Chapter VII: Book V: The Oath (4)

"Nothing further than simple curiosity," replied Jack, enjoying the consternation of his companions. "It is, as you say, a long while since. But it's singular how that sort of thing is remembered. One would think people had something else to do than talk of one's private affairs for ever. For my part, I despise such tattle. But there _are_ persons in the neighborhood who still say it was an awkward business. Amongst others, I've heard that this very Luke Bradley talks in pretty plain terms about it."

"Does he, indeed?" said Coates. "So much the worse for him. Let me once lay hands upon him, and I'll put a gag in his mouth that shall spoil his talking in the future."

"That's precisely the point I desire to arrive at," replied Jack; "and I advise you by all means to accomplish that, for the sake of the family. Nobody likes his friends to be talked about. So I'd settle the matter amicably, were I you. Just let the fellow go his way; he won't return here again in a hurry, I'll be bound. As to clapping him in quod, he might prattle--turn stag."

"Turn stag!" replied Coates, "what the deuce is that? In my opinion, he has 'turned stag' already. At all events, he'll pay _deer_ for his night's sport, you may depend upon it. What signifies it what _he_ says? Let me lay hands upon him, that's all."

"Well, well," said Jack, "no offence. I only meant to offer a suggestion. I thought the family, young Sir Ranulph, I mean, mightn't like the story to be revived. As to Lady Rookwood, she don't, I suppose, care much about idle reports. Indeed, if I've been rightly informed, she bears this youngster no particular good-will to begin with, and has tried hard to get him out of the country. But, as you say, what _does_ it signify what he says? he can _only_ talk. Sir Piers is dead and gone."

"Humph!" muttered Coates, peevishly.

"But it does seem a little hard, that a lad should swing for killing a bit of venison in his own father's park."

"Which he'd a _nat'ral_ right to do," cried Titus.

"He had no natural right to bruise, violently assault, and endanger the life of his father's, or anybody else's gamekeeper," retorted Coates. "I tell you, sir, he's committed a capital offence, and if he's taken----"

"No chance of that, I hope," interrupted Jack.

"That's a wish I can't help wishing myself," said Titus: "on my conscience, these poachers are fine boys, when all's said and done."

"The finest of all boys," exclaimed Jack, with a kindred enthusiasm, "are those birds of the night, and minions of the moon, whom we call, most unjustly, poachers. They are, after all, only _professional sportsmen_, making a business of what we make a pleasure; a nightly pursuit of what is to us a daily relaxation; there's the main distinction. As to the rest, it's all in idea; they merely thin an overstocked park, as _you_ would reduce a plethoric patient, doctor; or as _you_ would work a moneyed client, if you got him into Chancery, Mister Attorney. And then how much more scientifically and systematically they set to work than we amateurs do! how noiselessly they bag a hare, smoke a pheasant, or knock a buck down with an air-gun! how independent are they of any license, except that of a good eye, and a swift pair of legs! how unnecessary is it for them to ask permission to shoot over Mr. So-and-so's grounds, or my Lord That's preserves! they are free of every cover, and indifferent to any alteration in the game laws. I've some thoughts, when everything else fails, of taking to poaching myself. In my opinion, a poacher's a highly respectable character. What say you, Mr. Coates?" turning very gravely to that gentleman.

"Such a question, sir," replied Coates, bridling up, "scarcely deserves a serious answer. I make no doubt you will next maintain that a highwayman is a gentleman."

"Most undoubtedly," replied Palmer, in the same grave tone, which might have passed for banter, had Jack ever bantered. "I'll maintain and prove it. I don't see how he can be otherwise. It is as necessary for a man to be a gentleman before he can turn highwayman, as it is for a doctor to have his diploma, or an attorney his certificate. Some of the finest gentlemen of their day, as Captain Lovelace, Hind, Hannum, and Dudley, were eminent on the road, and they set the fashion. Ever since their day a real highwayman would consider himself disgraced, if he did not conduct himself in every way like a gentleman. Of course, there are pretenders in this line, as in everything else. But these are only exceptions, and prove the rule. What are the distinguishing characteristics of a fine gentleman?--perfect knowledge of the world--perfect independence of character--notoriety--command of cash--and inordinate success with the women. You grant all these premises? First, then, it is part of a highwayman's business to be thoroughly acquainted with the world. He is the easiest and pleasantest fellow going. There is Tom King, for example: he is the handsomest man about town, and the best-bred fellow on the road. Then whose inclinations are so uncontrolled as the highwayman's, so long as the mopuses last? who produces so great an effect by so few words?--'STAND AND DELIVER!' is sure to arrest attention. Every one is captivated by an address so _taking_. As to money, he wins a purse of a hundred guineas as easily as you would the same sum from the faro table. And wherein lies the difference? only in the name of the game. Who so little need of a banker as he? all he has to apprehend is a check--all he has to draw is a trigger. As to the women, they dote upon him: not even your red-coat is so successful. Look at a highwayman mounted on his flying steed, with his pistols in his holsters, and his mask upon his face. What can be a more gallant sight? The clatter of his horse's heels is like music to his ear--he is in full quest--he shouts to the fugitive horseman to stay--the other flies all the faster--what chase can be half so exciting as that? Suppose he overtakes his prey, which ten to one he will, how readily his summons to deliver is obeyed! how satisfactory is the appropriation of a lusty purse or corpulent pocket-book!--getting the brush is nothing to it. How tranquilly he departs, takes off his hat to his accommodating acquaintance, wishes him a pleasant journey, and disappears across the heath! England, sir, has reason to be proud of her highwaymen. They are peculiar to her clime, and are as much before the brigand of Italy, the contrabandist of Spain, or the cut-purse of France--as her sailors are before all the rest of the world. The day will never come, I hope, when we shall degenerate into the footpad, and lose our _Night Errantry_. Even the French borrow from us--they have only one highwayman of eminence, and he learnt and practised his art in England."

