“FRANK, I am not at all satisfied about your sister,” began Oaklands, as the door closed after her. “She does not look well, and she seems entirely to have lost her spirits.”
“I thought as you do before I went up for my degree,” replied I; “but since my return I hoped she was all right again. What makes you imagine her out of spirits?”
“Oh! several things; she never talks and laughs as she used to do. Why, all this afternoon I could scarcely get half a dozen words out of her; and she seems to have no energy to do anything. How unwilling she appeared to enter into my scheme about the riding! She evidently dislikes the idea of exertion of any kind: I know the feeling well; but it is not natural for her; she used to be surprisingly active, and was the life and soul of the party. But what, perhaps, has caused me to notice all this so particularly, and makes me exceedingly uncomfortable, is, that I am afraid it is all owing to me.”
“Owing to you, my dear Harry! what can you mean?” inquired I.
“Why, I fear that business of the duel, and the great care she and your mother took of me (for which—believing as I do that, under Providence, it saved my life—I can never be sufficiently grateful), have been too much for her. Remember, she was quite a girl; and no doubt seeing an old friend brought to the house apparently dying, must have been a very severe shock to her, and depend upon it, her nerves have never recovered their proper tone. However, I shall make it my business to endeavour to interest and amuse her, and you must do everything you can to assist me, Frank; we'll get all the new books down from London, and have some people to stay at the Hall. She has shut herself up too much; Ellis says she has; I shall make her ride on horseback every day.”
“Horseback, eh!” exclaimed Lawless, who had entered the cottage without our perceiving him. “Ay, that's a prescription better than all your doctor's stuff; clap her on a side-saddle, and a brisk canter for a couple of hours every day across country will set the old lady up again in no time, if it's your mother that's out of condition, Frank. Why, Oaklands, man, you are looking as fresh as paint; getting sound again, wind and limb, eh?”
“I hope so, at last,” replied Harry, shaking Lawless warmly by the hand; “but I've had a narrow escape of losing my life, I can assure you.”
“No; really I didn't know it had been as bad as that I By Jove, if he had killed you, I'd have shot that blackhearted villain, Wilford, myself, and chanced about his putting a bullet into me while I was doing it.”
“My dear Lawless, I thank you for your kind feeling towards me; but I cannot bear to hear you speak in that light way of duelling,” returned Oaklands gravely; “if men did but know the misery they were entailing on all those who cared for them by their rash acts, independently of all higher considerations, duelling, and its twin brother, suicide, would be less frequent than they are. When I have seen the tears stealing down my father's grief-worn cheeks, and witnessed the anxious, painful expression in the faces of the kind friends who were nursing me, and have reflected that it was by yielding to my own ungoverned passions that I had brought all this sorrow upon them, my remorse has often been far harder to bear than any pain my wound has caused me.”
At this moment, my mother and Fanny making their appearance, I hastened to introduce Lawless, who, being greatly alarmed at the ceremony, grew very red in the face, shuffled my mother into a corner of the room, and upset a chair against her, stumbling over Harry's legs, and knocking down the chessboard in the excess of his penitence. Having, with my assistance, remedied these disasters, after stigmatising himself as an awkward dog, and comparing himself to a bull in a china-shop, he turned to Fanny, exclaiming:—
“Delighted to have the pleasure of seeing you at last, Miss Fairlegh; it is several years since I first heard of you. Do you remember the writing-desk at old Mildman's, eh, Frank? no end of a shame of me to spoil it; I have often thought so since; but boys will be boys, eh, Mrs. Fairlegh?”
My mother acquiesced in this obstinate adherence to their primary formation on the part of the junior members of the nobler sex with so much cordiality that Lawless was encouraged to proceed. “Glad to find there's a chance of seeing you out with us some of these days, ma'am; shall we be able to persuade you to accompany us to-morrow?”
“Yes, I think it very likely that I may go,” returned my mother, who imagined he was referring to some proposed drive; “in what direction will it be, pray?”
“Direction, eh? Why that of course depends very much on what line he may happen to take when he breaks cover,” returned Lawless. My mother, who had been previously advised of Lawless's sporting metaphors, concluding that the “he” referred to Sir John Oaklands, calmly replied:—
“Yes, certainly, I was mentioning the ruins of Saworth Abbey to Sir John yesterday; do you know them?”
