The man spoke in as mysterious a tone as if he were communicating a state secret, but Manners who hated nothing on earth so much as mystery, answered rather sharply, "Well, as you see I have returned, you had better call Miss De Vaux's maid to take me to her mistress."

"Oh, Miss Marian, sir, is in the little drawing-room," replied the butler: "she has been there these ten minutes, though Mrs. Falkland does not know it, because she is with Miss Isadore, who fell into the water, and wet her clothes, and had nearly been drowned, they do say; but--"

Manners waited for no further information on subjects with which he was already acquainted; but, walking up stairs, proceeded to what was called the little drawing-room, and opened the door. Marian de Vaux was sitting on a sofa, with her fair rounded cheek, grown many a shade paler since Manners last saw it, leaning on her hand, and her arm again resting on the table. Her head was slightly bent, and the hand on which it leaned curved round at the wrist, with the fingers dropping languidly under her cheek, and with weary hopeless anxiety in every line. Her eyes, when Manners entered, were cast down, with a drop like a diamond struggling through the long dark lashes; and the light, falling from above, threw the greater part of her beautiful face into shadow; but it fell clear and soft on her fair open forehead, and on her brown hair, which, to save the trouble of much dressing, was braided back behind her ears, but which still, by many a wavy line and struggling bend across her brow, showed its natural tendency to fall into ringlets round her face. An open book was on the table before her; but it looked not as if she had been reading, for it was turned in such a way that her eye could not possibly have deciphered its contents.

She did not hear the door open; but Manners's first step in the room caught her attention, and she raised her eyes. "Oh, Colonel Manners,"

she said, as soon as she saw him, "I am very glad you have come, for I very much wished to speak with you; but I am afraid you are fatigued, and perhaps may not have time to spare."

"Not at all," answered Manners, with a smile, which he intended to prepare the way for better tidings. "Indeed, I think, Miss De Vaux, that if you had not sent me an invitation, I should have sent to pet.i.tion one."

"The fact is, Colonel Manners," said Marian, "I wish to know the truth. My dear aunt and my cousin, with the very kindest intentions, keep the truth from me--at least, so I am led to believe by what my maid has told me. Now, indeed, it would do me less harm, though they do not think so, to tell me the whole at once; and I am sure, Colonel Manners, that you will be kind enough to do so, when I a.s.sure you that I am far better able to bear even the worst tidings than this terrible, awful state of suspense."

Manners took her hand, and gazed in her face with a smile full of kindness and hope, for he feared to make the change from grief to joy too sudden, by speaking the happier news he now had to bear; but even that was too much, and Marian's heart, as she read his smile aright, beat with fearful violence; and, pale as ashes with emotion, she sunk down again on the sofa, from which she had partially risen to speak to him.

"I see that your fort.i.tude is not half real," said Manners, seating himself near her; "but let me entreat you to hear me calmly, my dear Miss De Vaux."

"Oh, I will! I will, indeed!" cried Marian. "But, for Heaven's sake, speak, Colonel Manners: you smile; and I know you would not smile on one so wretched, if you had not some hope to give! Is it not so?"

"It is," answered Manners; "and delighted I am that now, for the very first time, I can give it. But, indeed, you must be calm; for the intelligence I have obtained is not so entirely good as to warrant our indulging in any very great joy, though it may do away our worst apprehensions."

"That is enough! that is enough!" cried Marian. "If they have not murdered him, I can bear almost anything else with fort.i.tude: but now, for Heaven's sake, tell me all, for you see I can bear it with calmness and composure."

"First, let me defend Mrs. Falkland and your cousin," replied Manners, wishing, by a little delay, to give his fair hearer's mind time to habituate itself to a change of feeling; for neither her look nor her manner served at all to confirm the a.s.surances of calmness and composure which she gave him. "Let me defend Mrs. Falkland and your cousin: they really could give you no precise information, for till within the last half-hour none has been obtained."

"Oh, but they knew more than they let me know," cried Marian; "at least, if my maid has told me true: but I trust it is not true; for I cannot believe that Edward can be safe, if she spoke correctly; she said you had found his footsteps, and blood, Colonel Manners, and the place where he must have fallen." As she spoke, her countenance filled with horror at the ideas she recalled, and she clasped her hands over her eyes, as if to shut out some fearful sight.

Colonel Manners thought that the sooner such a lady's-maid was discharged the better; but as he could not contradict the story the woman had so imprudently told, he left it as it was, and replied, "Do not, my dear young lady, call up such painful images, when I a.s.sure you that there is no foundation for the supposition that your cousin has suffered in the way our fears led us to imagine. My information, as yet, is scanty; and, till tomorrow, you must not ask me even how I have obtained it; but I have the most positive a.s.surances that De Vaux is safe, though ill."

"Thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d, for his safety, at least!" cried Marian; "but are you sure, Colonel Manners--are you quite sure? I do not wish to put any questions that you may not like to answer; but only tell me if you yourself are quite sure of Edward's safety?"

