Part 32 (2/2)
”The sun begins to gild the western sky, And now it is about the very hour.
They will not fail, Unless it be to come before their time; So much they spur their expedition.”
--_Shakspeare_.
”Now go thy way: faintness constraineth me To measure out my length on this cold bed.”
--_Shakspeare_.
”And me they bore.....
To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due To languid limbs and sickness.”
--_Tennyson's Princess_.
I DID not return to the cottage until the usual hour for going to bed, as I did not dare subject myself to f.a.n.n.y's penetrating glance in my present state of excitement. The moment family prayers were concluded I took my candle, and, pleading fatigue, retired to my room. Knowing that sleep was out of the question in my then frame of mind, I merely subst.i.tuted the clothes I intended to wear in the morning for those I had on, and, wrapping my dressing-gown round me, flung myself on the bed. Here I lay, tossing about, and unable to compose myself for an hour or two, the one idea constantly recurring to me, ”What if Coleman should fail!” At length, feverish and excited, I sprang up, and throwing open the window which was near the ground, enjoyed the fresh breeze as it played around my heated temples. It was a lovely night; the stars, those calm eyes of heaven, gazed down in their brightness on this world of -213--sin and sorrow, seeming to reproach the stormy pa.s.sions and restless strife of men by contrast with their own impa.s.sive grandeur.
After remaining motionless for several minutes, I was about to close the window when the sound of a footstep on the turf beneath caught my ear, and a form, which I recognised in the moonlight as that of Archer, approached.
”Up and dressed already, Fairlegh?” he commenced in a low tone as he perceived me; ”may I come in?”
In silence I held out my hand to him, and a.s.sisted him to enter.
”Like me,” he resumed, ”I suppose, you could not sleep.”
”Utterly impossible,” replied I; ”but what brings you here--has anything occurred?”
”Nothing,” returned Archer; ”Oaklands retired early, as he said he wished to be alone, and I followed his example, but could not contrive to sleep. I don't know how it is, I was engaged in an affair of this nature once before, and never cared a pin about the matter; but somehow I have got what they call a presentiment that harm will come of to-morrow's business. I saw that man, Wilford, for a minute yesterday, and I know by the expression of his eye that he means mischief; there was such a look of fiendish triumph in his face when he found the challenge was accepted--if ever there was a devil incarnate, he is one.”
A sigh was my only answer, for his words were but the echo of my forebodings.
”Now I will tell you what brought me here,” he continued; ”don't you think that we ought to have a surgeon on the ground, in case of anything going wrong?”
”To be sure,” replied I; ”I must have been mad to have forgotten that it was necessary--what can be done?--it is not every man that would choose to be mixed up with such an affair. Where is it that William Ellis's brother (Ellis of Trinity Hall, you know) has settled?--he told me he had purchased a practice somewhere in our neighbourhood.”
”The very man, if we could but get him,” replied Archer; ”the name of the village is Harley End; do you know such a place?”
”Yes,” returned I, ”I know it well; it is a favourite meet of the hounds, about twelve miles hence. I'll find him, and bring him here--what time is it? just two--if I could get a horse I would do it easily.”
”My tilbury and horse are up at the village,” said -214--Archer; ”now Harry's horses are at home, they could not take mine in at the hall.”
”The very thing,” said I, ”we shall not lose a moment in that case. Is your horse fast? I shall have to try his mettle.”
”He'll not fail you,” was the reply, ”but don't spare him--I would rather you should ruin fifty horses than arrive too late.”
On reaching the inn we had to rouse a drowsy hostler in order to procure the key of the stables, and it was half-past two before I was able, to start.
The road to Harley End was somewhat intricate, more than once I took a wrong turning, and was forced to retrace my steps; being aware also of the distance I had to perform, I did not dare to hurry the horse too much, so that it only wanted a quarter to four when I reached my destination. Here, however, fortune favoured me. Mr. Ellis, it appeared, being an ardent disciple of Isaac Walton, had resolved to rise at day-break in order to beguile sundry trout, and, at the entrance of the village, I met him strolling along, rod in hand. Two minutes sufficed to make him acquainted with the object of my mission, and in less than five minutes more (a s.p.a.ce of time which I employed in was.h.i.+ng out the horse's mouth at an opportune horse-trough, with which I took the liberty of making free) he had provided himself with a case of instruments and other necessary horrors, all of which he described to me _seriatim_, as we returned, with an affectionate minuteness for which I could have strangled him.
We started at a rattling pace on our homeward drive, hedgerow and fence gliding by us like slides in a magic lantern. Archer's horse did not belie the character he had given of him. With head erect, and expanded nostril, he threw his legs forward in a long slas.h.i.+ng trot, whirling the light tilbury along at the rate of at least eleven miles an hour; and fortunate it was that he did not flinch from his work, for we had between thirteen and fourteen miles to perform in an hour and ten minutes in order to reach the appointed spot by five o'clock. In our way we had to pa.s.s within a quarter of a mile of Heathfield Hall; all seemed quiet as we did so, and I heard the old clock over the stables strike a quarter to five.
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