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diff --git a/36731.txt b/36731.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cae906 --- /dev/null +++ b/36731.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8381 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III, by +M. Y. Halidom (pseud. Dryasdust) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III + +Author: M. Y. Halidom (pseud. Dryasdust) + +Release Date: July 14, 2011 [EBook #36731] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES OF THE WONDER CLUB *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + [Illustration: THE ABDUCTION] + + + + [Illustration: THE FIRE] + + + + TALES OF + THE WONDER CLUB. + + BY + DRYASDUST. + + VOL. III. + + ILLUSTRATED BY + JOHN JELLICOE and VAL PRINCE, + AFTER DESIGNS BY THE AUTHOR. + + HARRISON & SONS, 59, PALL MALL, + _Booksellers to the Queen and H.R.H. the Prince of Wales._ + + _All rights reserved._ + + + + LONDON: + PRINTED BY A. HUDSON AND CO., + 160 WANDSWORTH ROAD, S.W. + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + + PAGE + THE ABDUCTION _Frontispiece_ + THE FIRE _Title Page_ + THE CURIOSITY SHOP _Preface_ + THE GIPSY QUEEN 389 + THE DUEL 603 + THE QUAKER 658 + + + + +[Illustration: THE CURIOSITY SHOP] + + + + +PREFACE TO VOL. III. + + +Before taking leave of his readers, the author would inform them that at +the commencement of these "Tales," the earlier ones dating some thirty +years back, nothing was further from his intentions than rushing into +print, although repeatedly persuaded to do so by certain well-meaning +friends, who from time to time were permitted to peruse the hidden MSS. +The tales, nearly all of them, were written when the author was living +abroad, and to beguile a period of enforced idleness, which otherwise +would have been intolerable. + +Never in his wildest dreams did he meditate inflicting them on the +public mind. Partly, it may be, that he thought with Lord Tennyson, that +"fame is half disfame," and that "in making many books there is no end," +as Solomon teaches. Or it may be that he didn't care to augment that +already numerous class who are said "to rush on where angels fear to +tread." However this might be, time passed and the tales began to +accumulate, when the author conceived the idea of stringing them +together in a decameron, and later still of illustrating them with his +own designs. Still years rolled on, and the tales, long abandoned, were +consigned to the limbo of a mysterious black box, where they remained +all but forgotten till many years later. + +"Why on earth don't you publish them?" was the constant cry of those few +who were taken into the writer's confidence. + +The author answered by a modest shrug of self-depreciation, and still +the unfinished MSS. lay at the bottom of the black box. The fact was +that a weight of inertia oppressed him, added to a total lack of +experience in business matters of this kind, which prevented him from +taking the first step. He recoiled from the thought of calling on a +publisher and presenting his own MSS., and being occupied in other ways +besides writing, he begrudged the time lost in hunting up printers, +publishers, and engravers, together with all the delays _contretemps_, +and disappointments attendant on red tape. + +What he wanted was a factotum, "an all round man," who would take, so to +speak, the dirty work off his hands. Where was such a man to be found? +He knew of none. The author is a man of unusually retired habits, and +associates with but few of his kind. By proclaiming his want openly, +doubtless, many would have presented themselves for the task, but in +matters of this sort a certain amount of intimacy with the person +employed seems to be necessary; at least, so the author thought, and +thus time rolled on, and the "Tales" were no nearer publication than +they were years ago, and might still have remained in this state for +years longer but for an unforeseen incident. One morning, whilst taking +a constitutional in a neighbouring suburb, the author's attention was +attracted by a strange-looking stringed instrument of undoubted +antiquity, in the window of an old curiosity shop. He would enquire the +price of it. The proprietor, a weasel-faced little man, with a polished +bald head, foxy beard streaked with grey, and a nose rather red at the +tip, stood at the door of his shop. His ferret eyes spotted a customer. + +"What is the price of that instrument?" + +"One guinea." + +"I'll take it. Wrap it up in paper." + +"Right you are, sir. Good morning, sir. Thank you." + +And off trudged the author with this new acquisition to his collection +of curios. + +Little did he imagine at the time what an important part this same +weasely little man was destined to play in the drama of his every day +life. Soon after this a second visit was paid to the shop. It was a +strange place, choked with odd lumber, where any curio might be +obtained, from a mermaid to a mummy. A stuffed crocodile hung in the +window. There were cases of stuffed birds and animals, dummies in +costume, old pictures, antique furniture, armour, weapons, coins, and +postage stamps. A third and fourth visit succeeded, and after almost +every visit the author's collection was enriched by some new curio. At +length, so frequent became these visits to the curio shop, that hardly a +day passed without the author putting in an appearance. Some two years +may thus have passed away, during which time the author had ample +opportunity of studying this human weasel. He learned that he was a +bum-bailiff, a commission agent, etc., ready to undertake any odd job +for money. + +Here, then, at last, was the very man. The author accordingly propounded +his plan of publishing the "Tales." That weasel nose sniffed business. +With alacrity he seized the MSS., and donning a new top hat, which he +did whenever he desired to create an impression of respectability, he +climbed to the top of a 'bus, and was soon landed in the thick of our +metropolis. From that time all has been comparatively plain sailing. +"_Ce n' est que le premier pas qui coute_," and cost it did, readers, +you may be certain of that. + + THE AUTHOR. + + + + +[Illustration: THE GIPSY QUEEN] + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +THE GIPSY QUEEN.--MR. BLACKDEED'S NEW PLAY. + + +It was Monday morning. Our members assembled as usual at the breakfast +table, after which the host entered with the newspaper, to show his +guests an account of some political event of great importance. The +appearance of a newspaper in the club was a thing of great rarity, as we +have already hinted that politics were only permitted occasionally on +sufferance. As Mr. Oldstone was commonly looked up to as the head of the +club, if not altogether on account of his age, still as one who was most +rigid against any infringement of discipline and decorum, each member +glanced timidly towards this worthy, as if to ask his consent and +absolution, which having given with a solemn nod of his head, the other +members seized with eagerness the mystic folio, and having spread it out +upon the table, huddled one behind the other to get the first look at +its contents. + +As for our artist, he had "metal more attractive," as Mr. Blackdeed +might have observed. Nothing would satisfy him but a good long sitting +from his enchantress, Helen. So stealing from the company, engrossed as +they were with their politics, he retired to his chamber, where he set +his palette; and, placing Helen's portrait on the easel, he called his +model, who came without much pressing, and having placed her in the old +carved high-backed chair, he commenced work. The portrait waxes apace. +Our host's daughter is in her very best looks. The painter's hand is +inspired not merely by the love of art--great, though that love +undoubtedly is with all artists--but spurred on by another, perhaps more +powerful feeling, which lends such temper to our artist's ordinary +faculties, as to render the painter himself, a rare occurrence, utterly +amazed at his own powers. The first hour passes away like five minutes. +Scarce a word has been spoken on either side. To those who feel they +love, few words are necessary, and in many cases, perhaps the fewer the +better. This was a case in point. Our couple loved. Why should we deny +it? How futile, indeed, for lovers themselves to deny it to the world? +How utterly hopeless a task it is for lovers to attempt to conceal their +love one for the other, even _when_ they intend to do so! Murder will +out sooner or later. In this, as in many other cases, love given vent to +in words could be productive of no good to either party; and, therefore, +as we said before, the fewer words spoken, the better. + +But what do I say? Will nature be subdued by mere obstinate silence? +Will not the trampled down heart rebel and burst its fetters, seeking an +outlet in the powerful upheavings of the breast; the electric flashes +of the impassioned eye that the strongest efforts of our feeble will in +vain endeavour to render cold and indifferent; the involuntary blush, +the haggard cheek, the pensive look; the smothered sigh--have they no +language? Nay, your very silence speaks for itself. Oh, youth! if you +would hide your passion, do so by flight, there is no other way. + +This is what McGuilp felt. As for Helen, poor child, her virgin heart +was a stranger to the tender passion. She had heard of love, but just +heard of it vaguely as the world speaks of it, without being able to +realise its power. She would have been incapable of analysing her own +feelings, but a mysterious languishing softness welled forth from her +large blue eyes, which whispered to the painter's heart things that it +dare not acknowledge to her own. Strange, awful, mysterious passion; +instilling thy subtle poison into the veins of thy willing victims. +Merciless poisoned dart! Swift as thou art deep, inextricable as thou +art unerring--who can escape thee? + +But let us leave the enamoured couple to themselves for a while. Far be +it from us to play the spy upon their actions, and let us return to the +club-room, where the members, having exhausted their newspaper, are +interrupted in the midst of a political discussion by an authorative +thump on the table from Mr. Oldstone, who reminds the company that Mr. +Blackdeed has not yet discharged his debt to the club--viz., the recital +of his new play, that he had just finished preparing for the stage. + +"Ay, ay, the play, the play!" shouted several voices. + +"Now then. Blackdeed," said Parnassus, "the play is the thing, you +know." + +Our dramatist, with some show of modest reluctance, or, as Mr Parnassus +observed, "with sweet reluctant amorous delay," produced his manuscript +from his ample pocket, inwardly, nothing loath to declaim his late +effusion before the august assembly, seated himself with an air of +dignity, and having waited till the whole club was fairly settled, and +all attention, he thus began: + + + +THE GIPSY QUEEN. + + +DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + DON DIEGO. + DON SILVIO. + DON PASCUAL, son of Don Diego, in love with Inez. + PEDRO, servant to Don Silvio. + JUAN, servant to Don Diego. + DON ALFONSO, friend to Don Pascual, and student of Salamanca. + DONNA INEZ, only daughter of Don Silvio. + DONNA RODRIGUEZ, nurse to Donna Inez. + LADY ABBESS, sister to Don Silvio. + GIPSY QUEEN, Pepa. + MIGUEL, a Priest. + + Another Priest, Gipsies, Soldiers, Guests, Attendants, and Populace. + + The Scene is laid in Spain in the mountains of Grenada. In Scene III. + of Act I., in Salamanca. + + + +ACT I. + + +SCENE I.--_Study of Don Silvio, with large open window, through which is +seen the castle of Don Diego on the opposite mountain peak. Don Silvio +is discovered at a table covered with books, papers, and scientific +instruments. Strewn about the floor and on shelves are various objects +of natural science. Don Silvio closes a book he has been reading and +advances._ + + D. SIL. In vain the consolations of deep science, + The chiding voice of grave philosophy, + To wean us from our earthly fond affections, + When once deep-rooted in our bosom's core. + Paternal love, surviving youthful passion, + As autumn's deep'ning tints the summer's green, + Remains mature till the cold wintry blast + Of death hath scattered its last quivering leaf, + And driven us, whither? I have a daughter, + Than whom no saint in heaven purer is. + Fair and virtuous Inez! Sole object left + Me now to love on earth of all my kin. + An old man's pride, and only legacy + Of my late spouse, the sainted Dorothea. + Who, giving birth to this fair angel, left, + After ten years of childless married life, + This, my poor helpless babe, but in exchange + For her own precious self. Long unconsoled + For this, my doleful loss, I sought once more + Relief from sorrow in those studies deep, + Abandoned since my manhood's prime, when I + In Salamanca's university, + Did strive for honors, my child consigning + To a certain faithful old retainer, + The good Rodriguez, who in lieu of mother + Did rear the tender babe until it grew + To years maturer, when I thought it fit + To rescue her from out the hands of one + Who, whatsoe'er her care maternal be, + Is yet too full of vanity to make + A good instructress to my only child, + Whom I designed to educate in mode + Far different from that in which Rodriguez + And all her worldly tribe would seek to do. + With this my aim in view, I took the child + Away from home whilst yet her mind was tender, + And placing her under my sister's care, + The Lady Abbess of Saint Ursula-- + A convent distant thirty miles from hence-- + I left her until she should reach such age + As maidens having made due preparations + Are deemed fit to marry. Scarce sixteen + Is now my daughter Inez; far too young + To face without a guide the many wiles + And dire temptations of this giddy world; + I fain would keep her longer there, but then, + Then comes the thought that harasses my soul. + Having in youth squandered my patrimony, + Wasting my substance that I might procure + Expensive books and likewise instruments + I needed in the fond pursuits of science, + In gratifiying literary tastes, + And other fancies, thus I soon became + Deeply indebted to my richer neighbour, + The valiant Don Diego, who, much loath + To see an old house ruined, hath full oft + From time to time with liberal hand advanced + Such sums as I could ne'er hope to repay. + This knew he, too, full well, and having seen + Once my little daughter at the castle, + And fancying much her beauty, thereupon + Did make what he then doubtless did consider + An offer fair and not to be refused + By me, a desperate man--his debtor, too-- + An offer, namely, for my daughter's hand + When she should have attained her sixteenth year; + And this he gave me well to understand + Would be the only way that he'd consent + To counsel all my former debts to him; + Refusing this, I knew th' alternative. + Don Diego is a soldier fierce and proud + As he is courageous, stern and merciless + Towards those who thwart his will. What could I do? + Unable to pay and in his power, + Groaning 'neath a sense of obligation; + Allured, too, perhaps, by prospects flattering + In worldly sense to her, a poor man's daughter, + I e'en consented. In an evil hour + I gave my word to friend Diego, + A man of my own years, whose castle stands + Upon the opposite peak. Behold it. + A man, I say, who might be her grandsire; + Nor is it mere disparity of years + That makes the gap to gape between the pair. + Besides his age, and now decaying health, + Don Diego all his youth has led a life + The most licentious. Rumours strange and wild + Are busy with his name, for it is known + That he esteems the holy love of woman + But as a flower to pluck and cast aside. + He hath no reverence for religious rites, + And thinks of matrimony but as a bond, + Of all bonds easiest broke. With thoughts like these + How shall it fare then with my poor daughter + When once the knot is tied? His temper then + Is stern and imperious, blunt and rude. + Accustomed to command, he reigns alone + Amidst a flattering troup of followers, + Like petty tyrant, treating men as serfs. + In boasting moods he vaunts of ancestry + Who never thwarted were in lust or hate, + And to this man shall I consign my daughter? + No, no, it was an evil hour when I + O'er hastily did consent to sacrifice + My lovely Inez, purest of her sex, + To this man's savage and rapacious lust. + Repentance came too late, for he doth hold + Me still to my promise, and all in vain + Are pleadings of my daughter's tender age. + The promise of her hand at some time hence, + When she to riper womanhood hath grown, + Excuse or promise unavailing both, + For he, with military punctilio + And lustful hot impatience, doth demand + Her hand at once, and will brook no delay. + He called on me of late, and from his mien + I saw there was but little left to hope. + A father's tears, as ever, failed to soften + His all too stubborn nature, and at length + He threatened me with ruin or with death + And forcible abduction of my daughter + If on a certain day ('tis now at hand) + I gave not him my daughter for his wife. + As yet my child knows nothing of this plan, + But now the time draws near when she must know. + How can I face my daughter? How can I + With humble, piteous whine, say, "Inez, + Thy father is ruined, an thou heed him not? + Save him by the sacrifice of thyself." + Or else, with imperious and austere brow, + Say, "Inez, I command thee as a father + To wed the man I've chosen thee--Don Diego. + Obedience is a filial duty, and + Thy father better knows what's for thy good + Than thou thyself. At once prepare, obey!" + Or should I, contrary to precepts taught + Once by myself when she was yet a child, + When I have preached 'gainst vanities and pomps, + Empty frivolities and lust of greed, + Can I now plead thus, and say, "Daughter mine, + Behold what a grand thing it is to be + One of the great ones of the earth, and move + For ever midst the gay and high-born throng + Of lords and ladies without care or pain, + With means at hand to gratify each wish, + To live the mistress of a noble castle, + With serfs at thy command, with gold, with jewels, + Dress at thy caprice, and hear around thee + Ravishing strains of music in thy halls; + Thy gardens, parks, and pleasure grounds rivalling + Those of the noblest peers, exciting envy + Of all thy neighbours, and this, yes, all this, + Thou hast but to reach out thy hand to take; + Accept the old Don Diego for thy spouse, + His castle's thine, and all that therein is; + Don't be a fool and throw this chance away + Because, forsooth, he's old, somewhat infirm, + Unfair to view, irascible and stern, + And recklessly give up thy giddy heart + To some young spendthrift, all because he's fair; + Throw not such a glorious chance away, + But make thy father's fortune and thine own?" + Is this the strain that I could use to her + After my virtuous lessons and wise saws? + Could she not answer, "Father, is it thou-- + Thou who dids't ever counsel me to shun + The whispered words of gallants with the wiles + And impious vanities of this base world, + Dids't inculcate obedience, filial love, + As primary virtues ever with the young? + Was it that I might blindly, passively + Submit my will to thine? Shunning fresh youth; + That at thy bidding I might give my hand, + Loathing, yet passively, unto a man + Whose years do full quadruple mine, and all + Because this man has wealth and I have none? + Is this thy virtue, father? This the end + Of all thy teachings, that I should become + The minion, yes, the minion of a dotard?" + And would she not be right? Could I look up + Into her angel's face unblushingly, + And with a base hypocrisy reply, + "My child, 'tis for thy good. Such is the world." + Would she believe me? Would she not despise + Me and my words, see through my selfishness? + Yet what to do I know not. I am lost. + Would not the world itself proclaim me base? + Would not the mockers say, "Behold the sage, + The philosophic, wise Don Silvio, + He who despises wealth and this world's pomp, + Yet sells his daughter for Don Diego's gold?" + Thus run I counter both to God and man, + And mine own conscience. Crushing my child's heart + That I might save my own grey head from ruin. + Help me, ye saints! for I have need of guidance. [_Kneeling._ + Soul of my blest departed Dorothea! + Assist me with thy counsels, and send down + From that high heaven where thou in peace doth dwell + A blessing on thy daughter and her sire; + It cannot, sure, be that our Inez shall + Unwillingly and loathingly consent + To wed a vicious dotard for his gold. [_Rising._ + Time wanes, and with my part I must go through; + Then, as to the rest, let heaven think on't. + I know not if I meditate aright; + Nay, I know I am wrong, but I've no choice. + Hola! Rodriguez!--Rodriguez, I say! + + _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ. + + How now, Rodriguez, did'st not hear me call? + + ROD. Indeed, my lord, I came as soon as I + Did hear you, but it may be that of late + I have grown a little hard of hearing; + Rodriguez now is getting old. How many + Years is it I have served your lordship here? + + D. SIL. Cease thy prating tongue, and now lend thine ear. + + ROD. I'm all attention, good my lord, proceed. + + D. SIL. Well then, here is a letter I have written + To thy young mistress, bidding her return + With fullest speed to the paternal roof. + + ROD. What! my young mistress Inez coming home + After full five years' stay within the walls, + The gloomy walls, of grim St. Ursula! + Poor soul! she'll scarce remember old Rodriguez. + How I long to see her! How she'll have grown. + Time will have wrought great changes. But a child + She was when first she left her father's hall, + And now returns a woman. Pretty dear! + Shall I ever forget how she did cry + At leaving me? For you must know, Senor, + That ever with a mother's tender care + I've cherished her as were she child of mine, + And she, sweet soul, ne'er having known her mother, + Looked for no other mother than myself. + And mother she would call me when a babe, + Until she grew and first began to learn + The death of your good lady Dorothea-- + Peace be to her soul, the dear sweet lady-- + Then she learned to call me Nurse Rodriguez. + Dear little soul! When I did see her last + She had her mother's brow, her mother's hair, + Her eyes, too, and her tiny foot and hand; + Her smile was all her mother's, yet methinks + Something about the nose and mouth and chin + Was from your lordship. How I wonder now + If she be changed, if she do remember + How I was wont to dance her on my knee + To still her cries with sweets, and how she'd ask + Me to tell her all about her mother-- + How she looked and spoke, and how she dressed? + I told her all I knew. What I knew not + That straight I did invent to please the child, + And oftimes on a chilly wintry night + Of storm and tempest, when the lightning's flash + Lit up with lurid glare the outward gloom, + And the loud thunder, like to wake the dead, + Shook the old castle walls to their foundation, + On such nights as these, when sleep would desert + Her downy pillow, I would lift her thus, + And wrapping her up in my ample shawl, + I'd draw her to the fire. Then, whilst the warmth + Of the genial element diffused + Itself throughout the chamber, rendering + By the contrast of the black storm without + Its growing blaze more grateful, then would I + Beguile the night with tales of ghosts and ghouls, + Of elves and fairies, and hobgoblins grim, + Of witches, wizards, vampires, dwarfs, and giants, + Pirates, brigands, and unburied corpses, + Whose restless spirits, ever hovering near, + Render the place accursed, and bring ill + To happen unto those who wander there. + Wraiths and doubles, and corpse candles glim'ring + O'er unhallowed graves. Of secret murders, + Of spells, enchantment, and of hidden treasure, + Fights of knights and dragons, Christian damsels + Rescued from Moorish captors by their lovers, + Tales of the Inquisition and its tortures, + Of dungeons dark and drear, and skeletons + Found bleak and bare, laden with rusty chains + That ever and anon at midnight's hour + Were heard to move and shake, with many a tale + Of the wild gipsy tribes that roam these mountains, + Of haunted houses and weird palaces, + That at the magician's word sink 'neath the ground, + Of devils and of fiends-- + + D. SIL. And all the lore + That gossips love to frighten children with. + Wretch and most wicked beldam! Is it thus + By giving reins to thine accursed tongue + That thou hast sought to poison my child's mind? + Is this why every eve when it grew dark + I've seen her shudder and look o'er her shoulder? + Why she would never enter a dark room? + Why, as I've watched beside her tiny crib, + I've seen her start in sleep with stifled sob? + When I have watched her wan and haggard cheek, + Her thoughtful mien, her dreamy vacant stare, + Until I've fancied her in a decline, + And feared she would not long be left to cheer + My gloomy hearth; then was it this, I say, + Thy foolish wicked lies, torturing thus + Her tender infant brain? I say, for shame! + In good time I rescued her from thy hands. + + ROD. I'm sure my lord, I've always sought to-- + + D. SIL. Hush! + And give me no more of thy silly prate, + I've some affairs on hand, and must away, + O'er long thou hast detained me with thy cant. + Here, take this note, bid Pedro start at once + And bear this safely to my daughter there, + For to-night at the hostel he must sleep, + To-morrow early he must start towards home, + Accompanying my daughter by the way. [_Going._ + + ROD. My lord, I'll see to't. + + D. SIL. And hark! Rodriguez, + There's one thing I would caution you against. + + ROD. And that is, my lord? + + D. SIL. And that is, I say, + That when my daughter home arrives to-morrow, + You fill not her head with foolish stories + And antiquated superstitions. + Above all, talk to her not of gallants, + Of tournaments, elopements, serenades, + Or anecdotes of thine own frivolous life. + + RON. My lord! my lord! + + D. SIL. Once for all, I repeat, + Detail not all the follies of thy youth; + Talk to her not of dress or finery, + Nor all the gilded pageantries of courts, + Or such like vanities; and now, adieu, + I must go hence. Think well of what I've said. [_Exit._ + + ROD. (_Alone._) Poor, poor gentleman, I fear he's going; + He's growing old now, is my poor master, + And folks when they grow old are ever childish. + He ne'er has been the same since the departure + Of my poor mistress, Lady Dorothea. + What said he about my frivolous life? + Who can cast a stone at Dame Rodriguez? + Oh, his head's gone; that's very clear, alas! + _My_ life! 