Part 7 (2/2)
”Do you acknowledge that for your hand, Mr. Denis?” he asked me briefly.
”It is mine,” I replied wondering.
”Be pleased to read it,” said he.
So in a trembling voice I read it aloud, word for word as I had writ it under Skene's direction; wherein I desired Mr. Wall that he would disburse to our attorney, as he should have need of them, such sums as should not in the total exceed five hundred pounds.
”And such was my intention,” cried I, infinitely relieved to find all as I supposed it. But observing that the goldsmith regarded me something oddly, I added: ”I mean that he required the gold, not in bulk, but in parcels from time to time; and as to that I took away yesterday, that you were to send for it again.”
”You say not so here,” said he very quietly.
But upon the instant he had said it, I perceived how the villain had used my letter, which was to double his booty already gotten; he having not restored the former sum I had meant this to be in the place of, but having even possessed himself of this treasure likewise. My inadvertent laxness of instruction (purposely so phrased by Skene himself) had given him the opportunity he sought, and I was now by my folly and misgiven trust, a thousand pounds upon the score in the goldsmith's books.
There was no occasion for argument betwixt us, where all was manifest enough, nor yet, by him, for empty expressions of regret, seeing he had but acted punctually upon my demand. For his pity, I had it, I knew, though Mr. Wall refrained himself from any expression of it. But another feeling he had, I could see, which was a doubt whether my father's credit was sufficient to bear this inordinately increased burden; nay, whether he would not repudiate the note I had so ineptly set hand to, staying his conscience on the satisfaction of his proper bond. I had my answer to that ready, had Mr. Wall proposed the question; but to his honour he did not. All he put in contribution to our debate related to Skene's presentation of my note, which being fairly written and legally expressed, he had neither reason nor scruple for withholding the loan. As for the bearer of the message, he was a gentleman of a very n.o.ble quiet manner, said Wall, and to this description of Skene I could not but consent.
In fine there being nought left to say, save on my part that I would immediately write an account of all to my father (whom I would not otherwise commit) we parted at the door, and I returned slowly through the great unfriendly City, sick at heart. Now I had not proceeded far upon my way when it came upon me that I would seek out my old tutor, Mr. Jordan; for I greatly yearned after comfort and kindly speech, which I knew would be his to give, upon the first hint of my misfortune. By good hap I remembered the lodging where he had said he might be found, which was in a room of a great house called Northumberland House in the parish, and over against the Church, of St.
Katherine Colman; which mansion having fallen from its first estate (as many other within the City have done also) is now parted among such as do pay rent for their use of chambers therein, as few or many as they please.
Thither then I inquired out direction; but whether it were by reason of the intricacy of manifold streets and alleys, or of the mist that from first overcasting the sky had now descended and thickly m.u.f.fled up even the considerable buildings, or else of the opening again of my wound that sorely sucked away my strength; I say whatsoever the cause were, I soon confessed myself at a stand and quite bewildered. And moreover to make bad worse, I perceived myself to have run into a foul and steep lane, of a most unsavoury stench; the way being nought else than a kennel pestered with garbage. None seemed to be inhabiting this unclean byway, or at the least not occupying their business in it; but the doors stood shut all, and the windows so guarded as one might think the plague had visited the place and died for lack of life to feed on.
Meanwhile the fog seemed to mitigate something of its blackness before me; and this it was, I suppose, that drove me still forward rather than by returning upon my steps to encounter the worst of it that yet hung like a pall between the desolate houses.
At length I issued at the bottom end into a sort of wide place or yard (for I could not rightly tell which it were, so dim all lay and I so confused by pain), but by a certain saltness in the air I guessed it might be near beside the river, and perhaps led down to one of the wharves or hithes thereupon. But that I was out of all bearing I knew, and the knowledge sank my courage utterly, so that I could no more, but sat down upon a stock by the wayside and wept for very bitterness.
I remember that I said it over like a creed an hundred times that I was alone, and although I said it not, it beat upon my brain that I was very near to death.
Soon after I seemed to stumble, and perhaps did indeed sink down from the timber I rested on; whereat, opening my eyes hastily, I saw face to face with me, a maid with the countenance of an angel, and an infinite compa.s.sion in her eyes. But the fever altogether had me then, so that what I report I may not now verify; yet methought she took me by the hands and raised me, saying (as to herself), ”Dear heart, how chill he is,” and then, ”Lo! the hurt he hath, poor lad! and it not stanched but bleeding.”