"And who was he, may I ask?" said Coates.

"Claude Du-Val," replied Jack; "and though a Frenchman, he was a deuced fine fellow in his day--quite a tip-top macaroni--he could skip and twirl like a figurant, warble like an opera-singer, and play the flageolet better than any man of his day--he always carried a lute in his pocket, along with his snappers. And then his dress--it was quite beautiful to see how smartly he was rigg'd out, all velvet and lace; and even with his vizard on his face, the ladies used to cry out to see him. Then he took a purse with the air and grace of a receiver-general. All the women adored him--and that, bless their pretty faces! was the best proof of his gentility. I wish he'd not been a Mounseer. The women never mistake. _They_ can always discover the true gentlemen, and they were all, of every degree, from the countess to the kitchen-maid, over head and ears in love with him."

"But he was taken, I suppose?" asked Coates.

"Ay," responded Jack, "the women were his undoing, as they've been many a brave fellow's before, and will be again." Touched by which reflection, Jack became for once in his life sentimental, and sighed. "Poor Du-Val! he was seized at the Hole-in-the-Wall in Chandos-street by the bailiff of Westminster, when dead drunk, his liquor having been drugged by his dells--and was shortly afterwards hanged at Tyburn."

"It was thousand pities," said Mr. Coates, with a sneer, "that so fine a gentleman should come to so ignominious an end!"

"Quite the contrary," returned Jack. "As his biographer, Doctor Pope, properly remarks, 'Who is there worthy of the name of man, that would not prefer such a death before a mean, solitary, inglorious life?' By-the-by, Titus, as we're upon the subject, if you like I'll sing you a song about highwaymen."

"I should like it of all things," replied Titus, who entertained a very favorable opinion of Jack's vocal powers, and was by no means an indifferent performer; "only let it be in a minor key."

Jack required no further encouragement, but disregarding the hints and looks of Coates, sang with much unction the following ballad to a good old tune, then very popular--the merit of which "nobody can deny."

A CHAPTER OF HIGHWAYMEN

Of every rascal of every kind,
The most notorious to my mind,
Was the Cavalier Captain, gay JEMMY HIND![7]
_Which nobody can deny._

But the pleasantest coxcomb among them all
For lute, coranto, and madrigal,
Was the galliard Frenchman, CLAUDE DU-VAL![8]
_Which nobody can deny._

And Tobygloak never a coach could rob,
Could lighten a pocket, or empty a fob,
With a neater hand than OLD MOB, OLD MOB![9]
_Which nobody can deny._

Nor did housebreaker ever deal harder knocks
On the stubborn lid of a good strong box,
Than that prince of good fellows, TOM COX, TOM COX![10]
_Which nobody can deny._

A blither fellow on broad highway,
Did never with oath bid traveller stay,
Than devil-may-care WILL HOLLOWAY![11]
_Which nobody can deny._

And in roguery naught could exceed the tricks
Of GETTINGS and GREY, and the five or six
Who trod in the steps of bold NEDDY WICKS![12]
_Which nobody can deny._

Nor could any so handily break a lock
As SHEPPARD, who stood on the Newgate dock,
And nicknamed the jailers around him "_his flock_!"[13]
_Which nobody can deny._

Nor did highwaymen ever before possess
For ease, for security, danger, distress,
Such a mare as DICK TURPIN'S Black Bess! Black Bess!
_Which nobody can deny._

"A capital song, by the powers!" cried Titus, as Jack's ditty came to a close. "But your English robbers are nothing at all, compared with our Tories[14] and Rapparees--nothing at all. They were the _raal_ gentlemen--they were the boys to cut a throat _aisily_."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Jack, in disgust, "the gentlemen I speak of never maltreated any one, except in self-defence."

"Maybe not," replied Titus; "I'll not dispute the point--but these Rapparees were true brothers of the blade, and gentlemen every inch. I'll just sing you a song I made about them myself. But meanwhile don't let's forget the bottle--talking's dry work. My service to you, doctor!" added he, winking at the somnolent Small. And tossing off his glass, Titus delivered himself with much joviality of the following ballad; the words of which he adapted to the tune of the _Groves of the Pool_:

THE RAPPAREES

Let the Englishman boast of his Turpins and Sheppards, as cocks of
the walk,
His Mulsacks, and Cheneys, and Swiftnecks[15]--it's all botheration
and talk;
Compared with the robbers of Ireland, they don't come within half a
mile,
There never were yet any rascals like those of my own native isle!

First and foremost comes REDMOND O'HANLON, allowed the first thief
of the world,[16]
That o'er the broad province of Ulster the Rapparee banner unfurled;
Och! he was an elegant fellow, as ever you saw in your life,
At fingering the blunderbuss trigger, or handling the throat-cutting
knife.

And then such a dare-devil squadron as that which composed REDMOND'S
_tail_!
Meel, Mactigh, Jack Reilly, Shan Bernagh, Phil Galloge, and Arthur
O'Neal;
_Shure_ never were any boys like 'em for rows, _agitations_, and
sprees,
Not a _rap_ did they leave in the country, and hence they were
called _Rap_parees.[17]

Next comes POWER, the great Tory[18] of Munster, a gentleman born
every inch,
And strong JACK MACPHERSON of Leinster, a horse-shoe who broke at a
pinch;
The last was a fellow so _lively_, not death e'en his courage could
damp,
For as he was led to the gallows, he played his own "march to the
camp."[19]

PADDY FLEMING, DICK BALF, and MULHONI, I think are the next on my list,
All adepts in the beautiful science of giving a pocket a twist;
JEMMY CARRICK must follow his leaders, _ould_ PURNEY who put in a huff,
By dancing a hornpipe at Tyburn, and bothering the hangman for snuff.