'Twere well he thought about his own, + Spent here mid dusty books and parchments old, + With dirty bottles and queer instruments. + As no one ever saw the like before. + What he does with them, who can understand? + Shut up here like a hermit all day long. + A plague on him, and all his crotchety ways! + Wait till my mistress Inez doth return; + She will enliven him, and 'twixt us two, + We'll make a clearance of this dusty cell. + "Talk to her not of dress!" Poor silly man! + Why, how on earth is the poor child to know, + Shut up these five years in those convent walls, + Of all the latest fashions of the day? + How should she dress herself without the aid + Of old Rodriguez? See how these men are. + Do we live in a world or do we not? + I should not do my duty to his child + Were I to listen to him. No I must, + The instant she arrives, take her in hand. + "Talk to her not of gallants!" Why, forsooth? + Must the poor child see no society? + Is this hall a convent or a desert? + Was she not born to marry and to mix + With other ladies of her state and rank? + How should she find a husband without me? + She's growing up now, and has no mother, + And as for her poor father, he'd as soon + Think of flying as of his daughter's weal. + No, no; but I will teach her how to cut + A figure in this world as best becomes + Her rank and station. I will teach her, too, + What colours best become her, and how I, + I, Rodriguez, figured once in youth, + When I with train of yellow and scarlet silk, + And stomacher of green, sleeves of sky-blue, + First did meet my Carlos at the bull-fight. + I'll teach her how to dress, to use the fan-- + Thus, also thus, and thus, and how to draw, + With well-feigned coyness, the mantilla, thus, + Across her face, leaving one eye exposed, + And ogle, so, the gallants as they pass. + A few good lessons taken from an adept + Will soon prepare her for society. + + PEDRO. (_Without._) Rodriguez, Hola! Rodriguez, What ho! + + _Enter_ PEDRO. + + ROD. Donna Rodriguez, an it please you, sir. + + PED. Well then, be it so, Donna Rodriguez, + I've just met master coming from the castle, + Apparently in no good humour. He + Asked me if you'd given me a letter + Addressed to Donna Inez at the convent, + And bid me thither haste without delay, + Threatening me with mine instant dismissal + Should Mistress Inez fail to arrive to-morrow, + And thus with hasty step and moody brow + He passed me by, as if old retainers + Had not their privileges, eh? Rodriguez-- + Donna Rodriguez, I should say. Pardon me. + + ROD. Here is the letter; you had best be off. + Stay, Pedro. Did master look so savage? + + PED. Even so. + + ROD. Something must have angered him. + Prithee, good Pedro, hast thou not of late + Noted a change in poor Don Silvio? + + PED. Faith, I cannot tell. Since I have known him + He hath been always the same moody man. + + ROD. But has he not of late seemed more estranged, + More dull, more gloomy, just as if there were + Something of unusual import that + Were hanging o'er him? + + PED. In truth I know not. + + ROD. He sees no company. + + PED. That's nothing new. + + ROD. I mean--save that of that old haughty Don, + Old Don Diego from the neighbouring castle, + Who ne'er vouchsafes me word, but when he comes + Passes me by as the veriest slut, + With not so much as "Good-day, Rodriguez," + But asks me sternly if my master's in. + His visits have been frequent here of late. + What think'st thou is the meaning of all this? + + PED. In faith, I know not, and do not much care. + + ROD. Ha! thou carest not? Come now, good Pedro, + Wilt thou that I confide a secret to thee? + + PED. A secret that shall increase my wages, + Take more work off my shoulders? Then declare 't; + If it be ought else, then keep your secret. + I am tired of ever being the slave and drudge + Of my old master for such paltry pay. + I've served here now some twenty years and more. + But matters were not always thus. I've seen + The castle walls look handsomer in my day. + In Lady Dorothea's time I never + Had to wait for my wages, and my suit + Was always clean and new. Then were there more + Servants in the castle who took near all + The work off my hands. Now that they're dismissed + The burden of the household falls on me, + And the wages, 'stead of waxing more, + I have to wait for. I know not how long 'tis + I have not seen the colour of his gold. + Why, the castle's gone to rack and ruin. + I am ashamed to meet my former friends, + The well-fed menials of Don Diego's hall, + When they with grave and supercilious smile + Do thus accost me, "Ha! good man, Pedro, + How fares it with thee and thy poor master? + Thy suit, methinks, grows musty, like his castle, + And, to speak truth, I once have seen thee fatter." + Then straight they talk about their master's bounty. + "Look how we fare," say they; "an I were thou + I'd strike for higher wages or else leave." + And all these taunts I have to bear--for what? + + ROD. Well, well, I fare but as yourself; but hark-- + Something's astir within the castle. + + PED. (_Turning round timidly._) Where? + + ROD. Bah! I mean something's about to happen + In this old hall, an I do not mistake. + A _change_. + + PED. For the better? Out with it, Rodriguez. + Be quick, for with this note I must away. [_Going._ + + ROD. Just so; the letter. What think'st thou there's in 't? + + PED. I never play the spy. Money, think you? + [_Holding it up to the light._ + + ROD. I trow not. I spoke but of it's import. + + PED. Marry, what should it be but just to bid + Young Mistress Inez home without delay? + + ROD. Exactly; and canst divine the motive? + + PED. Faith! Perhaps the charges of the convent + Have grown too costly for the miser's purse, + Or 't may be having stayed there her full time, + She now returns unto her father's hall. + + ROD. Not altogether that, for I well know + Don Silvio would fain have kept her longer. + Hark, Pedro! thou know'st that I've always been + A faithful follower of this ancient house, + And no time-server as some others are. + + PED. (_Aside._) Humph! That's meant for me. Time-server, forsooth! + + ROD. Ill would 't become a faithful old retainer + Not to take interest in her lord's affairs, + So with this sense of duty upmost, aye, + And marking something most unusual + In these frequent visits of Don Diego, + Then hearing once his voice in angry tones, + And that of our poor master, trembling, meek, + I naturally bent my ear until + It level stood with the chamber's keyhole. + + PED. Naturally, Donna Rodriguez. Well? + + ROD. Ha! Now you take more interest in my tale. + Well, then I heard the whining piteous tones + Of our old master's voice in broken sobs. + "Think of her tender age, and your own years. + Can this disparity between you both, + This forced consent on her part, bring to her + Ought but unhappiness? Prithee, reflect. + Think of a father's feelings, and forbear." + "Think of your debts, old man, and of your past," + Now said a sterner voice; "and if you fail + To have your daughter all in readiness + The next time that I call, so the wedding + May be solemnised within my private chapel + At whatsoever hour I please, hark ye! + I'll sell your ruined castle o'er your head, + Drive you houseless into the open air + To beg your bread; by force abduct your daughter, + And---- + + PED. Did he say that? + + ROD. Ay, he did, indeed. + + _Enter_ DON SILVIO _musingly behind--he stops and listens_. + + PED. Why then he'll do 't; that is, if our old lord + Do not peaceably give up his daughter. + + ROD. Oh, it's horrible, horrible. Poor child! + + PED. Horrible for us to be turned adrift. + Poor child, indeed! the best thing that could hap, + I wish the little jade no better luck. + The daughter of a threadbare miser. _She_ + Turn up her nose at such a match as this! + I can't think what our master's scruples are + To such a union. Luck seems on his side. + + ROD. Hush. You forget her age, the poor dear child + Has scarce arrived at puberty, and then + Knows nothing of the world, but cometh straight + From that old convent without time to taste + The sweets of life, or choose from out the crowd + Of motley youths who _should_ encompass her + One of her choice, befitting more her age + Than this grey, grim, and surly Don Diego. + + PED. Don Diego is a proper gentleman. + A trifle old, perhaps; so much the better, + He will but die the sooner, and so leave + Our Inez mistress of his lordly hall. + Once left a widow, young and rich, she then + May marry any gallant that she likes. + First let her fill her mouth and clothe her back, + Then indulge her own caprice at leisure. + I'm for Don Diego, and will help his plan + With all my power. + + ROD. Oh! you men, you men, + You're all alike, and have no sentiments. + Just such a one is master, who would sell + His only child to pay his debts withal. + + PED. Why, how can he help it? Debts must be paid. + And when the debt is cancelled in this way + I fancy I can see the old miser chuckle + To himself at having got off so cheap. + + DON SILVIO _advances in their midst_. + + D. SIL. Discussing matters that concern ye not, + Eavesdropping hounds, unmannered miscreants! + Is this your duty and your gratitude? + Knaves that ye are, and base-born time-servers, + Off with ye both! Thou, Pedro, lazy lout, + Off to the convent, as I bade thee. Fly! + Rouse not my wrath; and thou, thou gossiping hag, + Back to thy room and give thy tongue a rest, + Else it will swell and choke thee. Would it might. + + [_Exeunt severally Pedro and Rodriguez. Don Silvio throws + himself into an armchair, and covers his face with his + hands._ + + +SCENE II.--_Interior of the Convent of St. Ursula. Inez discovered +pacing up and down dejectedly._ + + INEZ. 'Tis passing strange that all these five long years + That I have lived within these convent walls, + A stranger to the world without, unless + To the narrow limits of our garden. + I ne'er remember to have passed a night + Like last night was. Most strange and fearful dreams + Disturbed my slumber, robbing me of rest; + Confused they were, and I can scarce recall + Aught of their substance, but methought that I + Was caught and roughly handled by rude men + With dark ferocious faces. By their dress + I should have deemed them gipsies; then methought + I saw a female--tall, majestic, old, + Or middle-aged, in strange and wild attire, + Who spoke to me, and questioned me in proud, + Yet calm and kindly accents, and that she + Rebuked the ruffians, so that they fell back + And did no harm to me; yet still I sat + Surrounded by the band, which kept close guard. + My fear was very great, so that I think + I must have fainted, for I knew no more. + It was a dream most unaccountable. + My aunt, the Lady Abbess, says that dreams + Are sent us oftimes by the saints to warn, + Guide, and admonish us. That holy men, + Ay, and women, too, have had many things + Revealed to them in dreams and visions. + Old nurse Rodriguez, too, I can recall, + Oft would relate me hers, and would declare + They all came true, or bore some hidden sense + That none save gifted sybils could explain. + And now, although my memory's much confused, + Methinks Rodriguez formed part of my dream. + + _Enter_ LADY ABBESS. + + LADY AB. What! Inez, musing--art not well, my child? + + INEZ. I've slept badly, aunt, and have a headache. + + LADY AB. Here's that will cure it. + + INEZ. What! A letter? + + LADY AB. Ay, from thy father; it was hither brought + By an old servitor. + + INEZ. The good Pedro? + + LADY AB. I think the same; I've seen his face before. + Thou know'st, Inez, that it is my custom + To break the seal of all the letters that + Come here directed to my novices, + To prevent clandestine correspondence; + But knowing well my brother's handwriting, + And being well informed of the contents + By this same Pedro, I deemed it useless. + Read it then, dear, thyself. + + INEZ. (_Reads._) "My dearest child, + The time has now come round when thou should'st end + Thy course of studies at St. Ursula's. + It is my wish that thou at once take leave + For ever of thy aunt, the Lady Abbess, + And without more delay prepare to start + In the company of my servant Pedro. + See that thou be not tardy, but straightway, + Quick after the perusal of these lines, + Set off upon thy journey, for I have + Much to say to thee. Greet my good sister. + Your loving father, + Silvio." + Dearest aunt, + I know not if I should laugh for joy or weep, + For, returning home to see my father, + I needs must bid farewell to you, who e'er + Have been a mother to me. + + LADY AB. Dearest child! + I am full loath to part with thee, but still, + In obedience to thy father's orders, + Thou must not tarry. Take my blessing then, + And may the blessed Virgin and the saints + Protect thee from all harm upon the road. + Kiss me, my Inez, and now straight commence + To get thy baggage ready. + + INEZ. And Pedro? + + LADY AB. He is without. I'll call him. What! Pedro. + + _Enter_ PEDRO. + + PED. Gracious Donna Inez, I kiss your hands. + + INEZ. Ah, good Pedro, sure thou scarce knowest me; + These many years have wrought a change in us. + How leftest thou my father? Well, I hope; + And nurse Rodriguez, she, I hope, is well. + + PED. Excellent well, most gracious lady, both. + + INEZ. I'm glad of 't. And thou thyself, good Pedro? + + PED. I thank the Lord, good lady, I'm not worse-- + I'm getting old. + + LADY AB. That is the fate of all; + We cannot aye be young. + + PED. True, good lady. + + INEZ. And now, Pedro, do thou wait here until + I shall return. I'll try not to be long; + I've my baggage yet to pack, and to say + Some words in private to our Lady Abbess + [_Exeunt Inez and Lady Abbess._ + + PED. Why, how the little wench has grown, i' faith! + But I'd have known her anywhere, I would, + So strong is the resemblance to her mother-- + Her voice, her very manner too's the same + As Lady Dorothy's when first I knew her. + Ah, those were merry days. Would I could live + Them o'er again. Let me see. What was it + The gipsy beldam told me by the road? + Ha! I remember. When about half-way + Between the castle and St. Ursula, + While jogging through a bleak and bare ravine + Upon my mule, and leading on the other, + A crone stood in my path--a gipsy crone. + I know not how old; but past middle age. + Still, from her mien, which was majestic, proud, + I think she had been handsome in her youth. + "Good morrow, Pedro," said the crone. "Speed well" + "Good morrow, Dame," said I. "You know me, then?" + "And have done long. Gipsies know everything. + Wilt have a proof of it? Wilt know thy fortune? + Show me thy palm," she said. "My palm!" said I, + "Know thou, good gipsy, I have nought withal + To pay thee." "Never mind for that," she said; + "I love to gossip with an old retainer. + Thy gossip shall repay me. Quick, thy palm." + Then tracing with her gaunt and taloned finger + A mystic sign across the line of life, + "Not always thus, good Pedro, hast thou been. + Thou hast a master who but ill repays + Thy manifold and useful services. + Thou hadst a mistress once, but she is gone; + With her decease good luck hath fled the house, + But times will change, and luck will reappear, + And thou shalt live content to good old age." + I recollect no more of what she said, + But mighty promises she made of luck. + Then straightway she did ask me of my lord-- + How he fared, and also of Don Diego. + "Excellent well," said I, and here I laughed. + "Too well, too well, for one with head so white." + "How mean'st thou?" she said, with searching gaze. + "Why, marry thus!" said I; "they say Don Diego---- + Hush, but this is a secret (here I winked) + That old Don Diego, spite his years, doth think + To take to him a young and pretty wife." + Here the crone started somewhat, as I thought, + And o'er her bronzed features came a flush + Like burnished copper, and her eagle eye + Flashed as with fire; but in an instant + Her cheeks grew ashen pale and her lips trembled. + Why I know not; but deeming her unwell, + I offered her a sip of wine from out + The gourd I carried at my saddle's flank; + But she declined. "No wine," saith she, "hath ever + Passed my lips since I was born. Shall I + Break through my abstinence in hoary age?" + Then seeming quite recovered, "Well," she said, + "What was it of Don Diego, thou wert saying? + Thou saidst, he thought to take to him a wife. + Can this be true? Who may the lady be?" + Then, mocking her, I said, "Thou knowest all things, + Know'st thou not, the lady is our Inez, + The daughter of my old lord Don Silvio. + Still in her teens, and staying with her aunt, + Lady Superior at St Ursula's, + From here some fifteen miles, whither I go + By order of her father, at full speed + To carry back his daughter to his hall? + And know'st thou not the wedding day is fixed, + And all in readiness, but that our Inez + As yet knows nought o't; but that to-morrow, + When at eve I bring her to her father, + She will soon learn it all, and willy, nilly, + Will have to wed the old man for his gold?"' + All this I told her. Then she said, "True, true, + The stars already have revealed so much; + But mark me, Pedro, mark me well, I say, + For I know all things. It shall never be + It will not happen. The stars forbid it." + "What! Don Diego's wedding," said I. "We'll see." + And off I trotted till I reached the convent. + + _Re-enter_ LADY ABBESS _and_ INEZ. + + LADY AB. And now, dear Inez, now that all's prepared + For thy long homeward journey, one more kiss. + Salute thy father, and bear well in mind + All I have taught thee. When thou hast arrived + Write to me straight to say that thou art safe. + Thou, Pedro, do thy duty towards thy charge. + And, Inez, love, thou'lt think of me sometimes, + And should chance ever bring thee by this way, + Thou'lt come and see me, eh? And now farewell. + I dare not keep thee longer. Bless thee, Inez. + Adieu; the saints protect thee. Go in peace. [_Embracing her._ + + INEZ. Farewell, kind aunt, farewell. + [_Exeunt Lady Abbess and Inez weeping, Pedro following._ + + + +ACT II. + + +SCENE I.--_A country inn in the Sierra Nevada. A table spread under a +vine._ + + _Enter_ DON ALFONSO _and_ DON PASCUAL. + + D. PAS. Must thou then really leave me and return + To Salamanca to resume thy studies? + Alas! to think that thou shouldst go alone, + And that I dare not bear thee company. + Tell me, Alfonso, think'st thou the police + Are ever on my track, or else that they + Have now given up all strict and diligent search, + Some weeks having passed o'er since the fatal deed? + + D. ALF. I would not counsel thee yet to return. + Too many rash deeds have been done of late + For the law to lie much longer passive; + Besides, the man you murdered was a count, + A great hidalgo, and of haughty race; + His family will leave no stone unturned + Until this murdered member is avenged. + + D. PAS. Murdered! say'st thou again? 'Twas in a duel. + + D. ALF. Murder or homicide, 'twill go ill with thee, + An thou fall'st in the clutches of the law. + In good time thou leftest Salamanca. + But live and learn; I did ever tell thee + Thou wast over ready with thy weapon. + What! For a hasty word said in hot blood + Must thou be ever quarte, and tierce, and thrust? + + D. PAS. Hold, friend, but you must know the case was thus-- + I met Count Pablo---- + + D. ALF. I know the story. + The count was stern and haughty as thyself, + Nor made allowances for others' pride; + He could not brook the independent gaze + Of one whom, perhaps, he deemed of lower birth; + This led to altercation and fierce looks + (I own him wrong, for he began the quarrel), + But it was thou who wast the first to challenge; + And all for a word, too. + + D. PAS. And was that nought? + Nought, the being called a gipsy bastard? + What! Call'st thou that a trifle? Bastard! Ugh! + I swear, that had he been ten times my friend, + I would have slain him. Bastard! Gipsy, too! + What! Are we Spaniards of so fair a skin + That he would have me pale-eyed, flaxen-haired, + Like the barbarians of northern climes? + May not a Spaniard have an olive skin + And jetty eye without being gipsy called? + A mystery, I know, hangs o'er my birth; + I ne'er knew my parents. Some secret hand + Doth forward me remittances at times, + That I might be enabled to pursue + My studies at the university. + I cannot think it is my spurious father, + For I do well remember me of one-- + Indeed, I think that she was not my mother. + Although she treated me as her own son-- + A lady of high rank and ample means, + A widow, too, with kind and gentle ways. + I knew not then that she was not my mother; + But dying when I yet was but a child, + I was put early to a seminary. + It may be I inherited her fortune, + And out of this expenses are disbursed. + When young I made no strict inquiries + As to my origin. Those around me + Told me but little, but I think I heard + I was adopted by this widow lady. + More I ne'er cared to know, until of late, + Being stung by the count's taunt of spurious birth, + I challenged him and killed him in a duel. + And now I fain would have the myst'ry cleared, + E'en should the certain knowledge gall my soul + And I in truth should be a gipsy bastard. + It may be that he spoke the truth. But how + Did he come to know of it? Or, if truth, + That truth was spoke in insult, and so ta'en. + He who would call me gipsy, let him fear + My gipsy blood. Let who would call me bastard + Prepare to feel the sting a bastard feels. + [_Touching his sword hilt._ + + D. ALF. Chafe not thyself; the deed is done. No more + Mar not the precious moments of our parting + With fiery words, like braggadocio, + Or vain lamentings of the fatal past, + But let us rather draw unto the table, + And o'er a merry flask of Val de Penas + Strive to forget all sorrow. + + D. PAS. So say I; [_Seating themselves at the table._ + And here's to thy safe journey and return + To thy most beloved Salamanca. + And here's to the eyes that await thee there. + Here's also to the delicate moustache---- + + D. ALF. Enough, enough, my friend. Such toasts as these + Keep for thyself. I've other ends in view. + I have to carve my passage through the world, + To which no syren's eyes must be a hindrance. + Wish me but success in all my studies. + + D. PAS. Ay, so I do, Alfonso, from my heart. + + D. ALF. As to thyself, Pascual, as it seems + Thou art but little formed for study, being + Of a too warm and hasty temperament + To find much solace in the student's page, + Preferring lone rambles and sylvan sports + To the uncertain fame a scholar seeks. + To thee, and such as thee, the love of woman + Thy ardent nature will not fail to find + Out of the many one whom thou canst love. + May she be virtuous as she is fair, + And worthy of thy love as thou of hers. + + D. PAS. I thank thee, but as yet my heart is whole. + May I dare hope yet that a time may come + When a woman's love and a happy home + To thee may not be all contemptible. + Heigho! + + D. ALF. Thou sighest. Sure thou art in love. + + D. PAS. Not so, my friend, not yet. + + D. ALF. Then wherefore sigh? + + D. PAS. Thou hast awoke strange mem'ries in my mind-- + Events long past that I'd but all forgot. + 'Tis nothing, thou'lt say--mere childish fancy. + Prithee, friend Alfonso, tell me one thing. + Dost really think I come of gipsy blood? + + D. ALF. What! Is it there the shoe still pinches? Ha! + Fill up another bumper of this wine + And wash down the word, else it will choke thee. + + D. PAS. Nay, I am serious, and would have thy word. + Tell me in honour, now, what thou dost think. + + D. ALF. Bah! What matters it? Thou art somewhat dark; + But, as thou well sayst, so are all our race. + + D. PAS. True. But what think'st thou? + + D. ALF. Faith! I cannot tell. + Perhaps over dark for a Castilian. + + D. PAS. Ha! Say'st thou so? I've long thought so myself. + And what confirms me in the thought is this, + That ever since my earliest youth I've felt + A strange affection for these gipsy tribes-- + A sympathy for their wild wandering life + And fierce impatience at the cold restraints + By which well-bred society doth cramp + Our fervid passions. Friend, thou knowest me well. + Thou sayest well I am not formed for study, + That is to say, such studies as thine own-- + Th' intricacies of law, philosophy, + The mysteries of theology, and all + The lore for which you students sap your youth. + My book is nature. In the open fields + I've loved to lie at night and watch the stars, + The various aspects of the changing moon, + Or on the giddy mountain peak at morn + To view the first beams of the rising sun + As from the rosy horizon it climbs + Up towards the purple zenith. At midday + I love to rest me in the sylvan shade + And watch the deer grazing on the rich turf, + Or else in company of some jovial friends, + Hunt these poor denizens from their peaceful haunts, + And, heated with the chase, dismount and slake + My parching thirst from out the neighbouring brook. + Full oft in my wild wanderings I have passed + Through desert places, where no dwelling was, + And, overcome by hunger and fatigue, + Have well nigh fainted, but in such cases, + When human hospitality doth fail + Nature comes to the rescue and procures + Its roots and berries, sometimes luscious fruit: + And thus I've journeyed often from my youth, + Encountering many dangers in my path. + Twice captured by the brigands, nor set free + Without heavy ransom. More than once + I've 'scaped unaided from the blades of ruffians, + But not unscathed, and fighting hand to hand. + I've also fallen in with the gipsy tribes, + And lived among them, too, in early youth, + Till I became familiar with their tongue, + Their life and customs, for when yet a child + They stole me from my friends, whoe'er they were, + But I was rescued, and the dusky tribe + Were driven out from that part of the land. + Among my early reminiscences + I can recall the tall and bronzed form + Of one who should have been the queen of them, + For so I've heard her styled. I met her oft; + And when I first remember her she bore + A countenance as beautiful as day. + I have not seen her now for many years. + When last I met her I could plainly see + That time and trouble and a roving life + Had left their stamp upon her dusky brow. + But I had nought to fear from _her_. The crone + Would call me to her and caress me, too; + Call me endearing names, and, as a proof + Of further love, she gave this ring to me; + Made me swear it ne'er should leave my finger, + And that some day it would protect my life. + For should I fall in with the gipsy band, + On seeing this token they would let me pass + Without let or hindrance, so she said. + For years I have not seen the gipsy band, + And therefore have not put it to the proof; + But still I've kept my vow, and from that time + I ne'er have doffed it. And now tell me, friend, + If what I've just told you does not prove + Me sprung from gipsy blood? + + D. ALF. We cannot help + Our birth. What matters it our parentage? + + D. PAS. Thou seest not, then, what it is that galls me. + List. If I be of gipsy origin, + I must be likewise bastard, for whoe'er + Did hear of legal marriage in a case + Of love 'twixt Christian and a gipsy maid? + Knowest thou not what the term "bastard" means? + Could I once but meet my spurious father, + He should account for sending me adrift + And nameless through the world, or I'd know why. + For know, whate'er my origin may be, + I have been brought up as a gentleman, + And hope to marry one of gentle blood. + What proud Castilian family would mate + A cherished daughter to a lineage soiled? + + D. ALF. I do acknowledge thy perplexity. + But bastard though thou beest, thou'rt still a man. + Would'st 'rase the bar sinister from thy shield, + Or, what is much the same, cast it i' the shade, + So that it appear not for the lustre + Of thy many and resplendent virtues? + Make thy name famous. Fame, however bought, + Hath ne'er failed to win the heart of woman. + A woman's heart being once securely won, + The vict'ry's thine. Th' obstacles that follow + Thou'lt find will not be insurmountable; + I mean, to gain the parents' full consent. + But he must fight who'd win. And now, adieu + I have no time to tarry longer. See, + My mule is saddled, and I must away. + Detain me not, my friend, for I would fain + Reach the adjacent township ere nightfall. + + D. PAS. Bless thee, Alfonso, and fortune speed thee. + + D. ALF. The like to thee, Pascual, from my heart. + + [_They embrace. Exit Alfonso. Pascual remains behind and + waves his handkerchief from the terrace._ + + D. PAS. Adios! He is gone. His ambling mule + Has borne its gallant freight far out of sight. + Farewell, Alfonso. Fortune be thy guide, + Truest of comrades, best of counsellors, + Ride _thou_, my friend, towards fame, whilst I, Pascual, + Like Cain, must roam the earth, a vagabond, + Flying the face of man, by man pursued; + A price set on my head. Not merely bastard, + But vagabond! What was't he said of fame? + He mocked me. Fame for an outlawed gipsy! + An it be not such fame the gallows brings, + Write me down lucky. Would not an attempt + To bring my name to light sign my death warrant? + My friend thought not of this. For such as I + The monast'ry's sequestered cell were good, + Rather than fame. But courage yet! I feel + The blood of our dark race boil in my veins, + And cry shame on my fears. Then fame be it, + But not that fame Alfonso wrings from books. + Not that for me. The valour of my arm, + The patient wasting of my hardy frame + Shall win the fame I seek. For I recall + The words long spoken, and but all forgot, + By that same gipsy queen when first she gazed + Into my infant palm. "Hail to thee, child! + For thou beneath a lucky star was born. + Fortune," she said, "hath marked thee for her own." + These are the words. I cannot choose, but trust. + Shine out, my star, since thou dost lead me on, + For as the loadstone draws the unwilling steel + Unto itself, so man is led by fate. + Avaunt, base fear, and fortune, thus I seize thee. [_Exit._ + + +SCENE II.--_A wild ravine. Gipsies, headed by the Gipsy Queen, in +ambush._ + + GIP. Q. This way she comes. Now to your work; but mark! + Exceed not my commands. Do her no harm, + Show yourselves loyal to your queen, as men, + And not wild beasts. + + SEVERAL GIPSIES. Queen, thou shalt be obeyed. + + _Enter_ DONNA INEZ _and_ PEDRO, _on mules_. + + PED. Cheer up, fair mistress. Banish idle fears. + Already we've accomplished half our journey. + Ere sundown we'll have reached your father's castle. + So follow me. Fear not. And as for dreams, + They are all vain, and bred of convent fare-- + Sickly disease engendered in the mind + By monkish legends and low superstition, + Unworthy ladies of your rank. Look ye! + I, Pedro, now am old, and yet I never + Have known a dream of mine that did come true. + No, my young mistress, take Pedro's word for't, + All dreaming is unhealthy--a bad sign. + Live well, sleep soundly, and you'll dream no more. + Dreams proceed but from impaired digestion. + Take my advice and give no heed to them. + [_Gipsies advance suddenly and seize the bridles._ + + FIRST GIPSY. Hola! there, good people. Halt and dismount! + [_Inez screams and falls against Pedro._ + + INEZ. Pedro, protect me. Oh, holy Virgin! + Oh, blessed saints and souls in purgatory! + Have mercy on us, or we're lost, O God! + Pedro, dost hear? Assist me. Fly! Call. Help! + + PED. Help, help! To the rescue, I say. What ho! + + SECOND GIPSY. Any attempt at flight or cry for help + Is vain, and may prove fatal. Come, dismount. + + INEZ. Oh, saints! The very faces, I declare, + That I saw in my dream--and dreams are false. + Holy Virgin, protect us. Help, I say! + + THIRD GIPSY. Ay, call upon your saints. Call on, call on! + And see if they'll come to your assistance. + + FIRST GIPSY. An you cease not your screaming, you'll be gagged. + [_Pedro and Inez dismount._ + + GIP. Q. Come, no rough treatment to this young lady, + Or it will be the worse for some of you. + Tie up the mules and bind the serving man, + That he escape not, and so call for help. + As to this damsel, leave her all to me. + (_To Inez_) Young lady, have no fear, for I am one + Who can command th' entire gipsy band, + Who are my serfs and tremble at my frown. + An you be docile, they shall do no harm. + Raise but your voice, and I will have you bound. + But I, the gipsy queen, would be your friend; + And soon you shall acknowledge me as such; + But not just now. (_To the gipsies_) Bind not the young lady + Unless she call for help or attempt to escape. + (_To Inez_) And you, young lady, courage. Tremble not. + Think not I crave your pelf or trinkets rare. + I have no need. Thyself 'tis I'ld detain. + + INEZ. And why, O strange, O dread, mysterious queen, + All powerful amongst thy dusky band, + If, as thou sayst, thou hast no need of pelf, + And canst and wilt protect me from the hands + Of thy half-savage subjects, wherefore then + Detain a poor and simple maiden bound + For her paternal castle, having left + The Convent of St. Ursula this morn? + + GIP. Q. Oh, of your story I am well informed. + Better, perchance, than what you are yourself. + For am I not a gipsy? Know we not + By the aspect of the heavenly bodies + All events that are about to happen? + As to my object in detaining you + Let it suffice you I have an object, + Which you shall know hereafter. (_To gipsies_) Guard her close. + Methought I did hear footsteps, but 'tis nought. + + _Enter hastily_ PASCUAL _with a drawn sword_. + + PAS. This way I heard the cries. How now! What's this? + Hell and furies! A chaste and lovely maid + Attacked by dusky ruffians! Halt! Forbear! + For, by my soul, I swear I will not leave + One black hide whole among ye, an ye dare + To touch a single hair of her fair head. + + GIP. Q. Disarm that vain and too hot-headed youth. + + [_Gipsies surround Pascual, who defends himself desperately, + killing and wounding some of the nearest. Gipsies back a + few paces. Pascual follows, and cuts through them._ + + Unto him, cowards! Seize the presumptuous fool. + Hear ye not, slaves? What! Is a single arm, + And that, too, of a pampered gentleman, + Too much for ye? Shame on ye, cowards, slaves! + + FIRST GIPSY. Yield, fellow! and put up thy silly skewer, + An thou be not a-weary of thy life. + + PAS. Never! Whilst yet a drop of my heart's blood + Flows freely in my veins. By heaven, I swear + I will release yon damsel ere I die! + + SECOND GIPSY. Why, who is this, though clad in costly gear, + Doth fight as desperately as one of us? + + THIRD GIPSY. Beware, young man! We do not seek thy life; + Yield up thyself. Ask pardon of our queen, + And we will let thee live. + + PAS. (_Still fighting._) Base curs, avaunt! + My life is nothing. Take it an ye list, + Though ye shall buy it dearly. 'Twill console + My parting spirit somewhat but to know + That it hath rid the surface of the earth + Of even a few of such vile scum as ye. + + FIRST GIPSY. Such words to us! Have at thee then, proud youth. + + [_Wounds Pascual on the head, whilst others attempt to bind + him, but he liberates himself and continues fighting._ + + INEZ. He bleeds! he bleeds! Saints, help the noble youth + Who, at the cost of his young precious life, + Would save us both. I fear he's killed. Oh, help! + [_Screams and faints._ + + GIP. Q. Hush! minion, or that cry will be thy last. + + A WOUNDED GIPSY. Look, she faints! + + ANOTHER GIPSY. Bah! 