"I know it, sir;" broke forth Mr. Gerard; "I am well aware that he is a heartless scoundrel, as dissipated, as dishonest, and--"

"Sir," interrupted Mr. Clint, with irritation. "I will not listen to such mad words. You may utter them, of course, in your own house, but not to me. This is the talk of those who would subvert all authority."

"They are not afraid to speak evil of dignities," murmured my tutor.

"I do not speak evil of dignities, my dear sir, but only of the rogues who fill them," exclaimed Mr. Gerard, laughing. "However, I beg your pardon, gentlemen; the remark escaped me quite involuntarily. You are aware, Mr. Clint, that my Lord Eldon is not absolutely an ascetic."

"I was about to say, sir," observed the old lawyer stiffly, "that his lordship is not so tenderly alive to the necessity of moral training as some of his friends would wish, and he has a strong respect for natural authority. He would lean, therefore, towards Sir Ma.s.singberd's view of the question--with whom; indeed, he is personally not unacquainted--and be induced to palliate his way of life."

"Sadder than orphans, yet not fatherless, are those in Eldon's charge,"

murmured Mr. Gerard. "Still," continued he, in a louder tone, "the charge of attempted murder, Mr. Clint, would have this effect, that even if Marmaduke were reconsigned to his uncle's care--which Heaven forbid--the eyes of the world would be upon Sir Ma.s.singberd, and he would not venture to work him a mischief. In the meantime, it rests with us to take good care that he has not the chance of doing so."

"And now," resumed Mr. Clint, after a pause, "supposing that all is arranged thus far to repel Sir Ma.s.singberd's claims, there is another matter to be considered. It would take long to explain the details of the case, but you must understand that the Heath property is very peculiarly situated. Sir Ma.s.singberd, who is in the enjoyment of it for life, cannot raise a shilling upon it; while Marmaduke does not possess a shilling, although the prospective heir of such vast wealth. They would be, in short, at present a couple of beggars; but by a special arrangement with a certain person, whom I need not name, a small annual sum has been allotted for the benefit of the boy, but, practically, quite as much so for that of his uncle. A certain annuity, I say, is paid to Sir Ma.s.singberd for the maintenance of his nephew, and another, solely on the latter's behalf, for that of the estate. It is a most beautifully intricate affair from first to last," pursued the lawyer with unction; "here are two relatives, who mutually support one another, and have yet every reason, looking at the matter in a rather worldly way of course, to wish each other dead. Sir Ma.s.singberd could borrow plenty of money, if the usurers were only confident that he could, as well as would, make away with his nephew. There would be even less difficulty under ordinary circ.u.mstances in procuring a loan for Marmaduke; but a delicate boy, whose uncle and guardian is bent upon putting a violent end to him--you see that renders the security so very slight.

Altogether, it is certainly one of the nicest cases. It is not only a question of responsibility; there are always plenty of people ready to take any amount of that at a sufficient premium; but who will undertake the pecuniary charge of the lad if he is withdrawn from his uncle's roof? Sir Ma.s.singberd, of course, will never give up one t.i.ttle of the allowance entrusted to him to expend, except upon such compulsion as we should scarcely venture to employ. There are three years wanting to the boy's majority; and even when he has arrived at that, and should be willing to promise ample repayment, he may die before his uncle still, who has a const.i.tution of adamant, when those who have maintained him may whistle for the money they have expended. The expression may be coa.r.s.e," added Mr. Clint apologetically, "but I think it conveys my meaning."

"I thank you, Mr. Clint," observed my tutor, after a little pause, "for putting this matter before us so bluntly and decidedly. For my part, I am far from being a rich man; but, on the other hand, there are no persons who have a better claim upon my resources than my dear young friend and pupil, Marmaduke Heath. That he will repay me if he survives his uncle, I am more than a.s.sured; and, if he die early, I shall not regret that the remainder of his young life has been rendered happy through my means, although it may have cost me a few comforts."

