Part 94 (2/2)

Carlyle's was called, in allusion to his colors--came in view. Quite a collection of gentlemen--Mr. Carlyle and Lord Mount Severn heading them.

What could it mean, the mob they were encountering? The yellow party, doubtless, but in a disreputable condition. Who or what was that object in advance of it, supported between Drake and the lawyer, and looking like a drowned rat, hair hanging, legs tottering, cheeks shaking, and clothes in tatters, while the mob, behind, had swollen to the length of the street, and was keeping up a perpetual fire of derisive shouts, groans, and hisses. The scarlet-and-purple halted in consternation, and Lord Mount Severn, whose sight was not as good as it had been twenty years back, stuck his pendent eye gla.s.ses astride on the bridge of his nose.

Sir Francis Levison? Could it be? Yes, it actually was! What on earth had put him into that state? Mr. Carlyle's lip curled; he continued his way and drew the peer with him.

”What the deuce is a-gate now?” called out the followers of Mr. Carlyle.

”That's Levison! Has he been in a railway smash, and got drenched by the engine?”

”He has been ducked!” grinned the yellows, in answer. ”They have been and ducked him in the rush pool on Mr. Justice Hare's land.”

The soaked and miserable man increased his speed as much as his cold and trembling legs would allow him; he would have borne on without legs at all, rather than remain under the enemy's gaze. The enemy loftily continued their way, their heads in the air, and scorning further notice, all, save young Lord Vane. He hovered round the ranks of the unwashed, and looked vastly inclined to enter upon an Indian jig, on his own account.

”What a thundering a.s.s I was to try it on at West Lynne!” was the enraged comment of the sufferer.

Miss Carlyle laid her hand upon the shrinking arm of her pale companion.

”You see him--my brother Archibald?”

”I see him,” faltered Lady Isabel.

”And you see him, that pitiful outcast, who is too contemptible to live?

Look at the two, and contrast them. Look well.”

”Yes!” was the gaping answer.

”The woman who called him, that n.o.ble man, husband, quitted him for the other! Did she come to repentance, think you?”

You may wonder that the submerged gentleman should be walking through the streets, on his way to his quarters, the Raven Inn--for he had been ejected from the Buck's Head--but he could not help himself. As he was dripping and swearing on the brink of the pond, wondering how he should get to the Raven, an empty fly drove past, and Mr. Drake immediately stopped it; but when the driver saw that he was expected to convey not only a pa.s.senger, but a tolerable quant.i.ty of water as well, and that the pa.s.senger, moreover, was Sir Francis Levison, he refused the job.

His fly was fresh lined with red velvet, and he ”weren't a going to have it spoilt,” he called out, as he whipped his horse and drove away, leaving the three in wrathful despair. Sir Francis wanted another conveyance procured; his friends urged that if he waited for that he might catch his death, and that the shortest way would be to hasten to the inn on foot. He objected. But his jaws were chattering, his limbs were quaking, so they seized him between them, and made off, but never bargained for the meeting of Mr. Carlyle and his party. Francis Levison would have stopped in the pond, of his own accord, head downward, rather than face them.

Miss Carlyle went that day to dine at East Lynne, walking back with Mrs.

Carlyle, Madame Vine and Lucy. Lord Vane found them out, and returned at the same time; of course East Lynne was the headquarters of himself and his father. He was in the seventh heaven, and had been ever since the encounter with the yellows.

”You'd have gone into laughing convulsions, Lucy had you seen the drowned cur. I'd give all my tin for six months to come to have a photograph of him as he looked then!”

Lucy laughed in glee; she was unconscious, poor child, how deeply the ”drowned cur” had injured her.

When Miss Carlyle was in her dressing-room taking her things off--the room where once had slept Richard Hare--she rang for Joyce. These two rooms were still kept for Miss Carlyle--for she did sometimes visit them for a few days--and were distinguished by her name--”Miss Carlyle's rooms.”

”A fine row we have had in the town, Joyce, this afternoon.”

”I have heard of it, ma'am. Served him right, if they had let him drown!

Bill White, Squire Pinner's plowman, called in here and told us the news. He'd have burst with it, if he hadn't, I expect; I never saw a chap so excited. Peter cried.”

”Cried?” echoed Miss Carlyle.

”Well, ma'am, you know he was very fond of Lady Isabel, was Peter, and somehow his feelings overcame him. He said he had not heard anything to please him so much for many a day; and with that he burst out crying, and gave Bill White half a crown out of his pocket. Bill White said it was he who held one leg when they soused him in. Afy saw it--if you'll excuse me mentioning her name to you, ma'am, for I know you don't think well of her--and when she got in here, she fell into hysterics.”

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