Pharold proceeded through the open door; and Manners, bidding the gardener not forget his message, followed out into the road.

CHAPTER V.

"This is a strange business!" thought Manners, as he followed the gipsy into the road. "This is a strange business; and, on my part, not a very wise one, I believe. However, there seemed no other way to settle it; and having acted for the best, I must make the best of it; though, perhaps, I should have persisted in apprehending the fellow, where I had the means of doing so, at once."

Such were the thoughts of the decided, energetic, acting Colonel Manners, who was known to the world at large as one of the most skilful and fortunate officers in his majesty's service; but the other Colonel Manners--the feeling, generous-hearted, somewhat imaginative Colonel Manners, who was only known to himself and a few very intimate friends, as a man both of the most gentlemanly mind and spirit, and of the most liberal and kindly disposition--had other thoughts. I have tried to explain this union of separate characters in the same bosom already; and I think it may be understood, for it is certain that it existed.

The latter Colonel Manners--whose great principle was to keep out of sight, and who spoke so low that, though he generally, sooner or later, made himself obeyed, he was not always very distinctly heard at first, even by his fellow-denizen of the same n.o.ble bosom--now revolved the whole business in which he was engaged in a different manner; and although he could not help acknowledging that it was very strange and very silly to yield to doubtful inferences, in opposition to positive facts, yet he felt a strong conviction that the gipsy whom he followed was not guilty of the crimes laid to his charge.

He wished much also that, by any other means than those of violence, he could obtain such evidence of Pharold's innocence, or at least such powerful motives for believing him innocent, as might justify in the severer eyes of understanding that course which was prompted by feeling and kindness. He saw no means of doing so, however, unless from the man's own lips he could draw some explanation of the many suspicious circ.u.mstances which existed against him. Yet how to begin such a conversation as might lead to that result, or how to shape his inquiries so as to draw the gipsy on to the point in question, without alarming him at an interrogation of which he did not see the end? It required some thought, and yet there was little time for reflection.

Manners followed, therefore, in silence for some way, while the gipsy, with a quick step, took the path towards the hill. At the turn of the lane both Manners and Pharold looked back towards the gate of the garden, to see whether curiosity might not have tempted the gardener to follow; but though the light of day had now almost entirely left the sky, yet the distance was so short that the garden wall and the closed door were plainly to be seen, without any other object. A little farther on stood a cottage, with the warm fire and the single candle within flashing faintly through the dim small window, on the little bit of white railing before the door. Manners paused, and looked at his watch by the light; and then following the gipsy, he said, in a low and unconcerned tone, "There is an air of comfort even in an English cottage."

His purpose was to begin a conversation by any means, trusting to chance for the rest; but the gipsy did not seem disposed to render it a long one. "Holes for rats, and for mice, and for snakes, and for foxes!" he said; "G.o.d's n.o.bler sky for G.o.d's n.o.bler creatures! that is the best covering."

He spoke harshly, but still he did speak, which was all that Manners wanted; and he replied, "Do you think, then, that G.o.d gave men talents, and skill, and power in many arts, without intending him to make use of them?"

"Not to build up molehills out of dust and ashes!" said the gipsy.

"But how is he to defend himself, then, against the storm and the tempest?" demanded Manners; "against the midday heat of summer or the chill wintry wind?"

"He needs no defence!" answered the gipsy. "Were he not the creature of luxury rather than of G.o.d, the changing seasons would be as beneficial to his body as they are to those of the beasts of the field, and to the earth of which he and they are made. And as to storm and tempest, the searching blade of the blue lightning will strike him in the palace as surely as on the bare hill or the barren moor; and the hurricane that pa.s.ses by the wanderer on the plain will cast down their painted rubbish on the heads of the dwellers in cities."

Manners saw that, as the lines of their ideas set out from the same point in directions diametrically opposite, they might be projected to all eternity without meeting; and therefore he at once brought the conversation nearer to the real subject of his thoughts. "We differ,"

he said, "and of course must differ, on every subject connected with the manners and habits of mankind; but there is one point on which, I trust, we shall not differ."

"I know none," said the gipsy, abruptly. "What is it?"

"It is, that the creatures of the same G.o.d," Manners exclaimed, "are bound to a.s.sist and comfort each other!"

"If such be your thoughts," answered the gipsy, turning round upon him--"if such be your opinions, then, why do you seek to torture me?

Or is it that you think a gipsy not a creature of the same G.o.d as yourself?"

"I seek not to torture you," answered Manners. "Were I to see any one torture you, my hand would be the first raised to defend you.

Nothing that you see of me now--nothing that you saw of me when last we met--should make you suppose that I would torture you, even if I had the power."

"I tell you," answered the gipsy, sternly, "that to live one day in the brightest saloon that the hands of folly ever decked for the abode of vice, would be torture to me! What, then, would be a prison?"

