Part 110 (1/2)
”Very much!” Leonard sighed.
”I shall see her again?”
”Certainly,” said Harley, in a tone of surprise. ”How can you doubt it?
And I reserve to you the pleasure of saying that you are renowned.
You blush; well, I will say that for you. But you shall give her your books.”
”She has not yet read them, then?--not the last? The first was not worthy of her attention,” said Leonard, disappointed. ”She has only just arrived in England; and, though your books reached me in Germany, she was not then with me. When I have settled some business that will take me from town, I shall present you to her and my mother.” There was a certain embarra.s.sment in Harley's voice as he spoke; and, turning round abruptly, he exclaimed, ”But you have shown poetry even here. I could not have conceived that so much beauty could be drawn from what appeared to me the most commonplace of all suburban gardens. Why, surely, where that charming fountain now plays stood the rude bench in which I read your verses.”
”It is true; I wished to unite all together my happiest a.s.sociations. I think I told you, my Lord, in one of my letters, that I had owed a very happy, yet very struggling time in my boyhood to the singular kindness and generous instructions of a foreigner whom I served. This fountain is copied from one that I made in his garden, and by the margin of which many a summer day I have sat and dreamed of fame and knowledge.”
”True, you told me of that; and your foreigner will be pleased to hear of your success, and no less so of your grateful recollections. By the way, you did not mention his name.”
”Riccabocca.”
”Riccabocca! My own dear and n.o.ble friend!--is it possible? One of my reasons for returning to England is connected with him. You shall go down with me and see him. I meant to start this evening.”
”My dear Lord,” said Leonard, ”I think that you may spare yourself so long a journey. I have reason to suspect that Signor Riccabocca is my nearest neighbour. Two days ago I was in the garden, when suddenly lifting my eyes to yon hillock I perceived the form of a man seated amongst the brushwood; and though I could not see his features, there was something in the very outline of his figure and his peculiar posture, that irresistibly reminded me of Riccabocca. I hastened out of the garden and ascended the hill, but he was gone. My suspicions were so strong that I caused inquiry to be made at the different shops scattered about, and learned that a family consisting of a gentleman, his wife, and daughter had lately come to live in a house that you must have pa.s.sed in your way hither, standing a little back from the road, surrounded by high walls; and though they were said to be English, yet from the description given to me of the gentleman's person by one who had noticed it, by the fact of a foreign servant in their employ, and by the very name 'Richmouth,' a.s.signed to the newcomers, I can scarcely doubt that it is the family you seek.”
”And you have not called to ascertain?”
”Pardon me, but the family so evidently shunning observation (no one but the master himself ever seen without the walls), the adoption of another name too, led me to infer that Signor Riccabocca has some strong motive for concealment; and now, with my improved knowledge of life, and recalling all the past, I cannot but suppose that Riccabocca was not what he appeared. Hence, I have hesitated on formally obtruding myself upon his secrets, whatever they be, and have rather watched for some chance occasion to meet him in his walks.”
”You did right, my dear Leonard; but my reasons for seeing my old friend forbid all scruples of delicacy, and I will go at once to his house.”
”You will tell me, my Lord, if I am right.”
”I hope to be allowed to do so. Pray, stay at home till I return.
And now, ere I go, one question more: You indulge conjectures as to Riccabocca, because he has changed his name,--why have you dropped your own?”
”I wished to have no name,” said Leonard, colouring deeply, ”but that which I could make myself.”
”Proud poet, this I can comprehend. But from what reason did you a.s.sume the strange and fantastic name of Oran?”
The flush on Leonard's face became deeper. ”My Lord,” said he, in a low voice, ”it is a childish fancy of mine; it is an anagram.”
”Ah!”
”At a time when my cravings after knowledge were likely much to mislead, and perhaps undo me, I chanced on some poems that suddenly affected my whole mind, and led me up into purer air; and I was told that these poems were written in youth by one who had beauty and genius,--one who was in her grave,--a relation of my own, and her familiar name was Nora--”
”Ah,” again e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lord L'Estrange, and his arm pressed heavily upon Leonard's.
”So, somehow or other,” continued the young author, falteringly, ”I wished that if ever I won to a poet's fame, it might be to my own heart, at least, a.s.sociated with this name of Nora; with her whom death had robbed of the fame that she might otherwise have won; with her who--”
He paused, greatly agitated.
Harley was no less so. But, as if by a sudden impulse, the soldier bent down his manly head and kissed the poet's brow; then he hastened to the gate, flung himself on his horse, and rode away.