Part 23 (1/2)
”You do not mean that in sober earnest?” said I.
”Perhaps not actually in fact,” replied Freddy, ”but in effect I believe he does. Clara tells Lucy she never sees any one.”
”She shall see me to-day, if I can possibly contrive it,” said I. ”Oh for the good old days of chivalry, when knocking the guardian on the head, and running away with the imprisoned damsel afterwards, would have been accounted a very moral and gentlemanlike way of spending the morning!”
”Certainly, they had a pleasant knack of simplifying matters, 'those knights of old,'” replied Freddy; ”but it's not a line of business that would have suited me at all; in balancing their accounts, the kicks always appear to have obtained a very uncomfortable preponderance over the halfpence; besides, the _causa belli_ was a point on which their ideas were generally in a deplorable state of confusion: when one kills a man, it's as well to have some slight notion _why_ one does it; and the case comes home to one still more closely if it's somebody else who's going to kill you.”
”You're about right there, Master Freddy,” said I, smiling as I shook hands with him, and quitted the house. %
CHAPTER XVII -- THE INVISIBLE GIRL
-145--
”Aye, that's a dolt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of his horse.”
--_Merchant of Venice_.
”Yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. What's to be said to him? He's fortified against any denial.”
--_Twelfth Night_.
”Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible To every eyeball else.”
--_Tempest_.
ON arriving at the inn, to which I was forced to return to order my horse, I perceived Lawless's tandem waiting at the door, surrounded by a crowd of admiring rustics, with Shrimp, his arms folded with an air of nonchalant defiance, which seemed to say, ”Oh! run over me by all means if you choose,” stationed directly in front of the leader's head. On entering the parlour I found Lawless busily engaged in pulling on a pair of refractory boots, and looking very hot and red in the face from the exertion.
”How are you, Fairlegh? how are you? That stupid fool has made 'em too tight for anybody but Tom Thumb, and be hanged to him. Ever read fairy tales, Fairlegh? I did when I was a little shaver, and wore c.o.c.k-tailed petticoats--all bare legs and bustle--'a Highland lad my love was born'; that style of thing, rather, you know; never believed 'em, though: wasn't to be done even then; eh? Well, this is a puzzler; I can't get 'em on. Where's the fellow they call Boots? Here, you sir, come and see if you can pull on these confounded namesakes of yours, and I'll tip you half a crown if you succeed; cheaper than breaking one's back, eh?”
”Where are you off to, supposing you should ever get those boots on?”
asked I.
”Eh? I am going to call on the young woman I set alight at the hop last night, and tell her I'm quite down in the mouth about it; explain that I didn't go to do it; that it was quite a mistake, and all owing to the other young woman's being so fresh, in fact; and then offer to rig her out again, start her in new harness from bridle -146--crupper, all at my own expense, and that will be finis.h.i.+ng off the affair handsomely, won't it?”
”I should advise your leaving out that last piece of munificence,”
replied I; ”she might think it an insult.” ”An insult, eh? Oh, if she's so proud as all that comes to I'd better stay away altogether; I shall be safe to put my foot into it there, a good deal faster than I have into these villainous boots--that's it, Sampson, another pull such as that and the deed's done,” added Lawless, patting the human Boots on the back encouragingly.
”I was just going to ride over to inquire after Miss Saville myself,”
said I.
”That's the very thing, then,” was the reply. ”I'll drive you there instead; it will be better for your scorched fin (pointing to my injured arm) than jolting about outside a horse, and you shall tell me what to say as we go along; you seem to understand the s.e.x, as they call the petticoats, better than I do, and can put a fellow up to a few of the right dodges. I only wish they were all horses, and then I flatter myself I should not require any man's advice how to harness, drive, train, or physic them.”
”The ladies are infinitely indebted to you,” replied I, as I ran upstairs to prepare for our expedition.
A drive of rather less than an hour and a half, during which the thorough-breds performed in a way to delight every lover of horseflesh, brought us to the park gate of Barstone Priory, where Mr. Vernor resided. After winding in and out for some half-mile amongst groups of magnificent forest-trees, their trunks partially concealed by plantations of rare and beautiful shrubs, a sudden turn of the road brought us in front of the Priory--an ancient, venerable-looking pile of building, which had evidently, as its name implied, once belonged to some religious community. The alterations it had undergone, in order to adapt it to its present purpose, had been carried out with more taste and skill than are usually met with in such cases. The garden, with its straight terrace-walks and brilliant flower-beds, contrasted well with the grey stone of which the building was composed, while the smooth-shaven lawn, with an old, quaintly carved sundial in the centre, and, above all, the absence of any living creature whatsoever, imparted an air of severe formality to the scene, which, as the eye rested upon it, seemed to realise all one had read of monastic discipline and seclusion; and one half expected to see a train of dark-veiled nuns or sandalled friars winding slowly forth from the hall-door.
-147--”What a singular old shop!” exclaimed my companion, regarding the structure with a look of displeased criticism; ”wretched little windows as ever I saw; they must be all in the dark inside on a dull day, and every day would be dull if one lived there, I should think. It would puzzle a fellow to tell whether that building was clerical or lay, fish or flesh; a castle that had taken a serious turn, or a church out for the day in plain clothes; how people can like to live in such a mouldy, rusty, musty old barn, that looks as full of ghosts as a cheese is of mites, I can't conceive.”