There's PAUL LIDDY, the curly-pate Tory, whose noddle was stuck on a
spike,
And BILLY DELANEY, the "_Songster_,"[20] we never shall meet with
his like;
For his neck by a witch was anointed, and warranted safe by her charm,
No hemp that was ever yet twisted his wonderful throttle could harm.

And lastly, there's CAHIR NA CAPPUL, the handiest rogue of them all,
Who only need whisper a word, and your horse will trot out of his
stall;
Your tit is not safe in your stable, though you or your groom should
be near,
And devil a bit in the paddock, if CAHIR gets _hould_ of his ear.

Then success to the Tories of Ireland, the generous, the gallant,
the gay!
With them the best _Rumpads_[21] of England are not to be named the
same day!
And were further proof wanting to show what precedence we take with
our _prigs_,
Recollect that _our_ robbers are Tories, while those of _your_
country are Whigs.

"Bravissimo!" cried Jack, drumming upon the table.

"Well," said Coates, "we've had enough about the Irish highwaymen, in all conscience. But there's a rascal on our side of the Channel, whom you have only incidentally mentioned, and who makes more noise than them all put together."

"Who's that?" asked Jack, with some curiosity.

"Dick Turpin," replied the attorney: "he seems to me quite as worthy of mention as any of the Hinds, the Du-Vals, or the O'Hanlons, you have either of you enumerated."

"I did not think of him," replied Palmer, smiling; "though, if I had, he scarcely deserves to be ranked with those illustrious heroes."

"Gads bobs!" cried Titus; "they tell me Turpin keeps the best nag in the United Kingdom, and can ride faster and further in a day than any other man in a week."

"So I've heard," said Palmer, with a glance of satisfaction. "I should like to try a run with him. I warrant me, I'd not be far behind."

"I should like to get a peep at him," quoth Titus.

"So should I," added Coates. "Vastly!"

"You may both of you be gratified, gentlemen," said Palmer. "Talking of Dick Turpin, they say, is like speaking of the devil, he's at your elbow ere the word's well out of your mouth. He may be within hearing at this moment, for anything we know to the contrary."

"Body o' me!" ejaculated Coates, "you don't say so? Turpin in Yorkshire! I thought he confined his exploits to the neighborhood of the metropolis, and made Epping Forest his headquarters."

"So he did," replied Jack, "but the cave is all up now. The whole of the great North Road, from Tottenham Cross to York gates, comes within Dick's present range; and Saint Nicholas only knows in which part of it he is most likely to be found. He shifts his quarters as often and as readily as a Tartar; and he who looks for him may chance to catch a Tartar--ha!--ha!"

"It's a disgrace to the country that such a rascal should remain unhanged," returned Coates, peevishly. "Government ought to look to it. Is the whole kingdom to be kept in a state of agitation by a single highwayman?--Sir Robert Walpole should take the affair into his own hands."

"Fudge!" exclaimed Jack, emptying his glass.

"I have already addressed a letter to the editor of the _Common Sense_ on the subject," said Coates, "in which I have spoken my mind pretty plainly: and I repeat, it is perfectly disgraceful that such a rascal should be suffered to remain at large."

"You don't happen to have that letter by you, I suppose," said Jack, "or I should beg the favor to hear it?--I am not acquainted with the newspaper to which you allude;--I read _Fog's Journal_."

"So I thought," replied Coates, with a sneer; "that's the reason you are so easily mystified. But luckily I have the paper in my pocket; and you are quite welcome to my opinions. Here it is," added he, drawing forth a newspaper. "I shall waive my preliminary remarks, and come to the point at once."

"By all means," said Jack.

"'I thank God,'" began Coates, in an authoritative tone, "'that I was born in a country that hath formerly emulated the Romans in their public spirit; as is evident from their conquests abroad, and their struggles for liberty at home.'"

"What has all this got to do with Turpin?" interposed Jack.

"You will hear," replied the attorney--"no interruptions if you please. 'But this noble principle,'" continued he, with great emphasis, "'though not utterly lost, I cannot think at present so active as it ought to be in a nation so jealous of her liberty.'"

"Good!" exclaimed Jack. "There is more than '_common sense_' in that observation, Mr. Coates."

"'My suspicion,'" proceeded Coates, "'is founded on a late instance. I mean the flagrant, undisturbed success of the notorious TURPIN, who hath robb'd in a manner scarce ever known before for several years, and is grown so insolent and impudent as to threaten particular persons, and become openly dangerous to the lives as well as fortunes of the people of England.'"

"Better and better," shouted Jack, laughing immoderately. "Pray go on, sir."

"'That a fellow,'" continued Coates, "'who is known to be a thief by the whole kingdom, shall for so long a time continue to rob us, and not only rob us, but make a jest of us----'"

"Ha--ha--ha--capital! Excuse me, sir," roared Jack, laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks--"pray, pray, go on."

"I see nothing to laugh at," replied Coates, somewhat offended; "however, I will conclude my letter, since I have begun it--'not only rob us, but make a jest of us, shall defy the laws, and laugh at justice, argues a want of public spirit, which should make every particular member of the community sensible of the public calamity, and ambitious of the honor of extirpating such a notorious highwayman from society, since he owes his long successes to no other cause than his immoderate impudence, and the sloth and pusillanimity of those who ought to bring him to justice.' I will not deny," continued Coates, "that, professing myself, as I do, to be a staunch new Whig, I had not some covert political object in penning this epistle.[22] Nevertheless, setting aside my principles----"

"Right," observed Jack; "you Whigs, new or old, always set aside your principles."

"Setting aside any political feeling I may entertain," continued Coates, disregarding the interruption, "I repeat, I am ambitious of extirpating this modern Cacus--this Autolycus of the eighteenth century."