“I should think I did—rather,” exclaimed Lawless, forgetting his company manners in the interest of the subject. “Why, I have seen more foxes run into in the fields round Saworth than in any other parish in the country. Whenever the meet is either at Grinder's End or Chorley Bottom, the fox is safe to head for Saworth. Oh! I see you're up to the whole thing, Mrs. Fairlegh; we shall have you showing all of us the way across country in fine style to-morrow. 1 expect there'll be some pretty stiff fencing though, if he should take the line you imagine, but I suppose you don't mind anything of that sort; with a steady, well-trained hunter (and a lady should never ride one that is not), there's very little danger—take care to keep out of the crowd when you're getting away; don't check your horse at his fences; have a little mercy on his bellows over the heavy ground; and with a light weight like yours you might lead the field. Why, Frank, you ought to be proud of Mrs. Fairlegh. I tell you what—the first time the hounds meet near Leatherly, I'll have my mother out, whether she likes it or not. I'll stand no nonsense about it, you may depend; she shall see a run for once in her life, at all events. Mrs. Fairlegh, ma'am,” he continued, rising and shaking her warmly by the hand, “excuse my saying so, but you're a regular brick—you are indeed!”
The scene at this moment would not have made a bad study for a painter. Oaklands, having struggled in vain to preserve his gravity, was in fits of laughter. Fanny, who had from the first perceived the equivoque, was very little better, while my mother, completely mystified, sat staring at Lawless, whom she evidently considered a little insane, with an expression of bewildered astonishment, not unmixed with fear. As soon as I could contrive to speak (for Lawless's face, when he had discovered the effect he had produced, completely finished me, and I laughed till the tears ran down my cheeks), I explained to him that it was my sister, and not my mother, who was thinking of riding, while the notion of hunting originated wholly and solely in his own fertile imagination.
“Eh? What! she doesn't hunt?—ah! I see, put my foot in it pretty deep this time; beg pardon, Mrs. Fairlegh—no offence meant, I assure you. Well, I thought it was a very fast thing for an old——I—that is, for a lady to do. I fancied you were so well up in the whole affair, too: most absurd, really; I certainly am not fit for female society. I think, when the hunting season's over, I shall put myself to one of those tip-top boarding-schools to learn manners for a quarter; the sort of shop, you know, where they teach woman her mission—(how to get a rich husband, eh, Frank?)—for three hundred pounds a year, washing and church principles extra, and keep a 'Professor' to instruct the young ladies in the art of getting out of a carriage on scientific principles, that is, without showing their ankles. Didn't succeed very well with my sister Julia, though; the girl happens to be particularly clean about the pasterns, so she declared it was infringing on the privileges of a free-born British subject, vowed her ankles were her own property, and she had a right to do what she liked with 'em, and carried out her principles by kicking the Professor's shins for him. Plucky girl is Julia; she puts me very much in mind of what I was when I was her age at Eton, and pinned a detonating cracker to old Botherboy's coat-tail, so that, what between the pin and the explosion, it's my belief he would have found himself more comfortable in the battle of Waterloo, than he felt the first time he sat down. Ah! those were happy days!”
Thus running on, Lawless kept us in a roar of laughter, till Oaklands, pulling out his watch, discovered it was time to return to the Hall, and prepare for dinner. It turned out, on examination, that the habit did require altering, so the ride was put off till the necessary repairs should be executed. As the next day proved too frosty to hunt, Lawless and I, under the auspices of the head-keeper, set to work to slaughter the supernumerary pheasants, Sir John and Harry joining us for a couple of hours, though Ellis would not allow the latter to carry a gun. We had a capital day's sport, and got home just in time to dress, and Sir John having contrived in the course of the afternoon to carry off my mother and Fanny, we were a very comfortable little party. Sir John took my mother down to dinner, and Lawless paired off with Fanny, an arrangement which, as his eccentricities evidently afforded her great amusement, I was not sorry for.
“Why, Fanny,” whispered I, when we joined the ladies in the drawing-room, “you are growing quite frisky; what a row you and Lawless were making at dinner-time! I have not heard you talk and laugh so much for many a day.”
“Oh! your friend is famous fun,” replied Fanny—“perfectly irresistible; I assure you I am delighted with him—he is something quite new to me.”
“I am so glad you have asked Lawless here,” observed I to Oaklands; “do you see how much pleased and amused Fanny is with him?—he appears to have aroused her completely—the very thing we were wishing for. He'll be of more use to her than all of us put together.”
“He seems to me to talk a vast deal of nonsense,” replied Harry, rather crossly, as I fancied.
“And yet 1 can't help being amused by it,” replied I; “I'm like Fanny in that respect.”
“I was not aware your sister had a taste for that style of conversation. I confess it's a sort of thing which very soon tires me.”
“Splendid old fellow, Sir John,” observed Lawless in an undertone, seating himself by Fanny; “I never look at him without thinking of one of those jolly old Israelites who used to keep knocking about the country with a plurality of wives and families, and an immense stud of camels and donkeys: they read 'em out to us at church, you know—what do you call 'em, eh?”
