it. Eh, Molly?"
As for our hostess, she went right off into hysterics, and Mr. Oldstone was not the only member of the club who was visibly affected.
A month had passed over, and it was now time for the case of that memorable night to be tried at the assizes. Our host, the two serving men, and every member of the club had received a summons to appear as witnesses. Helen herself would have been obliged to put in an appearance, had not Dr. Bleedem signed a certificate that her state of health prevented her from attending. The greatest excitement prevailed when our artist appeared in court. Nearly all were prepossessed in his favour, and several women were overheard to express hopes that they would not hang so good-looking a man. The two serving men were then called, one after the other, and both deposed that their deceased master, Lord Scampford, had first drawn his sword on the gentleman, who was forced to act on the defensive.
The case was soon settled. The jury brought it in as justifiable homicide, and in spite of some ineffectual opposition on the part of the family of the defunct LordScampford, who wondered what had come of nobility in these times, when a mere commoner like the defendant could waylay and assassinate a peer of the realm and get off unscathed, etc., etc. In spite, however, of all opposition, our artist was acquitted and left the court without a stain on his character, amid the cheers and congratulations of the crowd. As he left the court house he was accompanied to the "Headless Lady" by all the members of the club, who vied with each other in the cordiality of their welcome.
Many changes of importance had taken place of late. Our artist's relative had long since breathed his last, and he now slept with his fathers. His nephew had sat up with him to the end, and was chief mourner at his funeral. The will of deceased had been read, and our friend Vandyke McGuilp was known to have inherited his entire fortune, which was considerable, so that the once struggling limner was now little short of a millionaire.
A sudden change for the better had taken place in the health of our heroine, which now mended apace in a way that surprised the doctor. Still, it was deemed advisable, for the present, to keep her in ignorance of her hero's arrival on the scene.
After some discussion on the subject,i.e., when her medical attendant pronounced her out of all danger, it was generally agreed upon that considering the great confidence which had always existed between Mr. Oldstone and the daughter of our host, that he should bethe man entrusted to break the joyful news to the patient.
Our antiquary accordingly bent him to the task; so mounting the staircase, he tapped at the patient's door. On entering the chamber, he was greeted by a beaming smile from its fair occupant.
"Why! my pretty pet!" cried the old man, cheerily, "what a time it seems since I saw you last! Why! youarepulled down, poor dear."
"Am I?" answered Helen. "I am feeling much better now, though; and I am getting tired of lying in bed all day. I feel quite well now, and want to get up."
"Don't do anything without Dr. Bleedem's permission," remonstrated Oldstone, "or you may throw yourself back, and then what should we all do without you?"
"Yes, Dr. Bleedem says I have been most seriously ill—that he has just rescued me from the jaws of death."
"Ah!" remarked the antiquary with a quiet smile, "and someone else rescued you quite lately from something very like the jaws of death—only worse," he added, in a low tone.
"Oh!" she cried, covering her face with her hands, as if to shut out some horrible vision; "don't mention those two villainous men, or I shall go mad."
"No, no; we won't mention them again. They have gone to their account at last—and—there, there, let us not judge, but try to forgive, as we ourselves would wish to be forgiven," said Oldstone.
"But what harm had I done them? Why should they—I mean, what did they want to do to me?" asked the girl, ingenuously.
"Doto you, silly child! He! he! What all wicked men seek to do when they get the chance," replied her friend. "Let us not talk of them, but rather of the brave man who rescued you in the very nick of time from a living death."
"I understand nothing of their object, and I can't get anyone to explain to me; but I want to know more of the brave man who, at the risk of his own life, came to my assistance."
"Perhaps I can tell you something ofhim, too," said Oldstone, mysteriously. "Did you note him well?"
"Not I. How could I? I was half fainting when he carried me into the hall. Besides, he was so muffled up in a cloak and hat that I was unable to see his face."
"True; neither could any of us—he was so successfully disguised. But we have discovered since who he was, for all that."
"Then you have seen him—spoken to him? Please convey him my most sincere thanks and blessings for his heroic conduct towards a perfect stranger."
"Perhaps you would like to thank him yourself—some day—when you are able to get up, and feel quite well again," suggested Oldstone.
