"Rum punch, and lashings of it," chimed in Archer; "but suppose you were to tell Fairlegh all that has pa.s.sed since he came away, or let me do it for you, whichever you like best."

"Oh! you tell him, by all means,--I like to encourage ingenuous youth; fire away, Archer, my boy!"

-177--Thus urged, Archer informed me that upon my departure there had been a somewhat stormy discussion, in which the events of the evening were freely canva.s.sed; and at last they came to a unanimous decision that any man was at liberty to withdraw, if a toast was proposed to which he objected, and that, if the toastmaster preferred giving it up rather than allow him to leave the party, he had a perfect right to do so. This being the case, they decided that Wilford, having been in the wrong, ought to confess he had spoken hastily, and that, if he would do so, and would add that he had meant nothing offensive either to me or Oaklands, there the matter might rest. This for a long time he positively refused to do; at length, finding he could get no one to support him, he said that, as I had owned I was wrong in attempting to prevent his expressing his opinion, he considered that, in all other respects, I had behaved in a gentlemanly way; therefore, if he had said anything which implied the contrary, he was willing to withdraw it. But, in regard to Mr. Oaklands, he considered he had interfered in a very uncalled-for manner; and he could only repeat, if that gentleman felt himself aggrieved by anything he had said, the remedy was in his own hands. As soon as he had spoken he withdrew.

The question was again debated, and at length they came to the conclusion that what Wilford had said amounted to an ample apology as far as I was concerned, which I was bound to accept; and that Oaklands, having agreed to consider the quarrel mine, could not take any further notice of it; therefore, the affair was at an end.

"Well," said I, as he finished his recital, "I must ever feel grateful to you both for the trouble you have taken on my account, and the kind feeling you have shown towards me throughout. I will not pretend to deny that I am very glad the matter has been amicably arranged, for, circ.u.mstanced as I am, with everything depending upon my own exertions, a duel would have been ruin to me; but I must say I think the whole business thoroughly unsatisfactory, and it is only my conviction that a duel would make matters worse, instead of mending them, which leads me to agree to the arrangement. I sincerely hope Oaklands will not hear what Wilford said about him, for he is fearfully irritated against him already."

"I'll tell you what it is," interrupted Lawless; "it's my belief that Wilford's behaviour to you to-night was only a.s.sumed for the sake of provoking Oaklands. -178--Master Stephen hates him as he does the very devil himself, and would like nothing better than to pick a quarrel with him, have him out, and, putting a brace of slugs into him, leave him--"

"Quivering on a daisy," said Archer, completing the sentence. "Really I think," he continued, "what Lawless says is very true; you see Oaklands'

careless, nonchalant manner, which is always exactly the same whether he is talking to a beggar or a lord, gives continual offence to Wilford, who has contrived somehow to exact a sort of deference and respect from all the men with whom he a.s.sociates till he actually seems to consider it his right. Then, Wilford's overbearing manner irritates Oaklands; and so, whenever they have met, the breach has gone on widening, till now they positively hate one another."

"How is it you are so intimate with him?" asked I; "for n.o.body seems really to like him."

"Well, hang me if I can tell," replied Lawless; "but, you see he has some good points about him, after all; for instance, I never saw him out with the hounds yet that he didn't take a good place, aye, and keep it too, however long the run and difficult the country. I killed the best horse I had in my stables trying to follow him one day in Leicestershire last season; my horse fell with me going over the last fence, and never rose again. Wilford, and one of the whips, who was merely a feather-weight, were the only men in at the death. I offered him three hundred guineas for the horse he rode, but he only gave me one of his pleasant looks, and said it wasn't for sale."

"You've seen that jet-black mare he rides now, haven't you, Fairlegh?"

asked Archer.

"Yes; what a magnificent creature it is!" was my reply.

"Did you ever hear how he came by it?"