"Whatever your own feelings might make it," answered Manners. "My purpose in seeking to place you in one, could only be to fulfil the laws of my country, and to bring the guilty to justice; but not to torture you. Nor, in this, can you accuse me of looking upon you not as a fellow-creature; for, of whatever race the offender had been, you know I would have done the same under any circ.u.mstances; though your peculiar feeling respecting liberty might, indeed, make me more scrupulous in arresting you than I should be in regard to a person of another race."

"And have you been so scrupulous, then?" demanded the gipsy, bitterly.

"Have you examined so carefully whether you have any real right to suspect me of the charges brought against me? Have you inquired whether those appearances on which the charges were grounded might not be all false and futile? Have you asked and searched out diligently whether some of those men who witness against me have not hatred and fear of me at their hearts? Have you done all this, before you sought to give me up to the hands of those whose enmity and whose prejudices would all forbid justice to be done me?"

"I am not the judge," answered Manners; "and a judge alone can make such inquiries."

"Are you, then, a tipstaff, or a bailiff, or a turnkey?" demanded the gipsy, "that you should pursue me, as if the warrant were placed in your hands for execution!"

"I am neither of those persons you mention," Manners replied; "but every subject of this land is empowered and called upon to apprehend a person against whom a warrant on a charge of murder is known to have issued. But to return to what I was saying: in construing the power thus placed in my hands, I should always be more scrupulous to a person of your cla.s.s--or nation, if you like the word better--because I know how galling the loss of liberty must be to one who spurns even the common restraints of cities; and could I have any positive proof that the warrant had issued against you on a false charge, I certainly should not attempt to execute it."

"On what charge did it issue?" demanded the gipsy, turning for a moment to ask the question, ere he again strode on.

"You are aware that there are many charges against you," replied Manners; "but the precise one to which you allude is, I believe, the having murdered my poor friend Edward de Vaux."

The gipsy laughed aloud. "Were that all," he said, "it were soon disproved. His blood is not upon my hand."

"Disprove it, then!" exclaimed Manners, who, from the whole tenour of the gipsy's conversation, felt more and more convinced of his companion's innocence at every step they took. "Disprove it, then!

Other charges have been brought since; but I know nothing of them, except that one of them, as far as I can judge, is certainly false.

Therefore, if you can but show me that the blood of my poor friend De Vaux does not stain your hand, I will leave you directly to follow what course you please; but if you cannot do so, we are now upon the bare hill-side, where there is none to aid either you or me; and you shall go no further, if I can stop you."

A man may be a very clever man, and not able to calculate all the curious turns of another's character; and it so unfortunately happened that Manners, after having led the gipsy very nearly to the point he wished, overthrew at once everything he had accomplished by the threat with which he concluded. He was sorry for it as soon as it had pa.s.sed his lips, as he instantly felt it might do harm; but he did not at all calculate upon its producing so great effect as it did.

The gipsy took two steps forward, and then turning round, stood with Manners face to face. "Colonel Manners," he said, "not one drop of your friend's blood stains my hand!--I swear it by yon heaven, and by the G.o.d who made it! I could prove it, too; but I will not prove it for any man's threats. You say I shall not go, if you can stop me! I am not bound yet, thank G.o.d! with cords or chains. I am not laid in one of your dungeons. I am not shut in with bolts and bars. I will not tell you what I know! I will not give you proof of any kind; and I bid you take me, if you can." As he thus defied him, and announced his determination, Manners expected every moment to see Pharold turn to use the speed for which his limbs seemed formed; and although the gipsy was, as we have said, two paces in advance of him, he did not doubt that he should be able to seize him before he could effect his escape. The ground on which they were standing was a small flat s.p.a.ce on the side of the hill, with the road, taking a steep ascent four or five paces beyond, and having a deep descent on one side, and a rapid acclivity on the other. Thus, if the gipsy attempted to fly along the road, Manners saw that he must necessarily turn to do so, and thus delay his flight; while, if he took any other way, he must come within reach. To Colonel Manners's surprise, however, the gipsy did not move from his place; but remained with his arms folded, in an att.i.tude of determination, which very plainly spoke the resolution of bringing the affair to a personal struggle. Manners smiled as he perceived his intention, very confident that his superior muscular strength would at any time enable him to overpower two such antagonists.

"My good fellow," he said, "this is really very foolish; for even if you suppose yourself stronger than I am, I could disable you in a moment, if I thought fit, with my sword. As you seem determined to resist, however, I will make myself even with you in point of arms, and lay aside my sword, which I cannot draw upon an unarmed man; but it must be remembered--"

"Keep your sword, Colonel Manners," said the gipsy--"keep your sword, and draw it! I am not so much unarmed as I look:" and, as he spoke, he drew from beneath his long loose coat the weapon with which, as we have seen, he had provided himself in the morning.

Now there was not exactly at that moment what Sir Lucius O'Trigger calls very good small-sword light. The sun was down completely; and though the last gray gleam of parting daylight that lingered still in the western extremity of the valley, and was reflected from the windings of the gla.s.sy stream, fell, with all the force it had left, upon the spot where Manners and his antagonist were standing--though two or three stars were early looking through the mottled clouds, and the coming moon threw some light before her--still, his powers of vision must have been strong who could see, as clearly as is desirable, the playing of an adversary's point round his sword-blade.