"I suppose I ought," replied Helen. "I feel most grateful to him, I am sure; for don't I owe him my life? But I am so shy with strangers—and—and Idon't know what to say," pleaded the girl. Then, at length, "Tell me what manner of man he is?"
"Oh! he's a gentleman," replied Oldstone; "you may depend upon that—and, what is more, he's young, and,Ithink, very good-looking. I am sure you would say so, too."
Here a knowing look came into the antiquary's face, which puzzled the patient, who, with eyes and mouth wide open, appeared to scan his countenance as if to read the very secrets of his soul. Then, like a Pythoness of old, suddenly inspired, she exclaimed, "I have it! In vain you try to keep it from me. Mr. McGuilp has returned. It washe——"
Oldstone marvelled at her penetration, but replied only by a succession of little nods of his head, fixing his eyes steadily, yet laughingly, upon her the while.
"I knew it; I knew it!" she exclaimed. "My dreams confirmed it. Oh, God be praised," and she clasped her hands in ecstasy.
"Calm yourself; calm yourself, my sweet one," began Oldstone, now seriously alarmed lest the patient should suffer a relapse, "What would Dr. Bleedem say to me if he knew I had been so precipitate?"
"Dr. Bleedem! Doeshethen know of our——?"
"Oh! I never said anything to him about it, you may be sure. What I mean is—he wishes you to be spared all emotion, lest you should throw yourself back, and all his care be in vain."
"Oh! no fear of that," replied Helen. "I feel somuch better since you told me. Stay!—if you have seen him, he is here. Perhaps in this very inn—tell me!"
"Well, not very far off, I dare say," said Oldstone, cautiously.
"Mr. Oldstone!" cried the girl, "you can hide nothing from me. Iknowhe is here, and Iinsistupon seeing him."
"My dear! my dear! How can you? Just think! You must wait till you are well enough to get up," protested her friend and counsellor. "Dr. Bleedem will decide all that."
"I want to see himnow,this instant."
"What! In your bedroom!" exclaimed Oldstone. "My dear child! It's not proper."
"Then why do you come yourself, and Dr. Bleedem?"
"That is a very different matter? I am an old man, and Dr. Bleedem is your medical attendant," replied the antiquary. "Mr. McGuilp is young—and peoplemighttalk."
"Nonsense! If you don't let me see him, I'll make myself ill and die," exclaimed the patient, petulantly.
The antiquary began to be alarmed, but tried to pacify her by saying he would see Dr. Bleedem, and consult with him as to what were best to be done.
As he did so, the doctor mounted the stairs. He came to administer a cordial.
"She seems much better now, doctor," remarked Mr. Oldstone.
Here a muttered consultation took place just outside the patient's door. After which the physician entered the sick-room, and finding his patient's nerves somewhat excited, administered a calm soothing dose which sent her off into a peaceful sleep, while our antiquary sought his young protégé, and explained that, owing to the patient having taken a composing draught, the doctor's advice was, that he had better postpone his visit till the morrow.
Our artist's disappointment at being refused an interview with hisinamorataafter so long an absence may be imagined, but he was consoled in a measure by the doctor's promise that she would be well enough to see him on the following day. On one thing he had thoroughly made up his mind, and that was to ask her in marriage of her father. He had never ceased to love her all the time he had been absent, but up to the present he had no position to offer her. Were she to marry one of the many country bumpkins who flocked around her, it would be affluence to what he could have offered her. He could not afford to have quarrelled with his only relative. The consequences would have been fatal. Now everything had changed. He was rich, and could afford to please himself. Therefore on the morrow he was resolved to speak to her father.
It will readily be imagined that our artist's return to his native land, to say nothing of the chain of events that followed—his heroism, his trial and acquittal, were events that could not be passed over without celebration.Therefore it is needless to say that the evening was spent round the merry punch bowl, as usual on festive occasions.
Mr. Oldstone was again elected chairman, which post none of the members felt inclined to dispute with him. The evening opened with a congratulatory speech from the chairman, addressed to our artist, to which he replied with brevity and grace. To say that his health was drunk with the usual three times three would be superfluous.