On my answering in the negative, Archer continued: "Well, I wonder at that, for it was in everybody's mouth at one time: it's worth hearing, if it were but to show the determined character of the man. The mare belonged to Lord Foxington, Lord Sellborough's eldest son. I believe he gave five hundred guineas for her. She was a splendid animal, high-couraged, but temperate. In fact, when you were on her she hadn't a fault, but in the stable she was a perfect devil; there was only one man who dared go near her, and he had been with her from the time she was a filly: so that, when Foxington bought the mare -179--he was forced to hire the groom too. The most difficult thing of all was putting on the bridle; it was generally half an hour's work before she would let even this groom do it. After dinner one day Foxington began talking about this animal, saying what a brute she was to handle, and adding what I have just told you, as to the impossibility of putting on the bridle, when Wilford, who was present, made some remark, which showed he did not believe in the impossibility. Upon which Foxington inquired whether he doubted the fact he had just heard? Wilford replied that he was sure his lordship fully believed in the truth of what he had just stated; but, for his own part, he had so often found impossibilities of this nature yield to a little courage and determination, that he confessed he was somewhat sceptical. Now, it so happened that Foxington, soon after he bought the mare, had thought just as Wilford did, and determined that he would put the bridle on. Accordingly he attempted it, and the matter ended by his getting regularly driven out ol the stable by the animal, with a tolerably severe bite in the fleshy part of his shoulder.

Wilford's remark, therefore, as may be imagined, rather nettled him; and he inquired, somewhat tartly, whether Wilford believed he could put the bridle on? and, if so, whether he were willing to try? Wilford replied, in his usual cool tone, that he had an idea he could do so, but that he had no particular inclination to try, as it would probably be some trouble, and the weather was too hot to render active exertion desirable. At this Foxington laughed derisively, saying that it sounded very like a put-off. 'Not at all,' returned Wilford; 'and to show you that I never say a thing without being ready to act up to it, I am willing to stake five hundred guineas against the mare herself that I go up to her and put the bridle on without any a.s.sistance, and without a stick or anything whatsoever in my hands.' Foxington accepted the bet gladly, reckoning himself safe to pocket the five hundred guineas.

The affair was to come off the next morning at Foxington's stables, at eleven o'clock. His lordship had invited all the men who had been present when the bet was made to come and witness the event, expecting a complete triumph over Wilford. While they were standing about waiting Foxington told them of his own attempt, and his conviction, from the experience he had then gained, that the thing could not be done; and the general opinion was that Wilford, under the influence of wine, had foolishly boasted of a thing which he would -180--not be able to accomplish, and was certain to lose his money. As the time drew near, and he did not make his appearance, an idea began to gain ground that he meant to shirk the affair altogether; and Foxington was becoming exceedingly irate, when, just as the clock was on the stroke of eleven, the sound of a horse's feet was heard, and Wilford cantered quietly up, looking as if he felt no personal interest whatever in the event. On his arrival they proceeded at once to the stable in which the mare stood.

She was kept in a loose box, with her clothes on, but her head entirely free.

"I ought, by-the-by," said Archer, interrupting himself, "to have told you that I had the account from a man who was there at the time, and saw the whole thing.