I stooped down and said a few words in my tutor's ear. "No, Peter, no,"

continued he; "you are a good lad, and your father is, doubtless, generous enough to comply with your wishes; but we must not resort to such a distant source in this emergency, indeed. Mr. Clint, do you think that a hundred and forty to a hundred and sixty pounds a year might be made sufficient to keep Marmaduke with respectability?"

"Half your annual stipend, eh, Mr. Long, eh?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the lawyer.

"Bless my soul, how this snuff gets in one's eyes! Such a sum should be quite sufficient. I think that would be found more than enough. He cannot live at your rectory, of course; that would be almost as bad as at the Hall; but there are plenty of spare rooms in my house in town. He has stayed there before, so that that can be done, we know. Marmaduke and I are old friends--No, no, it will not hurt me. Such a course cannot bring me into greater antagonism with Sir Ma.s.singberd than I am in already. I am always at daggers-drawn with him. He is for ever cutting down trees that don't belong to him, or selling heirlooms that are no more his than mine, or embroiling himself with me, the appointed guardian of the property, in some way or other. Yes, I'll take the lad, Mr. Long, come what will of it."

"You will do nothing of the kind," exclaimed my host, energetically; "you honest lawyer, and very worthy man; and you, you good priest--contradictions in terms, both of you--you shall not give away half your annual stipend, or my name is not Harvey Gerard. I have done each of you a very grievous wrong in thought, if not in word; and I hereby beg your pardon. It is possible, I perceive, to be a Tory, and yet preserve, if not a conscience, at least a heart."

My tutor smiled; Mr. Clint bowed his acknowledgments.

"With regard to Mr. Marmaduke Heath, however," pursued our host, "that young gentleman must be my especial charge. From this day until the period when he comes into his property, or lies in need of decent interment, as the case may be, he is my guest; or, if my house is distasteful to him, I will advance him whatever sums he may reasonably require for his maintenance elsewhere. Please to consider that that is settled, gentlemen."

"Whatever we may think of the political opinions of Mr. Harvey Gerard,"

observed Mr. Clint, with feeling, "his name has always been a.s.sociated with acts of matchless generosity."

"Always, always," echoed Mr. Long; then added reflectively, "he has paid the fines of half the rogues in the country, and bailed the other half who have been committed to prison."

A simultaneous burst of merriment from his three hearers greeted this nave remark of my unconscious tutor.

"I have done so upon one occasion, I confess," replied Mr. Gerard, good-naturedly. "I became surety, in 1791, for the good behaviour of a poor Birmingham rioter, as I thought, who turned out to be a Government spy. However, I a.s.sure you, generosity has nothing to do with my present intentions with respect to young Heath. My income is sufficiently large to admit of my accommodating the poor lad with ease, even if the repayment, sooner or later, were not almost certain, as it really is.

But, besides all this, I must confess that the undertaking affords me exceeding satisfaction. Mr. Long, you are, I have heard, an enthusiastic fisherman; that is no common pleasure which you feel when your rod is bowed by some enormous trout, cunning and strong, who may break the whole of your tackle, and get away, after all, but who also may be landed helpless on the bank, a victim to your skill and patience. That is exactly the sport which I promise myself with Sir Ma.s.singberd Heath.

If he were one whit less greedy, less formidable, less pitiless, I should feel less hostility towards him; he has, fortunately, no redeeming point. I have hated tyranny all my life, and I hate this man, who seems to be the very embodiment of it. He makes his boast that no one has ever stood between himself and his wicked will. Let us see what he will make of Harvey Gerard."

The speaker drew himself up proudly, but certainly not with unbecoming pride. His form dilated as he spoke; his voice grew deep without losing its distinctness; and into his mild eyes a sternness crept as when the frost congeals the lake. But for a spice of haughtiness, which to some might have appeared even arrogance, he could have stood for St. Michael in his contest with the foul Fiend,--have personified the Spirit of Good defying the Spirit of Evil.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GIPSY CAMP.

