Part 32 (2/2)
”He is here,” said Sybil, observing the s.e.xton at a distance. ”Who is that old man?”
”My grandsire, Peter Bradley.”
”Is that Peter Bradley?” asked Sybil.
”Ay, you may well ask whether that old dried-up _otomy_, who ought to grin in a gla.s.s case for folks to stare at, be kith and kin of such a bang-up cove as your fancy man, Luke,” said Turpin, laughing--”but i'
faith he is.”
”Though he is your grandsire, Luke,” said Sybil, ”I like him not. His glance resembles that of the Evil Eye.”
And, in fact, the look which Peter fixed upon her was such as the rattlesnake casts upon its victim, and Sybil felt like a poor fluttering bird under the fascination of that venomous reptile. She could not remove her eyes from his, though she trembled as she gazed. We have said that Peter's...o...b.. were like those of the toad. Age had not dimmed their brilliancy. In his harsh features you could only read bitter scorn or withering hate; but in his eyes resided a magnetic influence of attraction or repulsion. Sybil underwent the former feeling in a disagreeable degree. She was drawn to him as by the motion of a whirlpool, and involuntarily clung to her lover.
”It is the Evil Eye, dear Luke.”
”Tut, tut, dear Sybil; I tell you it is my grandsire.”
”The girl says rightly, however,” rejoined Turpin; ”Peter has a confounded ugly look about the ogles, and stares enough to put a modest wench out of countenance. Come, come, my old earthworm, crawl along, we have waited for you long enough. Is this the first time you have seen a pretty la.s.s, eh?”
”It is the first time I have seen one so beautiful,” said Peter; ”and I crave her pardon if my freedom has offended her. I wonder not at your enchantment, grandson Luke, now I behold the object of it. But there is one piece of counsel I would give to this fair maid. The next time she trusts you from her sight, I would advise her to await you at the hill-top, otherwise the chances are shrewdly against your reaching the ground with neck unbroken.”
There was something, notwithstanding the satirical manner in which Peter delivered this speech, calculated to make a more favorable impression upon Sybil than his previous conduct had inspired her with; and, having ascertained from Luke to what his speech referred, she extended her hand to him, yet not without a shudder, as it was enclosed in his skinny grasp. It was like the fingers of Venus in the grasp of a skeleton.
”This is a little hand,” said Peter, ”and I have some skill myself in palmistry. Shall I peruse its lines?”
”Not now, in the devil's name!” said Turpin, stamping impatiently. ”We shall have Old Ruffin himself amongst us presently, if Peter Bradley grows gallant.”
Leading their horses, the party took their way through the trees. A few minutes' walking brought them in sight of the gipsy encampment, the spot selected for which might be termed the Eden of the valley. It was a small green plain, smooth as a well-shorn lawn, kept ever verdant--save in the spots where the frequent fires had scorched its surface--by the flowing stream that rushed past it, and surrounded by an amphitheatre of wooded hills. Here might be seen the canvas tent with its patches of varied coloring; the rude-fas.h.i.+oned hut of primitive construction; the kettle slung
Between two poles, upon a stick transverse;
the tethered beasts of burden, the horses, a.s.ses, dogs, carts, caravans, wains, blocks, and other movables and immovables belonging to the wandering tribe. Glimmering through the trees, at the extremity of the plain, appeared the ivy-mantled walls of Davenham Priory. Though much had gone to decay, enough remained to recall the pristine state of this once majestic pile, and the long, though broken line of Saxon arches, that still marked the cloister wall; the piers that yet supported the dormitory; the enormous horse-shoe arch that spanned the court; and, above all, the great marigold, or circular window, which terminated the chapel, and which, though now despoiled of its painted honors, retained, like the skeleton leaf, its fibrous intricacies entire,--all eloquently spoke of the glories of the past, while they awakened reverence and admiration for the still enduring beauty of the present.
Towards these ruins Sybil conducted the party.
”Do you dwell therein?” asked Peter, pointing towards the priory.
”That is my dwelling,” said Sybil.
”It is one I should covet more than a modern mansion,” returned the s.e.xton.
”I love those old walls better than any house that was ever fas.h.i.+oned,”
replied Sybil.
As they entered the Prior's Close, as it was called, several swarthy figures made their appearance from the tents. Many a greeting was bestowed upon Luke, in the wild jargon of the tribe. At length an uncouth dwarfish figure, with a shock head of black hair, hopped towards them. He seemed to acknowledge Luke as his master.
”What ho! Gra.s.shopper,” said Luke, ”take these horses, and see that they lack neither dressing nor provender.”
”And hark ye, Gra.s.shopper,” added Turpin; ”I give you a special charge about this mare. Neither dress nor feed her till I see both done myself.
Just walk her for ten minutes, and if you have a gla.s.s of ale in the place, let her sip it.”
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