“One of the Patriarchs, I suppose you mean,” replied Fanny, smiling.
“Eh—yes, that's the thing. Noah was rather in that line before he took to the water system, wasn't he? Well, now, if you can fancy one of these ancients, decently dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, knee shorts and silk stockings, like a Christian, it's my belief he'd be the very moral (as the old women call it) of Sir John; uncommonly handsome he must have been—even better looking than Harry, when he was his age.”
“Mr. Oaklands is so pale and thin now,” replied Fanny.
“Eh! isn't he just?” was the rejoinder. “Many a man has been booked for an inside place in a hearse for a less hurt than his; and I don't know that he is out of the wood, even yet.”
“Why, you don't think him worse?” exclaimed Fanny anxiously. “Nothing has gone wrong—you have not been told—are they keeping anything from me?”
“Eh! no! 'pon my word; Ellis, who is getting him into condition, say's he's all right, and will be as fresh as a colt in a month or two. Why, you look quite frightened.”
“You startled me for a moment,” replied Fanny, colouring slightly; “any little relapse renders Sir John so uncomfortable that we are naturally anxious on his account.”
“I am sure Lawless is boring your sister,” observed Oaklands, who had been sitting quite at the farther end of the drawing-room, cutting open the leaves of a new book. “I know that worried look of hers so well:—I shall go and interpose on her behalf.—Lawless,” he continued, crossing over to him, “the billiard-room is lighted up, if you like to challenge Fairlegh to a game.”
“Billiards, eh?” returned Lawless; “why, really, if you had walked as many miles to-day as I have, I don't think you'd much fancy trotting round a billiard-table. Besides, I'm very well off where I am,” he added, with what was intended for a gallant glance towards Fanny; “here's metal more attractive, as the fellow says in the play.”
Oaklands' only reply was a slight curl of the lip, and, turning to Fanny, he said, “Are you at all inclined to take your revenge? We shall have time for a good game if we begin at once; will you come into the music-room, or shall I fetch the chess-men here?”
“Is it not rather late?” replied Fanny hesitatingly.
“Not if we begin now,” returned Oaklands.
“Mr. Lawless was offering to show me some tricks with cards; as they will not take so long a time as a game of chess, perhaps that would be most advisable this evening.”
“Whichever you prefer; I will ring for cards,” replied Oaklands coldly. He then waited until the servant had executed the order, and, as soon as Lawless had attracted public attention to his performance, left the room unobserved.
Wonderful things did the cards effect under Lawless's able management—very wonderful indeed, until he showed you how they were done; and then the only wonder was that you had not found them out for yourself, and how you could have been stupid enough to be taken in by so simple a trick: and very great was Lawless on the occasion, and greater still was Ellis, who was utterly sceptical as to the possibility of performing any of the tricks beforehand, and quite certain, as soon as he had seen it, that he knew all about it, and could do it easily himself, and who, on trying, invariably failed; and yet, not profiting one bit by his experience, was just as sceptical and just as confident in regard to the next, which was of course attended by a like result. Very wonderful and very amusing was it all, and much laughter did it occasion; and the minutes flitted by on rapid wings, until my mother discovered that it was time for us to start on our walk to the cottage, a mode of progression of which Sir John by no means approved; he therefore rang the bell, and ordered the carriage. While they were getting it ready Harry's absence was for the first time observed, and commented on.
“Did anybody see when he left the room?” inquired Sir John.
“Yes,” replied I, “he went away just as Lawless began his performances.”
“Dear me! I hope he was not feeling ill,” said my mother.
“Ill, ma'am!” exclaimed Ellis, “impossible; you don't know Mr. Oaklands' constitution as well as I do, or such an idea could never have occurred to you; besides, you can't for a moment suppose he would think of being taken suddenly ill without having consulted me on the subject. I must go and see after him, ma'am, directly, but it's quite impossible that he should be ill;” and as he spoke he left the room with hurried steps.
“My dear Fanny, how you made me jump! I hope you haven't done any mischief,” exclaimed my mother, as Fanny, moving suddenly, knocked down the card-box, and scattered the contents on the carpet.
“I am sadly awkward,” returned Fanny, stooping to pick up the box; “I do not think it is injured.”
“My dear child, it does not in the least signify,” said Sir John, taking her kindly by the hand; “why, you have quite frightened yourself, you silly little thing; you are actually trembling; sit down, my dear, sit down—never mind the cards. Frank, if you'll ring the bell, Edmunds will see to that.”