"Well, as soon as they went into the stable, the mare left off feeding, and, turning round so as to face them, stood with her ears p.r.i.c.ked up, gazing wildly at them. Wilford just glanced at her, and then leisurely divested himself of his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, turned up the wristbands of his shirt, and, taking the bridle from the groom, announced that he was ready. As soon as the door was open, Wilford fixed his eyes sternly on the mare, and walked towards her. To the surprise of every one the animal allowed him to approach quietly and pat her, without showing any symptoms of vice. Men began to exchange inquiring glances with each other, and those who had betted heavily against him trembled for their money; but Foxington, who was better acquainted with the animal, exclaimed, 'Wait a minute, he has not tried to touch her head yet'. Wilford now moved his hand forward along the neck, patting her, and speaking soothingly to her as he advanced; but, as he approached the head, she became impatient and fidgety, and when he attempted to take hold of the ear, in order to put on the bridle, she flung up her head, reared, and ran back a few steps, where she stood, shaking her mane and pawing the ground. After remaining in this position a few seconds, she suddenly laid back her ears, and, showing the whites of her eyes, ran at Wilford with her mouth wide open, and as soon as she got within distance made a ferocious bite at him. By springing on one side with great agility he just contrived to avoid it; then, dropping the bridle, he threw himself into a sparring att.i.tude (you know he's a capital boxer), and, as the mare again ran at him, hit out, and, striking her just on a particular spot by the ear, brought her down like a bullock. As soon as she recovered her legs she renewed the attack, and Wilford -181--received her as before, delivering his blow with the same coolness and precision. When the animal rose the second time she seemed partially stunned, and stood for a moment with her head hanging down and her ears drooping; but on Wilford's making a step towards her she again plunged forward, and attempted to seize him with her teeth. Once more did Wilford evade her bite by springing on one side, and seizing his opportunity succeeded in planting his. .h.i.t, and, for the third time, felled her to the ground. When she again rose, however, she showed no disposition to renew the attack, but stood trembling violently, with the perspiration running down her sides. She now allowed Wilford to approach her, to stroke her head, pull her ears, and finally to put the bridle on, and lead her out, completely conquered; and so my Lord Foxington lost the best horse in his stables, and Wilford gained his bet, and added to his character for invincibility, which, by the way, he cared about much the most."

"It was a bold deed," returned I, as Archer concluded his story, "but one does not like a man the better for having done it; there seems to me a degree of wanton cruelty in punishing an animal so severely, unless he had been actually forced to do it. Public executioners may be necessary for the prevention of crime; but that is no reason why one need volunteer as an amateur hangman."

"Everybody thought it an uncommonly plucky thing at the time, and there was an immense fuss made with him afterwards," replied Archer.--"Why, Lawless, are you asleep? rouse up, man--to bed--to bed. Good-night, Fairlegh, you'll sleep all the better for knowing you are not to be shot at c.o.c.k-crow."

So saying, he took Lawless by the arm and marched him off, though, it must be confessed, his gait, as he descended the stairs, was somewhat unsteady.-182--

CHAPTER XXIII -- WHAT HARRY AND I FOUND WHEN WE LOST OUR WAY

"It is too true an evil--gone she is.

Unhappy girl! Ah! who would be a father!"

"Far in the lane a lonely hut he found, No tenant ventured on th' unwholesome ground, Here smokes his forge: he bares his sinewy arm, And early strokes the sounding anvil warm; Around his shop the steely sparkles Hew, As for the steed he shaped the bending shoe."

--_Gay's Trivia_.

"'Be who thou wilt... thou art in no danger from me, so then tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou drivest thy trade in this mysterious fashion----'

"'Your horse is shod, and your farrier paid--what need you c.u.mber yourself further, than to mount and pursue your journey?'"

--_Kenilworth_.

ON the afternoon of the day after Lawless's wine-party Oaklands and I were walking down to the stables where his horses were kept (he having, in pursuance of his plan for preventing my over-reading myself, beguiled me into a promise to ride with him), when we encountered Archer.

"I suppose you have heard the news _par excellence_," said he, after we had shaken hands.

"No," replied I, "what may it happen to be?"

"Only that Lizzie Maurice, the pastry-cook's daughter, disappeared last night, and old Maurice is going about like a distracted creature this morning, and can't learn any tidings of her."

"What, that pretty girl with the long ringlets, who used to stand behind the counter?" asked I. "What is supposed to have become of her?"