After not a little opposition upon the part of Mr. Long, who would have willingly borne his share in Marmaduke's expenses, it was settled that Mr. Gerard should be the young man's host, if he could only contrive to retain him in defiance of the power of Sir Ma.s.singberd; his home, however, was not to be the Dovecot, which was judged to be too much exposed, by its proximity to Fairburn, to the machinations of the enemy.

The Gerards were to remove to their town residence in Harley Street, as soon as their guest was fit to accompany them. At first, his progress was tedious, but he grew rapidly convalescent as soon as he was able to exchange his bed for a sofa. Never was sick man more hospitably treated, or so graciously tended. Mr. Gerard possessed that almost feminine gentleness of manner which is generally found in persons of his peculiar organization. His sympathy, at least as easily aroused as his antagonism, was now deeply enlisted in favour of Marmaduke for his own sake; he recognized his talents, and the beauty and tenderness of his mind, and won him, by pleasant studious talk, from the melancholy that overhung it; and the young man's heart, thrilling response to every touch of kindness, turned towards him, and expanded like a flower in the sun. As for Lucy, what rudest health would I not have exchanged for Marmaduke's languor, as he lay and listened to her clear sweet voice, now singing some cheerful ballad to enliven him, now reading aloud some tale so musically that itself seemed song! He could read to himself but little as yet, and if he did take up a book, his eyes refused to regard it, but followed the lovely girl, wherever she moved, with worship.

"This happiness is too great to last, Peter," he would often say; "it will all fade one day, I know, and leave me desolate. What man living is worthy to possess yon glorious creature? I feel as though I had no right even to love her. Yet, great heaven! how I do love her. How unconscious she is of her perfect sweetness! How she graces the meanest thing which she may set herself to do! Her presence seems to breathe very life into me; I then forget everything but her--even Sir Ma.s.singberd. To return to him would be death indeed--death death!" Then he would sink back, as if prostrated with the thought, and so remain despairingly despondent until he heard Lucy's voice, or laugh, or footstep. All this was bitter for me to bear. I was glad when Mr. Long suggested to me that he thought it was no longer necessary for me to remain with Marmaduke, and that I should return to Fairburn Rectory and my studies. Still, my heart was heavy upon that morning which was to be the last I was to spend under the same roof with Lucy Gerard. Within the last few weeks--nay, it happened in a few hours--I had Loved and I had Lost. If there be any to read this in whose eyes these words have meaning, they will pity me. I do not match such grief, indeed, for a single instant against the sorrow a man must feel for the loss of the loved companion of his life, against the lone wretchedness of recent widowhood; but it is a grievous blow. I wished Marmaduke and Mr. Gerard "good-bye" without quite knowing that I did so.

"Good-bye, Mr. Meredith," said Lucy, and though her voice was even lower and sweeter than usual, it wounded me like a knife.

"Why don't you call him Peter, Lucy?" exclaimed her father, laughing. "I think it would be more civil, now that we are going to lose him."

"Thank you, sir," said I, gratefully; and she did say "G.o.d bless you, Peter," very, very kindly.

Ever since that morning she called me so; but I was Peter to all of them, you see, as well as to her. Then I called her Lucy, and though for the first and last time, I shall never forget it.

"I couldna say mair, but just 'Fare ye weel, Lucy Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee."

Then I mounted my horse, my luggage having already preceded me, and slowly took my way towards Fairburn. My life-blood seemed to ebb with every step. The clang of the gate that shut me out from the last foot of ground belonging to the Dovecot, sent a shudder through me like a knell.

I was on the very spot where Marmaduke had met with the accident that had been so nearly fatal. Supposing it had killed him! Supposing...--I thanked G.o.d that I was able to thank Him from an honest heart that it had not done so.