'tis but a trick to 'scape + The easier in the confusion. + Look well to her. + + GIP. Q. Make room for me, ye slaves. + I fear no mortal man. Leave him to me. + Sirrah! put down your sword. + + PAS. Never, vile crone. + + GIP. Q. (_Disarming him with her staff._) Then there it lies, thou + vain, presumptuous youth. + [_Murmurs of applause among the gipsies._ + + PAS. Disarmed! And by a woman! Ha! I faint. [_Staggers and falls._ + + GIP. Q. He faints from loss of blood. Bind up his wounds. + He hath fought well. I tell ye, dusky slaves, + This youth to-day hath put ye all to shame. + Do him no hurt. I e'er respect the brave. + He in a sacred cause fought valiantly; + And, faithful to his generous Christian creed, + Did seek to wrest the innocent from wrong. + + FIRST GIPSY. Thou wert not wont to praise the Christians, Queen, + + GIP. Q. I praise that creed that shows forth in its works + The principles of manhood. Would that thine + Had taught thee what this Christian's has + taught him. + + FIRST GIPSY. (_To Second Gipsy_). The queen doth mock us, calls us + cowards, slaves; + And yet we did our best; but, to say sooth, + He set upon us in such furious haste, + Such blind and desperate rage, that we did gape + With sheer wonder, and stand aghast with awe + At's prowess, when we should have been fighting. + + SECOND GIPSY. Ay, none but a madman tired of his life + Had fought so desperately. + + THIRD GIPSY. The maid recovers. + + INEZ. (_Recovering._) Where am I? Ah! then 'tis no dream; 'tis true. + Where's my preserver? Let me straight to him, + That I may thank him on my bended knees + For all his deeds to-day. + + A GIPSY. There, low he lies. + + INEZ. (_Rising and advancing towards Pascual_). What! dead! Oh, + heavens! Grant it be not so. + Look, now he moves; then life is not extinct. + Thank God for this! Hail, generous friend! What cheer? + + PAS. 'Tis but a bruise, fair maid; 'twill soon be well. + + INEZ. God grant it may. + + GIP. Q. Here, girl, take this balsam. + It is a gipsy cure for all such wounds. + One fair action doth demand another: + For you he shed his blood, thinking that we + Did mean you harm. (How should he tell, poor youth?) + Return now you the courtesy, fair maid; + Bind up his wounds. Anon I will assist. + + [_Inez commences binding up Pascual's head. The gipsies + retire a few paces. The Gipsy Queen fetches water in a + gourd._ + + Quaff from this gourd, young man. The flowing rill + Doth yield thee medicine. [_Pascual drinks._ + Ha! what is this? + Shade of my father Djabel! it is _he_! + My long lost son! my own, my valiant boy: + Methought I knew that semi-gipsy form. + The very ring, too, wrought in virgin gold + And graven o'er with mystic hieroglyphics-- + An heirloom of our tribe that I him gave + With my maternal blessing years gone by, + And he hath kept till now. God, I thank thee. + Oh, how I long to press him to this breast! + This breast that nurtured him and gave him strength! + But patience; too precipitous a step + May mar my plans. Enough, I've found my son. + Oh, ye great Powers that move earth and heaven, + Accept a mother's thanks! I faint for joy. + + FIRST GIPSY. How far'st thou, noble Queen? Thou art not well. + + GIP. Q. Nay, marry, I am well. I'm over well. [_Staggering._ + + SECOND GIPSY. Look to our queen. She faints. Art wounded, queen? + + GIP. Q. (_Mastering herself._) Nay, look, I faint not. I am very well. + + THIRD GIPSY. Some strong emotion seems to have stirred our Queen + But yet she masters it. How brave a spirit! + + [_Gipsies retire some paces and converse in groups. Gipsy + Queen remains a little distance off, watching Inez and + Pascual. A hunter passes above unseen._ + + HUNTER. (_Aside._) What's this? Whom have the gipsies captured now? + A fair maid and a gallant cavalier; + And who is he, yon serving-man, bound there? + I ought to know his face. Why is not he + Don Silvio's servant Pedro? Sure it is, + For oft I've parleyed with him when at times + I've brought the game up to his master's hall. + And these two gentle-folks I ween must be + Guests at Don Silvio's castle. Ah, the knaves! + The arrant gipsy knaves! I'll dog them yet. + I've my own private wrongs that seek redress: + And I'll be even with them, by the saints! + At once I'll off unto Don Silvio's hall, + And warn him of the danger to his guests. + It may be he'll reward me slightly, though + They say that his is but a stingy house. + Still, this much for humanity I'll do. [_Exit._ + + D. PAS. (_to Inez._) Nay, I assure you, dearest---- + + INEZ. Hush! Senor. + It ill becomes a maid of gentle blood + Unblushingly to listen to the vows + And fervid protestations of a knight + Upon such slight acquaintance. + + D. PAS. Lovely child! + Bid me but hope, and I will rest content. + + INEZ. Nay, talk not thus, Senor. Pray calm yourself. + Bethink you that your wound is not yet healed. + You're faint from loss of blood. These ecstacies + May e'en prove fatal. Do thyself no harm. + + D. PAS. I feel recovered in that thou bidst me live; + And so will do thy bidding, fairest maid, + And live but for thy service and thy love. + + INEZ. Good saints in Heaven! Will nothing calm thy tongue? + Hush, hush, Senor, I pray. I may not listen. + I am your debtor, or I'd take offence + At too much boldness. + + D. PAS. Be not harsh, fair maid, + I meant not to be overbold. I swear + I would the tongue that could give thee offence + Were wrenched from out my throat. Oh, pity me! + It was thy beauty that inflamed me so. + + INEZ. If so, I must retire, and leave you to + The care and guidance of the gipsy queen. + + D. PAS. Thou couldst not be so cruel. What! debar + Your wounded knight, in this wild barren spot, + From the sunshine of those heavenly orbs. + Then bid me bleed to death. My life is thine. + + INEZ. (_Aside_) Poor youth! How full of passion are his words! + I feel he loves me, and I do repent + That I have spoke too harshly. Woe is me! + (_Aloud._ ) Fret not. I did but threaten, gentle youth! + I will not leave thee. + + D. PAS. Oh, say that again. + Thou wilt not leave me. + + INEZ. (_Confused._) That is, not yet. + I mean---- + + D. PAS. Nay, qualify not what was once well said; + I hold thee to thy word. Thou must not leave me. + + INEZ. Thou wouldst extort a promise. Be but calm, + Obey my orders until thou be well, + And I know not what I may not promise. + + D. PAS. I will obey thee, maid. + + INEZ. Then now be still. + + GIP. Q. (_Aside._) Drift on, young turtle doves, adown the stream + The balmy course the stars map out for ye. + Pepa can look on at the joys of others + That were denied herself, unenvying. + But mark, Pascual, if thou dost inherit + But one drop of thy hated father's blood, + Whose cursed name shall ne'er more pass my lips, + And thou, with subtle wile, like to thy sire, + Should first attempt to gain the trusting love + Of this fair damsel, and then betray her, + I, Pepa, though thy mother, with this hand + Will quench that spark of life I gave to thee. + + +SCENE III.--_Study of Don Silvio. D. Silvio is discovered pacing up and +down dejectedly._ + + D. SIL. The day wears on, and still there is no sign + Of Pedro and my daughter. 'Tis full time. + It wants an hour to sundown; and ere then + I dread another visit from Don Diego; + Before this sand is spent he will be here. + He never yet did come behind his time. + Hark! I hear footsteps in the corridor. + 'Tis he. He's come for news about my daughter. + This the very night, too, of the wedding. + What shall I say to him, or how shall I----? + + _An abrupt knock at the door of the study, and enter_ DON DIEGO. + + D. DIE. Well, friend Silvio, well. Art thou nigh prepared? + Where is the gentle Inez? Bring her forth. + + D. SIL. (_Humbly._) Worthy Don Diego, I do much regret + My daughter Inez has not yet arrived. + + D. DIE. Not yet arrived! Why it's long past the time. + + D. SIL. I doubt not but what she will soon be here. + + D. DIE. Soon! Didst thou say soon? Ay, marry ought she, + An she left St. Ursula's at daybreak. + Stay, this casement that opens towards the west + Ought to command a wide extensive view. + Lo! yonder lies the road that she should come; + My sight is good, an yet I see no one. + (_Suspiciously_) Hark ye, Don Silvio. Some new wile is this. + + D. SIL. Nay, on mine honour, Diego. Think not thus. + Be patient yet awhile and thou shalt see---- + + D. DIE. Patience! What, patience! But I'll have my bond. + + _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ _frantically_. + + ROD. Oh, holy Virgin and good saints in Heaven! + Oh, blessed martyrs! Souls in Purgatory! + Would that Rodriguez ne'er had seen this day! + Oh, holy saints! Have mercy on us now! + + D. SIL. How now, Rodriguez! What means all this riot? + + ROD. Oh, peace! my master! Hold me ere I faint. + + D. SIL. Speak! Rodriguez. + + ROD. Alack! Alack! the day. + + D. SIL. Nay, cease thy sobs, and more explicit be. + + ROD. Oh, holy San Antonio be our guide! + My master, what ill luck's befallen the house! + + D. DIE. Explain thyself, vile hag, and prate no more! + + ROD. Oh, mercy on us! I can't speak for sobbing. + Oh, what disaster! Oh, what dire mishap! + Help us, ye saints. + + D. DIE. This is past all bearing! + Speak out, thou limb of Satan, or I swear + By the foul fiend that 'gat thee, I will force + The lying words from out thy strumpet's throat. + + ROD. Nay, good my liege, be calm. I'll tell you all. + The Lady Inez---- + + D. DIE. Ha! and what of her? + + ROD. In sooth, my lord, but I am very faint. + + D. SIL. AND D. DIE. (_Angrily._) Speak out! Speak out! Alack! + and well-a-day! + + D. DIE. Zounds! + + ROD. The Lady Inez and good Pedro + Started from St. Ursula's this morning + Upon their mules, and were about half-way + Upon their journey, when from ambush sprang + Some dusky ruffians of the gipsy band, + Who, having bound, robbed, and detained the pair---- + + D. SIL. My daughter captured by the gipsies! Oh! + [_Groans bitterly._ + + D. DIE. Foul hag, thou liest. Now hark ye, Silvio. + This is some farce got up to play me false. + But think not, sirrah, to elude me thus. + [_Drawing his sword and seizing Don Silvio by the throat._ + + Traitor! tell me where hast hid thy daughter. + + ROD. (_Rallying, and throwing herself between them._) + Help! Murder! Help! Oh, help! What ho! Help! Help! + Don Silvio to the rescue! Help! I say. + + D. DIE. (_Leaving hold of Don Silvio, fells Rodriguez with the pommel + of his sword._) Peace, harlot, or this blade shall make thee dumb. + Arise, and tell me whence thou hadst this news. + Beware now how thou tell me aught but truth, + For by this hand! an thou dost play me false, + I'll have thee burnt alive, or gibbetted + From the highest turret of this castle. + + ROD. My noble liege, would that it were not true. + A hunter, an eye-witness of the scene, + Did bring the news unto your servant Juan. + + D. DIE. My servant Juan! Why, then the tale is true! + No serf of mine would dare tell _me_ a lie. + Go, call him hither. + + ROD. He is at the door. [_Exit Rodriguez._ + + _Enter_ JUAN. + + D. DIE. How now, Juan! Say, can this wild tale be true? + What has happened to the Lady Inez? + + JUAN. My lord, as I heard it you shall hear it. + A certain hunter---- + + D. DIE. Stay, where is this man? + + JUAN. He is without, my lord. + + D. DIE. Then call him here. + [_Exit Juan and re-enter with hunter._ + + HUNTER. (_Bowing to Don, Diego and Don Silvio._) My noble lords---- + + D. DIE. Hold! sirrah. Say, can'st thou + Upon thy oath affirm, thy hopes of Heaven, + That thou wert an eye-witness to this scene? + If so, relate to us in fewest words + How the case happened, and the where, the when. + + HUNT. Then thus it came about, my liege. As I + Was wandering, towards mid-day, among the + Many rocks and fissures of these mountainous ranges, + Armed with my carbine, in search of game, + As is my daily wont, I came upon + A deep ravine, yet hidden from my sight + By thorns and bushes and like obstacles, + When soon I heard the hum of human voices. + The spot, if I may judge well, I should say + Was half-way 'twixt St. Ursula's and here. + Well, trampling down the brambles, I stood firm + Upon the brink of a steep precipice; + And lo! beneath me was the gipsy gang, + And chief amongst them, one tall stately form, + A woman's that would seem to be their queen. + + D. DIE. (_Confused_) Ahem! Didst say the queen? + + HUNT. Ay, my good lord. + And 'mongst the tribe I saw as captives, soon, + A gentle damsel and young cavalier. + + D. DIE. How, sayest thou, Sirrah? A young cavalier! + Sure, 'twas an aged servitor you saw. + + HUNT. An aged serving-man, 'tis true, there was, + And tightly-bound that he could not escape; + I knew him instantly. 'Twas Pedro here, + Don Silvio's servant. + + D. SIL. Alas! alas! 'tis true. I was in hopes, + When the hunter spoke of a young gallant, + That he had mistaken some other travellers + For my daughter Inez and my servant. + But since he saith he knoweth Pedro---- + + D. DIE. Hold! + The case is not quite clear to me e'en now, + Silvio! Who's this gallant, as ye term him? + Speak, for ye ought to know. + + D. SIL. No, faith, not I. + + D. DIE. Proceed then, hunter, with thy story. Quick. + + HUNT. Well then, my lord, knowing good Pedro's face, + I did presume that the young gentle pair + Were visitors, bound for Don Silvio's castle. + + D. DIE. (_Musingly._) Young gentle pair--ahem! Well, man, proceed. + + HUNT. I watched in silence, and they saw me not; + But still, from out my ambush I did take + The whole scene in, and it appeared to me + That the young knight must have resistance made, + For low he lay, sore wounded in the head, + While ever and anon the gentle maid + Would dress his wound, and gaze with tearful eye + And such a fond affection on her knight. + + D. DIE. (_Aside to Don Silvio._) Traitor, thou shalt account to me + for this. + (_Aloud to Hunter._) Well, man, proceed. Hast thou ought more to say? + + HUNT. But little good, my lord; but as I stood + Watching this trusting, loving, pair---- + + D. DIE. (_Aside._) Damnation! + + HUNT. I thought my heart would bleed from tenderness. + + D. DIE. (_Laughs diabolically_). Ha, ha! Ha, ha! + + HUNT. So, rising to my feet, + But still unseen of any, I did haste, + As was my bounden duty, to this castle, + T'inform my lord, Don Silvio, of the fate + Impending both his servant and his guests. + + D. DIE. Good; look ye, fellow. An thy tale be true, + Prepare to marshal me the way thyself, + Without loss of a moment, and may be + That thou shalt taste my bounty. + + HUNT. Good, my lord; + The sun hath set, and it is growing dark. + + D. DIE. No matter, thou shalt have the better pay. + + HUNT. As my lord wills. + + D. DIE. And Juan, see my charger + Be forthwith saddled. Bid my men-at-arms + To mount, armed cap-a-pie; whilst such amongst + The populace as thou canst muster, quick + Arm thou with pikes and loaded carabines, + And bid them follow me, their lord, Don Diego. + Lose not one precious moment, but set forth. + [_Exeunt Juan and Hunter._ + What, gipsies! vagrants! bastard heathen dogs! + _I'll_ clear the country of this filthy scum, + Were it but for the sake of Christendom; + Maybe that some day they will dub me saint. [_Exit._ + + [_Don Silvio makes a gesture of despair, and curtain falls._ + +END OF ACT II. + + + +ACT III. + + +SCENE I.--_Outside the castle of Don Silvio. The castle of Don Diego +seen in the background, upon the opposite peak of the mountain. Time: +Sunrise. Don Silvio and Donna Rodriguez._ + + D. SIL. My tears still blind my eyes. Look out, Rodriguez, + And see if there be traces of my daughter. + Alas! alas! this hoary head is bowed + As 'neath the weight of yet a score of years. + Oh, Inez, Inez! What a fate is thine! + An thy young life be spared, could ought repay + Th' injury done thine honour at the hands + Of these bold, lawless, gipsies? Woe is me! + Let me not think on't, or I shall go mad. + + ROD. My lord, as I stand gazing towards the west, + Methinks I see a dusty cloud advance; + As were't a troup of horsemen at full speed, + And bearing towards the castle. Now I see + The limbs of horses and the arms of men; + The sound of human voices, too, I hear, + And, as they still approach, the distant tramp + Of horses' hoofs is plainly audible. + And now, unless my eyesight play me false, + Foremost among a file of glittering pikes, + I do discern Don Diego's waving plume. + 'Tis he! and bearing at his saddle bow + My mistress Inez. Oh, thank God! she's safe. + Do you not hear, my master, what I say? + Your daughter's safe! Come, cheer up, good my lord. + + D. SIL. (_Musingly_). Safe! didst thou say! My daughter's honour safe? + + ROD. How say you, sir? Her honor! Nay, her life? + + D. SIL. (_Musingly_). Life without honor! + + ROD. Sure, my lord's not well! + (_Aside._) The blow has been too much for him, and turned + His aged head. Oh, my poor, poor master! + I tell him of his daughter's safe return, + And straight he 'gins to prate about her honor. + (_Aloud._) Look! look! Senor, at yonder cavalcade, + How it sweeps along; and now, behold, + Next to Don Diego is his servant Juan; + And there is Pedro. Bless his good old soul! + There the valiant hunter. Then all the crowd + Of vassals and retainers, and the guard, [_Cheers without._ + With the armed populace. Hark! What cheering! + + D. SIL. Is it, indeed, my daughter? Let me see; + 'Tis she, 'tis she; Oh, Inez! + + _Enter_ INEZ, _accompanied by_ DON DIEGO. _Behind_, PEDRO, + JUAN, HUNTER, _and_ ATTENDANTS. + + INEZ. (_Embracing Don Silvio._) Father! Father! + + ROD. My little mistress, Inez! What, no kiss + For poor old nurse Rodriguez! + + INEZ. (_Embracing Rodriguez._) Good Rodriguez! + + [_Don Diego comes forward, whilst Inez in the background + appears to be relating her adventures to Don Silvio and + Donna Rodriguez._ + + D. DIE. (_Sotto._) What work I had to quell the dusky band, + And carry off my prize. God only knows + How the black caitiffs fought! Like demons damned; + Incited on by their own swarthy queen, + My former love. Bah! why recall the past, + The ebullitions of a youthful lust, + Now five-and-twenty years agone and more? + And that at such a moment, too, as this, + When, acting bridegroom for the second time, + I now do lay my heart and hand, my wealth, + My land, and castle, all my fair domain + At fair Inez' feet. Poor Silvio's daughter! + A few hour's more, and she will be my own. + In my own private chapel at midnight, + And not one minute later, there a priest + Of my own choice, shall join our hands together. + 'Twixt this and then, I must so use the time + To win her fairly, and by wiles t'efface + The prejudice young hearts by Nature have + Against old age. If needs be, I must use + Dissimulation and well act the saint, + That she may not give credit to the tales + That idle gossip may have crammed her with + Against my moral character. And now + I do bethink me that the readiest way + Of all to win her over to my will + Would be to tempt with goodly bribe her nurse + (What will not such a woman do for gold?) + To speak some little word in praise of me; + Talk of my love for her, my name, my fame, + My wealth, my virtues. How this match of hers + Will please her aged father. And again, + Should she be coy, and wickedly refuse + The fortune heaven has strewed along her path, + Let her reflect upon the consequences. + I would act fair with her, for I'd be loath + To lead to the altar an unwilling bride + In sight of all my vassals and retainers. + Yet, an she yield not (for as yet it seems + She looks with cold suspicion on my suit), + Why, then; why, then, however loath to use it, + Force must accomplish all when goodwill fails. + I cannot well expect much help at sixty + From youthful graces, as when first I wooed + My gipsy queen. _There!_ ever and anon + From out the past these memories will arise, + Like phantoms, threatening whether I will or no. + Avaunt! begone! And yet I cannot choose + But call to mind how, middle in the fray, + The dead and wounded lying all around, + Her dusky form arose before my path, + And all undaunted stood with staff in hand + And glance so terrible, I would as lief + Meet with the King of Terrors face to face + As that same virago. Yet there she stood, + And with uplifted arm, in clear tones cried, + "Traitor, beware! Thy star is on the wane, + Think not to conquer always, for a hand + Mightier than thine shall yet subdue thee. + Blood is on thy hand. Thine own blood shall flow. + The stars foretell thy downfall, so look to it." + I heard no more, for I had barely placed + My Lady Inez at my saddle bow, + Mid smoke of carbines and the clash of arms: + Myself with drawn sword cutting right and left, + So could but pay slight heed to what she said, + And set off homeward with my goodly prize, + Leaving the baffled foe behind to moan. + Yet, through the smoke and dust of horses' hoofs, + Still, for a time, I heard the hellish cry: + "Vengeance on the traitor! Vengeance, vengeance!" + I know not why her words cut deeper than + Had they been the words of any other; + But from _her_ lips they came with such a force, + They seemed to rend the air, and enter deep + Into the very caverns of my soul, + Turning my blood to milk, so that my arm + Fell nerveless to my side, and my good blade + Did well-nigh drop from out my hand. But hush! + It never must be known that Don Diego, + Though old in years, quailed before tongue of woman. + Bah! away with all fear of childish threats. + And, swarthy hag! do thou thy devilmost. + + [_Inez comes forward, between Don Silvio and Rodriguez. Don + Silvio motions for Rodriguez to retire. Exeunt Rodriguez + and attendants._ + + INEZ. Nay, one thing still doth mar the joy I feel + At having passed the dangers of last night. + Though I stand safely on my father's hearth, + And see him 'live and well, and know that I + Have henceforth naught to fear, yet still my thoughts + Will ever wander towards the gipsy camp, + Close by the couch of that brave youth who fought + At cost of his own life, to rescue me + From out their hands. + + D. DIE. How say you, lady fair? + What youth? You dream. 'Twas I who rescued you. + + INEZ. Your pardon, sir; but I was safe already. + I thank you for your courtesy, the same. + You thought to rescue me. + + D DIE. How now? _Thought to?_ + + D. SIL. Friend Diego, the tale runs thus: My daughter, + Accompanied by our old serving man, + Had hardly been attacked by the gang + And forced to dismount, when a comely youth + Of gentle blood---- + + D. DIE. Ay, ay, the hunter's story! + + D. SIL. Just so. Well, my daughter says the gipsies + Meant her no harm. Merely would detain her. + + D. DIE. _Meant her no harm!_ Ha, ha! Gipsies ne'er do. + _Merely detain her!_ Good again! Ha, ha! + Only so long as they might hope to get + A pretty ransom. Why, friend Silvio? + + D. SIL. The pelf and trinkets that she had upon her + Were not demanded. + + D. DIE. No; 'twas nought to what + They looked forward to as goodly ransom. + + INEZ. Of their motives I know nothing; but she + Who seemed to be the queen of all the tribe + Did use to me such courtesy and kindness + As had she been my mother. Even when + That noble youth, thinking us in danger, + Rushed in upon them, killing and maiming + All who dared withstand him, till at length + Himself, poor soul! fell wounded in my cause. + E'en then the queen herself had pity on him, + And helped me bind his wounds. + + D. DIE. What of all this? + + INEZ. To show you gipsies have good qualities + E'en as Christians. + + D. DIE. Bah! traitors, all of them. + But, what of this young man? This--this---- + + INEZ. Ah! _he_, + The noble youth whose bandaged head I still + Was tending when you did separate us, + And bore me off? Did you not see him then? + + D. DIE. Ay, some such bastard gipsy dog I saw. + What! _he_ of noble blood! _He_ a Castilian! + Some half-bred gipsy. Lady, sure it was + A worse breed, far, than the pure gipsy born. + What! think you, that because of borrowed plumes + The jay will pass for peacock? Or that he, + A base-born mongrel gipsy, just because + Decked in the garments of some plundered lord, + Could e'er deceive the eyes of men like us? + Nay, lady, I do compassionate you. + You are young, and the world to you is fresh, + You know not of its wiles, its vice, its crimes, + But take all men to be just as they seem. + Take my experience, lady. I am old. + Not _old_; but old enough to know the world + And all its hollowness; and so most fit + To guide and counsel inexperienced youth. + Lean then on me, lady. I'll be your staff; + And trust me faithfully when I tell you + Not all the learning of the convent cell + Is worth one ace of that we gain by age. + + INEZ. Enough, sir. That the world is full of sin + And treachery I ever have been told. + My aunt, the Lady Abbess, oft would say + We ever should distrust the tongue of men + When most persuasive, be they young or old. + + D. SIL. Come, Inez, thou art tired, and need rest + After thy troubles and fatigues. (_To Don Diego._) My friend, + You will excuse my daughter for a while, + I've much to say to her in private. + + D. DIE. Good. [_Exeunt Don Silvio and Inez._ + Now for my ally. What ho! Rodriguez! + + _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ. + + ROD. Here I am, good my lord. + + D. DIE. (_Caressingly._) Good Rodriguez, + I know that thou'rt a good and trusty friend + Unto this house. That thou lov'st well thy lord + And also thy young mistress, unto whom + From childhood thou hast acted as a mother. + + ROD. Well, sir, I've always tried to do my best. + + D. DIE. I know it. I know it both by report + And mine own observation. Wherefore, now + Full persuaded of thy many virtues---- + + ROD. Oh, my lord! + + D. DIE. Nay, 'tis nothing but the truth. + I say, once more, persuaded beyond doubt + Of thy rare merits and good qualities + And of the value of one such as thou + To my old and long loved friend Don Silvio, + I do repent me of the hasty words + That lately 'scaped my too impatient tongue. + + ROD. My lord, pray say no more. Rodriguez ever + Remains your humble servant. (_Aside._) Really he + Is not so bad as once I thought he was. + + D. DIE. Believe me, that those words but rose in haste, + From o'er anxiety about the fate + Of thy young mistress, whom thou lovest so well. + Whom I, too, love so well. I, too, Don Diego. + + ROD. I doubt not, sir, with a true father's love. + + D. DIE. Hark ye! Rodriguez, I must not waste time + In coming to the point; but silence keep. + + ROD. Ay, my lord. Who better than Rodriguez + At a secret. + + D. DIE. Ha! Sayest thou so, brave wench? + Then list to me, and thou shalt never want + For bit or sup, kirtel, or farthingale, + As long thou livest. First accept this purse. + [_Gives a heavy purse._ + + ROD. Oh, my good lord! My generous, noble, lord! + What can I do to deserve your bounty? + (_Aside._) Well, I remember to have heard folks say, + "The devil's not so black as he is painted." + + D. DIE. Rodriguez, hark! What thou hast in that purse + Is nothing unto that which thou may'st earn, + If thou succeedest in the task I set. + + ROD. Proceed, my lord. I'm all attention. Speak. + + D. DIE. Know then that I love thy mistress Inez. + Ay, with the passion of a younger man. + Count not my age--the heart is never old. + I've sought her of her father, and 'twas settled + She should be mine on her arrival home + After her studies at St. Ursula's, + Ay, on the very day. So ran the 'pact. + The marriage, therefore, I have said takes place + This very night, at midnight, in my chapel. + All is prepared. + + ROD. 'Tis over soon, my lord. + + D. DIE. Peace! peace! I'll brook no waiting, no delay; + I've sworn it shall be so, and it shall be. + What care I, think'st thou, if the wedding dress, + Or this or that be ready, so _I_ be? + Thou knowest our acquaintance is but short; + She scarce has seen my face. No matter that. + Now listen. What I ask of thee is this: + Do thou use all thy influence with the child, + T'induce her to look kindly on my suit, + And to her father's prayers and tears add thine. + But leave her not until she do consent. + And should she e'en at the eleventh hour + Be obdurate, why then, as last resource, + Tell her her father's life hangs on a thread. + Say that his castle and all that he hath + Will instantly be sold over his head; + And he and she, and you two servants both + Sent all adrift at once, to beg your bread. + If that work not, then must I fain use force, + And that were against me. So, Rodriguez, + Kind Rodriguez, I pray thee do thy best. + + ROD. My lord, you ever shall have my good word + What I can do I will. Albeit, I think + Your grace is over hasty in the matter. + A little time---- + + D. DIE. No, faith, not one minute + Past the hour fixed. So see to't. I will now + Off to the castle, leaving thee one hour + T'exercise thy powers of persuasion + On thy young noble mistress. After that + I shall appear again and try what I + Myself can do to win her virgin heart. + Use all thy art and strength. Till then, adieu. [_Exit._ + + ROD. A pretty fix, forsooth! _Use all my art!_ + I love the dear child well, and would, I'm sure, + Do all I could to help her to a state + Worthy the better days of this old house. + The Lady of Don Diego! That sounds well. + Mistress of his castle and his servants, + But wedded to a man who's old enough + To be her grandsire! Had he been a gallant-- + Yet his money's good. Humph! I suppose I must. + [_Exit slowly; counting her money._ + + +SCENE II.--_The Ravine. Time: Sunrise. Don Pascual sleeping. The Gipsy +Queen standing near, watching him. The Gipsy Camp in the background._ + + D. PAS. (_In his sleep._) Oh, Inez, Inez! (_Waking with a start._) Ha! + was that a dream? + + GIP. Q. He wakes. + + D. PED. Oh, that I had thus slumbered on, + Feeling her soothing presence, and so died, + Rather than waken to this cold, bleak, world. + + GIP. Q. (_Aside._) How I do long to open all my heart! + Unmask this stern exterior, and make + Him master of the secret of his birth. + His wound's but slight, I think he'll bear the news. + I'll try. (_To Don Pascual_) Young man! Say, how goes it with thee? + + D. PAS. I thank thee, mother, I have soundly slept; + My wound's already healed. The gipsy balm + Hath wrought a miracle. + + GIP. Q. (_Aside._) He calls me mother. + See how the native gipsy blood's instinct + Speaks through the lips of half-unconscious sense. + I'll wager he already half divines + His occult parentage. + + D. PAS. (_Looking around him._) Mother, where's Inez? + + GIP. Q. (_Aside._) Mother again; but Inez fills his thoughts. + Hast thou no mem'ry, youth, of last nights fray? [_Aloud._ + + D. PAS. But little, mother; all is still confused. + + GIP. Q. Then be thou patient, for I've much to tell. + But say, how is't, thou ever call'st me mother? + + D. PAS. In faith I know not how my careless tongue + Could shape a word so tender to thee, Queen, + Who art a stranger to me. Yet I feel, + And felt from the first moment that I gazed + Upon thy dusky brow, a mother's heart + Did beat for me within that hardy breast. + Why I know not. I, too, who never knew + A mother's love, whose infant steps were led + By other than a mother's hand. A good + Kind lady, long since dead, adopted me, + And dying, left me all her patrimony, + Which hitherto has been doled out to me + By guardians, until I should come of age. + One Father Miguel, whom I seldom saw, + Paid my expenses at the seminary; + But when I asked him questions of my birth + I never got intelligent response, + So that I long have thought some mystery + Doth underly the subject of my birth. + + GIP Q. I knew the Lady Angela, and loved her. + + D. PAS. Good Heavens! What, that name! The lady who---- + + GIP. Q. Adopted thee and Father Miguel too. + + D. PAS. And Father Miguel! + + GIP. Q. Does that surprise thee? + I could tell thee more. + + D. PAS. More than that! Ay, then + Who knows thou may'st not discover + The secret of my birth. + + GIP. Q. Secrets as strange + Have often been discovered by gipsies. + Am I not a gipsy? Can I not read + The destinies of all, mapped out for thee + By the great heavenly bodies? Think'st thou that + Our meeting was not fashioned by the stars + And known to me beforehand? + + D. PAS. Even that! + + GIP. Q. Ay, and your meeting with the Lady Inez. + + D. PAS. That, too! Nay, tell me more. I fain would hear. + + GIP. Q. Not so fast. Thou'rt o'er excitable. + Calm thyself first an thou wouldst hear more + Of that young damsel. But of her anon. + + D. PAS. Weird and mysterious being, as I read + Thy mystic brow a whisper seems to say + I've seen thee once before. Say, art thou not + That crone who ever haunts me in my dreams, + Known in my youth, who once gave me this ring? + + GIP. Q. The same, the same! I've watched thee from a child. + + D. PAS. And by that ring thou knowest me. + + GIP. Q. 