“No, no! we'll pick 'em up,” exclaimed Lawless, going down on all fours; “don't send for the butler; he's such a pompous old boy; if I were to see him stooping down here, I should be pushing him over, or playing him some trick or other. I shouldn't be able to help it, he's so jolly fat. What a glorious confusion! kings and queens and little fishes all mixed up together!—here's the knave of clubs—hail-fellow-well-met with a thing that looks like a salmon with a swelled face! Well, you have been and gone and done it this time, Miss Fairlegh—I could not have believed it of you, Miss Fairlegh, oh!”
“Mind you pick them up properly,” retorted Fanny; “if you really were such a conjurer as you pretended to be just now, you would only have to say 'hocus pocus,' and the cards would all jump into the box again in proper order.”
“Then I should lose the pleasure of going on my knees in your service. There's a pretty speech for you, eh! I'll tell you what—you'll make a lady's man of me now, before you've done with me. I'm polishing rapidly—I know I am.”
“It's all right!” exclaimed Ellis, entering. “I found Mr. Oaklands lying on the sofa in the library; he says he feels a little knocked up by his walk this morning, and desired me to apologise for his absence, and wish everybody good-night for him. I say, Fairlegh,” continued he, drawing me a little on one side, “has anything happened to annoy him?”
“Nothing particular, that I know of,” replied I; “why do you ask?”
“I thought he looked especially cross; and he called our friend Lawless an intolerable puppy, and wondered how any woman of common sense could contrive to put up with him—that's all,” rejoined Ellis.
“Fanny refused to play chess with him, because she thought it too late in the evening;—that cannot have annoyed him?”
“Oh, no!” was the reply. “I see exactly what it is now: since the granulating process has been going on so beautifully in the side, his appetite has returned, and as he must not take any very active exercise just yet, the liver is getting torpid. I must throw in a little blue pill, and he'll be as good-tempered as an angel again; for, naturally, there is not a man breathing with a finer disposition, or a more excellent constitution, than Mr. Oaklands. Why, sir, the other day, when I had been relating a professional anecdote to him, he called me a 'bloodthirsty butcher,' and I honoured him for it—no hypocrisy there, sir.”
At this moment the carriage was announced, and we proceeded to take our departure, Lawless handing Fanny in, and then standing chattering at the window, till I was obliged to give him a hint that Sir John would not like to have the horses kept standing in the cold.
“You've made a conquest, Miss Fan,” said I, as we drove off: “I never saw Lawless pay such attention to any woman before; even Di Clapperton did not produce nearly so strong an effect, I can assure you.”
“I am quite innocent of any intention to captivate,” replied Fanny. “Mr. Lawless amuses me, and I laugh sometimes at, and sometimes with, him.”
“Still, my dear, you should be careful,” interposed my mother; “though it's play to you, it may be death to him, poor young man! I got into a terrible scrape once in that way myself, when I was a girl; laughing and joking with a young gentleman in our neighbourhood, till he made me an offer one morning, and I really believe I should have been persuaded into marrying him, though I did not care a bit about him, if I had not been attached to your poor dear father at the time: now you have nothing of that sort to save you; so, as I said before, my dear, mind what you are about.”
“I don't think Mr. Lawless's heart will be broken while there is a pack of hounds within reach, mamma dear,” replied Fanny, glancing archly at me as she spoke.
As we were about to proceed to our several rooms for the night, I contrived to delay my mother for a moment under pretext of lighting a candle for her, and closing the door, I said:—
“My dear mother, if, by any odd chance, Fanny should be inclined to like Lawless, don't you say anything against it. Lawless is a good fellow; all his faults lie on the surface, and are none of them serious; he is completely his own master, and might marry any girl he pleased tomorrow, and I need not tell you would be a most excellent match for Fanny. He seems very much taken with her; and no wonder, for she is really excessively pretty; and when she is in spirits, as she was to-night, her manner is most piquante and fascinating.”
“Well, my dear boy,” was the reply, “you know your friend best, and if he and Fanny choose to take a fancy to each other, and you approve of it, I shall not say anything against it.”
Whereupon I kissed her, called her a dear, good old mother, and carried up for her, in token of affection, her work-box, her reticule, her candle and a basket, containing a large bunch of keys, sundry halfpence and three pairs of my own stockings which wanted mending, a process which invariably rendered them unwearable ever after.
IT had been arranged between my mother and Oaklands, in the earlier part of the evening on which the events described in the last chapter took place, that Fanny should have her first ride on the day but one following, by which time it was supposed that the habit would be fit for service, and the young lady's mind sufficiently familiarised with the idea, to overcome a rather (as I considered) unnecessary degree of alarm which I believe would have led her, had she been allowed to decide for herself, to relinquish it altogether. The only stipulation my mother insisted on was, that I should accompany my sister in the character of chaperon, an arrangement to which, as it was quite evident that Lawless intended to form one of the party, I made no objection. Accordingly, on the day appointed, Oaklands made his appearance about ten o'clock, mounted on his favourite horse, and attended by a groom, leading the grey Arab which was destined to carry Fanny, as well as a saddle-horse for me.