Jack Hearty was called in to join in the toast and invited to take a seat, while our artist was called upon by the members of the club to give an account of his adventures among the brigands, which he did in a manner so graphic, and with such grace and easy command of language, that the company remained spellbound, drinking in every detail of his narrative, whether it were a description of natural scenery or climate—the dress or physiognomy of his captors—their attitudes, their language, or what not. Nothing was forgotten. His trials and privations, his thoughts of home, and the friends he had left behind him. (He mentioned nothing of the girl he left behind him). Then he described the final tussle with the carabineers, and his subsequent rescue. Thus he rambled on in one continual flow of diction like a mill stream without interruption, carried away by his enthusiasm in such a manner as to leave no doubt in the minds of his hearers as to his having taken part himself in the adventures he described.
"Now, mine host," said the chairman, at the conclusion of this somewhat prolonged narrative, "what do you say to that?"
"Well, well, well," replied that worthy, musingly. "To think that all that should have happened to one of my gentlemen customers, what's been in furren parts. Why, it beats the story books out and out. Blessed if I can't see it all a goin' on before my very eyes."
"True, Jack," agreed Mr. Oldstone, "such is the power of our young friend's eloquence, that one feels that we ourselves have taken part in it."
"Might I point out to the company," began Mr. Blackdeed, "the intensely dramatic situation of——"
"Also the highly poetical episode——" broke in Mr. Parnassus.
"And if you had been there," interrupted our artist in his turn, "you would have noticed the vivid colouring, the fine grouping of the figures, the chiaroscuro—the fantastic light and shade that would have impressed the scene upon your memory in a way never to be forgotten."
"Hark at him! Hark at him!" cried several members at once, as they refilled their glasses from the punch-bowl.
The conversation then drifted towards more recent adventures, and our artist explained in full his sudden appearance on the spot in time to frustrate the designs of the ravishers, and rescue innocence from pollution.
"And to think that you rescuedmydaughter fromthose ruffians, sir, and at the risk of your own life, too. Why it was admirable! But there, sir, I can't find no words to thank you with—that I can't."
Here our worthy host became very moist; but the chairman filled up his glass again for him, which he tossed off at a gulp, and felt better.
"And now, gentlemen," said the chairman, rising, "just one more toast before I dismiss this honourable meeting, which I am sure you will all join in. Here is 'Health, long life, and happiness, both to the rescuer and the rescued!'"—(Shouts of "Hear, hear!" and "Yes; none but the brave deserve the fair.")—"Then, here goes with a 'Hip! hip! hip!—hurrah!'"
Our artist, somewhat taken aback, blushed up to his scalp, and drank off the toast good humouredly, after which there was shaking of hands all round, and every one retired to his dormitory in a comfortable frame of mind and body.
Need it be told how, on the following morning, as soon after breakfast as convenient, our artist—and now rich land-proprietor—beckoned to our host of the "Headless Lady," and with trembling lips and palpitating heart seized him by the arm, and walked with him for a good pace down the long, straight road leading up to the door of the inn? Or how the members of the club, who happened to be looking through the diamond-shaped panes of the old-fashioned bow window in that direction, remarked one to the other how mighty intimate our hero had suddenly become with his landlord, and their wonderments as to what he could find to talk to him about so confidentially?
Suddenly our host was observed to start, slap his thigh, then, with a hand upon each bent knee, he peers steadily into the face of his interlocutor, who is placing a hand upon his shoulder. Our host, now changing his position, extends a broad, fleshy palm towards his customer, which our artist clasps in his long, slender fingers with a more than usual hearty shake.
"Why, if they are not patting each other on theback, and laughing," exclaimed Parnassus. "Whatcanbe up?"
"Well, that's queer," observed the Professor. "Um—m—m—m?"
Whilst this dumb show was being enacted Dame Hearty entered her daughter's bedroom to announce to her that she had Dr. Bleedem's full permission to get up and dress herself; which permission, we may easily guess, was promptly taken advantage of. So jumping suddenly out of bed with the agility of youth, she quickly set about her toilet and ablutions.
"There is one thing," began her parent, "I wish to speak to you about."
"Yes, mother," responded Helen, absently, brushing out her curls before the glass with unusual despatch, and without turning towards her parent.
"Nay, hear me, girl," continued Dame Hearty; "it is seriously I would speak."
"Say on, then, madam; I am listening."