"Yes, that's the identical young lady," returned Archer. "All that seems to be known about her is, that she waited till her father went out to smoke his pipe, as he usually does for an hour or so every evening, and then got the urchin who runs of errands to carry a bundle for her, and set out without saying a word to any one. After she had proceeded a little way, she was met by a man m.u.f.fled up in a cloak, who took the bundle from the boy, threw him a shilling, and told him to go home directly. -183--Instead of doing so, however, he let them proceed for a minute or two, and then followed them. They went at a quick pace along one or two streets, and at length turned down a lane, not far from the bottom of which a gig was waiting. Another man, also m.u.f.fled up, was seated in the gig, into which the girl was handed by her companion, who said to the second man in a low tone, 'All has gone well, and without attracting notice'. He then added in a warning voice--'Remember, honour bright, no nonsense, or'--and here he sunk his voice so that the boy could not catch what he said; but the other replied, 'On my word, on my honour!'' They then shook hands; the second man gathered up the reins, drew the whip across the horse, which sprang forward at speed, and they were out of sight in a moment. The person who was left gazed after them for a minute or so, and then, turning briskly on his heel, walked away without perceiving the boy, who stood under the shadow of a doorway. On being questioned as to what the men were like, he said that the first kept his face entirely concealed, but he was rather tall, and had black hair; the second was a stout man, with light hair and a high colour--for a dark lantern which he had in the gig with him happened to throw its light on his face as he was lighting it."

"At what time in the evening did all this take place?" inquired Oaklands.

"Between nine and ten," replied Archer. Oaklands and I exchanged glances; the same idea had evidently struck us both.

"Has any one seen Wilford this morning?" asked Oaklands.

"Seen him!" returned Archer; "yes, to be sure, he and Wentworth have been parading about arm and arm all over the town: they were with me when I met poor old Maurice, and asked him all sorts of questions about the affair. Wilford seemed quite interested for him."

"Strange!" observed Oaklands musing. "I don't make it out. I would not willingly wrong, even in thought, an innocent man. Archer," he continued, "you have a shrewd keen wit and sound judgment; tell me in confidence, man, who do you think has done this?"

"Nay, I am no diviner to guess other men's secrets," replied Archer; "and these are subjects about which it is not over safe to hazard conjectures. I have told you all I can learn about it, and it is for you to draw your own conclusions, It is no use repeating things to you of -184--which you are already aware; I might as well tell you dogs bark and cats mew--that Wilford has black hair, and Wentworth is a stout man with a high colour--or any other well-known truism. But I am detaining you--good-morning." So saying, he shook hands with us and left us.

After walking some distance in silence Oaklands exclaimed abruptly: "It must be so! it is Wilford who has done this thing--you think as I do, do you not, Frank?"

"I am sure we have not evidence enough to prove it," replied I; "but I confess I am inclined, as a mere matter of opinion, to agree with you, though there are difficulties in the way for which it is not easy to account. For instance, why should Wilford have gone to that party last night and have incurred the risk of entrusting the execution of his schemes to another, instead of remaining to carry them out himself?"

"That is true," said Oaklands thoughtfully, "I do not pretend to understand it all clearly; but, somehow, I feel a conviction that Wilford is at the bottom of it."

"You should recollect, Harry, that you greatly dislike this man--are, as I conceive, prejudiced against him--and are therefore, of course, disposed to judge him harshly."

"Yes I know all that; still you'll see it will come out, sooner or later, that Wilford is the man. Her poor old father! I have often observed how he appeared to doat upon that girl, and how proud he was of her: his pride will be converted into mourning now. It is fearful to think," continued Oaklands, "of what crimes men are guilty in their reckless selfishness! Here is the fair promise of an innocent girl's life blighted, and an old man's grey hairs brought down with sorrow to the grave, in order to gratify the pa.s.sing fancy of a heartless libertine." He paused, and then continued, "I suppose one can do nothing in the matter, having no stronger grounds than mere suspicion to go upon?"

"I should say nothing likely to be of the slightest benefit," replied I.

"Then the sooner we get to horse the better," returned Oaklands; "hearing of a thing of this kind always annoys me, and I feel disposed to hate my species: a good gallop may shake me into a better humour."

"And the _dolce-far-niente_?" I inquired.

"Oh! don't imagine me inconsistent," was the reply. "Only somehow, just at present, in fact ever since the -185--breeze last night, I've found it more trouble to remain quiet than to exert myself; so, if you would not tire me to death, walk a little faster, there's a good fellow."