"I am perfectly and thoroughly convinced," answered Manners, "that, whatever may have been the accident which may have prevented his return home, he is both in security, and attended with care and kindness. Indeed, my very telling you the fact should make you feel quite sure that my own conviction is firm; for, indeed, Miss De Vaux, no inducement would make me hold out a hope to you, were I not sure of that hope having a good foundation."

"Thank you! thank you!" replied Marian; and, with one of those sudden bursts of tenderness which--springing from some secret action, either of memory or imagination, without one spoken word or external circ.u.mstance to call them forth--sometimes overpower us, when least we expect it, she gave way to a gushing flood of tears, and, for a moment or two, let the bright drops flow unrestrained. "You have not seen him, then, Colonel Manners?" she said at length, wiping her eyes, and looking up with a glance in which apprehension still contended a little against joy.

"Not yet," Manners answered; "but I have received a solemn promise that I shall be conducted to the place where he is this very night."

"Oh, let me go with you!" cried Marian, starting up.

"Nay, nay, I am afraid that would not do," answered Manners, smiling.

"Think what the world would say, my dear Miss De Vaux, if you were to go wandering about, no one knows whither, through a long autumn night, with no other escort than a colonel of dragoons."

Marian was won even to a smile; and, while it was yet playing round her lips, and sparkling in her eyes, Mrs. Falkland entered the room, not knowing by whom it was tenanted. "Marian! Colonel Manners!" she exclaimed; "and both laughing, too! then some very happy change must have come over our affairs."

"Oh, most happy, my dear aunt!" cried Marian: "Colonel Manners--and I know not how to thank him--has discovered where Edward is, and that he is safe."

"G.o.d be praised!" cried Mrs. Falkland; "but let me hear all about it, for this is news indeed."

"In the first place," said Manners, willing, if possible, to escape any very close cross-examination till he could speak with more security on the many points of De Vaux's situation, which were still doubtful--"in the first place, I have to apologize, my dear madam, for some want of courtesy to-night when last we met; but you must remember that I am but a rude soldier, and accustomed to think far more of what I consider my duty than of what is polite; and I am sure that my good news will gain me your forgiveness."

"If your perseverance have gained tidings of my poor nephew," answered Mrs. Falkland, "my forgiveness for much graver offences--could Colonel Manners commit them--would be but a poor recompense."

"I hope Miss Falkland has not suffered at all," continued Manners. But Mrs. Falkland exclaimed, with a smile, "Not at all, I trust! but, Colonel Manners, I will not be put off without an answer. You shall not keep all your good news for Marian, and refuse to let me share.

What have you discovered?"

"Why, my dear madam," answered Manners, "I will tell you the candid truth. I have discovered very little beyond the bare fact, that De Vaux is in safety, though not well; and you must ask me no more questions till I can give you satisfactory answers. I am to be conducted to him, however, this very night, and within an hour of this time. Miss De Vaux wished to go with me, and we were smiling to think what sort of story the world would make of her taking a midnight walk over the moors, and through the woods, with the ugliest colonel of dragoons in his majesty's service."

"But are you obliged to go alone?" asked Mrs. Falkland.

"I rather think that is part of my compact," answered Manners; "and I believe it must be on foot, too."

"And you were fatigued an hour ago," replied Mrs. Falkland; "and though I, selfishly, cannot make up my mind to ask you to put off your expedition till to-morrow, yet I must prevail on you to take some refreshment." So saying, she rang the bell, and then went on: "I need not ask who was your informant; and I feel equally certain that the tidings are true, because you give them credit, and because you derived them from him."

"Now, I am in the dark," said Marian, "both in regard to this person you speak of and to Isadore. What made you believe she had suffered from any accident, Colonel Manners, as you inquired of my aunt just now?"

"I am afraid that the whole story would be too long to tell you at this moment," answered Manners, while a footman appeared, and Mrs.

Falkland ordered some refreshments to be brought immediately, "especially as you see I have to sup before I go; nor will I deny that I need my supper, for, to tell the truth, I have not dined. But Mrs.

Falkland will relate our whole story of this evening when I am gone; will tell you how your cousin escaped drowning by a miracle; and how Colonel Manners behaved in a very rude and uncivil manner; and how at length a compromise was entered into, which reflected more honour upon his obstinacy than upon his politeness."

"No, no, Colonel Manners, I will not tell her such stories," answered Mrs. Falkland. "I will tell her, perhaps, that Colonel Manners's duty as an officer, and his feelings as a man, clashed with her aunt's duty as a person of her word, and her feelings as a woman; that her aunt did what she seldom does,--lost her temper; and that Colonel Manners ended the matter wisely and well, and by his perseverance obtained joyful tidings without a breach of faith."

"You are both speaking in mysteries to me," said Marian, rising; "so I will go and make Isadore tell me the whole in less enigmatical language. Where is she, my dear aunt?"