"And what course do you mean to pursue?" asked Jack, "for I suppose you do not expect to catch this '_ought-to-lick-us_,' as you call him, by a line in the newspapers."

"I am in the habit of keeping my own counsel, sir," replied Coates, pettishly; "and to be plain with you, I hope to finger all the reward myself."

"Oons, is there a reward offered for Turpin's apprehension?" asked Titus.

"No less than two hundred pounds," answered Coates, "and that's no trifle, as you will both admit. Have you not seen the king's proclamation, Mr. Palmer?"

"Not I," replied Jack, with affected indifference.

"Nor I," added Titus, with some appearance of curiosity; "do you happen to have _that_ by you too?"

"I always carry it about with me," replied Coates, "that I may refer to it in case of emergency. My father, Christopher, or Kit Coates, as he was familiarly called, was a celebrated thief-taker. He apprehended Spicket, and Child, and half a dozen others, and always kept their descriptions in his pocket. I endeavor to tread in my worthy father's footsteps. I hope to signalize myself by capturing a highwayman. By-the-by," added he, surveying Jack more narrowly, "it occurs to me that Turpin must be rather like you, Mr. Palmer?"

"Like me," said Jack, regarding Coates askance; "like me--how am I to understand you, sir, eh?"

"No offence; none whatever, sir. Ah! stay, you won't object to my comparing the description. That _can_ do no harm. Nobody would take you for a highwayman--nobody whatever--ha! ha! Singular resemblance--he--he. These things _do_ happen sometimes: not very often, though. But here is Turpin's description in the _Gazette_, _June 28th_, A.D. 1737:--'_It having been represented to the King that Richard Turpin did, on Wednesday, the 4th of May last, rob on his Majesty's highway Vavasour Mowbray, Esq., Major of the 2d troop of Horse Grenadiers_'--that Major Mowbray, by-the-by, is a nephew of the late Sir Piers, and cousin of the present baronet--'_and commit other notorious felonies and robberies near London, his Majesty is pleased to promise his most gracious pardon to any of his accomplices, and a reward of two hundred pounds to any person or persons who shall discover him, so as he may be apprehended and convicted_.'"

"Odsbodikins!" exclaimed Titus, "a noble reward! I should like to lay hands upon Turpin," added he, slapping Palmer's shoulder: "I wish he were in your place at this moment, Jack."

"Thank you!" replied Palmer, shifting his chair.

"'_Turpin_,'" continued Coates, "'_was born at Thacksted, in Essex; is about thirty_'--you, sir, I believe, are about thirty?" added he, addressing Palmer.

"Thereabouts," said Jack, bluffly. "But what has my age to do with that of Turpin?"

"Nothing--nothing at all," answered Coates; "suffer me, however, to proceed:--'_Is by trade a butcher_,'--you, sir, I believe, never had any dealings in that line?"

"I have some notion how to dispose of a troublesome calf," returned Jack. "But Turpin, though described as a butcher, is, I understand, a lineal descendant of a great French archbishop of the same name."

"Who wrote the chronicles of that royal robber Charlemagne; I know him," replied Coates--"a terrible liar!--The modern Turpin '_is about five feet nine inches high_'--exactly your height, sir--exactly!"

"I am five feet ten," answered Jack, standing bolt upright.

"You have an inch, then, in your favor," returned the unperturbed attorney, deliberately proceeding with his examination--"'_he has a brown complexion, marked with the smallpox_.'"

"My complexion is florid--my face without a seam," quoth Jack.

"Those whiskers would conceal anything," replied Coates, with a grin. "Nobody wears whiskers nowadays, except a highwayman."

"Sir!" said Jack, sternly. "You are personal."

"I don't mean to be so," replied Coates; "but you must allow the description tallies with your own in a remarkable manner. Hear me out, however--'_his cheek bones are broad--his face is thinner towards the bottom--his visage short--pretty upright--and broad about the shoulders_.' Now I appeal to Mr. Tyrconnel if all this does not sound like a portrait of yourself."

"Don't appeal to me," said Titus, hastily, "upon such a delicate point. I can't say that I approve of a gentleman being likened to a highwayman. But if ever there was a highwayman I'd wish to resemble, it's either Redmond O'Hanlon or Richard Turpin; and may the devil burn me if I know which of the two is the greater rascal!"

"Well, Mr. Palmer," said Coates, "I repeat, I mean no offence. Likenesses are unaccountable. I am said to be like my Lord North; whether I am or not, the Lord knows. But if ever I meet with Turpin I shall bear you in mind--he--he! Ah! if ever I _should_ have the good luck to stumble upon him, I've a plan for his capture which couldn't fail. Only let me get a glimpse of him, that's all. You shall see how I'll dispose of him."

"Well, sir, we _shall_ see," observed Palmer. "And for your own sake, I wish you may never be nearer to him than you are at this moment. With his friends, they say Dick Turpin can be as gentle as a lamb; with his foes, especially with a limb of the law like yourself, he's been found but an ugly customer. I once saw him at Newmarket, where he was collared by two constable culls, one on each side. Shaking off one, and dealing the other a blow in the face with his heavy-handled whip, he stuck spurs into his mare, and though the whole field gave chase, he distanced them all, easily."

"And how came you not to try your pace with him, if you were there, as you boasted a short time ago?" asked Coates.

"So I did, and stuck closer to him than any one else. We were neck and neck. I was the only person who could have delivered him to the hands of justice, if I'd felt inclined."

"Zounds!" cried Coates; "If I had a similar opportunity, it should be neck or nothing. Either he or I should reach the scragging-post first. I'd take him, dead or alive."

"_You_ take Turpin?" cried Jack, with a sneer.

"I'd engage to do it," replied Coates. "I'll bet you a hundred guineas I take him, if I ever have the same chance."