'Tis true. + + D. PAS. Ay, now I know thee. Tell me now, O Queen, + Why tookest thou an interest in my fate? + + GIP. Q. The tale is long and sad, but thou must hear. + Be patient and lend an attentive ear. + Know, then, that in Grenada's lofty range + There stands a twin-peaked mountain doubly-crowned, + With two grim feudal castles, old, yet strong. + The owners of these fortresses of yore + Were aye at feud, until at last the one + Subdued the other. Ever since that day + The victor's star in the ascendant seemed, + For though in later times they turned to friends, + Who had been foes, and were allied together + In skirmishes with castles neighbouring, + In which they came off gainers, still, the one-- + The larger and the richer one, I mean, + The whilom victor of the other peak-- + Did e'er with haughty overbearing sneer + Upon his humbler neighbour, and would bind + The poorer lord with obligations strong, + For favours often granted, till at last + The lesser lord became dependent on + The greater one, and ever poorer grew + And more dependent, and so stands the case. + Things will not long be thus. A change will come. + The Fates predict it, and the proud one's star + Already's on the wane. + + D. PAS. In sooth, good Queen! + But tell me what has this to do with me? + + GIP. Q. Peace! It concerns thee much, as thou shalt hear. + The father of the present owner of + The richer castle, Don Fernando height, + I do remember well when but a child. + A warrior proud was he, like all his race. + His son, the present lord, is like him. He + Whose name I've vowed shall ne'er more pass my lips. + + D. PAS. Ha! + + GIP. Q. Interrupt me not. Thou soon shalt hear. + This lord, who shall be nameless, in his youth + (He now is old) did love a gipsy maid, + Who, in the freshness of her virgin heart, + Returned his passion, being but a child, + Whilst he, the villain, was a full-grown man + Of forty years and over. Still he bore + His years so lightly that he younger seemed. + With passion fierce he wooed the gipsy maid, + And pleaded in such moving tropes his love, + That the young gipsy's heart--not then of stone, + Though long since turned to flint--did melt, and he, + Seeing his prey secure, did plot her ruin. + But the child had a father, old and wise, + Of royal blood, too, known as King Djabel, + And proud, too, of his lineage and his race. + He thought it lowering to true gipsy blood + To mate with pale-faced Christians, even though + 'Twere to a Christian king and by the church, + Drawn up with legal document and signed + In all due form, and when he heard that I + Did to a Christian's love lend listening ear. + + D. PAS. You? _You_, O Queen, then, were the gipsy maid. + You're speaking of yourself. I understand. + + GIP. Q. (_Starting_) My tongue has tripped, and traitor turned. Why + then + Pursue my tale under false colours? Aye, + Know that I, Pepa, was the gipsy maid + Once beloved of that false Don Diego. + + D. PAS. Don Diego. + + GIP. Q. Ha! My tongue has tripped again. + I vowed that name should ne'er more pass my lips. + Well, this false lord, with subtle wiles and arts + Did so win my young heart, that King Djabel, + Furious at first at what he deemed a stain + Upon his lineage, threatened me with death, + And would have killed me, had I brought dishonour + On his fair name. But deem not that I fell. + I loved him--and how dearly! But he found + That the proud gipsy maid, though young, would not + Barter her honour. Not for wealth untold. + He then made promises that I should be + Mistress of all his castle and his lands + After his father's death. Till then, he said, + Our match must be clandestine, as his father + Would disinherit him were he to know + That his son were wedded to a gipsy. + Our plans were well nigh ripe, for oft we met + In secret, and had full time to discuss + Our future prospects, left quite undisturbed. + But one day King Djabel, suspecting guile, + Did lie in wait for us, and with drawn blade + From ambush out did spring upon the pair, + And straight did fall upon this haughty lord, + The would-be dishonourer of his child. + But Pepa threw herself between her lover + And angered father, and so stayed the blow + And clinging to him, ever called upon + Her furious sire to spare the gentle lord, + And bid him smite _her_ breast if _one_ must die. + But Djabel loved his daughter, and did pause, + Touched for a moment with her pleading prayer. + When, seeing him more calm, the wily don + Did straight, in full and flowing courteous speech, + Declare his love for me, and how he sought + Not to make me his minion, but his wife. + But Djabel, answering with haughty scorn, + Said: "Go back to thy castle, Christian lord, + And wed some damsel of the pale-faced herd. + No blood of thine must mar our gipsy race." + The don's eye flashed. He would have spoken words + Full of wild fury and deep bitterness; + But Pepa interposed again, and flung + Herself on bended knees before her sire, + And begged her knight kneel too, and join her prayer. + The don at first loathing much to grovel + Down in the dust before a gipsy chief, + Whom he esteemed a savage, yet did yield, + And for my sake did bend his haughty knee. + And thus we knelt together, clinging to + King Djabel's robe and choked with sobs and tears, + Did pray and plead, and plead and pray for long, + But all in vain our pleading and our prayers, + For dark as midnight grew King Djabel's brow, + And stern his glance of cold and deep disdain, + Saying: "Humblest thou thyself, O haughty don? + Methinks thou might'st have spared thyself the pains. + Rise from the dust. Thy prayers are but as the wind + That blows against the granite mountain's side, + Yet harms it not, nor will it budge an inch, + E'en though it blow a hurricane. So I + Remain unmoved by all thy puny prayers." + Stung to the quick, and rendered desperate, + The haughty don with one bound sprang erect, + And darting lightning flashes from his eye, + Blushing the while at having bent the knee, + Humbling himself in vain, now cried aloud, + "Have at thee, then, dark chief, for _one_ must die. + I fear thee not, and will not lose my hold + Upon thy daughter, whom I love as life. + Give her me, an it please thee, but if not + I'll wrest her from thee, so do thou thy worst." + Then straight the fray began. Each drew his blade + And fell upon the other, whilst my tears + And screams availed not, for the two were locked + Firm in each other's grasp, and tugged and pulled + In equal match, whilst I with streaming hair, + Torn robe, and tearful eyes, did cry aloud + For help in vain, till this poor frame, o'erwrought + With multiplex emotions, did give way, + And, swooning, I fell heavily at their feet, + Grasping my father's garment in my fall. + The fight was stayed awhile, and each took breath. + "Look to your daughter, chieftain," were the first + Words that I heard on wakening from my swoon. + And soon as e'er my tongue was loose, I cried, + In accents feeble still, "Oh, father, stay + This wicked brawl. Say, dost thou love thy child?" + With heaving breast and eyes suffused with tears, + And choking sobs, I seized his hand, and cried, + "Spare my young life. I love this Christian lord, + An thou do aught to him, 'twill be my death. + Canst see thy darling wither, droop, and die, + Or, stung to madness, seek a violent death? + Now mark well what I say, O most dread King. + Shouldst thou be guilty of this Senor's blood, + Know me no more for daughter, for I vow + Or him or none to wed, and should he fall, + And by thy hand, I too will follow next. + The oath is sworn." Then from my father's eye + A tear fell, which he brushing soon away, + As if he deemed it shame for man to weep, + And changing to a lighter mood, he cried: + "Girl, thou hast conquered. Christian knight, thy hand. + Let all broils cease between us. Thou hast fought + And won my daughter fairly, showing courage + Worthy a gipsy born. Therefore no more + Will I withhold consent unto this match. + But, mark me well, Sir Knight, this marriage must + Be, though clandestine, legally up-drawn, + That no base shuffling subterfuge may e'er + In after years crop up to thwart the bond." + Thus spake the king Djabel. My Christian knight + Did vow upon his honour all should be + Exact as nicest lawyer could require. + Alas, for human villainy! What snares + And wiles beset the simple, trusting heart. + I loved him, and did lend a willing ear + To all his schemes, spite my father's counsel, + Suspecting nothing. What should I, poor child, + Know of the world and all its hollowness? + But King Djabel, suspecting treachery + E'en from the first, and well upon his guard-- + For little trust he placed in Christian wight-- + Did stand aloof, and watched things from afar. + "Now will I try the faith of this same knight," + He said, and with a frankness ably feigned, + He bid my lord take all things in _his_ hands, + Saying he trusted him in all, but he, + For his part, was a very simple man, + Unskilled in the world's usances and all + That appertains to life 'neath governments, + 'Pon seeing which, the wily Christian lord + Straight sought to profit by his innocence; + Betray the hand that trusted him, and thought + The dusky king, the dark barbarian, + Would fall an easy prey into his hands. + Howbeit, King Djabel, like crafty foe, + Though simple seeming, sent abroad his spies, + Whilst he himself was absent. From these men-- + Men whom he trusted--he was well informed + That this proud don had formed the fell design + That a false priest should join our hands together. + + D. PAS. Villain! + + GIP. Q. Thou speakest sooth, for villainy + More base or perjured never sprang from hell. + I thought he loved me, but I found too late + He sought to spurn me from him soon as e'er + His lust was sated. So he straightway wrote + To some base profligate and spendthrift friend + Who owed him money, promising that he + Would cancel all his debt and yet advance + Another round sum, if, peradventure, + He should so aid him in his hellish plot + As to enact the part of holy priest, + And satisfy the claims of King Djabel, + Whilst he himself should be no longer bound + To me by law than it should seem him fit, + E'en as I were but his base concubine. + You see, he loved me not, e'en from the first, + Despite his protestations, since he could + In base cold blood conceive such dire deceit. + But this I knew not at the time, nor all + The foul devices of his reptile heart. + But fondly thinking that he loved me as + I then loved him, I listened to his suit; + Nor was I undeceived, till, ah! too late. + + D. PAS. This is most monstrous! Noble Queen, I vow + Your sorrows move me to forget mine own. + I would I had the traitor by the throat, + That I might show him once how I esteem + Him and his villainy. Nay, 'tis a crime + That calls aloud to Heaven for vengeance. + Thou art nought to me Queen, but yet I feel + The wrong done towards thee e'en as though thou wert + My own true flesh and blood. I'd do as much + E'en wert thou thrice mine enemy. I swear + That should this traitor ever cross my path, + Or he or the false priest (I care not which-- + Aye, both together, for 'tis nought to me), + By Heaven I swear---- + + GIP. Q. Hold! Heaven's instruments + Are ever preordained. Thou canst not move + One single step; nay, more, not e'en thy pulse + Could throb again but for the will of Heaven. + Leave him to Fate, for vengeance due will fall + In time, and from that quarter Heaven wills. + + D. PAS. True Queen, but tell me more, I fain would know, + What said your royal sire King Djabel? + + GIP. Q. Then list, and thou shalt hear how Djabel's spies + Did intercept the lines that this false lord + Wrote to his profligate and perjured friend, + So that he received them not. But now mark + What did my royal father? First he went + To seek a Christian priest, long known to him, + Albeit, unknown to this same haughty don; + To him he showed the lines, and through his aid. + Was writ an answer to this foul epistle, + As coming from the friend of this false lord. + This priest was father Miguel. + + D. PAS. Ha! that name. + Why beats my heart as it ne'er throbbed before? + Say, what is this new light that bursts upon + My whilom darkened soul? What power is this + That stirs my thoughts within me? But proceed. + I must, and will know more. Proceed, O Queen. + My frame doth tremble in expectancy + For thy next word. Tell me, oh, tell me if---- + + GIP. Q. (_Aside._) Already he doth divine what I would say; + Be still, my heart, and give me strength to tell it. + (_Aloud._) This letter, then, by Father Miguel forged, + Ran thus in substance. Making first excuse + That sudden illness made him keep his bed, + But though unable to oblige his friend, + Did, ne'ertheless, not to disappoint him, + (Hearing the case was urgent, and not knowing + How long it might be e'er he should recover) + He thought to do not wrong in sending one, + A trusty friend and boon companion, + One, Don Elviro hight, to act as proxy; + This was the name that Father Miguel bore + To mask his own. Then straightway he set forth + T'wards the inn, from which the letter dated, + The while my lord, who, reading in hot haste + The letter through, and doubting not that he + Were aught else than what the letter stated + (To wit, Elviro, and no priest at all). + So sure was he of this, suspecting nought, + He fondly welcomed him, and many a joke + They cracked together o'er the heartless scheme. + Don Miguel acting well his part throughout + With ribald jest, and oft full merrily + Alluding to his tonsure newly shorn, + Asked of his patron how he liked his garb, + And if he did not look a priest indeed. + At this his lord laughed heartily, and thus + Time passed away till I should don the veil, + And we were married before witnesses. + The ceremony over, all passed o'er + Right merrily, nor knows my lord e'en now, + Not even to this day, that he is married. + + D. PAS. Well done, by Heaven! And Father Miguel hail! + So was the base would-be seducer paid + Back in his own base coin. This should e'er be. + + GIP. Q. Ay, but thinkest thou I knew aught of this, + Or was partaker in Don Miguel's scheme? + Oh, no; of this my father told me nought, + Nor knew I aught of all this base intrigue, + This would-be marriage false, by false priest blessed, + Till later years; in fact, until the time + That King Djabel upon his death bed lay. + He then confessed to me the foul design + By him so ably thwarted. But e'en then + The traitor had abandoned me already. + He thought his marriage false, and told me plain + I had no hold on him. I sought my sire, + And then the truth came out. The blow was great, + To find myself abandoned and deceived + By him I loved and trusted, e'en though I + Knew well that I stood right before the law, + He had no right to leave me, that I knew. + 'Twas heartless, as I then was big with child; + His father, too, was dead, old Don Fernand, + And I, by rights, his castle should have shared, + As he had promised, but old King Djabel + Did counsel me, "Be patient yet awhile; + A day will come when thou shalt vengeance take. + Nature hath made me prophet. I can see + Now that my sun is sinking far beyond + This earthly sphere, all that shall come to pass + In future years. Delay thy vengeance, then, + Still a few years, and I will be thy guide; + I, Djabel, from over this side the grave + Will guide thy steps and shape thy destinies + Until the hour arrive." Thus spake Djabel, + And falling back upon his rugged couch, + Did breathe his last, clasping my hand in his; + He now sleeps with his fathers. Rest his soul! + And I, now left an orphan, and so young; + Abandoned, too, by the base man I loved, + How fared it with me, being then with child? + The days of mourning for my father o'er, + I could not keep my mind from wandering back + To our first days of courtship, when my lord + First wooed me, and did win my virgin heart. + I dwelt upon the memory of his words-- + How he had promised me in days of yore, + His father being dead, old Don Fernand, + That I should mistress of his castle be. + How had he kept his promise? Don Fernand + Was long since dead, yet he no offer made + About his castle, but did keep me e'er + Within a little cottage that he built + During his father's lifetime for me, when + We first were married. Here I lived content, + For he then oft would visit me, and when + He came not, yet I had full trust in him, + And waited patiently, beguiling time + By tending flowers in my garden home, + For this was aye my passion from a child, + And thus the hours passed full happily. + But one day, seeing my lord with murky brow, + And not divining what the cause mote be, + I, with fond heart and young simplicity, + Did offer all that consolation + That loving wife will offer to her lord + In moments of deep sadness. But he spurned + Me coldly from him, and when I did ask + In what way I had my lord offended, + Deigning no direct reply, made answer, + He loved me not. I had no hold on him, + Should ne'er be mistress of his father's hall, + Our marriage being but a mockery, + To last as long as it should please himself. + He left me with a laugh of bitter scorn, + Whilst I, as if by lightning struck, did fall + Flat to the earth, and waking, sought my sire. + Thou knowest how my father, dying, left + A promise he would ever guide my steps + In hour of vengeance; so I patience kept. + Meanwhile our son was born. That son _art thou_! + + D. PAS. Oh, mother! mother! + [_They embrace and weep on each others' necks._ + (_On recovering._) I did half divine + The truth from the beginning of thy tale, + But at the name of Father Miguel + My heart did smite so loud against my ribs + As like to burst them; e'en as were it charged + From Heaven with joyful tidings to my soul. + I ever knew that man in some strange way + Was mixed up in the mystery of my birth. + + GIP. Q. 'Twas he that christened thee, abandoned by + Thy all unworthy father. He that holds + Proofs that our marriage valid is by law, + Without which proofs thou'dst been born a bastard, + A stray, an outcast, slave to this world's scorn. + The Lady Angela, that kind, good soul, + Whose counsellor and priest Don Miguel was, + Knew all thy history, and pitied thee. + She was thy godmother while at the font. + Don Miguel marked thee with the Christian's sign, + And being a widow lady without heirs, + And rich withal, she straightway did resolve + T'adopt thee, and 'neath Father Miguel's care + To have thee educated as a priest. + Poor pious soul! But thou know'st best of all + How thine own wilful temper at the school-- + Thy wild, impatient, roving gipsy blood,-- + Did give small promise for a like career, + Which Father Miguel seeing from the first + (Though not until repeated efforts made + To tame thy stubborn nature proved in vain) + Did finally, now weary of his charge, + Abandon thee unto thine own wild ways, + Doling the money out from time to time, + Till thou should'st come of age. That time has come. + + D. PAS. Ha! ha! I well do call to mind the time + When Father Miguel, with church dogmas sought + To warp my stubborn brain, and if I asked + Him to explain some of that lore he taught, + And fain would burden my poor skull withal, + Then straight it was a mystery. I must + Have faith, he said; nor ask the reason why. + Against this answer my young soul rebelled. + And long and fierce the battles that we fought. + He called me insubordinate and rude. + Said I lacked discipline, humility, + That I must subjugate my intellect + Unto the church's dictates, threatening me + With purgatory and everlasting fire + Unless I thought as he did, branding me + As atheist, Jew, or heretic, whilst I + Called him a fool. Then losing all control + Over his passions, this good, holy man + Did raise his hand to strike me, seeing which + I seized a knife and threw it at his head, + Leaving a scar upon his cheek; then laughed. + As I grew older matters mended not, + So he sent me to a seminary, + Thinking to curb my will by discipline; + But they soon found the worse they treated me + The worse was I, and so all gave me up. + 'Tis years since we have met. We were not formed + To live together. Greater opposites + In character Nature ne'er formed from clay. + I owe the holy man no grudge; not I. + He did his best, I mine to understand him. + We were formed differently from our birth. + + GIP. Q. A wild boy thou wert ever. That is true. + I've watched thee oft when thou thought'st me afar. + Thou knew'st me not for mother, nor would I + Unveil the myst'ry of thy parentage, + Nor bring disgrace on Lady Angela, + Who had so kindly offered to adopt + Thee, the poor outcast gipsy's mongrel son, + And rear him like the proudest of the land. + Why should I, with my narrow, selfish love, + Oppose a barrier to my son's advance, + Refuse the lady's bounty, and drag down + My son unto the level of myself. + A wand'ring gipsy! Yet I loved thee. Ay, + I loved thee e'en with more than mother's love. + I would that all should love thee. As for those + Who loved thee not, these I vowed should fear thee. + I'ld see thee feared and envied, proud and great + High up above thy fellows; and for this + I smothered in my heart all outward show + Of my affection, and so hid myself. + Still, I was near and watched thee day by day + Expand as the young plant before the sun. + And I was happy in my heart of hearts + To know that thou wert happy, and to know + I was thy mother, though thou knew'st it not. + And so for years I've watched thee, till thine own + Wild wand'ring nature bid thee roam abroad. + 'Twas then for years that I lost sight of thee; + This also was predicted by the stars, + And so I gave to thee this gipsy ring + That I might know thee when we met again. + + D. PAS. Ay, I do mind me well, when yet a child, + How once a gipsy gave it me, and bid + Me wear it ever, and 'twould bring me luck; + And how I, childlike, straight returned home, + Pleased with the gift, to show my mother, or + The lady whom I thought my mother then. + But tell me, queen or mother, which thou wilt, + Why, if as I think, all thy tale be true + And thou wert really married to Don Diego, + Knowing the law to be upon thy side, + Why didst thou not at once set up thy claim + Of lawful wife, instead of waiting now, + A score of years and more! Thou could'st have claimed---- + + GIP. Q. Thou askest me why I did not avail + Myself of that protection that the law + In my case would enforce. I'll tell thee, then. + I was, indeed, then counselled so to do + By Father Miguel and some other friends, + Who knew that legal marriage was performed; + But being mindful of the promise made + Unto my father on his bed of death, + And having strict confidence in his words, + Those deep prophetic words which never erred, + Then finding, too, when I did scan the stars + Good reason his for bidding me postpone + My vengeance for a season less ill-starred. + + D. PAS. What saw'st thou, mother, in the stars to make + Thee to abandon all thy rightful claims + And crave the charity of an alien? + + GIP. Q. I craved no charity. The lady who + Did stand to thee in lieu of mother, came + Herself and craved of me permission + To take thee home and rear thee as her child; + Which offer I, though with much reluctance, + At length accepted, ever mindful of + The brilliant future that the stars foretold. + + D. PAS. What sign was that that caused thee then such fear? + + GIP. Q. A star malefic in thy house of life; + Threatening thee with speedy violent death + From some traitor's hand. That hand, thy father's. + Had I ta'en counsel of well-meaning friends + And urged my rights, ay, had I moved a step, + Thy life and mine had dearly paid for it. + + D. PAS. How this may be, I know not. If the stars + Do really rule our destinies, or if + Thy woman's fears but made thee dread contact + With men in power. Have we not the law? + + GIP. Q. Justice may be bought. The oppressor's star + Was then in the ascendant. 'Tis no more. + Now mark, and I will show thee how the stars + Have worked and ripened for my just revenge. + Thou knowest well, 'tis now full many years + I have lost sight of thee, though I have learned + From Father Miguel thou wast still alive; + The stars foretold our meeting. Until now + I've waited for thee, and the stars likewise + Predicted that almost at the same time + Another I should meet, whose destiny + Did figure so in thy young house of life. + + D. PAS. What! The Lady Inez? + + GIP. Q. Ay, even she. + + D. PAS. Then Heav'n be praised for happier destiny + Ne'er fell to lot of man. + + GIP. Q. Nay, not so fast; + There're dangers still to pass, and thou must bear + Thyself right bravely if thou would'st succeed. + + D. PAS. Dost doubt my courage, mother? My good blade + Shall carve me fortune wheresoe'er it turns. + + GIP. Q. Hot headed youth! Guard well thy strength until + 'Tis needed. Thou art weak from loss of blood, + And need'st repose e'er thou set forth to work. + The sun is high in heaven. Ere nightfall + Thou wilt have need of all thy youthful strength. + Ere midnight I will lead thee to a wood, + Accompanied by all my followers, + From thence we must ascend a rugged path + That leads to the tyrant's stronghold. + + D. PAS. What tyrant? + + GIP. Q. The nameless. Thy rival and thy father. + + D. PAS. Don Diego! 'Twas he, then, that yester-eve + Did snatch the Lady Inez from my breast + As I lay faint and bleeding? + + GIP. Q. Ay, e'en he; + And now he fain would marry her perforce, + With or without her answer; he has sworn + To wed her straight, scarce struck the midnight hour, + And hurries on with most indecent haste + This mockery of a marriage 'gainst the will + And inclinations of the girl herself, + And also 'gainst the wishes of her sire, + Whom, poor man, the tyrant holds in 's power, + As hawk doth hold a dove, obliging him + To give consent to this most monstrous match + With his fair daughter, only late arrived + Home from the convent of St. Ursula + (Albeit he knows not, I've the proofs in hand + Of our real marriage. Read them an you list) + [_Handing papers to Don Pascual._ + He needs must hasten on his base design, + For fear of interruption. Be it ours + To baulk this rabid eagle of his prey, + Snatch from his reeking claws the innocent lamb, + And rescue chastity from guilt's device. + Let this be Pepa's mission upon earth, + To succour virtue and avenge the wrong, + And thou, Pascual, stand thou me true in this, + Let no wrong pass, but quickly search it out, + And boldly in the light of day proclaim + The tyrant's wrong, in spite of odds or force. + + D. PAS. Mother, I swear. Fear not thou'lt find me apt; + My sword is at thy service, e'en had I + No more incentive to avenge thee than + The sense of wrong that ever stirs my blood. + But now I have my own more selfish ends + To serve. The maid 'fore all most near my heart + To rescue from the talons of a foe; + The mother, too, who gave me birth to shield + From foul dishonour, and the tyrant who + Begat me, yet fain would dub me bastard, + Still to chastise. With these wrongs to redress, + Or e'en the half, what coward would not turn brave? + What mouse would not turn lion? Rest in peace, + This night thou art avenged. Pascual doth swear it. + + GIP. Q. Spoke like my own true son. And now to rest; + Thou needest sleep, to calm thy jaded nerves, + And brace thee for the work thou hast to-night. + + [_They embrace. Pascual throws himself upon his couch. Gipsy + Queen sits watching him. Scene changes._ + + +SCENE III.--_Inez' bedchamber in Don Silvio's castle; an old four posted +bed, with faded hangings--old faded tapestry. A prie-dieu in front of a +picture of our Lady of Pain. Crucifixes and pious relics adorn the +chambers. Don Silvio is discovered pleading earnestly. Inez weeping._ + + INEZ. (_Tearing herself away._) Cease, father, cease; I cannot, dare + not yield. + How can you ask me, after all you've said? + What! Wed a man I never saw before, + A man whose age, too, full quadruples mine! + And at a moment's notice! Fie! for shame! + Was it for this then that you call'dst me home, + To barter soul and body for mere gold? + Is it not thus the lowest of our sex, + Led on by glitter to fill Satan's ranks, + Fall, ne'er to rise again? Ah! woe is me. + Think, father, think. What could such union be + Before the eyes of Heaven? Would it not + Be foul adultery, base, incestuous lust? + And this you'ld have from me, your only child? + Oh, father! 'twas not thus that you once spake. + Where are your noble maxims, father, now? + Alas! alas! all scattered to the winds + Before the first blast of the tempting fiend. + + D. SIL. (_Aside._) Now this is most just, by Heav'n! that I be + Thus by my own child humbled and reproved, + For falling back from truth in hour of trial. + Dear inn'cent soul! How could she yield to terms + Alike repugnant to her virgin heart + As mine own conscience? But, then, what to do? + Ah! cursed be the hour I gave consent + Unto that monstrous pact! What would I give + Now to undo the same, were't in my power? + But my inexorable foe has sworn + To have his bond, and Diego never jests. + Most dire necessity doth bid me save + Myself and household from disgrace and death. + Ay, from starvation. Nothing short of that + Should make me recreant to my conscience law. + She, young and hopeful, realises not + The want and misery that must ensue + To us on her refusal. Be it so. + Occasion presses. Time must not be lost. + I will try again, though conscience brand me. + (_Aloud._) Inez! + + INEZ. Father! + + D. SIL. Bethink thee, yet, my child. + + INEZ. Parent, no more! + + D. SIL. What am I, then, to do? + I, thy poor aged father, sent abroad + To beg my bread. No shelter from the wind + And rain. No food; no hospitable roof. + Our servants, too, must all our ills endure; + And all through thee, through thine own obdurate heart. + But 'twill not serve thee. Not one whit, for though + Thou still resist, Don Diego will use force; + His myrmidons---- + + INEZ. I fear them not, when God is on our side. + This is a trial, and we must have faith. + + D. SIL. (_Desperate._) My child! Will nothing move thee? On thy head + Will be thy father's blood. My life's at stake. + + INEZ. Think of thy soul, old man, and trust in God. + Thou, who didst teach mine infant lips to pray, + Canst thou not pray, or wilt thou learn of me + Now thou art old? Hast thou no faith, father? + + D. SIL. Alas! alas! 