“Bravo, Harry! it does one good to see you and the 'Cid' together again,” exclaimed I, patting the arched neck of the noble animal; “how well he is looking!”
“Is he not?” replied Oaklands warmly; “the good old horse knew me as well as possible, and gave a neigh of pleasure when first I spoke to him. Is Fanny nearly ready?”
“She will be here directly,” replied I; and the words had scarcely escaped my lips when she made her appearance, looking so lovely in her hat and habit, that I felt sure it would be all over with Lawless as soon as he saw her.
“Why, Fanny,” exclaimed Oaklands, dismounting slowly and with effort, for he was still lamentably weak, “I have not seen you in a habit so long, I declare I should scarcely have known you; the effect is quite magical.”
A smile and a blush were her only reply; and Oaklands continued, “Will you not like to mount now? Lawless will join us; but he means' to abandon us again when we get near Eversley Gorse, for the superior attractions of a run with the subscription pack.”
“Oh, I hope the hounds will not come in our way,” exclaimed Fanny; “if you think there is any chance of their frightening my horse, I had better not ride to-day.”
“I do not think you need feel the least alarm; though spirited, Rose Alba is perfectly quiet; besides, we are not bound to ride towards Eversley, unless you approve of doing so,” replied Oaklands.
As he spoke, Lawless rode up just in time to catch the last few words. He was dressed in an appropriate hunting costume, and sat his horse (a splendid black hunter, whose fiery temper rendered all those in whom the bump of caution was properly developed remarkably shy of him) as easily as if he formed part of the animal. As he checked his impatient steed, and taking off his hat, bowed to Fanny, his eyes sparkling, and his whole countenance beaming with pleasure and excitement, he really looked quite handsome. The same idea seemed to strike Fanny, who whispered to me, “If ever your friend has his picture taken, it should be on horseback”.
“Good-morning, Miss Fairlegh!” cried Lawless, as flinging the rein to a groom, he sprang from the saddle, and bounded towards us; “glad to see you in what I consider the most becoming dress a lady can wear—very becoming it is too,” he added, with a slight bend of the head to mark the compliment. “What did I hear you say about not riding to Eversley? You never can be so cruel as to deny me the pleasure of your company, and I must go there to join the meet. I would not have hunted to-day, though, if I had known you wished to ride in another direction.”
“It was only that Fanny was afraid the hounds might frighten her horse,” replied I.
“Oh, not the least danger; I'll take care of all that,” returned Lawless; “the little white mare is as gentle as a lamb: I cantered her across the park myself yesterday on purpose to try—the sweetest thing for a lady I ever set eyes on. You have got some good cattle in your stables, Harry, I must own that.”
“Hadn't we better think of mounting? Time will not stand still for us,” observed I.
“Let me assist you, Fanny,” said Oaklands, advancing towards her.
“Thank you,” replied Fanny, drawing back: “but I need not give you the trouble; Frank will help me.”
“Here, get out of the way!” cried Lawless, as I hesitated, fancying from the shade on Oaklands' brow that he might not like to be interfered with; “I see none of you know how to help a lady properly. Bring up that mare,” he continued, “closer—that's it; stand before her head. Now, Miss Fairlegh, take a firm hold of the pummel; place your foot in my hand—are you ready?—spring! there we are—famously done! Oh, you know what you are about, I see. Let me give you the rein—between the fingers; yes—the snaffle will manage her best; the curb may hang loose, and only use it if it is necessary; let the groom stand by her till I am mounted; the black horse is rather fidgety; soh! boy, soh! quiet!—stand you brute!—there's a good boy; steady, steady—off we go!”
As Lawless pushed by me at the beginning of this speech, Oaklands advanced towards him, and his pale cheek flushed with anger. Apparently, however, changing his intention, he drew himself up haughtily, and, turning on his heel, walked slowly to his horse, mounted, and reining him back a few paces, sat motionless as an equestrian statue, gazing on the party with a gloomy brow until we had started, when, suddenly applying the spur, he joined us in a couple of bounds, and took his station at Fanny's left hand. Lawless having appropriated the off side, devoted himself to the double task of managing the Arab and doing the agreeable to its fair rider, which latter design he endeavoured to accomplish by chattering incessantly.