"Done!" exclaimed Jack, rapping the table at the same time, so that the glasses danced upon it.

"That's right," cried Titus. "I'll go you halves."

"What's the matter--what's the matter?" exclaimed Small, awakened from his doze.

"Only a trifling bet about a highwayman," replied Titus.

"A highwayman!" echoed Small. "Eh! what? there are none in the house, I hope."

"I hope not," answered Coates. "But this gentleman has taken up the defence of the notorious Dick Turpin in so singular a manner, that----"

"_Quod factu f[oe]dum est, idem est et Dictu Turpe_," returned Small. "The less said about that rascal the better."

"So I think," replied Jack. "The fact is as you say, sir--were Dick here, he would, I am sure, take the _freedom to hide 'em_."

Further discourse was cut short by the sudden opening of the door, followed by the abrupt entrance of a tall, slender young man, who hastily advanced towards the table, around which the company were seated. His appearance excited the utmost astonishment in the whole group: curiosity was exhibited in every countenance--the magnum remained poised midway in the hand of Palmer--Dr. Small scorched his thumb in the bowl of his pipe; and Mr. Coates was almost choked, by swallowing an inordinate whiff of vapor.

"Young Sir Ranulph!" ejaculated he, as soon as the syncope would permit him.

"Sir Ranulph here?" echoed Palmer, rising.

"Angels and ministers!" exclaimed Small.

"Odsbodikins!" cried Titus, with a theatrical start; "this is more than I expected."

"Gentlemen," said Ranulph, "do not let my unexpected arrival here discompose you. Dr. Small, you will excuse the manner of my greeting; and you, Mr. Coates. One of the present party, I believe, was my father's medical attendant, Dr. Tyrconnel."

"I had that honor," replied the Irishman, bowing profoundly--"I am Dr. Tyrconnel, Sir Ranulph, at your service."

"When, and at what hour, did my father breathe his last, sir?" inquired Ranulph.

"Poor Sir Piers," answered Titus, again bowing, "departed this life on Thursday last."

"The hour?--the precise minute?" asked Ranulph, eagerly.

"Troth, Sir Ranulph, as nearly as I can recollect, it might be a few minutes before midnight."

"The very hour!" exclaimed Ranulph, striding towards the window. His steps were arrested as his eye fell upon the attire of his father, which, as we have before noticed, hung at that end of the room. A slight shudder passed over his frame. There was a momentary pause, during which Ranulph continued gazing intently at the apparel. "The very dress, too!" muttered he; then turning to the assembly, who were watching his movements with surprise; "Doctor," said he, addressing Small, "I have something for your private ear. Gentlemen, will you spare us the room for a few minutes?"

"On my conscience," said Tyrconnel to Jack Palmer, as they quitted the sanctum, "a mighty fine boy is this young Sir Ranulph!--and a chip of the ould block!--he'll be as good a fellow as his father."

"No doubt," replied Palmer, shutting the door. "But what the devil brought him back, just in the nick of it?"

_CHAPTER X_

_RANULPH ROOKWOOD_

_Fer._ Yes, Francisco,
He hath left his curse upon me.

_Fran._ How?

_Fer._ His curse I dost comprehend what that word carries?
Shot from a father's angry breath? Unless
I tear poor Felisarda from my heart,
He hath pronounced me heir to all his curses.

SHIRLEY: _The Brothers_.

"There is nothing, I trust, my dear young friend, and quondam pupil," said Dr. Small, as the door was closed, "that weighs upon your mind, beyond the sorrow naturally incident to an affliction, severe as the present. Forgive my apprehensions if I am wrong. You know the affectionate interest I have ever felt for you--an interest which, I assure you, is nowise diminished, and which will excuse my urging you to unburden your mind to me; assuring yourself, that whatever may be your disclosure, you will have my sincere sympathy and commiseration. I may be better able to advise with you, should counsel be necessary, than others, from my knowledge of your character and temperament. I would not anticipate evil, and am, perhaps, unnecessarily apprehensive. But I own, I am startled at the incoherence of your expressions, coupled with your sudden and almost mysterious appearance at this distressing conjuncture. Answer me: has your return been the result of mere accident? is it to be considered one of those singular circumstances which almost look like fate, and baffle our comprehension? or were you nearer home than we expected, and received the news of your father's demise through some channel unknown to us? Satisfy my curiosity, I beg of you, upon this point."

"Your curiosity, my dear sir," replied Ranulph, gravely and sadly, "will not be decreased, when I tell you, that my return has neither been the work of chance,--for I came, fully anticipating the dread event, which I find realized,--nor has it been occasioned by any intelligence derived from yourself, or others. It was only, indeed, upon my arrival here that I received full confirmation of my apprehensions. I had another, a more terrible summons to return."

"What summons? you perplex me!" exclaimed Small, gazing with some misgiving into the face of his young friend.

"I am myself perplexed--sorely perplexed," returned Ranulph. "I have much to relate; but I pray you bear with me to the end. I have that on my mind which, like guilt, must be revealed."

"Speak, then, fearlessly to me," said Small, affectionately pressing Ranulph's hand, "and assure yourself, beforehand, of my sympathy."

"It will be necessary," said Ranulph, "to preface my narrative by some slight allusion to certain painful events--and yet I know not why I should call them painful, excepting in their consequences--which influenced my conduct in my final interview between my father and myself--an interview which occasioned my departure for the Continent--and which was of a character so dreadful, that I would not even revert to it, were it not a necessary preliminary to the circumstance I am about to detail.