Manners, however, did not hesitate. He was becoming a little irritated at the tone of bitter and, in some degree, scornful defiance which the gipsy a.s.sumed; and although it was not in his nature to be very much moved by any thing of the kind, yet he went so far as to think, "Well he shall soon find that a gipsy is not quite so all-accomplished a genius as he imagines! I have had a droll fate here, certainly; to be called out by my friend's father, and to fight a duel with a gipsy!--The consequences be upon your own head, my good friend!" he added, aloud, bringing round the hilt of his sword, and drawing it from the scabbard. "I do not wish to hurt you, but you force me to do so."

"Be it on my head!" said Pharold; and their blades crossed.

There are two sorts of brave men--one which gets warm and impetuous in action and danger, and one which gets calm and cool. Manners was of the latter sort. Perhaps there never was upon the face of the earth a man whose heart applied to itself the idea of danger less than his; and, consequently, he acted as if he were a spectator, even where peril to himself was most imminent. In the present instance, he soon found that he had much underrated the skill of his opponent; for, if he had not a very _theoretical_, Pharold had at least a very _practical_, knowledge of the use of his weapon; and his singular agility and pliancy of muscle added many an advantage. Manners was sincerely sorry to find that such was the case: not that he imagined for a moment that all the gipsy's skill or activity would suffice to injure him, but he wished and designed to master his opponent without hurting him; and this he felt would be very difficult, if not impossible. He strove for it pertinaciously, however, for some time; and hazarded something himself in order to obtain that object. At length, however, he became weary of the contest, and saw that he must soon bring it to a termination somehow, although he still felt an invincible disinclination to risking such a lunge as might deprive his adversary of life. He determined, then, to play a game hazardous to himself, though merciful to his opponent; and, aided by his superior strength and height, he pressed the gipsy back against the hill as vehemently as he could. In his haste, he barely parried a lunge, and the gipsy's sword went through the lappels of his coat: but the advantage was gained; and at once disarming his adversary, he closed with him, cast him to the ground, and set his knee upon his chest.

The contest, in all, had continued for some time; but the last struggle was over in a moment; and ere Pharold well knew what had occurred, he found himself on the ground, with the sword of the British officer at his throat. He lay there, however, calm, still, stern, without making even one of those instinctive efforts to shield his bosom from the weapon, from which a less determined spirit could not have refrained.

"Now!" cried Manners--"now, will you give me the explanation I seek?"

"Never!" answered the gipsy, in a low but firm voice--"never!"

Manners hesitated for a moment; but then, withdrawing his knee from the gipsy's breast, he returned his sword into the scabbard. "I will try other means!" he thought--"I will try other means!"

Through the whole of the events which had lately pa.s.sed, Manners had been gradually gaining a deeper insight into the character of the gipsy, and had learned to appreciate him better than at first; but still there was much to be considered, much to be calculated; and many a conflicting opinion, and many an opposite feeling, crossed Manners's bosom in the short s.p.a.ce of time that was allowed for thought. He did not forget the various circ.u.mstances which had led him to believe that his friend had been murdered by the gipsy, and all of which remained unexplained; but he remembered, also, how fallacious circ.u.mstantial evidence often is; and he set against those circ.u.mstances of suspicion the positive fact, that the gipsy had saved the life of Isadore Falkland at the peril of his own, and had carried her to her mother's house at the imminent risk of being arrested. The high character which Mrs. Falkland said he had borne in the past, the regard which she had hinted that her deceased brother had felt towards him, all tended to show that he was a man of no ordinary qualities; and although, in the absence of such knowledge of his character. Manners might have judged his obstinate refusal of all explanation as a proof of his guilt, yet, seeing that in every thing else his motives and his actions were different from those of ordinary men, he judged that it might be the same in this instance also. "I will try extraordinary means with him, too," thought Manners; "and perhaps I may gain more by it than by following the dictates of rigid duty to the letter."

"Why will you not explain?" he added, aloud. "It would save both you and me from many a painful occurrence."

"Because I will not be compelled to any act under the sun!" answered the gipsy, who had only taken advantage of the degree of freedom which he now possessed to raise himself upon his arm.

"Then you shall not be compelled!" answered Manners, to whom his answer had given the right key to his obduracy--"then you shall not be compelled! but you shall be persuaded. Stand up, Pharold, and listen to me, as to one who does not feel towards you as you would make yourself believe that all our race do towards yours. You have seen my conduct--you see it now; and you must judge of me better than you lately did."

The gipsy hung his head. "You have kept your word with me," he answered. "You have brought me to a place where no odds could be found against me; and you have vanquished with your own weapons at your own trade. What more?"

"I have spared you when I might have hurt you," replied Manners; "and now I let you go free when I might make you a prisoner--"

"You let me go free!" cried the gipsy, in a tone of astonishment--"you let me go free! and without conditions, too?"