After proceeding a mile or two, Lawless sustaining the whole burden of the conversation, while Oaklands never spoke a word, we came upon a piece of level greensward.
“Here's a famous place for a canter, Miss Fairlegh,” exclaimed Lawless; “lean a little more towards me—that's right. Are you ready?—just tickle her neck with the whip—not too hard—jerk the rein slightly—gently, mare, gently!—there's a good horse, that's it! Eh! don't you see she settles into her pace as quietly as a rocking-horse—oh! she's a sweet thing for a feather-weight;” and restraining the plunging of the fiery animal he rode, he leaned over, and patted the Arab's arched neck, as they went off at an easy canter.
I was about to follow their example, but observing that Oaklands delayed putting his horse in motion, it occurred to me that this being the first ride he had taken since his illness, the exertion might possibly be too much for his strength; I waited, therefore, till he joined me, when I inquired whether he felt any ill effects from the unwonted exertion.
“No,” was the reply. “I feel an odd kind of fluttering in my side, but it is only weakness.”
“Had you not better give it up for to-day, and let me ride back with you? I dare say Lawless would not care about hunting for once, and would see Fanny home.”
“I will not go back!” he replied sternly; then checking himself, he added in a milder tone, “I mean to say it is not necessary—really I do not feel ill—besides, it was only a passing sensation, and is already nearly gone.”
He paused for a moment, and then continued, “How very dictatorial and disagreeable Lawless has grown of late, and what absurd nonsense he does talk when he is in the society of ladies! I wonder your sister can tolerate it.” “She not only tolerates it,” returned I, slightly piqued at the contemptuous tone in which he spoke of Lawless, “but is excessively amused by it; why, she said last night he was quite delightful.”
“I gave her credit for better taste,” was Oaklands' reply; and striking his horse impatiently with the spur, he dashed forward, and in a few moments we had rejoined the others.
“I hope illness has not soured Harry's temper, but he certainly appears more prone to take offence than in former days,” was my inward comment, as I pondered over his last words. “I am afraid Fanny has annoyed him; I must speak to her, and give her a hint to be more careful for the future.”
Half an hour's brisk riding brought us to the outskirts of a broad common, a great portion of which was covered by the gorse or furze from which it took its name. Around the sides of this were gathered from sixty to eighty well-mounted men, either collected in groups, to discuss the various topics of local interest which occupy the minds of country gentlemen, or riding up and down in parties of two and three together, impatient for the commencement of their morning's sport; while, in a small clear space, nearly in the centre of the furze-brake, were stationed the hounds, with the huntsman and whippers-in. “There!” exclaimed Lawless, “look at that! Talk about operas and exhibitions! where will you find an exhibition as well worth seeing as that is? I call that a sight for an empress. Now are not you glad I made you come, Miss Fairlegh?”
“The red coats look very gay and picturesque, certainly,” replied Fanny; “and what loves of horses, with their satin skins glistening in the sunshine! But I wish Rose Alba would not prick up her ears in that way; I'm rather frightened.”
While Lawless was endeavouring to convince her there was no danger, and that he was able and willing to frustrate any nefarious designs which might enter into the graceful little head of the white Arab, a young man rode up to Oaklands, and shaking him warmly by the hand, congratulated him on being once more on horseback.
“Ah, Whitcombe, it's a long time since you and I have met,” returned Harry; “you have been abroad, I think?” “Yes,” was the reply; “Charles and I have been doing the grand tour, as they call it.” “How is your brother?”
“Oh, he's all right, only he has grown a great pair of moustaches, and won't cut them off; he has taken up a notion they make him look killing, I believe. He was here a minute ago—yes, there he is, talking to Randolph. Come and speak to him, he'll be delighted to see you.” “Keep your eye on Fanny's mare,” said Oaklands, as he rode past me, “she seems fidgety, and that fellow Lawless is thinking more about the hounds than he is of her, though he does boast so much of the care he can take of her. I shall be with you again directly.”
“Do you see the gentleman on the bright bay, Miss Fairlegh?” exclaimed Lawless; “there, he's speaking to Tom Field, the huntsman, now; he has got his watch in his hand; that's Mr. Rand, the master of the hounds; you'll see some fun directly. Ah! I thought so.”
As he spoke, at a signal from the huntsman, the hounds dashed into cover, and were instantly lost to sight in a waving sea of gorse, save when a head or neck became visible for a moment, as some dog more eager than the rest sprang over a tangled brake, through which he was unable to force his way.