"When I left Oxford, I passed a few weeks alone, in London. A college friend, whom I accidentally met, introduced me, during a promenade in St. James's Park, to some acquaintances of his own, who were taking an airing in the Mall at the same time--a family whose name was Mowbray, consisting of a widow lady, her son, and daughter. This introduction was made in compliance with my own request. I had been struck by the singular beauty of the younger lady, whose countenance had a peculiar and inexpressible charm to me, from its marked resemblance to the portrait of the Lady Eleanor Rookwood, whose charms and unhappy fate I have so often dwelt upon and deplored. The picture is there," continued Ranulph, pointing to it: "look at it, and you have the fair creature I speak of before you; the color of the hair--the tenderness of the eyes. No--the expression is not so sad, except when----but no matter! I recognized her features at once.

"It struck me, that upon the mention of my name, the party betrayed some surprise, especially the elder lady. For my own part, I was so attracted by the beauty of the daughter, the effect of which upon me seemed rather the fulfilment of a predestined event, originating in the strange fascination which the family portrait had wrought in my heart, than the operation of what is called 'love at first sight,' that I was insensible to the agitation of the mother. In vain I endeavored to rally myself; my efforts at conversation were fruitless; I could not talk--all I could do was silently to yield to the soft witchery of those tender eyes; my admiration increasing each instant that I gazed upon them.

"I accompanied them home. Attracted as by some irresistible spell, I could not tear myself away; so that, although I fancied I could perceive symptoms of displeasure in the looks of both the mother and the son, yet, regardless of consequences, I ventured, uninvited, to enter the house. In order to shake off the restraint which I felt my society imposed, I found it absolutely necessary to divest myself of bashfulness, and to exert such conversational powers as I possessed. I succeeded so well that the discourse soon became lively and animated; and what chiefly delighted me was, that _she_, for whose sake I had committed my present rudeness, became radiant with smiles. I had been all eagerness to seek for some explanation of the resemblance to which I have just alluded, and the fitting moment had, I conceived, arrived. I called attention to a peculiar expression in the features of Miss Mowbray, and then instanced the likeness that subsisted between her and my ancestress. 'It is the more singular,' I said, turning to her mother, 'because there could have been no affinity, that I am aware of, between them, and yet the likeness is really surprising.'--'It is not so singular as you imagine,' answered Mrs. Mowbray; 'there _is_ a close affinity. That Lady Rookwood was my mother. Eleanor Mowbray _does_ resemble her ill-fated ancestress.'

"Words cannot paint my astonishment. I gazed at Mrs. Mowbray, considering whether I had not misconstrued her speech--whether I had not so shaped the sounds as to suit my own quick and passionate conceptions. But no! I read in her calm, collected countenance--in the downcast glance, and sudden sadness of Eleanor, as well as in the changed and haughty demeanor of the brother, that I had heard her rightly. Eleanor Mowbray was my cousin--the descendant of that hapless creature whose image I had almost worshipped.

"Recovering from my surprise, I addressed Mrs. Mowbray, endeavoring to excuse my ignorance of our relationship, on the plea that I had not been given to understand that such had been the name of the gentleman she had espoused. 'Nor was it,' answered she, 'the name he bore at Rookwood; circumstances forbade it then. From the hour I quitted that house until this moment, excepting one interview with my--with Sir Reginald Rookwood--I have seen none of my family--have held no communication with them. My brothers have been strangers to me; the very name of Rookwood has been unheard, unknown; nor would you have been admitted here, had not accident occasioned it.' I ventured now to interrupt her, and to express a hope that she would suffer an acquaintance to be kept up, which had so fortunately commenced, and which might most probably bring about an entire reconciliation between the families. I was so earnest in my expostulations, my whole soul being in them, that she inclined a more friendly ear to me. Eleanor, too, smiled encouragement. Love lent me eloquence; and at length, as a token of my success, and her own relenting, Mrs. Mowbray held forth her hand: I clasped it eagerly. It was the happiest moment of my life.

"I will not trouble you with any lengthened description of Eleanor Mowbray. I hope, at some period or other, you may still be enabled to see her, and judge for yourself; for though adverse circumstances have hitherto conspired to separate us, the time for a renewal of our acquaintance is approaching, I trust, for I am not yet altogether without hope. But this much I may be allowed to say, that her rare endowments of person were only equalled by the graces of her mind.

"Educated abroad, she had all the vivacity of our livelier neighbors, combined with every solid qualification which we claim as more essentially our own. Her light and frolic manner was French, certainly; but her gentle, sincere heart was as surely English. The foreign accent that dwelt upon her tongue communicated an inexpressible charm, even to the language which she spoke.

"I will not dwell too long upon this theme. I feel ashamed of my own prolixity. And yet I am sure you will pardon it. Ah, those bright brief days! too quickly were they fled! I could expatiate upon each minute--recall each word--revive each look. It may not be. I must hasten on. Darker themes await me.

"My love made rapid progress--I became each hour more enamored of my new-found cousin. My whole time was passed near her; indeed, I could scarcely exist in absence from her side. Short, however, was destined to be my indulgence in this blissful state. One happy week was its extent. I received a peremptory summons from my father to return home.

"Immediately upon commencing this acquaintance, I had written to my father, explaining every particular attending it. This I should have done of my own free will, but I was urged to it by Mrs. Mowbray. Unaccustomed to disguise, I had expatiated upon the beauty of Eleanor, and in such terms, I fear, that I excited some uneasiness in his breast. His letter was laconic. He made no allusion to the subject upon which I had expatiated when writing to him. He commanded me to return.