'Tis many years these knees + Have bowed no more in prayer. When I was young, + And yet had faith, 'twas then I used to pray. + + INEZ. But now; Oh, father! Heaven! What can have caused + This falling off of piety in age? + For years not bent the knee unto thy God! + I wonder not He hath abandoned thee. + Come, learn of me. Look here. Gaze on this form, + + [_Snatches a crucifix from the wall, and thrusts it into Don + Silvio's unwilling hands._ + + This bleeding image. See this crown of thorns, + These nails, that side thrust; and then learn how He + Suffered and died for us. Canst thou not bear + One little pang an 't be the will of Heaven? + What is thy grief to His, who suffered more + Than mortal man e'er suffered? Father, pray + God will not desert those who trust in Him. + + D. SIL. Nay, thou art young and hopeful. I am old. + + INEZ. Kneel, father, kneel; and look not so downcast. + Behold the blessed Virgin Mary, pierced + And sorrowing for our sins. Come, father, kneel. + Do as I do, and throw thyself before + This blessed image, and repeat these words. + + [_Throws herself on the prie-dieu, and clasps her hands together + in front of the picture of our Lady of Pain. Don Silvio still + standing._ + + Oh! Holy Virgin, Mother of our Lord; + Chosen of God, immaculate, Divine; + Thou, who hast promised aye to intercede + With thy dear Son, the living God of Heaven + For us poor mortals when oppressed with woe, + From that high heaven where thou sittest enthroned + 'Midst glorious angels, mercifully look down + Upon thy humble votaries, who groan + 'Neath the oppression of a tyrant world. + Oh! thou who never turnest a deaf ear + Unto a suppliant's prayer, send down thy grace, + And succour her from evil men's designs + Who puts her trust in thee. Thwart thou their schemes, + And, for the glory of thy holy name, + Avenge thy handmaid's wrongs, and punish those + Who, strong in the abuse of worldly power, + Would fain defile the virgin chastity + Of her who seeks thy aid; rain down thy grace. + Oh! Holy Mother, who canst never see + The wrong to triumph and the right to fall, + Soften my father's heart, and let him kneel + To thee, and join with me in heartfelt prayer + And supplication, that the evils which + Do threaten us alike may be withdrawn. + + [_Don Silvio drops crucifix, and exit slowly and moodily._ + + Oh, Holy Saints! Oh, Holy Virgin Mother! + Look down in pity on this suppliant pair, + Who all unworthy are to raise our eyes + To that high Heaven, whence thou art, and seek + Thy aid and guidance, strengthen us, O Lord! + Strengthen our faith, and let our trust in Thee + Never abate, e'en in temptation's hour. + + [_Draws forth a rosary, and remains for some time counting her + beads. Then rises._ + + I thank thee, Holy Virgin. Thou hast heard + The prayer of faith, and----(_looking round her_) What! my father + gone! + Too proud to pray, alas! Oh, Heaven grant + My doting father more humility, + More faith, more hope; and aye within this breast + Keep thou _my_ faith alive, lest Satan send + Some emissary forth to thwart thy will. + + _Enter_ RODRIGUEZ, _smiling towards_ INEZ, _who starts, looks + suspiciously at her, and shudders_. + + ROD. What! my young mistress taken by surprise, + And scared at poor Rodriguez! I've no doubt + Some transient fever, brought on by the shock + You late have suffered, made you shiver so. + Come to old Rodriguez, my pretty bird, + Pour forth into old nurse's willing ear + All its past troubles. Did the gipsy gang + Run off with pretty darling, and insult + Her and old Pedro! Sweetest, grieve no more + Now all is over, but take courage from + Old nurse Rodriguez, who was ever wont + To smooth its pillow, and to share its griefs. + + INEZ. Good nurse, Rodriguez, 'tis not, as you think, + The gipsy tribe that causes me this dread. + I have another and a secret grief + I daren't divulge to thee. Nay, leave me, pray. + + ROD. What! my young mistress has a secret grief; + And I, poor old Rodriguez, am debarred + From sharing it. Leave you alone, forsooth! + Leave my young mistress Inez all alone, + To brood and mope over her secret grief! + Never! You ill know nurse Rodriguez, child. + + INEZ. (_Aside._) This is intolerable. + + ROD. As you say, + It cannot be about the gipsy tribe + My darling frets. The danger's gone and past, + Thanks to the noble conduct of my lord, + The brave and gallant Don Diego, who + At risk of his own life, with sword in hand, + Did rescue you from the dark gipsy gang. + 'Twas bravely done. And how he wears his years! + Just like a stripling--and how fine a man; + How courteous, too, and what a merry eye + He has for all his favourites. I'm sure + That you yourself are one, judging from how + [_Inez draws back scornfully._ + He looks at you askance, then turns away + And sighs so deeply, little thinking that + Rodriguez guesses what he bears within. + + INEZ. Rodriguez, silence! Of this trash no more. + + ROD. Nay, Mistress Inez; pray not angered be + With poor old nurse. She loves a jest at times. + + INEZ. I'm in no jesting mood, I promise you. + I pray you, leave me. + + ROD. There you are again, + Wishing me to leave you alone to mope; + But, dear, Rodriguez better knows than leave + Her little mistress all uncomforted. + Away with nasty grief, and courage take + From kind old nurse, and, like her, merry be. + + INEZ. Your consolation, nurse, is, perhaps, well meant. + Albeit, at present, 'tis superfluous. + + ROD. What! Hoity, toity! child; would'st have me see + My little Inez pining and downcast, + E'en though it be for nought at all; and ne'er + Say word to cheer her? Nay, 'tis my duty + To my mistress. So here I mean to stick + Until I've made you laugh. Come now, madam. + + INEZ. (_Aside._) She's insupportable. + + ROD. Were I a maid once more, I'd show you how + I'd laugh and enjoy the world. Not as you, + Pent up these years within a convent cell, + Till you've grown musty. A pest on convents all! + Keep them for cripples and incurables. + For those who from birth so ill-favoured are, + They find not husbands. These may chant and sing, + And moan and fast, an't please them; but, for you, + A maid of Lady Inez's beauty, jammed + Within these walls--'tis sacrilege, I ween. + + INEZ. Rodriguez, now you must not lightly talk + Against those holy women, who have fled + All worldly joys to win the peace of Heaven. + + ROD. Each to their taste. For me, I love the world. + + INEZ. I know it, nurse; but at your age 'twere fit + You'd higher thoughts. + + ROD. At _my_ age! Pooh! tut, tut! + Those with a merry heart are never old. + Look at Don Diego, how he bears himself, + And all because he has a merry heart. + Had he been priest or monk, he had been old + At thirty. But just look how proud his step, + How clear his eye, how red his manly cheek. + Were I a maid once more, just of your age, + I straight should lose my heart, and that's a fact. + Heigh ho! + + INEZ. A truce to this unseemly banter. + Nor dare to name that man to me again. + + ROD. That man! What, poor Don Diego? In what way + Hath he offended, that you treat him thus? + I'm sure he is not conscious of his fault, + Or he would die with grief; the dear, good man, + Fond of you as he is, as all can see. + + INEZ. Rodriguez, cease! I'll hear no more, I've said. + And let me tell you, nurse, now once for all, + It ill becomes thy years and sex, t'enact + A part, of all parts most contemptible. + + ROD. What part, my pretty child? Don't so misjudge + Poor nurse Rodriguez as to think that she + Could counsel you for aught but for your good + Remember, you are young, my mistress dear, + And have yet to unlearn your convent life, + That so ill fits you for our merry world. + Your father, poor mistaken man---- + + INEZ. Hold there, + And reverence my father as thy lord. + + ROD. Ne'er doubt me, mistress mine, but e'en my lord + Would counsel you as I would counsel you. + + INEZ. Thou speak'st of counsel. How would'st counsel me? + + ROD. Nay, then, nought 'gainst your interests; that's clear. + Had I your youth and beauty, and your chance, + I'd have a care, nor throw such chance away. + Lend not the ear to ev'ry stripling, child, + Because he's smooth of mien, but look behind + The outer gloss, and seek for solid gold. + + INEZ. Your counsel, nurse, is mercenary. + + ROD. Tut, tut. + We've got to live; to live we've got to eat; + Then comes our dress, our servants, and what else + May appertain unto a lady born, + As was your mother, Lady Dorothea,-- + Of blessed mem'ry,--when this ancient hall + Looked livelier than at the present day. + Now hark! my dear young mistress, and attend + To these my words, as were they from the lips + Of your own sainted mother, who looks down + From her high post, and sees all that we do. + What, think you, would your fondest mother say, + To see this castle go to rack and ruin, + Her darling child descend in social scale, + Because she would espouse some popinjay. + Whose wealth was all he carried on his back? + When she could get a chance to marry one + (A goodly man, if more mature in years) + A great hidalgo, and of wealth untold, + By means of which she could redeem this hall, + And make it worthy of its better days; + Pay off her father's debts, and thus content + Him and his household, and all else beside. + Why, marry, 'twere rank madness to let slip + Such glorious chance, and such a chance have you. + + INEZ. Enough. + + ROD. Nay, I _will_ speak in duty bound, + And tell you, willy-nilly, that the man + Who thus would lay his riches at the feet + Of my poor master's daughter is none else + Than noble Lord Don Diego. + + INEZ. I have said + I will not have thee mention that man's name; + I did divine thy mission from the first, + And doubt me not that thou wert amply paid + To play the go-between; but learn for once, + Base woman, that my heart must not be bought; + The purest gift of Heaven was not made + To be an article of merchandise. + My heart's in mine own keeping, and must ne'er + Be given up save to the man I love. + Though this pile fall to ruins o'er our heads; + Though hunger threaten; though my father's life + And other lives at stake be; nay, e'en though + This robe be turned to rags and I be sent + Abroad to beg my bread, and from the cold + Night storm or tempest ne'er a shelter find; + Nay, come what will, nought 'gainst the will of Heaven + Must e'er be done to suit the present hour. + + ROD. Nay, speak not thus, young mistress, but be calm; + Rodriguez, too, was once a girl and thought, + E'en as you do now. + + INEZ. More's the pity then + That years, instead of bringing purer thoughts, + Should cancel all the purity of youth. + + ROD. Nay, mistress mine, what I would say is this: + That being in youth, even as yourself, + More swayed by my heart than my interests, + I gave my heart unto the man I loved, + Disdaining higher offer, but soon found + Cause to repent for having thrown away + A better chance; for Carlos, when he saw + That I had nought, and he had nought, he 'gan + To lose the love he had for me, and then + He beat me, and we quarrelled. Soon he died. + And being left destitute, was fain t'accept + The place of servant in your father's house. + + INEZ. And by this tale of sorrows thou would'st prove + That we in this life are in duty bound + To sell our souls unto the highest bidder. + Away with such foul subtleties, with which + The arch-fiend baits his hook to tempt God's own. + Give me the quiet of a convent cell, + Rather than rank and splendour with disgrace. + + ROD. Disgrace! Nay, honour. When the knot is tied + You will be held in honour by the world. + It is not mere protection that is offered, + But legal marriage. There's the difference. + + INEZ. The marriage that 'fore Heaven legal is, + Is that in which two souls are joined in one, + And not the forced and bitter mockery + Born of man's interest, by him approved. + Such match as thou would'st counsel were no match, + But lust and policy combined in one; + Most foul adultery in Heaven's eyes, + Ay, e'en despite the blessing of the church. + But, to cut short this most distasteful theme, + Perhaps thou'lt tell me, as an after-clause + Included in the pact, should I accept + This offer that Don Diego deigns to make, + 'Twere necessary that this match take place + This night at midnight, without more delay. + + ROD. Why, some such clause there is, I must confess, + A mere caprice. What matters it? But then + The offer is so splendid. Only think! + + INEZ. In case of my refusing him. What then? + + ROD. You surely would not think of such a thing, + If you knew how he loved you. + + INEZ. Still I ask, + What's the alternative should I refuse? + + ROD. I would not counsel you to brave his ire. + He loves you most devotedly, I know, + And 'tis for that he'd hasten on the match, + 'Tis over-eagerness and fear to lose + His prize. A groundless fear, I do admit. + But he was ever an eccentric man: + A good man though. + + INEZ. So all I have to fear + Is but his ire? + + ROD. I know not though what form + His ire might take. He's powerful and great, + Accustomed to obedience, to command, + Like all great military leaders who + Hold up their heads above their fellow-men. + He _might_ use force. I would not you advise + To thwart his will, but quietly to yield. + + INEZ. And art thou woman, who would'st counsel me, + Through fear of violence of mortal man, + To so offend against all chastity + As yield obedience to this man's lust? + A veteran full four times mine own age, + And that, in all hot haste this very night, + When I have scarce had time to see his face! + Is't this that thou call'st love? Now fie! Now fie! + I did think better of thee, nurse Rodriguez, + Than that thy tongue could have been bought for gold + In such base cause. But since 'tis come to this-- + Away from me! and tell the fiend who sent thee, + Inez would rather die a thousand deaths + Than barter her virtue for all his gold. + + ROD. I dare not tell him so, my pretty bird. + + INEZ. Then send him here, I'll tell him so myself. + I fear no man when God is on my side. + + ROD. Nay, mistress, dear, forbear. You know him not. + + INEZ. Yet thou would'st have me marry him. For shame! + + ROD. I know not what to say. 'Twas urgency, + Most dire necessity, that made me speak; + Fear for your father's life, mine own, and Pedro's, + And last, not least, yourself, my darling child. + I am bewildered and half gone mad. + What shall we do? Oh, Heaven grant us help. + + INEZ. I trust as ever in the help of Heaven. + Sustain us, Lord, in our adversity, + And let us lack not faith. [_A knock at the door._ + Oh, holy saints! + + PEDRO. (_Without._) Rodriguez! What ho! Donna Rodriguez! + My lord Don Diego awaiteth thee below. + + ROD. I come, I come. (_Aside._) Ah me! what shall I say? [_Exit._ + + INEZ. Now, saints protect us! Holy Virgin, thou + Be still my guide, nor let me pray in vain. + + [_Inez throws herself half fainting on the prie-dieu, and the + scene closes._ + + +SCENE IV.--_A Wood of chestnuts. Moonlight. Gipsies in ambush. Don +Diego's castle seen towering above the trees._ + + _Enter_ GIPSY QUEEN _and_ PASCUAL. + + GIP. Q. Behold the spot I told thee of, from whence + We must begin th' ascent. (_To Gipsies._) Is all prepared? + + GIPSIES TOGETHER. Ay, Queen. + + GIP. Q. And Father Miguel? + + A GIPSY. He comes anon. + + D. PAS. What, even Father Miguel! Will he join? + + GIP. Q. He is, as ever, our most staunch ally, + And doth possess a keen and ready wit + In time of need. A soft and oily tongue + And gentle manner, that may well disarm + All base suspicion. Such sound policy + As may enable him to win the day, + When all such brainless braggadocio + As thine might fail. + + D. PAS. Bravo, Father Miguel! + An he be practised in the use of 's tongue, + As I am in the use of my good blade + We shall do well together. + + GIP. Q. See, he comes. + + _Enter_ FATHER MIGUEL. _He walks straight up to_ GIPSY QUEEN. + + F'TH. M. Pepa, well met. Is this young man your son? + + D. PAS. (_Stepping forward._) Ay, holy father. Dost remember me? + + F'TH. M. But little, son. It is so many years + We have not met, and thou art altered much. + Thou wert then but a lad--a naughty lad, + A very naughty lad. + + D. PAS. Ha, ha! Ha, ha! + The accusation, I admit, is just, + But hope, after to-night, that we may learn + To know each other better. + + F'TH. M. So say I. + And now, for what doth most concern us all. + + TO GIPSY QUEEN. I doubt not this youth's courage. Nay, his fault, + An I remember right in days gone by. + Was being too precipitous and rash. + Now listen, both of ye, to what I say; + We must not mar our plot with useless show + Of ill-timed valour, but hoard well our strength + Till needed, and if possible dispense + With blood and slaughter, which God grant we may. + + D. PAS. How, holy father? I don't understand. + Are we not here assembled to attack + The tyrant's stronghold. Are the men-at-arms + That guard the castle made of such poor stuff, + As let a powerful and armed band + Approach without resistance. Think you, _he_ + The man that I blush to call my father, + Is so utterly without resources + As let us tamely rob him of his prize, + Under his very nose, and not resent? + Too old a fox, I ween, our veteran foe, + For to be caught asleep. + + F'TH. M. Nay, hear me, son. + + GIP. Q. Ay, true my, son. Have patience and attend + To the good father's counsel. + + D. PAS. Father, speak. + + F'TH. M. I have bethought me of a scheme, which, if + Well carried out, will bring us through the guard + Without the loss of blood. Once entered in, + And passed the threshold, let me lead the way. + Your mother will present herself anon, + Assert her rights in presence of them all; + _You_ then will follow, ready to protect + Yourself and us, should an assault be made + Upon our persons. (_To Gipsies._) You bold gipsies all, + Keep close at hand a little in the rear + Ready for action, but beware to lift + A finger until called upon to fight + Through grim necessity. D'ye hear me all? + + GIPSIES (_Together._) Ay, ay, Sir Priest. + + D. PAS. You have not told us yet + The means you will adopt to pass the guards + Without resistance. + + F'TH M. Listen, then, awhile. + I have to aid me in this daring plot + A tried and trusty friend, a mountaineer; + This peasant hath across his shoulders slung + A keg of choicest wine, by me well drugged + With such a potent powder, that one drop + But taken on the tongue were full enough + In a few minutes to induce a sleep + So dull, lethargic, heavy, and profound, + That earth might quake, winds blow, and thunder growl, + And yet the victims of this potent drug + Would still sleep on, their long and death-like sleep, + And much I doubt me if the archangel's trump + Would fully wake them. + + D. PAS. 'Tis not poison, father? + + F'TH. M. Nay, 'tis harmless. How could you think that I, + As priest, could do aught to take human life? + I come to hinder carnage, not to slay. + + D. PAS. This may be difficult, though, nevertheless, + The men are many. There are always dogs + That bark and bellow at the foe's approach. + + F'TH. M. Leave all to me, my son. As for the dogs, + I've poison brought, most instantaneous, + With which I've baited meat, that I have now + About my person, whilst this peasant here. + What ho! Felipe! + + _Enter a_ PEASANT _with a keg of wine slung round him_. + + This same honest man + Will go ahead with me, but as we near + The castle we will separate, and choose + Two divers paths, so that in case we meet + With any man we seem not to belong + One to the other. He will chant an air + Such as our mountaineers are wont to sing, + And go his way, as one who's light of heart; + Myself, will pass on by another route, + To meet the peasant at a given point + Close to the castle and within the hearing + Of all the soldiers; and if accosted, + I have my answer ready. Do not fear. + When within hearing of the men-at-arms, + I shall call out to this same mountaineer, + As to a stranger: "Hold, friend. Where bound?" + "To the next village, father," shall he say? + "Trav'lling with wine. A buyer wants to try + A sample, and I bring him of the best." + "Ha!" shall I say, "then, prithee, let me taste. + I, too, would buy a barrel, but for _me_ + It must be good indeed, else, keep your wine." + Then shall I feign to drink and smack my lips, + Swearing 'tis nectar worthy of a king, + And straight make offer to buy all he has, + While trudging on together by the way. + Presently we will come upon the guards, + Some of whom know me well. Suspecting nought, + These men will easily be lured to try + The vaunted liquor. Having gone the round + Of seneschal and warder and the rest, + I shall find access to the castle hall + Without much trouble, offr'ing as excuse, + I come to let Don Diego taste the wine. + Once entered fairly in the castle hall, + Ere long all hands will sound as dead men sleep, + Then shall I blow this whistle. At the sound, + March on, and fear not, for the game is ours. + + D. PAS. Hail! Father Miguel! once again I say. + + F'TH. M. Now to our task. 'Tis just about the hour, + And better be too early than too late. + + D. PAS. True, holy father. + + F'TH. M. Well, go softly on + Ahead, whilst you all keep well in the rear, + Advance ye not until ye hear this call. + [_Exeunt_ FATHER MIGUEL _and_ FELIPE. + + D. PAS. Why, what an acquisition to our cause + Is this same priest! I vow I know not how + We should have done without him. + + GIP. Q. You say well. + Besides our cause, that he has much at heart, + He revels in all plotting and intrigue. + + D. PAS. It suits his peculiar genius. Why, + He might have been prime minister of Spain, + This same poor unknown priest. + [_A distant mountaineer's chant is heard._ + + GIP. Q. Hark! Do you hear? + + D. PAS. Ay. The mountaineer's chant. The game's begun. + + GIP. Q. List patiently, and we shall hear anon + Don Miguel's whistle. Silence, all of ye. + + [_A long pause. All place themselves in listening attitude. + Gipsy Queen advances slowly. Pascual in the background, + still listening._ + + GIP. Q. The hour fast draws near when my intent, + That purpose that the heav'ns have writ in blood, + Must be accomplished. Be still, my heart. + Shade of my father Djabel, stand thou near; + Nerve thou this arm so that it shall not fail, + For work is to be done, and that right soon. + That man is doomed, and by this hand he dies; + Heav'n hear my oath! Respond, ye elements. + + [_Sky grows dark. Thunder and lightning. Owls and bats flit + about. Commotion in the camp._ + + The oath is writ in Heav'n. Recording sprites + Have taken down the gipsy's oath of blood; + And now shall all men see, all nations tell, + How, from the ashes of this trampled heart + Did all triumphant rise the gipsy queen. + [_A distant whistle heard._ + + D. PAS. The signal, mother! Didst hear the signal? + + GIP. Q. Ay, son. Onward, then; + I'll lead the way myself. Be firm and true. + + [_The ascent begins, led by the Gipsy Queen, and the scene + closes._ + + +SCENE V.--_A hall in Don Diego's castle communicating with the chapel. +The chapel is in the centre of the background. Through curtains is +disclosed the altar lighted up, and a priest ready to officiate. In the +hall, which is illuminated, a long table is spread with fruit and other +delicacies. Music. Enter guests, discoursing animatedly and laughing._ + + FIRST GUEST. (_To his Partner._) Have you yet seen the bride? They + say she's fair. + + PARTNER. They say so, but I have not seen her yet. + Howbeit, a friend of mine who knew her well + When at the Convent of Saint Ursula, + Says she is over young. Just turned sixteen; + And how a man of Lord Don Diego's years + Could fall in love with such a chit, beats me. + [_They pass on. Two other guests advance._ + + LADY OF SECOND GUEST. (_To her Partner._) Ay, true, I think it + would more seemly be + Were he to marry one of years more ripe. + + SECOND GUEST. (_To his Lady._) The older that men grow the more + they're pleased + With youth. I'm sure I should be so myself. + [_They pass on. Third couple advance._ + + THIRD GUEST. (_To his Lady._) Nay, who'd have thought that poor Don + Silvio + Could thus so easily pay off his debts? + He's in luck's way. As for the blushing bride, + Not every day doth heaven rain such fortune. + + LADY. (_To Third Guest._) Yet they say that she is most unwilling. + + THIRD GUEST. Then, she's a fool. + [_They pass on. Fourth couple advance._ + + LADY. (_To Fourth Guest._) Nay; I have heard it said + She weeps and frets, and hath so desp'rate grown, + That nought save violence could aught avail + To lead her to the altar. + + FOURTH GUEST. What a girl! + To throw away so glorious a chance! + [_They pass on. Two gentlemen meeting._ + + FIRST GENT. What, comrade, you invited! Ha, ha, ha! + The old boy's got some life in him as yet. + + SECOND GENT. And good taste, too. I just now caught a glimpse + Of the fair bride; and, zounds! I do begrudge + Her to the veteran. I myself would choose + Just such an one, and were it not her face + Were marred by excess of weeping. + + FIRST GENT. Indeed! + Ha! ha! I never could make out why girls + Cry at their wedding. Just the very thing + They've looked for, prayed for, schemed for all their lives; + Yet, when it comes to don the bridal veil + And figure at the altar, then comes straight + A bucketful of tears. Hypocrisy! + + _Enter_ DON DIEGO, _followed by_ DON SILVIO _pleading_. + + SECOND GENT. Here comes the bridegroom; and, as it would seem, + Not in the best of humours. Let's withdraw. [_They pass on._ + + D. DIE. (_To Don Silvio._) Silvio, no more! I'll not be flouted thus + Before my guests, in mine own castle, too. + I've said that it shall be, and it _shall_ be. + I ne'er take back my word. So bid her haste, + And put a better face upon the matter. + The time is up, and all my guests attend. + Go, bring her, then. (_To Guests._) Friends! welcome to this hall. + + GUESTS ALL. Long live Lord Don Diego, with much happiness! + + D. DIE. Thank ye, my friends. I do regret to say, + 'Fore this august and gracious company, + That we are likely to experience, + This night, some difficulty on the part + Of our fair bride. Some singular caprice; + Transient, no doubt, but not the less unfit + For gay festivity. The fact is that + My youthful bride is of a temperament + Too highly wrought and o'er hysterical. + She only late hath left her convent cell; + Her education, therefore, until now + Hath rendered her unfit to face the world. + Impressionable natures, as we know, + Recoil before aught that can cause a strong + And powerful emotion. 'Tis the shock + They dread. 'Tis nothing. Nay, I do condole + With her; ay, from the bottom of my heart. + But yet I think it not well to indulge + Young folk in such caprice. Therefore, should I, + My honoured guests, be forced to assume + An air of stern severity unmeet + This gay assembly, deem it but as naught; + 'Tis firmness that is needed in this case. + We men must not be conquered by caprice. + As for the girl herself, she loves me well; + Nay, passionately. + + INEZ. (_Within, distractedly._) No! 'tis false, 'tis false. + [_Titter and commotion among the guests._ + + D. DIE. (_To Don Silvio._) Silvio! Why stand you there, with folded + hands? + Did I not tell you to lead forth the bride? + + D. SIL. She says she _will_ not come. + + D. DIE. _Will_ not? Ha! ha! + This to my face! _Will_ not, indeed. We'll see. + My worthy guests, bear with me if I lose + My wonted patience, and in haste let slip + Some casual word that may seem unfit + The presence of guests so illustrious. + My temper's somewhat choleric, and if + My will is thwarted I may lose restraint. + Silvio, bring forth the maiden straight, I say, + Or I will have her dragged to me by force. + + INEZ. (_Within._) Oh, mercy! Mercy! Heaven hear my prayer. + + A GENTLEMAN. Poor little jade! How I do pity her. + + A LADY. And so do I. It makes my heart quite bleed. + + D. DIE. A truce to this. Ho! pages, drag her forth. + + [_Exeunt two pages, who re-enter, dragging Inez in, who utters + a piercing scream. She is dressed in a white dressing gown, + her hair dishevelled, and grasping a crucifix. Father Miguel + and Gipsy Queen appear at the open door cautiously. Behind + lurk Don Pascual and Gipsies._ + + INEZ. "Oh, Holy Virgin! Save me; save me yet. + Thou wilt not thus abandon me." + + D. DIE. (_Seizing her by the hair, and dragging her towards the + Chapel._) So jade, + Since thou hast deemed fit to flout me thus + Before my guests, and spurn'st my tenderness, + Learn how obedience can be enforced. + Come priest. Be ready. + + A GUEST. Nay, but this is rape! + I cannot stay and see injustice done. + I repent me that I was invited. + + ANOTHER GUEST. True, and so do I. This is no marriage, + But filthy lust and mere abuse of power. + + D. DIE. (_To Guards._) Help! Hell and Furies! or I'll have her + drugged. + + GUESTS ALL. Shame! Shame! Down with Don Diego. + Seize the tyrant. + + D. DIE. What! Flouted by my very guests. What next? + + GUESTS ALL. Virtue to the rescue! Save the maiden! + + _Enter_ GIPSY QUEEN _hurriedly, and stands fixing_ DON DIEGO + _with her eye, who recoils_. + + GIP. Q. Hold! I forbid the banns. + + INEZ. Thanks, Holy Virgin, + That hast heard my prayer, and sent an angel + Down from your high Heaven in hour of need. + What glorious halo do I see around + That sainted vision! + [_Inez falls fainting into the arms of Don Silvio._ + + D. DIE. Nay, this is madness. + + GIP. Q. Hear me, swarthy hag. This castle is mine, + And not for such as thee. Begone, I say, + Or I will have thee hanged, ere breaks the dawn, + From the loftiest turret of this pile. + + GIP. Q. Villain, I fear no threats. + Look on this bond. + + D. DIE. What folly's this? Say, who let these men in? + + F'TH. M. (_Advancing._) I, Don Miguel, whom you basely thought + To use as instrument in your foul plot, + Twenty-two years ago, when you did plan + The mockery of a marriage to induce + This trusting gipsy to accede to what + Your own dark soul did lust for; thinking that + 'Twere easy work to dupe the innocent. + So, writing to a worthless boon companion, + Already in your debt, you promised him + To cancel all his debt, and further add + Another sum in recompense, were he + To condescend to sink himself so low + As to enact the part of priest in this + False marriage. But that letter never reached + Its destination. Djabel, gipsy king, + This woman's father, once suspecting guile, + As well he might, did send his spies abroad, + And so this letter, fell into my hands. + I quick conceived the plan to pen reply, + As coming from the tool you sought to use, + In which 'twas stated that he lay in bed, + Ill of a fever, and so could not come, + And therefore he would send a substitute + To act for him. That substitute was I. + I, Father Miguel, with dissembling mien, + By you too fully trusted, had access + Unto your presence, as you fondly thought, + To help you in your plot of the feigned match. + But know, base villain, you alone were duped, + Your marriage was a real one, and holds good. + + D. DIE. This is some false concocted tale, got up + For some hellish purpose. + + PRIEST. (_At the altar, advances._) Lord Don Diego, + I tell you this is no invented tale, + This Father Miguel is well known to me, + A worthy priest of our most holy Church. + The bond is valid. + + D. DIE. Flouted on all sides! + How now! Do I dream? Am I master here, + Or am I not? + + F'TH. M. Another Master there's + Above us all, more powerful than thou, + Dispensing justice and avenging wrong. + + D. DIE. What cant is this? Ho! guards, cut down the rabble. + + [_Some halberdiers advance. D. Pascual and gipsies put + themselves on the defensive._ + + F'TH. M. Raise but a finger, or cause to be raised + An arm in thy defence, and dread the worst. + + D. DIE. This from a shaven crown! A pretty plight + For feudal lord to be in! What ho! guards. + [_A skirmish ensues, and guards are beaten back by gipsies._ + On, cowards, on! Where are my men-at-arms? + + F'TH. M. All drugged, and powerless by my device. + They sleep like dead men. Seek no help from them. + + D. DIE. Damnation! Am I worsted by a priest + And gang of squalid gipsies? Ho! my men, + Go, rouse the sluggards! Bring my armour, quick. + + F'TH. M. (_To Guards._) Budge but an inch, and not a man of ye shall + see to-morrow's sun. + + D. DIE. How now! Who's he + That threatens and gives orders in my hall? + Have I no friends among these honoured guests + To save me from these insults? Who am I? + + F'TH. M. A sinner, made amenable to law. + + D. DIE. (_Laughs diabolically._) Ha, ha! This craven's insolence + is such + It well nigh moves my laughter. How now! guests, + Not one sword drawn! No single arm upraised. + + A GUEST. My Lord Don Diego, in a cause that's just + My sword is at your service. So say all + The others. But we will not fight for wrong. + Let us be first persuaded if this priest + Have right upon his side. Show us the bond. + + D. DIE. The bond is but a forgery. + + D. PAS. 