“Oh, you beauties!” resumed Lawless enthusiastically, “only watch them; they're drawing it in first-rato style, and there's rare lying in that cover. Now see how the furze shakes—look at their sterns nourishing; have at him there—have at him; that's right, Tom—cheer 'em on, boy—good huntsman is Tom Field—there again!—a fox, I'll bet five hundred pounds to a pony—hark!—a whimper—now wait—a challenge! another and another—listen to them—there's music—watch the right-hand corner—that's where he'll break cover for a thousand, and if he does, what a run we shall have! Look at those fools,” he added, pointing to a couple of cockney-looking fellows who were cantering towards the very place he had pointed to, “they'll head him back as sure as fate; hold hard there—why does not somebody stop them? By Jove, I'll give them a taste of the double thong when I get up with them, even if it's the Lord Mayor of London and his brother. Look to your sister, Frank, I'll be back directly.”
“Wait one minute,” shouted I, but in vain; for before the words were well out of my mouth, he had driven the spurs into his eager horse, and was galloping furiously in the direction of the unhappy delinquents who had excited his indignation. My reason for asking him to wait a minute was, that just as the hounds began drawing the cover, I had made the agreeable discovery that the strap to which one of my saddle-girths was buckled had given way, and that there was nothing for it but to dismount and repair the evil; and I had scarcely concluded the best temporary arrangement I was able to effect, when Lawless started in pursuit of the cockneys. Almost at the same moment a countryman, stationed at the outside of the gorse, shouted “Tally-ho!” and the fox broke cover in gallant style, going away at a rattling pace, with four or five couple of hounds on his traces. In an instant all was confusion, cigars were thrown away, hats pressed firmly down upon the brow, and, with a rush like the outburst of some mighty torrent, the whole field to a man swept rapidly onward.
In the meanwhile Fanny's mare, which had for some minutes shown symptoms of excitement, pawing the ground with her fore-foot, pricking up her ears, and tossing her head impatiently, began, as Lawless rode off, to plunge in a manner which threatened at every moment to unseat her rider, and as several horsemen dashed by her, becoming utterly unmanageable, she set off at a wild gallop, drowning in the clatter of her hoofs Fanny's agonised cry for help. Driven nearly frantic by the peril in which my sister was placed, I was even yet prevented for a minute or more from hastening to her assistance, as my own horse, frightened by the occurrences I have described, struggled so violently to follow his companions as to render it very difficult for me to hold, and quite impossible to remount, him, so that when at length I succeeded in springing on his back, the hounds were already out of sight, and Fanny and her runaway steed so far ahead of me, that it seemed inevitable some accident must occur before I could overtake them, and it was with a sinking heart that I gave my horse the rein, and dashed forward in pursuit.
The course which Lawless had taken when he started on his wildgoose chase was down a ride cut through the furze, and it was along this turfy track that Rose Alba was now hurrying in her wild career. The horse on which I was mounted was a young thorough-bred, standing nearly sixteen hands high, and I felt certain that in the pursuit in which I was engaged, the length of his stride would tell, and that eventually we must come up with the fugitives; but so fleet was the little Arab, and so light the weight she had to carry, that I was sorry to perceive I gained upon them but slowly. It was clear that I should not overtake them before they reached the outskirts of the common, and then who could say what course the mare might take—what obstacles might not be in her way!
On—on we go in our headlong course, the turf reechoing to the muffled strokes of the horses' feet, while the furze, waving in the wind, seemed to glide by us in a rapid stream. Onward—still onward; the edge of the gorse appears a dark line in the distance—it is passed; we are crossing the belt of turf that surrounds it—and now, in what direction will the mare proceed? Will she take the broad road to the left, which leads again to the open country by a gentle ascent, where she can be easily overtaken and stopped; or will she turn to the right, and follow the lane, which leads across the terrace-field to the brook, swollen by the late rains into a river? See! she slackens her pace—she wavers, she doubts—she will choose the road! No; by Heaven! she turns to the right, and dashing down the lane like a flash of lightning, is for a moment hidden from view. But the space of time, short as it was, when her speed slackened, has enabled me to gain upon her considerably; and when I again catch sight of her she is not more than fifty yards ahead. Forward! good horse—forward! Life or death hangs upon thy fleetness. Vain hope! another turn brings us in sight of the brook, swollen by the breaking up of the frost into a dark, turbulent stream. Fanny perceives it too, and utters a cry of terror, which rings like a death-knell on my ear. There seems no possibility of escape for her; on the left hand an impenetrable hedge; on the right a steep bank, rising almost perpendicularly to the height of a man's head; in front the rushing water; while the mare, apparently irritated to frenzy by my pursuit, gallops wildly forward. Ha! what is that? a shout! and the figure of a man on horseback appears on the high ground to the right, between Fanny and the stream. He perceives the danger, and if he dare attempt the leap from the bank, may yet save her. Oh! that I were in his place. Hark! he shouts again to warn us of his intention, and putting spurs to his horse, faces him boldly at it. The horse perceives the danger, and will refuse the leap. No! urged by his rider, he will take it yet—now he springs—it is certain destruction. A crash! a fall! they are down! No; he has lifted his horse with the rein—they are apparently uninjured. Rose Alba, startled by the sudden apparition, slackens her pace—the stranger, taking advantage of the delay, dashes forward, seizes the rein, and succeeds in stopping her; as he does so, I approached near enough to recognise his features—
Unlooked for happiness! Fanny is saved, and Harry Oaklands is her preserver!