Then I felt a little better. Having ascended the hill, I put my horse into a sharp canter upon the common, and the cool air through which I swiftly pa.s.sed refreshed me. The hollow in which the encampment had been was now deserted, and only the round bare spot amid the green, which is the gipsy autograph, announced that it had ever been there. Some miles further on, however, a little brown-legged boy, evidently of that wandering fraternity, suddenly emerged from a fir plantation, and stood before me in the road as if to beg. I was already feeling in my pocket for a penny, when, showing his white teeth in grat.i.tude, he shook his head, and coming close to my stirrup, exclaimed, "You are the gentleman from Mr. Gerard's, sir, are you not? Would you please to come and see Granny Rachel?"

In an instant, I remembered the pocket-flask, which I had entirely forgotten since the day in which it came into my possession; for all I knew, it was then lying yet in the drawing-room at the Dovecot.

"Yes, my boy, that will I," returned I; "but I fear I have not brought her what she wants."

He looked up in the bright interrogative manner peculiar to his tribe, so different to the stolid wonder of the agriculturist.

"She wants you, sir, as I understood. This is the sixth day that she has set me to watch for you by this roadside. Will you please to follow me?"

The boy started off at a pace which compelled me to move too fast for further questioning; and skirting the plantation for a hundred yards, stopped at the entrance of a roadway leading through the wood. The coming winter had not yet turned the broad green track to sand, and it ran so straight and far, that the pine trees seemed to stand on either side--a solid wall--with nothing but the blue heaven for their limit.

This landscape of right lines would have delighted a painter of the Pre-Raphaelite school, it looked so stiff and unnatural; but pursuing the track for a little distance, and then plunging over a ditch and bank into the plantation itself, we suddenly came upon a scene which would have suited Morland. A low tent, with half-naked but merry children crawling in and out; a she-a.s.s and her foal; a handsome male Epicurean, lying on his back, smoking a short, well-coloured pipe, the hue of which precisely resembled that of his own skin; a young girl in scarlet mantle, and with earrings of great splendour, gathering fir-cones to feed the flames which licked around an iron pot suspended on four sticks, piled musket-fashion; and an old crone, sitting by the same, and picking the feathers from a bird, which, had the time of year been beyond the end of September, I should have certainly taken for a hen-pheasant. But to suppose this, would have been to suppose an infraction of the game laws! The walnut-stained children stopped their play as I approached, and stood in various att.i.tudes of wonder, like beauteous bronzes; the man turned over on his side, and opened his slumbrous eyes a hairbreadth; the girl flashed one quick, comprehensive glance upon me, and then resumed her occupation. The old woman nodded familiarly without rising, and observed quietly, "So you are come at last, Peter Meredith. I trust you have brought good news of Marmaduke Heath."

"He is better," said I, "much better; and he knows who brought him help, and is very grateful. You have been expected daily at the Dovecot, where something more substantial than mere thanks is waiting for you."

"Rachel Liversedge desires neither silver nor gold," returned the old woman; "she has had her reward already, if what you say be true. It was not for love of the boy that I acted as I did; he has too much evil blood in him to earn my liking. But I am glad as though he were my own son that he will live."

"Carew," cried she, triumphantly, "no wonder bura Sir Ma.s.singberd looked kalo as ourselves."

"Oh, the great man looks black, does he?" said I.

The old woman dropped the bird, the girl her fir-cones, and both stared wildly at me, as though my voice had come from the clouds; the man sprung to his feet, and uttered a cry of wonder.

"What! do you speak our tongue?" cried he.

"Nay; you speak mine," returned I, calmly. "Bura is great; and kala, which you call kalo, is black, of course; everybody knows that who knows Hindustanee."

Then the three burst out together in a language, one word out of four of which seemed to be more or less familiar to me; as for understanding what they said, of course it was simply impossible; but no matter, I had established my reputation. From that moment, I felt myself to be the honoured guest of the family. Would I smoke? Would I eat? Would I drink?

I was thirsty, and I said that I would gladly take some water--which, at a venture, I called paince.

"Paunce!" cried they, extravagantly delighted. "He talks like a true Cingari; and only look! is he not dark-skinned!"