'Tis false, + Thou lying knave. I'll make thee eat thy words. + + D. DIE. Who is this mongrel gipsy, bold of tongue, + Who beards us with drawn sword. + + F'TH. M. Your lawful son, + Of this poor gipsy born in holy marriage. + + D. DIE. The tale is too preposterous. + + OFFICIATING PRIEST. Nay, look + Well on the bond, Don Diego. + + GUESTS ALL. Ay, the bond. + + D. DIE (_To Officiating Priest._) And thou, Sir Shaveling, didst thou + not come here + To-night to draw up deed of legal marriage? + And dost thou now come forward and take part + With this base priest, who for some plan of his---- + + OFF. PRIEST. My compliance was but in appearance. + I came, well knowing of your former marriage, + Twenty-two years ago, as saith the bond, + With her they call the Gipsy Queen. All this + I had from Father Miguel; and besides, + Have well perused the bond, which, being valid, + I could not undertake to tie the knot + In conscience, and have no intent to do 't. + + D. DIE. I was but mocked, then? + + GUESTS ALL. Come, the bond! the bond! + + D. DIE. Give me the bond. I'll soon cut short this work. + + [_Snatches the bond from the hands of Gipsy Queen. Glances + hastily over it, and proceeds to tear it._ + + 'Tis false. This is no signature of mine. + + GIP. Q. Darest to deny thy bond? Die, villain, then, + In this thy perjury! [_Stabs Don Diego._ + + D. DIE. Help! help! I bleed. [_Falls._ + + GUARDS. Don Diego to the rescue! Seize the hag. + [_Guards and a few guests lay hands on Gipsy Queen._ + + D. PAS. (_Furiously._) Leave go, my mother. He that lays a hand + Upon her person, I'll send straight to hell. + + A GUEST. (_Advancing with drawn sword._) Secure this furious and + audacious youth. + + D. PAS. Have at thee, then. [_Kills guest._ + + GUEST I die. [_Dies._ + + TWO GUESTS. (_Advancing._) Hold him! hold him! + + [_Both guests attack Pascual at once, but are driven back. + Guards come up and attempt to seize him. Gipsies attack + guards, and a general skirmish ensues. Two guards are + killed by gipsies. One gipsy falls. Don Silvio bears off + Inez in the confusion._ + + F'TH. M. Peace, brethren, for a while, and no more blood. + + A GUEST. Look to Don Diego, friends, and seize the hag. + + [_All surround Gipsy Queen, who stabs herself and falls. All + draw back._ + + GIP. Q. This life is forfeit. I for vengeance lived; + My mission is accomplished upon earth. + I vowed to heaven. Heaven has heard my prayer. + And I depart. + + D. PAS. (_Rushes up, and throws himself beside the Gipsy Queen._) Oh, + mother! dear mother. + + D. DIE. Help! help! Who has put out the lights and left + Me all in darkness? + + A GUEST. No one, noble lord. + + F'TH. M. 'Tis but the darkness of thine own dark soul, + Now upon the brink of eternity; + I counsel thee, confess, and then receive + The consolation that the Church affords. + + D. DIE. Water! I thirst. Alas! how grim is death! + I am afraid to die. I burn! I burn! + How hideous all the forms that flit around; + + OFFICIATING PRIEST. My lord Don Diego, prithee die not thus; + But ask forgiveness first, of all you've wronged. + + D. DIE. Good father, willingly; but who would grant + Forgiveness unto such a wretch as I? + + GIP. Q. I, Pepa, thy true wife, forgiveness grants, + And craves the like from thee. + + D. DIE. What! Pepa, _thou_; + Thou canst forgive me? Thou, my poor wronged wife. + Let us exchange forgiveness then, for I + Have well deserved this blow. Come round me, friends, + Whilst breath yet lasts, and witness bear to this. + I leave my castle, all my lands and goods, + Unto my lawful son. How is he called? + + F'TH. M. Pascual. + + D. DIE. Son Pascual, thy hand. Forgive the wrongs + I've done thee, e'en as thou thyself wouldst hope + In thy last hour to be forgiven. Hold, + There's still another I have deeply wronged, + From whom I'd crave forgiveness. Bring her here. + + F'TH. M. (_To Attendant._) Don Diego means the Lady Inez. Haste + And bring her hither, with Don Silvio. [_Exit Attendants._ + + _Enter_ DON SILVIO, _supporting_ INEZ. + + D. DIE. Behold me, Inez, penitent, subdued. + Art thou content that heaven hath heard thy prayer? + I've wronged thee much. I frankly do confess. + Forgive me, Inez child, ere I depart + An thou canst. + + INEZ. I do. [_Giving her hand and sobbing._ + + D. DIE. And friend Silvio, + The like I'd have from thee, and all I've wronged. + + D. SIL. Friend Diego, take his hand. I would not add + One pang to that which thine own heart must feel, + By holding back my pardon at the last. + Therefore, with all my heart I pardon thee. + + D. DIE. Thanks, old friend, Silvio; I already feel + Better prepared to die. Farewell, my friends. + [_Inez for the first time perceiving Pascual._ + + INEZ. Pascual! + + D. PAS. Inez! + + D. DIE. Come now, my children both, + I know your minds. Come let me join your hands. + + [_Pascual and Inez kneel beside Don Diego, who joins their + hands._ + + Receive my blessing, children, and forgive + A poor old sinner when he is no more. + Pray for my soul, and ere this clay be cold, + Let this hand clasp thy mother's, son Pascual. + Pepa, thy hand. + + GIP. Q. Diego, with all my heart. + [_Pascual joins their hands._ + Let us die thus, and hand in hand to heaven + Let our souls soar. Kiss me, my children, both. + Look how my father Djabel smiles on us, + And beckons us away from earth. Adios. + [_Don Diego and Gipsy Queen expire._ + + [_Guests kneel and pray. Curtain._ + + +END OF THE GIPSY QUEEN. + + * * * * * + + +At the conclusion of the play our tragedian rolled up his MS. and +returned it to his pocket, while various were the expressions of +approval from the members of the club. + +All now seemed to look towards Mr. Oldstone for his criticism of the +play before pronouncing any decided opinion of their own. This was a +deference they paid him as chairman, and because he was the oldest +member present. It was evident that this worthy was accustomed to be +appealed to in matters of importance, and expected it in the present +instance in particular, for he had already stretched out his legs, +thrown himself back in his arm-chair, closed his eyes, and clasped his +hands together over his comely paunch, while his thumbs performed a +rotary motion, one round the other, a sure sign with him that whatever +his lips might utter would be the result of deep thought and mature +deliberation. Our members awaited in silence the words of wisdom about +to issue from the lips of the oracle. + +To fill up the time in the interim, Professor Cyanite filled up a pipe +of tobacco, and was about to light it. Mr. Crucible drew out his snuff +box, and was preparing to take a copious pinch. Dr. Bleedem looked at +his watch, when suddenly a knock at the door caused the members to raise +their heads. + +"Come in!" cried several voices at once. The door opened, and Helen +stood in the doorway. + +"If you please, gentlemen," said the girl, blushing, and with charming +modesty, "Mr. McGuilp says that he has finished my portrait, and would +the gentlemen of the club like to look at it before it gets too dark." + +"Of course we will, my dear, of course we will," answered Mr. Oldstone, +his fingers immediately unclasping themselves and grasping the arms of +the chair, preparatory to rising to his feet. + +"Come along, gentlemen." No further invitation was needed. Professor +Cyanite laid down his pipe unlighted. Mr. Crucible replaced the grains +of snuff, he had intended conveying to his nose, back into his snuff +box, which he closed with a snap and returned to his pocket. There was +a general stir among the members, who rose and followed Helen to the +room upstairs, that our artist had _pro tem._ transformed into a studio. + +Jack Hearty and his spouse were already in the room when the members of +the club appeared at the door. + +"Yes, that's our Helen, to a T, and no mistake," he was saying. "Well, +its just wonderful, and as like her mother, when she was her age, as one +egg is to another. Eh? Molly," said he, addressing his spouse. + +"Beg pardon, sir. I hope no offence," continued the landlord, turning +deferentially towards our artist. + +"But what might such a picture be worth, if I might ask?" + +"The wealth of the universe wouldn't purchase it, my good host," replied +McGuilp. "It is the best thing I ever did, and that perhaps I ever shall +do. No, this one is not for sale. I do not say but that at some future +time I might do another from it, and then----" + +At this juncture, the members of the club, headed by Mr. Oldstone, +entered the studio. Our host and hostess respectfully withdrew, in order +to give the gentlemen a better chance of examining the picture, but even +then the room was as crowded as an exhibition on a private view day. Mr. +Oldstone had placed himself in front of the easel, and was soon loud in +his expressions of enthusiasm. + +"Excellent! most excellent! Beautiful! beautiful! beautiful! What flesh +tints! What colouring! What refinement of drawing and expression! As a +likeness it is perfect, there is no gainsaying. Then, the pose--simple, +graceful, and natural. My dear young friend," he said, shaking our +artist by the hand, and seeming overcome by emotion, "Do you know _what_ +you have realised? Why, it is the hand of a master!" etc., etc. + +Then each of the members in turn made their own remarks upon the +portrait. + +"What a picture of life and health!" cried Dr. Bleedem. + +"What a face for the stage!" remarked the tragedian. + +"Ah! why was not I born a painter?" sighed Mr. Parnassus. + +The analytical chemist made a few scientific remarks upon the properties +of pigments, in which Professor Cyanite joined, whilst our artist +silently removed the colours from his palette. + +"And what do you propose doing with the portrait, Mr.--er--Mr. McGuilp?" +inquired Mr. Hardcase. "Keep it," replied our artist, laconically. + +"What! _keep_ it all to yourself!" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone. "For your own +selfish gratification, thereby depriving others of the pleasure to be +derived therefrom! Mr. McGuilp, I am surprised at you. Gentlemen," +proceeded the antiquary, addressing his fellow members, "I protest +against this decision of our young friend. That picture does not leave +this inn if _I_ can help it. Mr. McGuilp, your price. What is it? We +will all club together and buy it, won't we gentlemen?" + +"Ay, ay! so say we all," cried several voices at once. + +"Impossible, my dear sir--impossible," remonstrated our artist. + +"_Impossible!_ Why?" + +"I feel I shall never surpass this," answered McGuilp. "It is a sample +work. I can make use of it in many ways as a study. But this I will do. +I will protract my stay yet a few days, though I have already remained +longer than I intended, and I will make a copy of the picture, which it +shall be my pleasure to present to the honoured members of this club." +Murmurs of applause and thanks followed this speech, after which the +company dispersed until dinner-time. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The next morning broke dark and gloomy. Our artist rose from his couch +languid and unrefreshed. His face was pale and haggard, with dark +circles round his eyes. What had transpired? Had he received a second +visit from the headless lady? Not so. What then? He had slept +indifferently, having been kept awake by his own distracting thoughts. +If he chanced to close his eyes for a moment his peace was disturbed by +the most chaotic and depressing dreams. Was he unwell? Did the fare at +the inn disagree with him? He made no complaints. Then why this strange +squeamishness--these wild chaotic dreams, through all of which _one_ +face in particular seemed always to the fore? Sometimes happy and +smiling, full of life and health, then sad and downcast--again looking +at him with pleading eyes, yet always the same face. Whose face this was +we will leave our readers to conjecture. + +"Bah!" soliloquised our artist, as he placed one foot upon the floor, "a +chit of a girl like that, and at _my_ age too." + +He wasn't much past eight and twenty, true, but then the girl running in +his thoughts was barely sixteen. In love? Not he. She was a dear, sweet +child, it was true, and pure as an angel; but her education, her extreme +youth, her position, her surroundings--no, no. + +Now he was quite out of bed. His shaving water stood ready for him +outside. He opened the door ajar, and took it in. Then placing the jug +on the table, he proceeded to strop his razors. As he did so, he caught +a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and started. + +"I'll tell you what it is, Vandyke, my boy," he said, accosting his own +reflection in the glass, "you are looking worse than I thought. Come, +cheer up, and make the best of things. It would never do for the members +of the club to notice anything, and by putting two and two together, +guess at the reason _why_. No, I must dissemble." + +Now, men of the world are shrewd observers, and a very slight clue is +often enough. Here, for instance, was a case of two young persons, both +good looking, being thrown together under circumstances peculiarly +favourable for a flirtation, being alone and unobserved. Well, what +then? Need they necessarily fall in love with each other? Not +_necessarily_ perhaps, says the world, but in all probability they +_will_. Time and opportunity alone being necessary to bring the matter +about. So the world may perhaps not be so very far wrong in its +deductions. + +Having now mixed up an abundant lather, McGuilp rubbed it well over his +chin and lower part of his face. Then inserting his razor in the hot +water, he, with as steady a hand as possible under the circumstances, +proceeded to reap the hirsute stubble from its native habitat until the +operation was completed to his satisfaction. Having at length finished +his toilet with even more than usual precision, he called up a cheerful +look to his countenance, and joined the rest of the members at the +breakfast-table, with an hilarity and jocoseness of manner which took +them all in. + +The breakfast was sumptuous as usual. The table groaned under every +delicacy of the season, and our members, having seated themselves, did +ample honour to the repast. A yule log blazed on the hearth, and a +general air of comfort pervaded the inn, as if to make up for the murky +weather without. Yet, despite these creature comforts, and the hearty +appreciation of them by our members, there was one present whose +appetite failed him. In spite of his forced hilarity, which he now found +it difficult to sustain, for sad thoughts would obtrude themselves, our +artist but pecked at his food. + +The fumes of the eggs and bacon sickened him. The kippered herrings were +an offence unto his nostrils. He loathed such gross cheer. His toast and +roll were but nibbled at, his cup of coffee barely sipped, yet keep up +appearances he must. So he talked a good deal of vapid nonsense, made +trivial remarks about the weather, etc., which served to put the rest of +the members off the scent, engrossed as each was with his own favourite +dish. The professional eye of Dr. Bleedem, however, was more on the +alert, and not so easily deceived. + +"You are not looking so well this morning, Mr. McGuilp," he said, eyeing +his patient critically. + +Our artist hastened to assure him that he never felt better in his life. +This remark, however, fell flat upon the doctor's ears, and he proceeded +as if he had not heard him. + +"You have eaten nothing. I notice that you only play with your food. +Now, when a patient plays with his food, it is a sure sign that there is +something wrong. You should take----" + +"Oh! I don't want any medicine, thank you," interrupted McGuilp. "I +assure you I am all right. A little loss of appetite, as you say; +perhaps from the sudden change in the weather, which always affects me +more or less. The fact is, I didn't sleep very well last night, and----" + +"Yes, I can see _that_," continued Dr. Bleedem. + +By this time the other members were getting interested, and our artist +found himself suddenly the cynosure for all the scrutiny of the club. +How he cursed the doctor's officiousness! Why couldn't he mind his own +business? + +"Yes, now you mention it, doctor, I can see that our young friend does +_not_ seem quite up to the mark to-day," remarked Mr. Oldstone. + +"By his appearance I should say the young gentleman had something on his +mind," suggested Mr. Hardcase. "His countenance seems sicklied o'er +with the pale cast of thought," quoted Mr. Blackdeed from his favourite +author. + +Then each member had something to say in turn, till our artist felt +himself blushing up to the roots of his hair. In vain did he give +himself a twisted pinch in the fleshy part of his leg under the table. +The blush would rise, and there was no checking it. He fancied he could +see the members give side glances one to the other, or trying to conceal +a smile; but this may have been imagination. + +Breakfast being now over, each member rose from the table, some +gathering round the fire, one or two of them peering out into the murky +gloom. Then Helen entered to clear away the breakfast things. She, too, +seemed less lively than her wont, her face paler, and she went about her +domestic duties mechanically, with downcast eyes. + +"Why, Helen, my girl," exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, "you don't look as bright +as usual. Have _you_ been having a sleepless night? Have _you_ been +losing your appetite?" + +The girl looked up confusedly, and a deep blush suffused her face and +neck. The fame of Dr. Bleedem was great in the neighbourhood. She +believed herself to be in the presence of a man who could read the +secrets of her inmost soul, and that all attempts to mask them from his +scrutinising gaze would be worse than useless. + +"What has come to you young people of late, I don't know," continued Dr. +Bleedem. "Now, here is Mr. McGuilp, he, too, has been losing his +appetite, and suffering from insomnia." + +Oh! how our artist wished that the ground would open at his feet and +swallow him up. In vain he trod on his toes and turned his face towards +the window, as if peering into the snow that was now falling fast. His +ears continued to burn like fire, and all he could do, by mopping his +forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, was inadequate to keep back the +traitor blush. + +"Oh! oh!" muttered Dr. Bleedem to himself, whilst gazing from one to the +other. "Is that the way the wind lies?" + +The members now began to look sideways, one at the other. One of them +raised his eyebrows; another winked; a third suppressed a titter; but as +this all took place behind our artist's back, who was still looking out +intently at the snow, there was nothing to wound his sensibilities. + +At length Mr. Oldstone broke the silence. "When are you thinking of +beginning the copy of our Helen's picture, Mr. McGuilp?" + +"I? Oh yes, just so," replied our artist, waking up out of a reverie. +"Well, the fact is, we are most unfortunate in the weather. It is +impossible to begin if it continues like this. Should it clear up later, +I will at once set to work." + +"Good. And now gentlemen, what do you all propose doing to while away +the time? A rubber of whist, a game of chess, backgammon, or what?" +inquired the antiquary. + +After a little discussion, it was decided that Dr. Bleedem, Professor +Cyanite, Mr. Crucible, and Mr. Oldstone, should form a party at whist. +Mr. Blackdeed and Mr. Hardcase played a game of chess, while the poet +and the painter, not being disposed to join in any game, retired into a +corner together, and were soon deep in a discussion upon the arts of +painting and poetry. A couple of hours passed away, and still the +members were absorbed, each in his favourite pursuit, when the weather +began to clear up, and the sun shone brightly. + +This decided our artist to set about his allotted task; so breaking off +the conversation with his poet friend, he repaired to the studio, and +placing a clean canvas, the same size as that of the portrait, upon the +easel, he commenced his copy; and here we will leave him to continue his +task for the present. + + * * * * * + +Over a fortnight had passed since we left our artist at his work. The +task was now completed. He had found it necessary to have one or two +extra sittings from Helen herself on the copy, just to give more truth +to it, as he said. However, as everything on this earth comes to an end, +there was an end also to these sittings. + +"Helen," said our artist to his model at the last, "I must go. My +affairs call me back to Italy. I have been keeping my studio on all this +time, and I have certain business to settle which will brook no delay." + +Helen's countenance fell, and her lip quivered. Her eyes grew moist and +downcast. In a voice that she endeavoured to render firm, she ventured +to inquire: "And will it be for long, sir?" + +"For very long, Helen? Perhaps for ever." + +Helen had no answer to this. Her sobs were choking her. The tears stole +silently down her cheeks, but she whisked them away with her +handkerchief, and did her best to appear outwardly calm. + +Our artist, too, felt a lump in his throat, and his eyes suffused with +tears. + +"Perhaps, sir," meekly suggested the girl, "when you have settled all +your affairs abroad, you may think of taking a holiday, and be paying us +a flying visit, just to see Mr. Oldstone and the other gentlemen, you +know. I'm sure both father and mother will be glad to see you again." + +"I am afraid not, Helen. I am afraid not," and our artist slowly and +sadly shook his head. + +"What! _never_--never again!" almost shrieked the child. + +Here she broke down completely. All restraint and propriety flew to the +winds. Nature, till now trampled upon and held in abeyance, at this +point rebelled and relieved herself in a torrent of the bitterest sobs +and tears. + +"Helen! dear Helen! What is this?" cried McGuilp, running to her +assistance, his own tears falling fast the while! + +"Oh! what a brute I have been! Quick, rouse yourself. There are +footsteps in the passage. Somebody is coming." Thus warned, there was a +sudden mopping of eyes and blowing of noses, when the door opened, and +Dame Hearty presented herself to ask if Helen could be spared to assist +her in the kitchen. + +"Oh! certainly," replied our artist, averting his face and busying +himself with putting away his palette and brushes, whilst assuming a +firm voice. "Yes," continued he, still turning his back, "I think I may +say that I have finished with her now. This is the last sitting in fact. +There is the copy I intend to present to the club. This one here is the +first one, which I am going to keep for myself. Which of the two do you +prefer, Dame Hearty?" + +In this way he rattled on to hide his confusion. Helen had slipped +noiselessly away, bathed her face in cold water, and returned to the +kitchen. + +"Well, sir," replied Dame Hearty, in answer to our artist's question, "I +really don't know what to say. They are both so lovely, there's not a +pin to choose between them." + +Then, scanning our artist's countenance, she observed: + +"You appear to have a bad cold, sir." + +"I am afraid I have, Dame Hearty," said McGuilp; "the weather has been +very uncertain, and I think I must have committed some imprudence." + +"Let me make you a basin of gruel, sir. No? It's a capital thing, and +you should keep out of all draughts, and----" + +"And keep my bed, perhaps you'll tell me, my good woman," interrupted +McGuilp. "No, no; I've no time to coddle. Do you know, Dame Hearty, I +must be off to-morrow to London by the stage, as I have to return to +Rome without further delay. Already I am long after my time." + +"So soon! Why, you _have_ paid us a short visit," exclaimed the hostess. +"Well, sir, you knows best. All I can say is that my husband and I will +be most glad to see you again, when next you be passing this way." + +A knock at the door, and our host entered to ask if he might be allowed +to see the copy. + +"Certainly, my good host, here it is," said McGuilp. + +Jack Hearty went into ecstacies over it, saying he didn't know which he +liked best. + +"Mr. McGuilp says he is off again to-morrow, Jack," began our hostess. + +"Yes," broke in McGuilp. "What time does the stage start? Early? I'd +better begin my packing at once," and off he went to his bedroom to make +preparations. + +The fact was, he wanted to be alone, for it was an effort to keep up a +cheerful appearance with a sad heart. He locked himself within his room, +and having collected together a few articles of clothing--enough to +fill his valise, he threw himself into an arm-chair and gave himself up +to meditation. + +It will be remembered a few pages back that our artist accused himself +of behaving like a brute towards his model. In this he did himself +injustice. He had never deliberately set about gaining the affections of +this simple village maiden. Any base design against her was the farthest +from his thoughts. He admired her innocence and beauty, and wished that +it might never lose its unsullied purity. He had never dreamed of +actually falling in love with her, child as she was, and his conduct had +been always that of a fond parent towards a pretty child. He little +recked of any danger, either to her or to himself, but he found her +beauty gain upon him day by day, till at length he was fairly in the +toils. Yet he had never spoken to her of love. No, not a word. He +_would_ not. He had no desire that the girl should fall in love with +him, nor would it be politic for him to fall in love with her. Wrong her +he would not. Marry her he could not. For, besides hampering himself as +a struggling artist with a wife and family, he dreaded quarrelling with +almost the only relation he had living: a rich uncle; from whom he had +expectations, and who would most decidedly consider that he had dragged +the family name in the mire by marrying the daughter of a country +innkeeper. In what way, then, it will be asked, did he think he had +acted brutally towards the girl? This is what he blamed himself for: +First, for allowing himself to be carried away with feelings of love +towards the girl, however secretly; and then for incautiously allowing +her to discover his secret. For, although he had not spoken of love, you +may depend upon it that he had _looked_ it, and it was not difficult for +her to read in his burning glances the secret of his soul. Love leads to +love. He, too, read in the soft eyes, the heaving bosom, the stifled +sigh, the deepening blush, and other tell-tale signs that she loved +_him_. Thus, each had learned the other's secret. They had spoken to +each other with their eyes, and thus just as much mischief had been +wrought as if the most courtly phrases had been used. He had not +intended that his glances should be understood, but they _were_. Thus he +blamed himself. + +Matters being thus, there was no other remedy but flight. It would be a +wrench, both for himself and for the girl, but the kindest thing in the +end. In fact, it was his only course. So, having hurriedly finished his +packing, he went downstairs to inform the members of the club of his +intention. + +It may easily be conceived how unwelcome was the news, for our artist +had made himself extremely popular with all, and was looked upon as a +great acquisition as a story-teller. Mr. Oldstone, in particular, +exhausted all his powers of persuasion to yet delay his departure, but +he found him obdurate. The good antiquary, who was an old bachelor, had +grown to love our artist as a son; and now that the hour of parting had +come, it rent him sore. + +In the evening a farewell carousal was given in his honour, in which +several bowls of punch were discussed; much tobacco smoked; a few +speeches made; several anecdotes related; a song or two; besides some +atrocious puns, with much laughter and witty conversation, until the +utterance of all grew somewhat thick; and we regret to add that the +worthy chairman, in his laudable attempts to do honour to his young +protege, had to be assisted upstairs and put to bed in a state decidedly +mellow. