Volume II Part 48 (1/2)
”Who? What dost stand agape for?”
”Why, a rogue 'at was robbing the gardens.”
”A murrain light on both of ye! I cannot be chaffed with such like matters now.”
”But your wors.h.i.+p,” cautiously spake Dan, ”he be the most comical thing you ever clapped eyes on. He says he be Master Anthony, your wors.h.i.+p's new son that is to be to-day.”
”How sayest thou? I think thy wits are the worse for bibbing o'
yesternight.”
”Nay, your wors.h.i.+p's grace, but we'll e'en fetch him. He's pranked out gaily; and a gay bird he be for your honour's cage.”
Two or three domestics now entered, leading in their prisoner. His woe-begone looks were angrily bent on his conductors. He shook off their grasp, approaching the owner of the mansion where he had been so evil-entreated. His hair, released from its bonds, dangled in primaeval disorder above his shoulders. His goodly raiment, no longer hidden, was rumpled and soiled, like the finery of a stage wardrobe.
Indeed, the Squire guessed he was one of the village players that had been foraging for his supper after a scanty benefit.
”How now, braggart? What evil occupation brings thee about my house?
What unlucky hankering, sirrah, brings thee, I say, a-robbing of my grounds and poultry-yards? Methinks thou hast but a sorry employment for thy gingerbread coat.”
”I came, sir, to wed your daughter,” replied Anthony, simpering, and with great modesty.
”My daughter!” cried Anderton, in a voice of thunder; ”and pray may I inquire to whom I am beholden for this favour?”
”To Master Anthony Hardcastle,” said the lover, drawing himself up proudly, and casting a glance of triumph and defiance at his tormentors.
”Whew!” cried the other; ”why, Master Anthony is no more like thee, thou tod-pate, than thou to St George or the dragon of Wantley. A rare device, truly--a cunning plot--a stage-trick to set the mob agape!
Why, thou puny-legged Tamburlane!--thou ghost of an Alexander!--how darest thou confront me thus? Now, i' lady, but I've a month's mind to belabour the truth out o' thee with a weapon something tough and crabbed i' the tasting.”
Anthony's face lengthened inordinately at this unexpected rebuke, and a latent whimper quivered about the corners of his pale and pursy mouth. Sobs and protestations were useless; there seemed a base conspiracy to rob him even of his name and ident.i.ty. He vowed, that the period of his proscription being past, Kate was hourly expecting him, and his appearance overnight was but to execute a little stratagem for her surprise. This explanation but served to aggravate; and in vain did he solicit an interview with the lady, promising to abide by her decision.
”Why, look thee,” said the justice; ”Anthony Hardcastle, whom thy lying tongue and figure most woefully defame, hath been our guest oftentimes during the past month, and truly his gallant bearing and disposition have well won my consent. No marvel at my daughter's love!
But thou!--had she stooped from her high bearing to such carrion, I'd have wrung your necks round with less compunction than those of two base-bred kestrils.”
Anthony was dumb with astonishment. The whole transaction had the aspect of some indistinct and troubled dream, or rather some delusion of the arch-enemy to entangle and perplex him. At this moment tripped in the pert maiden, whose share in the machinations we before intimated. She looked on the bewildered lover with a sly and equivocal glance. Craving permission to speak, she said--
”'Tis even so, your wors.h.i.+p; this interloper is none other than the very person he represents; and here come those who will give the riddle its proper answer.”
Immediately came in the blus.h.i.+ng Kate, led in by a tall and comely gentleman, whom her father recognised as the real Anthony.
”We come but to crave your blessing,” said this personage, bending gracefully on his knee, whilst Kate seized the hand of her parent.
”Forgive this deceit:” she looked imploringly at the old man, who seemed too astonished to reply: ”it was but to win my father's knowledge and esteem for the man to whom my vows are for ever plighted.”
”Nay, start not,” said the bridegroom; ”I but borrowed this ill-used gentleman's name, as I knew none other mode of access to your presence than the disguise that his _suit_ afforded; and from him I now crave forgiveness.”
”And I knew,” said Kate, glancing round towards the real Anthony, ”that the man of my choice would be yours, could I but contrive you should hold a fair judgment between them, as you now do this day.”