"I am aware—ahem!—I have long taken note," continued her mother, "of a growing intimacy—a friendship, I may say, and perhaps something more—between you and this Mr. McGuilp, our guest. I know that he has done us all a great service—a service that none of us can ever forget, and you in particular, since he saved your life. It is therefore only natural and proper that you should feel grateful towards him, andregard him in the light of a friend, and as a friend, I hope, we shall ever esteem him; but listen, now, my girl, to what I say. Atoointimate friendship between a young couple, out of different stations in life, such as in the case of yourself, who are only the daughter of a country inn-keeper, and a gentleman born and educated like Mr. McGuilp, who is, besides, enormously rich, having inherited all his uncle's fortune and estates, and consequently moves in the very best society. Such intimacies are dangerous, and may lead on to trouble before you are aware."
"How, mother?"
"Bless the child!" answered her mother, impatiently, "must I tell you everything? Must I make you as wise as myself? No; there are things I can't discuss with you. What I want of you is to be patient, and obey."
"You—all of you—treat me like a child," broke in Helen, reproachfully.
"And so you are," retorted her mother; "therefore take advice. The feeling that the world callslove—love, I say, that speaks not of marriage is denounced assinby the laws of God and man."
"Well, that's strange," mused Helen. "Then, one may not love a friend, a parent, a child, without marrying them?"
"I have no time to quibble," replied her mother, with some asperity, "but would simply remark that whatever your feelings may be towards Mr. McGuilp, or his towardsyou, nothing but harm and unhappiness canbe the lot of you both—without marriage. Now, you can't well expect a rich gentleman like Mr. McGuilp to displease all his friends by marrying a penniless girl like yourself—country bred, without education, who knows nothing of the world and society, when he could marry some high-born lady out of his own class—some rich heiress, educated and accomplished, who would grace the society to which he belongs. He might be a great man in the county, and enter Parliament, with such a wife, while you would only drag him down to your level."
Helen had already hidden her face in her hands, and her bare shoulders heaved convulsively, while the hot tears trickled through her fingers.
"Cease, mother! Oh! cease, in pity!" she cried. "I cannot bear it."
Her anguish would have wrung the heart of a stone, and her parent being a really tender-hearted woman, deeply sympathised with her daughter, though she felt it her duty to be firm, "For what could it all end in?" she argued.
At this juncture, the voice of our host was heard at the bottom of the staircase calling out, "Molly, my dear! Mr. McGuilp wants to speak to you."
"In one moment, Jack," answered his spouse. Then to her daughter, "Dry your eyes, my girl. Bathe your face and follow me. Mr. McGuilp doubtless wants to see you. You have much to thank him for, and do it with grace, but mind what I have said."
With this parting admonition she left the room and hurried downstairs, whilst Helen deftly finished her toilet, and with one last look at the glass to ascertain that her eyes bore no traces of weeping, she was preparing to descend the stairs, when her attention was attracted by sounds from below that she was at a loss to account for. There was a jumble of human voices, but above them all was the voice of her mother, now screaming, now half laughing and half crying, whilst that of Dr. Bleedem was heard giving orders to her father, and all seemed bustle and confusion. Dame Hearty was in hysterics.
"And you really do mean it, Mr. McGuilp?" asked, in a sweet voice, a bright-faced country girl of eighteen summers of a slim young man in the garb of a gentleman, who followed her through the narrow mossy pathway of a wood adjacent to the inn at the cross roads.
"Mean it, my angel! Why, of course I do, and feel proud at the very thought of you being all my own. Only don't call me any more 'Mr. McGuilp,' or 'Sir.' It hurts my feelings. Call me 'Van'—just 'Van' as my friends and relatives have ever called me."
"Van, let it be then," quoth the maiden, "dearVan, my own sweet love for ever and ever! Oh! Van, youhavemade me so happy! And my parents, how you must have surprised them when you told them! Poor mother! No wonder she went into highstrikes!"
"Hysterics," corrected her lover.
"Well, that's what they call them here," answered the girl; "but you will correct me every time I make a mistake, won't you Van?"
"With pleasure, dearest," replied her suitor.
"And nothing can ever come between us now? Nothing can part us?"
"Nothing but death," was the reply.