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +The next morning broke clear and frosty, without a cloud in the sky. + +"What bitter mockery!" thought McGuilp, as he looked on the beaming face +of Nature, and contrasted it with the feelings he bore hidden in his +breast. "A day like yesterday would have been more in harmony with my +soul." The sun actually smiled on his departure. + +"Good morning, my young friend!" cried the cheery voice of Mr. Oldstone +as they entered the breakfast room together; "it is a fine day for you." + +Our artist nodded assent, and having shaken hands with all the members +in turn, seated himself at the breakfast table, and tried to keep up a +cheerful appearance, but his smile was hollow, and his face was pale. + +"I wish you would let me give you a little opening medicine, Mr. +McGuilp," broke in Dr. Bleedem, in the midst of a lull in the +conversation; "it would soon set you to rights." + +Our artist persisted that he _was_ all right, and required nothing. + +"H'm, h'm," muttered the doctor to himself with a shake of the head, as +much as to say, "You don't fool _me_." + +Conversation then took a general turn, and our artist was allowed to +finish his meal unmolested. + +Breakfast was hardly concluded when a horn was heard in the distance. +"There's the stage!" cried one of the members. + +"'The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,'" quoted Mr. Blackdeed from his +great poet; but the quotation fell flat on the ears of our artist, who +had grown a shade paler. + +"I am quite sure, Mr. McGuilp," went on the irrepressible Doctor +Bleedem, "that if you were to follow my advice----" + +"There, that's enough, Bleedem. Leave the boy alone," broke in Mr. +Oldstone. "Here comes the stage. God bless you, my boy. Take an old +man's blessing with you. I know I shan't see you again this side of +Time. I'm getting old; I know it; I feel it. But write me as soon as you +get to Rome to say you have arrived safely; and here is a letter to my +old friend Rustcoin, which please give him with your own hands when you +see him. There, good-bye, good-bye." Here the kind old antiquary mopped +his eyes, gave our artist a fatherly pat on the back, and followed him +to the door. + +"Good-bye, sir, and I hope we shall meet again." This was all our artist +could find to say. + +The coach had now driven up, and McGuilp had to undergo once more the +ordeal of shaking hands. This was rather a trial, for although there +could be no doubt as to the sincerity of the regret that each member +felt at his departure, and the cordiality of their good wishes, yet +there was one thought alone that now occupied his mind, viz., that of +tearing himself away from his fair model. + +Whether the members guessed this, and out of bare humanity wished to +give him a chance to say a few words alone with his lady-love, we know +not; but, having wished their guest God-speed, they left him, and +surrounded the coach. Some of them patted the smoking horses; one had a +word with the driver; others seemed to scrutinise the travellers and the +vehicle. Our host and hostess stood at the door of the inn, and wished +their late guest a happy journey and a speedy return, to which our +artist responded by a hearty shake of the hand and a few appropriate +words. + +The landlord was then called off to serve the driver with a mug of ale, +but before he went he called out to his daughter, who was hiding herself +behind her mother in the passage, "Now, then, Helen, my girl, the +gentleman is going, and wants to bid you good-bye." + +Helen now came forward, pale and trembling, while Dame Hearty, perhaps +guessing the state of things, prudently retired, thus leaving the young +couple to say a word to each other in private. + +"Good-bye, Helen, my girl, and may God bless you," was all our artist +could trust himself to say at the last; but his sad glance and the +tender squeeze he gave her dimpled hand spoke volumes. + +"Good-bye, sir," faltered the child, now choking with sobs; "good-bye, +and may you be happy." Then breaking down altogether, she rushed inside +and was seen no more. Our artist looked after her for a moment as if +dazed. + +"Now, then, sir," cried the driver, "come along if you're coming; we're +off." + +McGuilp, thus roused, threw his cloak around him, pressed his hat over +his eyes, and hastily mounted. Crack went the whip, off went the horses, +and our artist was swiftly borne from the scene where he had passed so +many happy hours, midst cheering and waving of hats, to which he +graciously, but with an aching heart, responded. He was now alone with +his own thoughts, and barely glancing at the shifting wintry landscape +as it flashed passed him, was in no humour to exchange commonplaces with +his fellow passengers. Here we will leave him for the present, and +return to our inn. + +The members of the club, with the exception of our antiquary, who had +remained behind to finish a letter for the post, had resolved upon a +woodland ramble, and were chatting lightly by the way. + +"Yes, yes; there is no doubt about the poor lad being hard hit," said +one. "I noticed it from the first." + +"So did I," put in another. "In good time he bolted, for these sort of +things never end well when allowed to go on ahead." + +"Of course, marrying her would be out of the question altogether, +looking at it from any point of view," remarked a third; "besides, +there's her age. Why, she's a mere child." + +"True," observed a fourth, "and even supposing her to have been of a +marriageable age, he, being but a struggling artist, wholly dependent on +his profession, and doomed to eke out a precarious living by the sale of +his pictures, what else but misery could there be in store for either of +them by such a union?" + +But here we will leave them to continue their ramble and their gossip. + +It has been stated above that our antiquary had remained behind to +finish a letter. Having waved his last adieus to his young protege, and +waited till the coach had disappeared in the distance, he returned to +the breakfast room with a sigh, muttering to himself, "Poor boy! poor +boy!" He then collected his writing materials, but the breakfast things +had not yet been cleared away. + +Presently Helen entered, and proceeded to clear the table. Her face was +pale, but calm; her eyes downcast. Our antiquary appeared not to notice +her overmuch, but was secretly scanning her countenance. At length, when +the table was quite clear, and Helen returned with a fresh log for the +fire, he slowly advanced towards her, and placing his right hand on her +head and his left on her right shoulder, whilst he toyed for a moment +with her bright curls, he remained for some moments in silence. The +action was that of one invoking a blessing. Then seizing her right hand +in both of his, and raising it to his breast, he gave it a gentle +squeeze; then dropped it and turned away, still without a word. + +Now, poor Helen's heart was full to overflowing, in spite of her +outwardly calm demeanour. She was in possession of a weighty secret, +which seemed too heavy for her to bear alone. Yet who was there to share +it with her? She had no friend of her own age to whom she could open her +heart and into whose sympathetic ears she could pour forth her woes. Her +parents, much as she loved and respected them, did not seem to her to be +the sort of people likely to give her that sympathy she yearned for. +They would laugh at her, reprove her perhaps, and tell her roughly to +get all that rubbish out of her head at once, etc. Not a soul had she in +the world to whom she could cling, or from whom she could expect one ray +of comfort. As to her secret being discovered by the other members of +the club, this she dreaded most of all. She could imagine their banter, +their coldness, or their sneers. Dr. Bleedem, too, who would prescribe +her physic, and promise to make her all right again, provided she +followed his course of treatment. + +Love is by nature reticent, and not willing to make its secret common +property. Rather than divulge its sacred feelings to the first +light-hearted outsider it will prefer--oh, how infinitely!--to bear its +own burden alone--aye, if need be, even to the grave. + +Never before in all her life did Helen need a friend and comforter as +she did now, when, lo, in the very nick of time, there came to her this +kindly old man whom she had known from her earliest childhood, who had +dandled her on his knee, and never passed her without a kind word. He, +who seemed to have read her heart, now came forward with his silent +blessing, like an angel sent from Heaven to comfort her. This was just +what she needed. This mute expression of sympathy from someone whom she +felt could understand her. She construed his silence thus: "There, +there, my pretty child; we understand each other, don't we? You see, +I've guessed your secret, and you may be sure that it will be safe in my +keeping. I am not surprised. These things are common to youth, and very +hard to bear for the time, but take comfort. Everything has its day. +This, too, will pass in time. Cheer up; try and forget it. What! you +can't? Oh, yes you will--not all at once--no; but take courage. This is +your first great grief; but the world is full of trials, and we are sent +here on purpose to bear them. No one escapes them altogether; but rest +assured that you will always find a friend and comforter in Obadiah +Oldstone." + +This, and much more, did the child understand by the antiquary's silent +magnetic touch. Her heart overflowed with gratitude, and she was unable +longer to control herself, but, bursting into the most passionate sobs, +she covered her face with her hands and was making for the door when +Oldstone called her back. + +A Spanish proverb says, "He who loves you will make you weep." Helen had +proved the truth of this adage. + +"Come, my girl," said Oldstone; "am I such an ogre that I need scare +you? Come to an old man, and pour forth all its pretty griefs. We used +to be such friends, you know. Did you think I didn't guess your secret +all along? We old men of the world have sharp eyes, and very little +escapes us. Well, well; I am not surprised, you know. The young man who +left this morning was comely, and a gentleman, besides a man of talent +and resources. It is not difficult to understand how a young and +susceptible child like yourself, having never seen anyone else but old +fogies like us, should suddenly take a fancy to a smart young---- + +"Oh! sir," broke in Helen, in agony, "he is gone--gone for ever, and I +_did_ love him so." + +"Love! my child! why, at your age you oughtn't to know the meaning of +the word." + +"I didn't, sir, till quite lately. I had heard of it from others, and +read about it in books; but, oh! Mr. Oldstone, I didn't know it was like +this." + +Here the poor distracted girl began beating her breast with her clenched +fist, and gazing upwards with tearful eyes, in which there was an +expression of the wildest despair, till the kind old man began to be +seriously alarmed for her sanity. + +"Hush! hush! my girl," he said in soothing tones; "don't give way so. +Calm yourself." + +"How can I be calm," screamed the girl, "when he has gone for ever, and +I shall never, never see him again!" + +"Well, my dear, and a good job too. The best thing that could happen to +you both," said the antiquary, "though you won't think so now; but mark +my word, Helen, this will pass over, and the sooner the better for you +both, for these sort of cases lead to no good, you may depend upon it." + +"Why, sir," asked the girl, "is it then a sin to love?" + +"A sin, my precious!" exclaimed Oldstone; "no, I can't say that. +But--but--there is always danger in it." + +"What danger, sir?" + +"Well, my dear, there are certain things that are very difficult to +explain to one so young. When you grow older----" + +"Oh! sir, why cannot you tell me now--you, who know the danger?" + +"Yes, my dear, I should just think I did," observed the antiquary. +"There are shoals and pitfalls that beset the young, and they would do +well to listen to the voice of warning ere it is too late, and profit by +the experience of others, rather than trouble themselves about the _why_ +and the _wherefore_ of everything." + +"Then you mean to say that love _is_ wrong after all," observed Helen. + +"Not as long as it remains love," replied Oldstone, "but people may +_make_ it so." + +"How? I don't understand." + +"Perhaps not, my dear. You have much to learn yet. I mean, people _will_ +talk, and you can't stop them. The world can only judge by appearances. +It _might_ misjudge you. It might put a false construction on your +conduct, however innocent." + +"But that would be wrong, unjust, and cruel." + +"Perhaps so, my dear. It very often is." + +"Are the gentlemen of the club the world?" + +"Yes, part of it." + +"Would they tell stories about me?" + +"If they thought they saw anything suspicious in your conduct." + +Helen reflected for a moment and then said, "I don't know what they +could find suspicious in my conduct." + +"No, my pet, neither do I," answered the kind old man with a benevolent +smile. "The fact is, there are so many people in the world who find +other people's business more interesting than their own; and even when +they are unable to find a flaw in their neighbour's character, they will +make one. Therefore, avoid the appearance of evil." + +"Still, I don't understand," began Helen. + +"No, my dear, and what's more, I can't explain," observed the old man. +"But _this_ I can tell you. The brute world, in cases of love, exacts +marriage as the hallmark of respectability. It can see nothing but harm +in the love of two young pure souls, however platonic--I mean innocent. +They look upon it as dangerous, to say the least, and the only way to +satisfy them and avoid scandal is to _marry_." + +"I never thought about marrying," said Helen. "Cannot two persons love +each other just the same without either thinking of marriage?" + +"They _could_ I suppose, but the world would soon make it hot for them. +They would have to pay for defying the world." + +"Pay!" + +"Yes, and dearly too. Pay for it by seeing the finger of scorn +directed towards them--the cold shoulder of respectability and +self-righteousness; by being forced to listen to vile gossip and +scandalous reports; shunned by those far viler than themselves; bear up +against the ribald jeers of the vile populace, till their lives become a +burden to them, and they would finally be compelled to confess that they +would have done better for their own peace and comfort if they had +humoured the vile rabble and _married_." + +"Does love without marriage mean all that?" + +"I am afraid it does, my girl; I am afraid it does. At least, I wouldn't +advise you to brave the world. It isn't worth it. If you can't marry, +you had better not encourage love." + +"I don't see that it matters to them if I love or if I don't," observed +the girl. + +"Neither do I, my dear," answered her counsellor, "and if people would +mind their own business, the world would be happier." + +"It seems so mean and paltry to be always prying into other people's +affairs. I can't tell why they do it. I am sure I should never take the +trouble. How is it, Mr. Oldstone?" + +"My dear," replied the old man, "I can't tell you how these things are, +but so they are." + +At this juncture the voice of Dame Hearty was heard calling for her +daughter. The door then opened, and the head of our hostess appeared. + +"Come now, Helen," cried our worthy dame, rather petulantly, "I have +been looking for you all over the house. You knew I was waiting for you +in the kitchen." + +"Don't blame her, mother," interceded the kind antiquary. "It is all +_my_ fault. I have been detaining her perhaps over long, just for a +friendly chat." + +"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. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +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! here _was_ a 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, the elasticity 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 AEsculapius 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 his legs, 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 same time, 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 protege." + +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 this _chef d'oeuvre_. + +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 the _Athenaeum_, being a critique in which his work was extolled to +the skies, and alluded to as _the_ picture 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 face in _her_ +household--not _she_. 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 that _our_ daughter +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 it _did_ seem strange, and suggested that perhaps all that 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, "I _knew_, 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 than _I_ love _him_. _That_ were impossible." + +"And you're not afraid of confessing as much to _me_, you brazen hussy?" +demanded the old man, playfully chucking her under the chin. + +"To _you_, you know I am not," replied the girl. "To you, sir, I feel I +could, nay, I _must_, tell everything, and oh! it _is_ such 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 love _me_." + +"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, _dying_ for him, if need be? Who shall tear his image from my +heart, through whatever trials I may have to pass for _his_ sake?" + +"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 think _I_ could be so base, Mr. Oldstone," cried the +girl, recoiling in horror. + +"No, my dear. That is the very last thing I should believe of _you_," +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 protege. When the +letter was concluded, our antiquary reperused it, carefully dotting each +_i_ and crossing each _t_, 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 the _Athenaeum_ enclosed, 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 her portrait. It was as if she had said, + 'Lo, he has become great, and all through _me_. _My_ face it was that + inspired him to achieve such fame. _My_ prayers 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! + There _must_ be 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! I _do_ + begrudge 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! _duty_ indeed. 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 protege. 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 in the 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 make _you_ unhappy." + +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 +provoking _sang 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 something _is_ wrong, 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +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 a _furore_ last exhibition at the + Royal Academy, whilst taking a trip in the Sabine Mountains, in the + vicinity 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 own little +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 of _that_ wheel," 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 his hands 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. "Certainly not, 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 propose that 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +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 my delay 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 'Cafe 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 prescribed + me 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! I _do_ wish 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." + +"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 think what 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? + + "(_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. He then 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, marry do 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, 'How _very_ strange! Really, this is + _most_ interesting. 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 lord and 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 it _were_ our +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 door of 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 a _sip_ to 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 with +_ennui_, to vegetate day after day in this wilderness; yet leave the +place without her I _will_ not." + +"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 naturally would 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +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 soon succeeded 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. + +[Illustration: THE DUEL] + +From out the darkness a cloaked figure, with broad sombrero drawn down +tightly over his eyes, suddenly emerged, 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. + +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 drew _his_ sword, 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 and +debauchee 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 to the 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! They _did_ me +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 +that _my_ daughter 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--that _she_, poor child, should be subjected to 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 who _he_ was. _That_ I 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 off _my_ Helen! 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 something crisp, 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 be _here_! 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 I _had_ to be very + near you last night, though you knew me not. I had heard from the + gossip of the village that a 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 ever _should_ get over it----" + +"Nonsense! doctor. She _must_ get over it, if _I_ myself 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. "If _she_ dies under your +treatment, doctor, I shall never----" + +"Under _my_ treatment!" exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, with vehemence. "God +bless the man! She'ld die all 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. If _I_ fail, 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 Lord Scampford, 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 be the 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! you _are_ pulled 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. + +"_Do_ to 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 of _him_, 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 I don'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, _I_ think, 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 was _he_----" + +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! Does _he_ then 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 so much 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. I _know_ +he is here, and I _insist_ upon 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 him _now_, _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 people _might_ talk." + +"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 protege, 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 his +_inamorata_ after 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 rescued _my_ daughter from those 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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +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 the back, and laughing," +exclaimed Parnassus. "What _can_ be 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, and +regard 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. A _too_ +intimate 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 calls _love_--love, I say, that speaks not of +marriage is denounced as _sin_ by 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 towards _you_, nothing but harm and unhappiness can be +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, "_dear_ Van, my own sweet love +for ever and ever! Oh! Van, you _have_ made 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 there _no_ love 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, _dear_ Van!" cried the maiden, in ecstasy, "I will believe all +you tell me. _I_ know nothing, but I _feel_ you 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 anything _I_ can give you, my angel," said her lover. + +"How kind you are to talk like that Van! How you _must_ love me to go +against the wishes of your friends and leave everything and everybody +for me!" exclaimed the girl. Then added, "You are _quite_ sure that 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, as _my_ wife, 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 lips _did_ meet; 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 fiancee 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 role of instructor to the fair bride of his protege, 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 delays _would_ occur, however, in +spite of all our hero could do to hurry on the event, for we know that +"the course of true love never _did_ run smooth," but at length the +happy day arrived. How merrily pealed the bells from the 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_. The bridal 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 protege, 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 make _me_ +this 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 I _was_ present when Mr. Oldstone told his story," +said Helen; "but I am sure I don'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. + + + + +L'ENVOI. + + +A universal gloom pervaded the precincts of the Wonder Club since the +departure of the happy pair, which none felt more than Mr. Oldstone. Not +but that he was delighted at the union of his protege with the +landlord's pretty daughter, whom he begrudged to anyone short of a +gentleman. That his dear Helen, whom he loved as his own child, should +have had the good fortune to marry, not only a gentleman, but the very +one that he himself would have singled out for her, was the realization +of his happiest dreams. He knew they were happy, and revelled in the +thought of their happiness. Still, they had gone out of his life and +formed one of their own, apart. Her sunny smile would no more light up +the dingy walls of the old hostel. He would hear no more the ring of her +merry laugh, could no longer peer into her deep blue eyes, nor delight +in her exquisitely white teeth, her rosy cheeks or coral lips; and added +to this, his health that had for some time past been failing him, now +thoroughly broke down, and he knew his end was not far off. So he penned +a letter to his friend Rustcoin, who was still living in Rome, to come +over to see him before he died, as he had much to say to him. + +Besides the breaking down of our antiquary's health, the club itself, as +if by one accord, began to break up. Mr. Blackdeed went to London and +became manager of a large theatre. Dr. Bleedem also retired to a +fashionable quarter of the metropolis, where he soon had an extensive +practice. Mr. Parnassus became editor of a paper at Bath, and published +a volume of poems. Professor Cyanite and Mr. Crucible likewise +disappeared. The former travelled about the country giving lectures on +geology. The latter bought a house near town, where he pursued his +studies in chemistry. + +Thus our antiquary was now left quite alone; _i.e._, with the exception +of Mr. Hardcase. He managed to pass the time by writing voluminously, as +if he intended to finish some important work before he died. In his +intervals of rest from his labours, he would frequently take solitary +rambles in the woods adjacent to the inn, or along one of the cross +roads. On one of these excursions his footsteps led him to the old +churchyard of Littleboro' with its old yews and cypress. As he entered +the gate, the sexton was at work digging a grave. The man ceased his +labour at his approach; and, seating himself on the edge, began to fill +his pipe, which he next lighted and began puffing at, apparently +oblivious of anybody's presence. + +It must be stated that the sexton was looked upon as a character in the +village. Certainly he was a strange looking object. He was very old and +decrepit, exceedingly bow-legged, had a bald, mis-shapen head. Was +toothless, hollow-eyed, with features that suggested a skull. He was +stone deaf, and had, moreover, acquired a habit of uttering his thoughts +aloud, whoever might be present, perfectly unconscious that he could be +overheard. If addressed, he never gave himself any trouble to catch the +meaning of his interlocutor, but always fluked an answer such as he +deemed ought to fit the question. + +Thus, when our antiquary approached with a "Good morning, Delves. Hard +at work, I see. Whose grave may you be working at, now?" he received for +answer, "Thank you, sir; I'm very well. Yes, as you say, it _be_ +remarkable fine weather for this time o' the year, sure_ly_." + +"But I didn't make any remark about the weather, Delves," persisted +Oldstone. "You didn't understand me." + +The sexton made no reply, nor looked the antiquary in the face, but +muttered very audibly to himself, "That be one o' them old fools of the +Wonder Club--_Wonder Club_, indeed; ha! ha!" Here he gave vent to a +mocking laugh. Then, "He should see some o' my wonders." + +Our antiquary was accustomed to the eccentricities of this worthy, who +was generally looked upon as a harmless idiot; but when he heard the +Wonder Club sneered at, he took deep offence, and was about to utter +some rebuke, when the grave-digger began muttering again to himself, and +Oldstone, whose curiosity was being roused, forbore to speak, and +thought he would listen instead. + +"A little knows I seed un's corpse candle last night, he, he! Ay, he'll +be the next. They can't, none o' them, fool me. Whenever they've got to +die, old Delves allers sees their corpse candles fust. Wasn't I right +before Lord Scampford and his bully met with their death, eh? Didn't I +say that only one on' o' 'em ud be buried in this here churchyard, and +wasn't one on 'em buried in that there corner just as I prognosticated, +and didn't I see the corpse candle of 'is lordship go along the road +towards London? They allers lets me know beforehand, my customers. Now, +there's this here gent, the _h_antiquary, as they calls him--if I didn't +see 'uns corpse candle last night a leavin' the _h_inn o' the ''Eadless +Lady,' and settle down on this wery spot where 'e's a standin', I'll be +shot, that's all. If a's not doo to-morrer, or next day, 'e's doo within +this week. I never knowed one live more nor a week after I'd seen 'uns +corpse candle." + +Our antiquary, now intensely interested, determined to interrogate him +anew, so he bawled out as loud as he could in his ear, making a trumpet +of his hands, "Whose grave did you say that was?" + +"Yourn, zur," replied the sexton, with a grin. + +"Mine!" exclaimed the antiquary, starting back: "but I'm not dead yet." + +"Not dead yet--ain't ye; he, he! Well, you soon will be; ho, ho! I'll +give ye three days. I don't think ye'll last longer nor that; but +there's where you've got to lie, willy-nilly," said the sexton, pointing +to the grave. + +"You are making very sure of me," remarked the antiquary, with a grim +smile. + +"Ay, by ----, I am," rejoined the grave-digger, "for when I've once seen +a man's corpse candle----" + +There is no knowing how much longer the conversation might have lasted, +if at this moment two villagers had not entered the churchyard, so +Oldstone, not wishing to be overheard, nodded to the sexton, and added, +"Till we meet again." He then bent his steps towards the inn, and, +arriving there, was greeted by his friend Rustcoin, who had just +arrived. It was years since these two friends had met, and doubtless +each found the other vastly changed. + +"Why, surely, old friend, you are not so bad as you try to make out," +observed Rustcoin. "You look hale and hearty still. You are up, and +walking about." + +"Well, do you know how much longer they give me to live?" asked +Oldstone. + +"No. Who?" inquired Rustcoin. "The doctor?" + +"Well, not exactly. A prophet." + +"A prophet, eh? That's interesting; and who may this prophet be, if I +might ask?" + +"The grave-digger." + +"The grave-digger! What does he know about it?" + +"Says he saw my corpse candle last night, and he is at this moment +digging my grave on the strength of it." + +"My dear fellow, you're joking. Pray, don't give these sort of people +any encouragement in their antiquated superstitions. You were always +given a little that way yourself, I remember." + +"Come, let's go inside, and have lunch together. You are, doubtless, +hungry," said Oldstone. "We'll have a good long chat over our meal." +Then leaning on his friend's arm, both entered the inn. + +Our host and hostess were, of course, delighted at the arrival of the +long-absent member, and many allusions were made to old times. Dame +Hearty hastily laid the cloth, brought in the lunch of cold beef and +pickles, the remains of a rabbit pie, some bread and cheese, with a jug +of nut-brown ale, home-brewed and left the two companions to themselves. + +"And so our young friend, Vandyke McGuilp, has gone and made a d----d +fool of himself," said Rustcoin, after a pause in the conversation. +"Well, I thought him a more sensible man. What! one of _his_ talent and +position to sink himself to the level of a dish-clout! Why! it's sheer +madness." + +"My dear fellow; don't talk like that," cried Oldstone. "If you'd only +seen the girl, I assure you----" + +"Bah! I make no doubt but that she's pretty--that's not the point. You +won't pretend that she was any better educated than the rest of her +class," maintained Rustcoin. + +"Educated! _educated!