Chapter IX: A Hasty Retreat. Meditations by the Way

When a hasty youth is mounted on a hasty horse, who can foresee where the spur of passion will transport him? The patience of an ass, or the obstinacy of a mule might either weary out his anger, or so divert it, as to give him some chance for recollection; but John and his steed were in the same humour for a start at score, and it seemed equally indifferent to both which way they bent their course, so they did but agree to outrun discretion. They soon left Denbigh behind them, and as Glen Morgan did not just then occur to the rider, and old Ben could not come up within earshot to remind him of it, where they might have gone is mere matter of conjecture, but certainly not to Kray Castle, had not that inextinguishable spark of humanity, which John cherished in his bosom, given him a memento, that a generous animal ought not to suffer merely because a hot-headed rider had got astride upon his back.

The impulse of pity, that now struck upon the heart of John, was instantaneous. He stopped his horse, dismounted, relieved him by slackening the stricture of his girths, turned his nostrils to the wind, wiped the sweat from his face and ears, caressed him and in his heart asked pardon for the unreasonable fatigue he had exposed him to. Whilst this was passing Ben came panting up: what he had in mind to say is lost to the world, forasmuch as being rather pursey, Ben had not breath to utter it; besides which, the offender having now recollected himself, had prevented his curiosity at the same time that he softened his remonstrance, by apologising for his excursion, confessing that he had forgotten himself, and did not know why he came there, nor where he was.

’Tis very well then that I can tell you whereabouts you are, Ben replied.

Well! and where am I? John demanded.

Out of your road, said Ben, quite and clean; that’s where you are, and so I would have told you in good time, hadn’t you gallopped on at such a pelting rate, that I couldn’t get up to you: And now may I ask without offence where it is your pleasure to go next?

Home, to the Castle--was the answer.

Then we must not travel quite so fast if you please, said Ben; for the road is somewhat difficult to hit off, and not over smooth besides.

Lead the way! John replied: go your own pace, and I’ll follow--This point being adjusted, conversation ceased, and our young hero began to meditate as follows--

That I have cause to feel and resent the treatment I have received is an opinion that I still persist in, but I am conscious of the folly I have been guilty of in suffering myself to be hurried into such ridiculous excesses, as I have now been giving way to. Of this I am most heartily ashamed; but after being denied access to Amelia, when coming by my mother’s authority, and bringing her present in my hand as my introduction, I hold myself justified in resolving never more to enter Mrs. Jennings’s doors, nor subject myself to be considered by that precise repulsive lady as an unwelcome and obnoxious visitor. If there was no collusion between the governess and her charge, (and I confess there does not appear to have been any such) I certainly have no reason to be offended with Amelia, who perhaps may have felt some portion of that disappointment, which fell so heavily upon me. All that I have promised and solemnly pledged myself to do in her behalf, I will faithfully fulfil; but I will not allow Mrs. Jennings to misinterpret my attentions and suspect that I am governed by any motives with regard to the lovely and engaging orphan under her care, which are not simply directed to her service, and strictly consistent with the purest honour: She shall not therefore be alarmed in future by any assiduities on my part, which it shall be possible for her to misconstrue and suspect. Heaven knows I have need enough of instruction, and to my studies under the direction of my excellent preceptor I will henceforward so totally devote myself, that if there was any early preference forming at my heart, which time and opportunity might have ripened into positive attachment, it is now the moment for me to suppress it, and by application to acquirements, in which I am so glaringly deficient, give them all my thoughts, and let no wandering wishes turn them from the tract, they ought to follow and persist in.

Whilst our young heart-wounded hero was arguing himself into this wise resolution, and proposing to derive profit from disappointment, he came within sight of a cottage, whose lonely and desolate situation seemed ill accordant with the neatness and studied comfort of every thing about it. Two women were sitting at their needle-work in the little garden in the front of it, and he was already near enough to distinguish the features of the youngest before she had started from her seat, and ran into the house. He was so struck with the resemblance, that she bore to the daughter of Sir Owen’s minstrel, blind Ap-Rees, of whom we have made former mention, that he stopped, and put that question to the elderly dame, who kept her seat: the dame at first did not think fit to answer, but upon the question being respectfully urged a second time--Whether that young person was, or was not, Nancy Ap-Rees, she briefly replied--That young person is my daughter, and my name is not Ap-Rees.

Then I am mistaken, said John, and rode on.

Satisfied with this answer, which at the present time made but a slight impression on his thoughts, he proceeded homewards, following his guide step by step through all the sinuosities of a craggy road, ruminating upon what had passed at Denbigh, at some times accusing, and at others acquitting himself for his conduct upon that occasion. He formed a wild and fanciful conception of those brilliant lights, that science would in time unfold; but whilst he was enjoying this platonic vision, the sylph-like image of Amelia would recur to his imagination in the captivating attitude of standing at his elbow, as once she had been seen, when, taken by surprise, he caught her in his arms, and rapturously pressed her to his heart. Thus advancing onwards, though not conscious of progression, he was at length recalled to recollection by the sight of Kray Castle, and his reverie dispersed.

* * * * *

The awful character of the time, in which we now live, calls upon every writer to be cautious how he appeals to the passions of mankind. The novelist, who is professedly a writer of this description, has no arbitrary power, independant of morality, over the characters he exhibits merely because they are fictions of his own inventing: he has duties, which he is bound to observe, and cannot violate without offence.

Under this impression, I endeavour to conduct my fable, studious to make that amiable, which I strive to make attractive; and although, in obedience to nature, I must mingle shade with light, I flatter myself that vice of my devising will have no allurements to attach the unwary, nor virtue be pourtrayed with those romantic attributes, which, bearing no similitude to real life, leave no impression on the reader’s mind, nor can be turned to any moral use.

END OF THE FIRST BOOK.