After that I must have swooned, for I remember no more; or at least not such as I believe did happen, though from the cloud of wild dreams that began to beset me there drew together as it were a masque of half-truth in a scene not wholly fantastick. For I stood again in the midst of a long and steep street, very dark and tempestuous, of which the houses falling together suddenly with a great noise formed a sort of rift or tunnel by which I might escape; and at the end of this length of ruin I perceived a pale blue light burning, to the which painfully groping my way I saw it was borne by a maid that came toward me; and all this while I heard a mighty rus.h.i.+ng as of water, and voices mingled with it, loud and laughing. Then as the la.s.s with the light approached me nearer I knew her for Madam Malt's third (or fourth) daughter, and the rus.h.i.+ng sound I perceived to be the stream of small beer she had spilt; and the laughter grew and increased horribly and the light went out.
And so, at length, I fell away into an inevitable and profound forgetfulness.
CHAPTER IX
TELLS HOW I CHANGED MY LODGING AND LOST MY MARE
I mind me of a sad play once I saw, that is played now in a duke's palace, and after in a glade within a forest, where one of the persons, a n.o.ble youth whom his presumption hath caused to be banished from his mistress, saith, ”Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that.” The play is called a comedy because it ends upon delight, yet after a world of heaviness encountered, and such thwarting of wills, as makes one weep to behold. And perhaps when all's said, we do wrong to name anything of this world tragical, seeing we cannot look to the end of it, and indeed sometimes (one must suppose) a play is but half played out here, and that the sad half with all the tears. 'Tis another hand manages the curtain, and, alas! that the too soon dropping of it hath made many to say in their hearts, ”There is no G.o.d.”
Much in this kind occupied my brain, when at length I was partially recovered after my continued and grave sickness. I still lay abed, taking babes' food and physick, and asking no questions, being yet too weak for that, and so that I were left in peace, careful for nought else. My body might have been another's, so little did it appear to enc.u.mber me; a certain lightness and withal a sense of freedom from the common restraints of life possessed me. I had, as it were, overpa.s.sed the lists of experience, and become truly a new creature. In this security and enfranchis.e.m.e.nt of my spirit I found an infinite, and my only, pleasure in speculating upon the meaning of things I had never so much as called in question hitherto, and then first perceived how wide a gulf lay betwixt that a man may be and that a man must do. I saw all bad but what rests still in idea, and bitterly condemned the never-ending hurry of effort and business by which the course of life is fouled, upward almost to her source.
This exalted mood lasted I think about a week, during which time I had got to so high a pitch of philosophy as I cannot now think on for blus.h.i.+ng; settling my notions after my own fas.h.i.+on very conveniently, and mighty intolerant of those currently held. But afterwards, that is, about the tenth day of my clear mind, I suffered myself to descend some way toward common sense, which to my surprise I found not so disagreeable as might have been. Certain 'tis I still saw all in a mist of phantasy, and different from what it truly was; but, notwithstanding, it marked my first motion of health, and a recovery of my heritage in the world. Once set on this road, I soon grew to be restive of the remnant of malady which yet kept me weak, and began to fear I should ne'er be able again. At times I would be melancholy and fret by the hour at my pitiful lot; then again would fall to piecing together the events that had preceded this my disease, but could not get them orderly, or at the least, not whole.
At such a time it was that suddenly and without premonition, my memory recovered the picture of that fair maid bending over me and murmuring, ”_Dear heart_!” I leapt up in bed on the instant, and would have had on my clothes before any could hinder me, had not my impotence held me without need of other prevention, and I sank back all dismayed.
Henceforward my mind had matter enough and to spare with the thoughts of her alone. If I desired life now it was that I might continue to think of her and of her manner of saying, ”_Dear heart! how chill he is!_” and ”_Lo, the hurt he hath, poor lad!_” I swore I would not exchange those two sentences for a barony, nor the look that went with them for a prince's thanks. That word of thanks brought me to a wonder how I might compa.s.s the tendering of my thanks to the maid herself, whom (now I recollected it) I knew not so much as the name of, nor yet her place of lodging. This consideration greatly staggered me, and had nigh sent me into a fever again. But I told myself that it was very certain I must find her in time (and being young, time seemed to be a commodity inexhaustible), and so for that while the fever held off.
However, I had still intervals of despair which were black enough; but hope ever ensuing and at each return in larger measure, upon the balance I found comfort. And thus, responding to the text of the old play I have before set down (though I had not then seen it played), I also might have cried, ”Hope is the lover's staff,” and with that to lean on I determined to walk thence without further delay.
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