"The bitter hour was at hand. I could not hesitate to comply. Without my father's sanction, I was assured Mrs. Mowbray would not permit any continuance of my acquaintance. Of Eleanor's inclinations I fancied I had some assurance; but without her mother's consent, to whose will she was devoted, I felt, had I even been inclined to urge it, that my suit was hopeless. The letter which I had received from my father made me more than doubt whether I should not find him utterly adverse to my wishes. Agonized, therefore, with a thousand apprehensions, I presented myself on the morning of my departure. It was then I made the declaration of my passion to Eleanor; it was then that every hope was confirmed, every apprehension realized. I received from her lips a confirmation of my fondest wishes; yet were those hopes blighted in the bud, when I heard, at the same time, that their consummation was dependent on the will of two others, whose assenting voices, she feared, could never be obtained. From Mrs. Mowbray I received a more decided reply. All her haughtiness was aroused. Her farewell words assured me, that it was indifferent to her whether we met again as relatives or as strangers. Then was it that the native tenderness of Eleanor displayed itself, in an outbreak of feeling peculiar to a heart keenly sympathetic as hers. She saw my suffering--the reserve natural to her sex gave way--she flung herself into my arms--and so we parted.

"With a heavy foreboding I returned to Rookwood, and, oppressed with the gloomiest anticipations, endeavored to prepare myself for the worst. I arrived. My reception was such as I had calculated upon; and, to increase my distress, my parents had been at variance. I will not pain you and myself with any recital of their disagreement. My mother had espoused my cause, chiefly, I fear, with the view of thwarting my poor father's inclinations. He was in a terrible mood, exasperated by the fiery stimulants he had swallowed, which had not indeed, drowned his reason, but roused and inflamed every dormant emotion to violence. He was as one insane. It was evening when I arrived. I would willingly have postponed the interview till the morrow. It could not be. He insisted upon seeing me.

"My mother was present. You know the restraint she usually had over my father, and how she maintained it. On this occasion she had none. He questioned me as to every particular; probed my secret soul; dragged forth every latent feeling, and then thundered out his own determination that Eleanor never should be bride of mine; nor would he receive, under his roof, her mother, the discountenanced daughter of his father. I endeavored to remonstrate with him. He was deaf to my entreaties. My mother added sharp and stinging words to my expostulations. 'I had her consent,' she said; 'what more was needed? The lands were entailed. I should at no distant period be their master, and might then please myself.' This I mention in order to give you my father's strange answer.

"'Have a care, madam,' replied he, 'and bridle your tongue; they _are_ entailed, 'tis true, but I need not ask _his_ consent to cut off that entail. Let him dare to disobey me in this particular, and I will so divert the channel of my wealth, that no drop shall reach him. I will--but why threaten?--let him do it, and approve the consequences.'

"On the morrow I renewed my importunities, with no better success. We were alone.

"'Ranulph,' said he, 'you waste time in seeking to change my resolution. It is unalterable. I have many motives which influence me; they are inexplicable, but imperative. Eleanor Mowbray never can be yours. Forget her as speedily as may be, and I pledge myself, upon whomsoever else your choice may fix, I will offer no obstacle.'

"'But why,' exclaimed I, with vehemence, 'do you object to one whom you have never beheld? At least, consent to see her.'

"'Never!' he replied, 'The tie is sundered, and cannot be reunited; my father bound me by an oath never to meet in friendship with my sister; I will not break my vow, I will not violate its conditions, even in the second degree. We never can meet again. An idle prophecy which I have heard has said "_that when a Rookwood shall marry a Rookwood the end of the house draweth nigh_." That I regard not. It may have no meaning, or it may have much. To me it imports nothing further, than that, if you wed Eleanor, every acre I possess shall depart from you. And assure yourself this is no idle threat. I can, and will do it. My curse shall be your sole inheritance.'

"I could not avoid making some reply, representing to him how unjustifiable such a procedure was to me, in a case where the happiness of my life was at stake; and how inconsistent it was with the charitable precepts of our faith, to allow feelings of resentment to influence his conduct. My remonstrances, as in the preceding meeting, were ineffectual. The more I spoke, the more intemperate he grew. I therefore desisted, but not before he had ordered me to quit the house. I did not leave the neighborhood, but saw him again on the same evening.

"Our last interview took place in the garden. I then told him that I had determined to go abroad for two years, at the expiration of which period I proposed returning to England; trusting that his resolution might then be changed, and that he would listen to my request, for the fulfilment of which I could never cease to hope. Time, I hoped, might befriend me. He approved of my plan of travelling, requesting me not to see Eleanor before I set out; adding, in a melancholy tone--'We may never meet again, Ranulph, in this life; in that case, farewell forever. Indulge no vain hopes. Eleanor never can be yours, but upon one condition, and to that you would never consent!'--'Propose it!' I cried; 'there is no condition I could not accede to.'--'Rash boy!' he replied, 'you know not what you say; that pledge you would never fulfil, were I to propose it to you; but no--should I survive till you return, you shall learn it then--and now, farewell.'--'Speak now, I beseech you!' I exclaimed; 'anything, everything--what you will!'--'Say no more,' replied he, walking towards the house; 'when you return we will renew this subject; farewell--perhaps forever!' His words were prophetic--that parting _was_ forever. I remained in the garden till nightfall. I saw my mother, but _he_ came not again. I quitted England without beholding Eleanor."

"Did you not acquaint her by letter with what had occurred, and your consequent intentions?" asked Small.

"I did," replied Ranulph; "but I received no reply. My earliest inquiries will be directed to ascertain whether the family are still in London. It will be a question for our consideration, whether I am not justified in departing from my father's expressed wishes, or whether I should violate his commands in so doing."

"We will discuss that point hereafter," replied Small; adding, as he noticed the growing paleness of his companion, "you are too much exhausted to proceed--you had better defer the remainder of your story to a future period."

"No," replied Ranulph, swallowing a glass of water; "I am exhausted, yet I cannot rest--my blood is in a fever, which nothing will allay. I shall feel more easy when I have made the present communication. I am approaching the sequel of my narrative. You are now in possession of the story of my love--of the motive of my departure. You shall learn what was the occasion of my return.