A shade of sadness passed momentarily over the girl's features as she asked, "Must it all end with that?"
"Death ends everything," replied the young man: "that is to say, everything earthly."
"Then is therenolove beyond the grave?" asked Helen.
"Oh! let us hope so," responded our artist. "I, for one, have the very strongest persuasion that there is. Love such as ours is not merely of earth."
"Dear,dearVan!" cried the maiden, in ecstasy, "I will believe all you tell me.Iknow nothing, but Ifeelyou are right. Yes, we shall still continue to love even beyond the grave. Oh! Van, how have I deserved all this happiness?"
"Your sweetness, your goodness, your beauty, your love, amply counterpoise anythingIcan give you, my angel," said her lover.
"How kind you are to talk like that Van! How youmustlove me to go against the wishes of your friends and leave everything and everybody for me!" exclaimed the girl. Then added, "You arequitesurethat you won't be ashamed of me before all the grand people you will meet? That you will be able to pardon any little slip of the tongue, my country manners, and everything else?"
"Everything, everything, dear. Besides, your education will begin from to-day. You will improve yourself in the arts of reading and writing. Learn grammar, history, geography, and other things. I will have you well taught at once, whilst I am away in town to make preparations for our wedding. I must go about the licence, and through other formalities; buy the wedding-ring; your dress—for, of course, asmywife, you must now dress as beseems a lady, and leave off this simple garb; and yet it seems a pity, for I have always known you thus. Still, for the sake of public opinion—to avoid misunderstanding——"
"I care nothing about all that," broke in Helen.
"No, my darling; not yet. You do not understand. But in time you will find that you have to."
"Well, I will do anything to please you, Van."
"My own darling!" said her lover, encircling his arm around her waist.
Well, my readers, and if their lipsdidmeet; what of it? It is a way that lips have under the circumstances.
"And now, gentlemen, and members of the Wonder Club, let me introduce you to the future Mrs. Vandyke McGuilp," said our artist, on his return from his walk,as he entered the club room, leading his fiancée by the hand.
Taken completely by surprise, each member rose from his chair, bowed, smiled, and offered his congratulations. Mr. Oldstone was particularly moist on this occasion.
"Oh! my dear boy, how I congratulate you; and you too, my pretty child! Bless you, my children, both!"
Then he took out his handkerchief and mopped his eyes.
"Dear me, what an old fool I am!" he muttered, in parenthesis.
Chairs were immediately placed for the engaged couple, amid boisterous cheering and banter from all the members of the club at once, whilst the bride elect laughed, blushed, and looked very happy. The father and mother of the bride next entered, and joined in the general hubbub.
Of course, this was too great an event not to be celebrated with all due honours. Therefore Mr. Oldstone proposed that they should all meet once again that evening round the steaming punch-bowl; Helen and her parents being also of the company.
"Just to drink to the health of the bride elect," explained Mr. Oldstone with an appealing look towards Dr. Bleedem. And it was so.
That the bride's health was drunk that evening with a "Hip, hip, hurrah!" goes without saying. How Mr.McGuilp started on the morrow for town on business connected with his approaching marriage; his return; his sojourn at the "Headless Lady" until the grand event came off; how he occupied his spare time partly in painting a portrait of his friend Mr. Oldstone, which was followed in due time by portraits of his future father and mother-in-law, and in imparting instruction to his fair bride; likewise, how, when unavoidably absent on business, Mr. Oldstone would enact the rôle of instructor to the fair bride of his protégé, so that no time should be lost in fitting her for her exalted station; how Helen improved daily in intelligence and knowledge under such careful tuition, are matters of history.
All unpleasant experiences of the past had been forgotten in the joy attending the great approaching event.
Coffins had been made for the bodies of the two malefactors. The corpse of Lord Scampford had been placed in his lordship's carriage and driven by his coachman (whose shoulder blade was now quite well), and accompanied by his footman to London, where it was consigned to the family vault of the Scampfords, while that of his partner in crime filled a nameless grave in a corner of the old churchyard at Littleboro'.