My first act on joining them was to spring from my horse and lift Fanny out of the saddle. “Are you really unhurt, my own darling?” exclaimed I; “can you stand without assistance?”
“Oh yes!” she replied, “it was only the fright—that dreadful river—but—” and raising her eyes timidly she advanced a step towards Oaklands.
“But you would fain thank Harry for saving you. My dear Harry,” continued I, taking his hand and pressing it warmly, “if you only knew the agony of mind I have suffered on her account, you would be able to form some slight idea of the amount of gratitude I feel towards you for having rescued her. I shudder to think what might have been the end had you not so providentially interposed; but you do not listen to me—you turn as pale as ashes—are you ill?”
“It is nothing—a little faint, or so,” was his reply, in a voice so weak as to be scarcely audible; and as he spoke, his head dropped heavily on his shoulder, and he would have fallen from his horse had not I caught him in my arms and supported him.
Giving the horses into the custody of a farming lad (who had seen the leap, and run up, fearing some accident had occurred), I lifted Oaklands from the saddle, and laying him on the turf by the roadside, supported his head against my knee, while I endeavoured to loosen his neckcloth. Neither its removal, however, nor the unfastening his shirt-collar, appeared to revive him in the slightest degree, and being quite unaccustomed to seizures of this nature, I began to feel a good deal frightened about him. I suppose my face in some degree betrayed my thoughts, as Fanny, after glancing at me for a moment, exclaimed, wringing her hands in the excess of her grief and alarm, “Oh! he is dead—he is dead; and it is I who have killed him!” Then, flinging herself on her knees by his side, and taking his hand between both her own, she continued, “Oh, Harry, look up—speak to me—only one word;—he does not hear me—he will never speak again! Oh! he is dead!—he is dead! and it is I who have murdered him—I, who would gladly have died for him, as he has died for me.” As she said this, her voice failed her, and, completely overcome by the idea that she had been the cause of Harry's death, she buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly.
At this moment it occurred to me that water might possibly revive him, and rousing Fanny from the passion of grief into which she had fallen, I made her take my place in supporting Oaklands' head, and running to the stream, which was not above fifty yards from the spot, filled my hat with water, sprinkled his face and brow with it, and had the satisfaction of seeing him gradually revive under the application.
As consciousness returned, he gazed around with a bewildered look, and passing his hand across his forehead, inquired, “What is all this? where am I? Ah! Frank, have I been ill?”
“You fainted from over-exertion, Harry,” replied I, “but all will be well now.”
“From over-exertion?” he repeated, slowly, as if striving to recall what had passed; “stay, yes, I remember, I took a foolish leap; why did I do it?”
“To stop Fanny's mare.”
“Yes, to be sure, the water was out at the brook, and I thought the mare might attempt to cross it; but is Fanny safe? Where is she?”
“She is here,” replied I, turning towards the place where she still knelt, her face hidden in her hands. “She is here to thank you for having saved her life.”
“Why, Fanny, was it you who were supporting my head? how very kind of you! What! crying?” he continued, gently attempting to withdraw her hands; “nay, nay, we must not have you cry.”
“She was naturally a good deal frightened by the mare's running away,” replied I, as Fanny still appeared too much overcome to speak for herself; “and then she was silly enough to fancy, when you fainted, that you were actually dead, I believe; but I can assure you that she is not ungrateful.”
“No, indeed,” murmured Fanny, in a voice scarcely audible from emotion.
“Why, it was no very great feat after all,” rejoined Harry. “On such a jumper as the Cid, and coming down on soft marshy ground too, 1 would not mind the leap any day; besides, do you think I was going to remain quietly there, and see Fanny drowned before my eyes? if it had been a precipice, I would have gone over it.” While he spoke, Harry had regained his feet; and, after walking up and down for a minute or so, and giving himself a shake, to see if he was all right, he declared that he felt quite strong again, and able to ride home. And so, having devised a leading-rein for Rose Alba, one end of which I kept in my own possession, we remounted our horses, and reached Heathfield without further misadventure.