"I had wandered from city to city during my term of exile--consumed by hopeless passion--with little that could amuse _me_, though surrounded by a thousand objects of interest to others, and only rendering life endurable by severest study or most active exertion. My steps conducted me to Bordeaux;--there I made a long halt, enchanted by the beauty of the neighboring scenery. My fancy was smitten by the situation of a villa on the banks of the Garonne, within a few leagues of the city. It was an old château, with fine gardens bordering the blue waters of the river, and commanding a multitude of enchanting prospects. The house, which had in part gone to decay, was inhabited by an aged couple, who had formerly been servants to an English family, the members of which had thus provided for them on their return to their own country. I inquired the name. Conceive my astonishment to find that this château had been the residence of the Mowbrays. This intelligence decided me at once--I took up my abode in the house; and a new and unexpected source of solace and delight was opened to me, I traced the paths she had traced; occupied the room she had occupied; tended the flowers she had tended; and, on the golden summer evenings, would watch the rapid waters, tinged with all the glorious hues of sunset, sweeping past my feet, and think how _she_ had watched them. Her presence seemed to pervade the place. I was now comparatively happy, and, anxious to remain unmolested, wrote home that I was leaving Bordeaux for the Pyrenees, on my way to Spain."

"That account arrived," observed Small.

"One night," continued Ranulph--"'tis now the sixth since the occurrence I am about to relate--I was seated in a bower that overlooked the river. It had been a lovely evening--so lovely, that I lingered there, wrapped in the heavenly contemplation of its beauties. I watched each rosy tint reflected upon the surface of the rapid stream--now fading into yellow--now shining silvery white. I noticed the mystic mingling of twilight with darkness--of night with day, till the bright current on a sudden became a black mass of waters. I could scarcely discern a leaf--all was darkness--when lo! another change! The moon was up--a flood of light deluged all around--the stream was dancing again in reflected radiance, and I still lingering at its brink.

"I had been musing for some moments, with my head resting upon my hand, when, happening to raise my eyes, I beheld a figure immediately before me. I was astonished at the sight, for I had perceived no one approach--had heard no footstep advance towards me, and was satisfied that no one besides myself could be in the garden. The presence of the figure inspired me with an undefinable awe! and, I can scarce tell why, but a thrilling presentiment convinced me that it was a supernatural visitant. Without motion--without life--without substance, it seemed; yet still the outward character of life was there. I started to my feet. God! what did I behold? The face was turned to me--my father's face! And what an aspect, what a look! Time can never efface that terrible expression; it is graven upon my memory--I cannot describe it. It was not anger--it was not pain: it was as if an eternity of woe were stamped upon its features. It was too dreadful to behold, I would fain have averted my gaze--my eyes were fascinated--fixed--I could not withdraw them from the ghastly countenance. I shrank from it, yet stirred not--I could not move a limb. Noiselessly gliding towards me, the apparition approached. I could not retreat. It stood obstinately beside me. I became as one half-dead. The phantom shook its head with the deepest despair; and as the word 'Return!' sounded hollowly in my ears, it gradually melted from my view. I cannot tell how I recovered from the swoon into which I fell, but daybreak saw me on my way to England. I am here. On that night--at that same hour, my father died."

"It was, after all, then, a supernatural summons that you received?" said Small.

"Undoubtedly," replied Ranulph.

"Humph!--the coincidence, I own, is sufficiently curious," returned Small, musingly; "but it would not be difficult, I think, to discover a satisfactory explanation of the delusion."

"There was no delusion," replied Ranulph, coldly; "the figure was as palpable as your own. Can I doubt, when I behold this result? Could any deceit have been practised upon me, at that distance?--the precise time, moreover, agreeing. Did not the phantom bid me return?--I _have_ returned--he is dead. I have gazed upon a being of another world. To doubt were impious, after that look."

"Whatever my opinions may be, my dear young friend," returned Small, gravely, "I will suspend them for the present. You are still greatly excited. Let me advise you to seek some repose."

"I am easier," replied Ranulph; "but you are right, I will endeavor to snatch a little rest. Something within tells me all is not yet accomplished. What remains?--I shudder to think of it. I will rejoin you at midnight. I shall myself attend the solemnity. Adieu!"

Ranulph quitted the room. Small sighingly shook his head, and having lighted his pipe, was presently buried in a profundity of smoke and metaphysical speculation.

_CHAPTER XI_

_LADY ROOKWOOD_

_Fran. de Med._ Your unhappy husband
Is dead.

_Vit. Cor._ Oh, he's a happy husband!
Now he owes nature nothing.

_Mon._ And look upon this creature as his wife.
She comes not like a widow--she comes armed
With scorn and impudence. Is this a mourning habit?

_The White Devil._

The progress of our narrative demands our presence in another apartment of the hall--a large, lonesome chamber, situate in the eastern wing of the house, already described as the most ancient part of the building--the sombre appearance of which was greatly increased by the dingy, discolored tapestry that clothed its walls; the record of the patience and industry of a certain Dame Dorothy Rookwood, who flourished some centuries ago, and whose skilful needle had illustrated the slaughter of the Innocents, with a severity of _gusto_, and sanguinary minuteness of detail, truly surprising in a lady so amiable as she was represented to have been. Grim-visaged Herod glared from the ghostly woof, with his shadowy legions, executing their murderous purposes, grouped like a troop of Sabbath-dancing witches around him. Mysterious twilight, admitted through the deep, dark, mullioned windows, revealed the antique furniture of the room, which still boasted a sort of mildewed splendor, more imposing, perhaps, than its original gaudy magnificence; and showed the lofty hangings, and tall, hearse-like canopy of a bedstead, once a couch of state, but now destined for the repose of Lady Rookwood. The stiff crimson hangings were embroidered in gold, with the arms and cipher of Elizabeth, from whom the apartment, having once been occupied by that sovereign, obtained the name of the "Queen's Room."