_" exclaimed Oldstone. "She had something in her +far beyond what _you_ would call education--by which you probably mean +book learning, or that flimsy social veneer which anyone can acquire +who chooses to move within the radius of a certain narrow circle, where +all is artificial, unreal, cold, hypocritical, and false. This is a girl +of character, truth-loving, sweet, and unselfish--pure as an +angel--intelligent, and with fine sensibilities." + +"Nonsense," broke in Rustcoin, testily. "These country wenches are ever +stubborn, hard-headed, self-interested, exacting, undocile, unteachable. +Peasant she was born, and peasant she will remain to the end of her +days. God help the poor idiot with such a one for a mate! She may be +well enough as a wife to some country bumpkin, but for any rational +being to hamper himself with one of these clods----" + +"But she's not one of these clods," persisted Oldstone. "I tell you this +is quite an exceptional case." + +"Just because she is pretty, forsooth," interposed Rustcoin. "I believe +you are gone on her yourself." + +"Oh! as for me--I love her as my own daughter," replied Oldstone. "I've +seen her grow up from a child, and have had plenty of time to study her +disposition. I have ever found her dutiful to her parents, diligent in +her duties, naturally intelligent, and of the highest principle. Her +surroundings have not been altogether those that fall to the lot of a +girl of that class, and she possesses all the qualities that any +rational man should expect in a wife." + +"Such a paragon as you describe, I confess, never came within my +experience, and I have gone through something in my youth. More than +once I have been on the point of making a fool of myself. At the time, I +thought my goddess the most perfect being in creation, but I was soon +undeceived in every case, and now I thank my stars that I have always +managed to steer clear of trouble, and have remained an old bachelor." + +It was the third day since Rustcoin had appeared upon the scene, since +which time Oldstone had been sinking fast. At this moment he was seated, +propped up by cushions, in an easy chair, in dressing gown and night +cap. His friend Rustcoin was by his side, receiving instructions as to +the publication of a pile of MSS, whilst Mr. Hardcase, the lawyer, whom +we have mentioned as still being on the spot after the others had left, +was now engaged in putting the antiquary's will into legal form. + +Dr. Bleedem having retired to London, his successor, Dr. Dosemore, had +been called in to attend the patient. He could do no more however than +his predecessor had done--viz., to warn him of his approaching end +informing him that he would succumb to internal gout, which would +encroach upon his system, until it reached the heart, when it would take +him off suddenly. The new doctor had just left the room, and the +antiquary was addressing his old friend in feeble tones, as follows:-- + +"This pile of MSS," he said, "is a collection of tales, which I have +jotted down from memory as nearly as possible in the words of the +narrators, and which I desire to be bound and published, under the +title of 'Tales of the Wonder Club, by Dryasdust.' I believe I am +conferring a boon upon society in rescuing these precious documents from +oblivion, and publishing them broadcast, for the benefit of humanity at +large. See that they be illustrated by the first artists of the day, so +that the book may obtain all the readier sale. So shall my soul rest in +peace, and my blessing remain with those I leave behind. Tell my young +friend Vandyke that my last thoughts were of him and his fair bride." +Then extending one hand to his friend Rustcoin and the other to the +lawyer, he sank back on his cushions and spoke no more. + +"So he has gone at last, the poor old gentleman," said Hardcase, +disengaging his hand from that of the corpse. + +"Ay, just _three days_ from my arrival, as predicted by the +sexton--strange, isn't it?" remarked Rustcoin. "What a fine old head it +is. It's a pity a cast should not be taken of it. I should so like to +possess a bust of my old friend." + +"Nothing is easier," said the lawyer. "I will get the new doctor to take +one. I know he can, because he told me so." + +Dr. Dosemore was immediately recalled, and before the day was over, a +successful mould was taken of the face, which, with as little delay as +possible, Rustcoin despatched to Rome, to a sculptor friend of his of +some renown, with injunctions to execute for him a bust of his old +friend, in the best Carrara marble, with pedestal of scagliola. + + * * * * * + +The bell was tolling at the old church of Littleboro'. A solemn +procession, all clad in deep mourning, entered the churchyard gate, and +followed the coffin to the grave. The sexton was at his post, bearing a +certain air of triumph about him, as if he were saying to himself, +"There, I told you so. They can't none of 'em fool me. What I perdicts +is _sartin_." + +The same old vicar who so lately had joined together the hands of our +hero and heroine in holy matrimony has now a sadder task to perform. Our +host and hostess, of course, are present, as well as our friends +Hardcase, Rustcoin, and the new doctor, besides several strangers. All +stand reverently bareheaded during the reading of the burial service, +until the usual three handfuls of earth are strewn upon the coffin, +after which the sexton, with a deft and businesslike, though hardly a +reverent manner, tumbles the earth hurriedly on to the top of the +coffin, and all is over. + +Soon after the ceremony Rustcoin and Hardcase take leave of each other, +and likewise of our host and hostess, when each departs by a different +route. Rustcoin returns no more to Rome, but settles in York, his native +town, where he purchased a house, which he has been at some pains to fit +up according to his tastes. Over the mantelpiece in his study hangs the +portrait of his brother antiquary, painted by our artist, Vandyke +McGuilp, while in a corner of the room is a well executed bust in the +best Carrara white marble, representing the same features. He has also +inherited the whole of his friend Oldstone's collection of antiquities, +which are now added to his own, and make, together, a very respectable +museum, which he is ever proud of showing to his visitors when they +call. + + * * * * * + +Let us now return to the hostel of the "Headless Lady," where our host +and hostess are left alone in their glory, for even Mr. Hardcase has at +length taken his departure and settled in some neighbouring town. They +are seated at some distance apart from each other, no longer looking +tenderly and lovingly into each others' faces as of yore, but askance, +as if they had had some matrimonial quarrel, which neither felt inclined +to be the first to make up. Jack Hearty's hands are thrust deeply into +his pockets, his legs extended, his brows knit, and his eyes fixed upon +the ground; while his spouse, usually so active and so busy, to whom +nothing was greater pain than being forced to be idle, was now lolling +in a listless attitude, her arms dangling idly at her sides with an +expression on her face of the most intense boredom. One who knew them +both would no longer recognise in these two melancholy persons our +jovial host and hostess of former days. + +"Tell you what it is, Molly," began Jack, at length, "D----d if I don't +think this house is haunted." + +"Why so, Jack?" enquired the dame, wearily. + +"Have you not noticed since Mr. Oldstone's death--nay, before--ever +since our dear Helen left her home, that a curse seems to have fallen +upon this house?" demanded Jack. + +"True, I feel an unaccountable depression of spirits, but still I +thought it nothing but the weather," rejoined his spouse. + +"It's not that only," persisted her husband. "Fair or foul weather, it +is just the same to me. See how our custom has fallen off." + +"Naturally; now that the members of the club have all departed," replied +Molly. "It's lonely like, not seeing a human face all day long." + +"It's worse than that," continued Jack. "Haven't you felt--well, I don't +know how to say it--as if--as if--some danger were hanging over our +heads?" + +"Lor, Jack!" cried our hostess, "Who'ld ever have thought to hear _you_ +talk like that? Well, Jack, to tell you the truth--though I never liked +to mention the matter before, for fear you should laugh at me--I confess +I never _have_ felt quite myself since the night of that tragedy." + +"That's it. Depend upon it," said her husband. "The spot has become +accursed. I lose my appetite and sleep; feel weak and nervous; start at +the merest sound, while ever and anon I have the sensation as if +someone were looking over my shoulder. If perchance I shut my eyes, I +see before me all that took place upon that fearful night. I hear the +stairs creak, and see that ruffian clasping our dear Helen in his arms. +I hear her screams for help, whilst I seem to see myself lying drugged +and helpless, incapable of running to her assistance." + +"Oh, Jack! and so have I," replied his spouse. "I too have dreamed that +dream. It will not go from me. Each time I close my eyes---- Hark! What +was that? A footstep, I'll be sworn." + +"Ay, ay," assented Jack; "I hear them oft, myself." + +It was now growing late, and our host went to fetch a jug of his own nut +brown ale, and filled himself up a glass, which he drained at a draught, +then filled himself up another. + +"You drink more than you used to, Jack," remarked the wife of his bosom. +"I've seen you look very muddled of late. Don't let it grow upon you. +Don't, now, there's a dear." + +But to his wife's tender injunctions he turned a deaf ear, and continued +to fill up again and again, and yet again, until he was perfectly +mellow. + +"Oh! Jack, Jack," cried Dame Hearty, despairingly, "I knew how it would +be. Don't, don't; you'll break my heart." + +"What the ---- does it matter to you?" demanded her husband, "'s long 's +I leave you alone (hic)." + +Here some altercation took place between the two which we will not +record; as, in such moods, our landlord was rarely very choice in his +language. It was with considerable difficulty that Dame Hearty succeeded +at length in getting her worse half upstairs and to bed. + +We grieve to be obliged to record that on the following night there was +a repetition of this painful scene, and the night after that, too. In +spite of his poor wife's prayers and entreaties, he grew from bad to +worse. Jack Hearty had become a confirmed drunkard. When in his cups his +nature appeared completely changed. He who, up to the present, had +enjoyed the reputation of being the kindest and most loving of husbands, +the most genial of men, had now become morose, coarse, blasphemous, +cantankerous, and cruel. His poor wife was in despair, and could do +nothing but cry or go into hysterics. + +It was one stormy night, when our host of the "Headless Lady" had +dragged himself upstairs more intoxicated than ever, that he let fall +the candle, which immediately set fire to the bed curtains, and in an +instant the room was in flames. Our host was so dazed as to be incapable +of saving himself, and if it had not been for Dame Hearty's presence of +mind, who managed to drag her husband downstairs in time, both might +have perished in the flames. + +The position of the inn, as we know, was isolated. Before help could be +procured the fine old hostel, that had stood for centuries, and whose +walls had resounded so long with the mirth and laughter of our jovial +members, was now a charred and shapeless ruin. + + * * * * * + +"Well, Jack, I hope you're satisfied now," said his better-half, as the +loving couple tucked themselves into a spare bed at the house of a +neighbour, who had taken them in out of charity. + +Our host was now quite sober, having had to walk a mile at least through +the bleak wind and driving snow, so he turned, in a humbled and penitent +manner, towards his wife, crying, "Oh, Molly, Molly, how can you ever +forgive me? Oh! what a fool I have been! If I had only listened to you +at first. But, there--it's the drink--the cursed drink--that makes a +beast of a man. I vow I will never touch a drop of drink again as long +as I live." + +"Dear Jack, I believe you," replied his spouse. "Be your old self +again," and with one loving kiss all past troubles were forgotten. + +"Ah! Molly, Molly, you're something like a wife. Never will I for the +future give you any cause for complaint." + +And he kept his word. Jack Hearty was a reformed man. + + * * * * * + +We now approach the end of our story. Our hero and heroine, after a +prolonged honeymoon in the sunny south, which to Helen was like a dream +of Paradise, found themselves reluctantly compelled to return to England +in order to superintend certain matters of business connected with their +country house and estate. Soon after their return, our married couple, +wishing to give the old people an agreeable surprise, proposed paying +them a visit in their carriage and pair, at their old home, the +"Headless Lady." What was their surprise and dismay, on their arrival, +to find, in lieu of the time honoured hostel, _a blackened ruin_! + +"Good Heavens!" cried husband and wife, simultaneously, "what can have +become of the old people?" Tears started to the eyes of Helen at the +thought of the scenes of her childhood and of the many happy hours she +had spent within those old walls; but anxiety for the fate of her +parents filled her soul. Enquiries having been made, Jack Hearty and his +wife were tracked to the house of a neighbour in the village. + +"Father! Mother!" cried the grand lady, stepping out of her carriage; +and, throwing all ceremony to the winds, she embraced them both with the +fondest affection, while the liveried coachman and footman exchanged +glances together. + +"Tell us how all this has happened," said our artist; "but first step +into the carriage, and we will drive home. You must come and stay with +us." + +Neither his father nor his mother-in-law possessed anything but what +they stood upright in, and were not long in making up their minds, so +stepping into the carriage, and waving an adieu to their hospitable +neighbours, were soon borne out of sight. + +"Well, Jack," said our artist to his father-in-law, after he had +listened to a detailed account of the latter's misadventure, as they +were sitting together that evening in the cosy parlour of our hero's +country house, the two ladies having retired to the drawing-room to +enjoy their own private gossip, "of course I am sorry for your loss, and +for the old inn itself, which I had calculated making a picture of some +day; but really, under the circumstances, I look upon it as +providential." + +"Providential!" exclaimed the _ci-devant_ landlord, in astonishment. +"What! the destruction of the home of my fathers by fire, through my +idiotic folly and besotted drunkenness, providential!" + +"Jack, my boy, you were but the instrument, and no responsible agent," +continued his son-in-law. "From what you tell me, the house was most +undoubtedly haunted--the air vitiated and poisoned as by a pestilence, +from having been the seat of deep crime. I know something of these +phenomena, and I have always heard and read that there is no thorough or +lasting purification in such cases save by _fire_. Take, for example, +the Fire of London. That broke out, providentially, after the Plague, in +order to purify the City. The burning of your inn was a necessity, as it +had been rendered uninhabitable through being haunted, and you were +chosen as the instrument." + +"Why! Good Heavens!" cried Jack Hearty, drawing his chair suddenly +back, and looking straight into the face of his son-in-law, while a fat +hand rested on each stout knee. "To think that that should never have +occurred to me before! Why, of course, it must have been so. I see it +all as plain as a pike-staff." + +"You were not yourself, Jack, on that occasion," pursued our artist. +"You were _beside_ yourself, which means that your will, already +unfeebled, was subjugated by some outside power--viz., the will of some +disembodied spirit stronger than your own, who made use of you as his +instrument." + +"It is quite true, sir," replied Jack, "I was _not_ myself at the time. +Well, well--it is some consolation to think it _had_ to be done, and +that there was no way out of it." + +Here the ladies re-entered the room, and the conversation took another +turn. + +"Now, Jack," proposed McGuilp, before all present, "since matters have +turned out thus, what do you say to becoming steward of my estate--my +man of business--caretaker of my house when I am away, and live here +with the missus to the end of your days?" + +"Oh, sir!" exclaimed Jack Hearty and his wife together, "you overwhelm +us with kindness. How can we ever repay you our debt of gratitude?" and +tears started to the eyes of the old couple. + +"Then so be it," said the now rich landowner. + +"Dear, _dear_, Van!" exclaimed his young wife, as she threw herself upon +his neck and covered him with kisses. "You have made me _so_ happy." + +And so it was that the little family party jogged on from day to day as +united as birds in a nest. + +Jack Hearty was a good man of business, and an honest, and the post +suited him to a T. Dame Hearty's delight was naturally to cook and to +wash, or in undertaking any of those rough duties that she had been +accustomed to in her former life, but as these were not +necessary--others having been engaged for that purpose, she was +entrusted with the keys of the house, and became an excellent +housekeeper, loved and respected by those under her. + +Had our artist entirely abandoned art now that he had succeeded to his +uncle's fortune and estate? Far from it. First and foremost among the +improvements that he made was the building of a spacious studio, which +he fitted up in a manner worthy of his taste and his means. In this he +executed his great picture, which created such a _furore_ on the +following year at the Royal Academy, entitled, "Captured by the +Brigands." The English captive in the composition was a faithful +likeness of our artist himself, whilst the bronzed features of his +captors, which were deeply impressed upon his memory were as like to the +originals, our artist assures us, as if they had sat for them. The time +is represented as towards evening. The light and shade powerful. The +whole effect of the picture weird and unearthly. An offer had been made +for it, but the would-be buyer was informed that it was not for sale. So +it was hung up in the parlour of the artist's own country house, +according to the wish of his loving wife, who liked constantly to be +reminded of this weird episode in the life of the man she loved. + +Time wore on, and not a quarrel, not a difference of opinion even arose +to mar the happiness of this loving pair, when one fine morning a great +event transpired. The lady of this household presented her liege lord +with a son and heir, a fine healthy boy, who was christened John, after +his grandfather, and never called other than Jack by his parents. +Despite her household duties, Mrs. Vandyke McGuilp always managed to +find time to pursue her studies, while her natural intelligence and +application were such that the progress she made under her husband's +tuition, was simply marvellous. In a few years the McGuilps purchased a +house in town in a fashionable quarter, and the "at homes" or +"conversaziones," as they were called in those days, of Mrs. Vandyke +McGuilp, were the talk of all the _elite_. Helen now felt herself called +upon to enact the _role_ of a grand lady, and in this her natural +dignity, intelligence, and sweetness of disposition, enabled her to +succeed to perfection. + +Little more remains to be told. After a few seasons in town, and having +run the usual curriculum of operas, balls, parties, concerts, visiting, +and even presentation at court, the sameness and artificiality of such +an existence palled upon these two artless and ingenuous lovers of +nature, so the house in town was at length given up, and our artist +retired into the country, where he gave up his time more thoroughly to +the study of his art, working ever with increased ardour through the +kind encouragement and sympathy of his loving wife. + +Nor was Mrs. Vandyke McGuilp forgetful of her old friends. She fondly +cherished the memory of her dear Mr. Oldstone, her friend and adviser, +and it grieved her that she had not been able to be near him and attend +upon him during his last moments on earth. She had also made the +acquaintance of Mr. Rustcoin, who frequently called upon them. Had even +been to their "at homes" when they lived in London. This gentleman had +become quite reconciled to the idea of his friend Vandyke McGuilp's +marriage with the daughter of a country innkeeper, and agreed with his +friend Oldstone that this was quite an exceptional case. He had even +been heard to declare before a company of friends that the most charming +woman he had ever met for intelligence, natural grace, sound sense, good +heartedness, tact, and _savoir faire_, was the wife of his friend Mr. +Vandyke McGuilp. + +A few years later, when it fell to Mr. Rustcoin's turn to pay the debt +of nature, this gentleman recollecting how fondly the memory of his +friend Oldstone was cherished by those two charming people, the +McGuilps, having presented his large collection of antiquities to his +native city of York, bequeathed to our friends both the bust and the oil +picture of his brother antiquary, which latter, our readers will +remember, was painted by the hand of our artist himself. + +Our friend Rustcoin has now long gone to his rest, and both bust and +portrait of Mr. Oldstone adorn the country mansion of the McGuilps. +Among other cherished relics of their friend is a bound and illustrated +work conspicuously placed in their library, entitled: "Tales of the +Wonder Club," by Dryasdust, out of which volume little Jack McGuilp +often pesters his mother to read a story to him. + + + + +CONCLUSION. + + +In conclusion, let me beg the reader to accompany me in imagination to +the site of the once far-famed old Elizabethan hostelry, "The Headless +Lady" and what do we see? Alas! not even the old blackened ruin is there +to mark the spot. All, _all_, has been swept away by the ruthless hand +of modern civilisation. + + "She cries, a thousand types are gone, + I care for nothing, all shall go." + TENNYSON. + +How is the whole face of the country changed! The stately elms and +beeches, with the rooks' nests lodging in their branches, have been cut +down to satisfy the greed of this utilitarian age. The land has been +bought up in our time by a railway company, and crowded trains, with +their screeching railway whistle, rush over the very site of this +ancient hostelry, whose walls once resounded with the songs and applause +of our friends of the "Wonder Club." Not even the picturesque old church +of Littleborough has been spared. Being pronounced unsafe, it was pulled +down, and on its site erected a modern Baptist chapel, in all that +unsightly ugliness of style so cherished by dissenters. How strange that +religious bodies should have such execrable taste. Telegraph lines cross +and recross each other in every direction, and railway bridges, tunnels +and aqueducts abound on all hands. + +[Illustration: THE QUAKER] + +The town of Muddleton-upon-Slush, once little more than a village, has +swelled to the proportions of a prosperous factory town, with its smoky +chimneys, its gasometers, its rows upon rows of jerry-built houses, its +new town hall, its salvation army barracks, its police station, its +chapels of every conceivable denomination, to say nothing of its +numerous public-houses, young men's Christian association, its baths and +wash-houses, its low theatre, where questionable pieces are represented +by indifferent actors to pander to the modern taste. Then its placards +and pictorial advertisements, who shall tell? But, enough. As for the +old fashioned honest English rustic of the past, with his sturdiness of +character and devout unquestioning faith in matters of religion, _his_ +genus is quite extinct; you may possibly stumble upon his fossil in a +stratum of London blue clay. He has been superseded by quite a distinct +species--the modern blackguard, with his blatant scepticism and +blasphemous irreligion. + +It might have been some forty years ago since the author, who was +travelling on a matter of urgent business on this line, was roused in +the midst of a reverie by the guard calling out, "Muddleton-upon-Slush! +Any passengers for Muddleton?" As this was my destination I descended, +and was about to cross the railway bridge when I observed an aged and +reverend looking individual, whose low crowned hat with its broad brim, +and the severe cut of whose sad coloured clothes proclaimed him a member +of the "Society of Friends," a genuine quaker of the true old fashioned +stamp, long since extinct. He was in earnest discourse with the porter, +and as I passed him I caught these words, uttered in tones deliberate +and slow, as one who has the whole day before him, and sees no necessity +for hurry, and which contrasted strangely with the bustle and confusion +going on around him. + +"Prithee, friend, canst thou direct me to the ancient hostel of the +'Headless Lady'?" + +"The _what_? The ''Eadless Lady.' No, sir. There ain't no public 'ouse +about 'ere of that name," was the porter's curt reply. "But if it's a +glass of _h_ale you want, sir, there's the '_H_angel and the _H_eagle,' +the '_H_elephant and Castle,' and the----" + +"Doubtless, friend," interrupted the reverend individual, "there are +enough and to spare of those abominations, those dens of iniquity that +the lost sheep of the house of Israel denominate public houses; but +know, friend, that it is not ale I seek, seeing that I am a follower of +one Rechab, who, as doubtless thou wilt have read in Holy Writ, indulged +neither in wine nor strong drink." + +The porter's face throughout this sententious speech was a study. His +eyes and mouth gradually opened till they reached their utmost limit. +Then suddenly recollecting that his manner might appear rude, he broke +in with: + +"Well, sir, if you should prefer a good rump steak and a cup of tea, I +could recommend----" + +"Verily, friend," again interrupted the quaker, "thou comprehendest me +not, for neither doth my soul hanker after the fleshpots of Egypt, but +having a taste for antiquarian lore, I would fain revisit that spot of +historic interest once seen in my youth, but of which I have now no +clear recollection, namely the hostel of the 'Headless Lady.'" + +"''Eadless Lady'! ''_Eadless Lady_'! Why, God bless my soul, sir, where +_h_ever do you 'ail from? Why, now I come to think of it, I remember to +have 'eerd my grandfather speak of it. Lor, sir, it's been burnt down +this 'alf a century ago." + +"Burnt down!" exclaimed the antiquary, in extreme vexation. + +"Yessir," replied the porter, briskly, "burnt down by the landlord +hisself, when in his cups, as I've heered say--down to the wery ground. +There, sir, is the spot, where I'm p'inting. Yessir, that's where it +stood. This here line runs right bang over the wery site of it." + +"Bless me!" cried the disappointed quaker in dismay, "and have I left my +peaceful home, that I havn't stirred out of for years to hear this? +Verily, all is vanity." + +Here he would have begun a homily on the evils of intemperance, had not +the guard interrupted him with: + +"Yessir, I remember to have 'eerd my grandfather say, when I was a kid, +on'y so high" (here he lowered the palm of his hand to within a couple +of feet of the platform), "as 'ow the 'ouse was 'aunted by the ghost of +a nun, as valked about vith 'er 'ead _h_under 'er _h_arm, but that's a +long while ago, that is. No, sir, you may depend upon it, there _h_ain't +no 'eadless ladies valking about now, sir. _Ve_ don't believe in 'em +nowadays." + +With this, he took up a rasping iron bell, which he rang so vigorously +that the peaceful quaker was fain to stop his ears and hurry from the +spot as fast as his legs could carry him. + +"Poor old gent," muttered the porter, to himself, as he looked after +him, "'e _h_ain't _h_up to date, no 'ow." + + +FINIS. + + + * * * * * + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + + +1. Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. + +2. Images have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the closest +paragraph break. + +3. Punctuation has been normalized. + +4. Certain words in the text use an oe ligature in the original. + +5. The following misprints have been corrected: + "importaut" corrected to "important" (page vii) + "Ron" corrected to "Rod" (page 405) + "litttle" corrected to "little" (page 441) + "Senor" corrected to "Senor" (page 453) + "vengance" corrected to "vengeance" (page 487) + "portege" corrected to "protege" (page 562) + "my" corrected to "may" (page 597) + "upon upon" corrected to "upon" (page 603) + "physican" corrected to "physician" (page 619) + +6. Other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in +spelling, hyphenation, and ligature usage have been retained. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III, by +M. Y. Halidom (pseud. 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