Some procrastination and unexpected delayswouldoccur, however, in spite of all our hero could do to hurry on the event, for we know that "the course of true love neverdidrun smooth," but at length the happy day arrived. How merrily pealed the bells fromthe ruined tower of the picturesque old parish church of Littleboro' on that sunny morn! How gay the peasantry looked in their holiday attire! Proud, indeed, were our host and hostess as a splendid equipage with coachman and footman, each adorned with a huge nosegay, drove up to the door of the "Headless Lady" to convey the fair bride, who was attired in the most approved fashion of the period, and accompanied by her father and mother, both clad in gala, to the church.
How the yokels did gape as they recognised in the magnificently attired bride poor Nell Hearty, maid of the inn at the cross roads, whom they had seen full oft to feed the pigs, milk the cows, scrub the steps, wash and hang out the clothes, and who had served them with many a pint of her father's home brewed ale. It was a thing not well understood—had no right to be, doubtless they thought. The little church was crammed. Needless to say that every member of the Wonder Club was present, and, lo, here comes the vicar of Littleboro', that aged and somewhat infirm cleric of benevolent aspect, and all the aristocracy of the place.
The service begins. Mr. Parnassus has been chosen as best man, and has composed an ode for the occasion. Mr. Oldstone has begged the honour of giving away the bride, which duty he performs with great dignity. A dead silence reigns as the bridegroom places the ring on the chubby finger of his bride. The benediction is given, the register is signed,et c'est une affaire fini. Thebridal pair march out of church to the joyous strains of the organ, treading beneath their feet along the aisle the flowers that friendly rustics have strewn across their path. Bride and bridegroom then step into their carriage and drive back to the house of the bride, where a sumptuous wedding breakfast awaits them. Nor were the wedding presents wanting. The members of the club had subscribed, and presented the pair with a handsome punch-bowl and silver ladle with the usual golden guinea inlaid in the scoop. The parents of the bride presented their daughter with a handsome piece of carved oak furniture called a "brideswain," dating back as far as the commonwealth, which contained linen, goblets, and other useful articles.
The old broadbacked farmer, the bride's godfather, who was present, and whom our readers will recollect was the innocent cause of the disasters that followed, in that, in his simplicity, he had put Lord Scampford's bully into possession of the secret of Helen's address, that day at the Royal Academy; well, the bride's godfather and his spouse between them presented the couple with a metal dish and cover, besides a case containing a carving knife, fork, and steel. The bride's aunt, whom we have mentioned as an invalid, sent an expensive old-fashioned china tea service and sundry chimney ornaments, while her friends in humbler circumstances each contributed their little mite.
The breakfast went off merrily. The speeches and the toasts, who shall describe?
At length the hour of parting arrived. The carriage drove up, and the bridal pair entered amid showers of rice and old slippers. Our hero and heroine were about to set out on a continental tour for their honeymoon, and intended visiting the eternal city.
Perhaps the most touching incident of all occurred at the last moment, just as the happy pair were entering their carriage.
Mr. Oldstone, who had been very moist on the occasion, drew off his antique ring, of which we have heard so much, from his forefinger and placed it on that of his protégé, saying with much emotion: "Take it, my son; take it with an old man's blessing. Preserve it as an heirloom, for I shall never wear it more."
"Poor old man!" said our artist with some emotion, when they had left the home of the bride a mile behind. "To think that he should makemethis valuable present, and that I hadn't time to thank him at the last. I must write to him on the very first opportunity. Why, Helen, can you guess the value of this gem? I would sooner possess this ring than all the money he has in the world. I never thought he would give it away to anyone during his lifetime. Did you ever hear the legend attached to it?"
"Well, yes; I think Iwaspresent when Mr. Oldstone told his story," said Helen; "but I am sure Idon't recollect anything about it now. You shall tell it to me over again some other time, darling."
"With pleasure, dearest," replied her husband. "It is a long story, and at present we have so many other things to think of, haven't we, love?"
"Yes, dear," was the reply.
"And you think you will continue to love me as much as you did at first, darling?" demanded the newly married man of his young wife.
"Oh! Van; how can you ask such a question?" exclaimed the bride. "Why, I love you more and more every minute."
"Then give hubby a pretty kiss," was the rejoinder.
Two pouting rosebuds were thrust upwards into the husband's face, upon which he settled like a bee upon a flower extracting nectar and ambrosia; and thus we will leave them.