"She is in bed," answered Mrs. Falkland, "but not likely to go to sleep."

"In bed!" exclaimed Marian; "then, indeed, it is time that I should go and see her, for I do not ever remember Isadore having been in bed at nine o'clock before, and something must be the matter."

Thus saying, she quitted the room; and left Colonel Manners to take some refreshment, and to relate, the while, to Mrs. Falkland, as much as he had time and inclination to tell of his adventure with the gipsy.

"I fear no danger," he concluded, when he had ascertained by his watch that the time appointed for his return was approaching--"I fear no danger, and have every confidence in the extraordinary man who is to be my guide; but, at the same time, it is always well to be prepared; and, therefore, I shall not only exchange these heavy riding-boots for something more fit for walking, but I will take the liberty of adding a brace of pistols to back my sword in case of need." He then took leave of Mrs. Falkland; and, after making the alteration he proposed, once more sallied out, like the knight of La Mancha, with a heart scarcely less chivalrous, though guided by a mind which happily had power to restrain and direct the operation of his feelings. Here, however, the thread of his adventures must be broken off for a while, in order that we may leave no longer unfilled that void in his history which now exists between the moment at which we last left him in conversation with Lord Dewry, and that of his sudden reappearance at Morley House.

CHAPTER VI.

At the end of the first chapter of this volume, it may be remembered, that we left Lord Dewry sitting in the saloon of Dewry Hall with Colonel Manners. Night had become morning before the messengers for whom he waited arrived from Dimden; and when they did so, they brought the tidings that his lordship's well-laid scheme had failed; that no one had been taken by the keepers but a gipsy boy; and that Sir Roger Millington, as well as one of the keepers, had been wounded--the first seriously, the second but slightly. Manners had expected and believed that the peer would both be disappointed and shocked; but a variety of emotions naturally sprang from such tidings, in the situation in which Lord Dewry had placed himself, which could not be understood or calculated by any one unacquainted with all the dreary secrets of his heart. He was disappointed, it is true, that Pharold had not been taken; but he trusted that, with all the means employed against him, the gipsy would not be able to escape.

Far from either shocked or sorry was he, however, that blood had been spilt in the affray between the keepers and the gipsies, or that death might ensue; for he saw that his grasp upon Pharold would thereby be strengthened, though he could have wished, certainly, that the shot which had been fired had found any other bosom than that of Sir Roger Millington, from whom much good service remained still to be derived.

Such feelings, of course, produced some effect upon his behaviour, especially as Colonel Manners's cordial co-operation in his plans, without making him entirely forget the different principles upon which they acted, had, in some degree, thrown him off his guard in regard to the minor points of demeanour. The effect, indeed, was not so striking as to lead Manners to suspect anything like the truth; but it was sufficiently marked to call his attention--to appear strange and unpleasant--and to make him think, "This is one of those pampered sons of luxury, who only feel where their own immediate comforts are concerned. He seems to care no more for the people who have been wounded in his service than if they were things of wood."

After a few short comments on the means to be next employed, Manners retired to the chamber prepared for him, and lay down to rest. He rose betimes, however: but it was long ere the peer made his appearance; for, exhausted with activity, and watching, and contending pa.s.sions--the most wearing of all the many a.s.sailants of life and strength--he fell into a deeper slumber than he had known for many years. At length he came, and at a late hour set out with Colonel Manners for Dimden; but since the preceding night a change had come over his feelings towards his companion. Then, in agitation, and horror, and anxiety, he had clung to any one for the sake of society; and more especially to one whose character and reputation gave him confidence, and whose warm co-operation afforded support. Now, however, he was going to hear from his agents the progress of dark and subtle plans of which Colonel Manners knew nothing--to examine and speak with persons whom he had engaged in proceedings equally cunning and unjustifiable; and he could very well have dispensed with the presence of one whose bold good sense was likely to search and see further than might be at all convenient.

These feelings influenced his demeanour also; and although he could not be absolutely rude to a person he had so lately courted, and who was so perfectly independent of him in every respect, yet his manners were throughout the journey sufficiently cold and repulsive to make Manners determine to bring their companionship to a close as speedily as possible. On their arrival at Dimden, the gipsy lad was sent for, and a few casual questions asked him by the peer, which he repelled by either obdurate silence or sullen monosyllables. This, however, was what Lord Dewry for the present desired; but Colonel Manners was resolved, if possible, to hear more, and he plied the prisoner with every question which he judged likely to elicit some information concerning his poor friend De Vaux. Little satisfactory news did he, indeed, obtain; and, in fact, received no reply to the greater part of his interrogations. Still the impression upon his mind, from one or two occasional words which the lad was induced to speak, was strong, that he at least was ignorant that De Vaux had been murdered, and thence arose in Manners's mind the first reasonable hope that his friend might still be living.

After the s.p.a.ce of nearly an hour thus spent, the youth was removed.

The peer made no comment; but after looking out of the window, called some of the servants, and inquired after Sir Roger Millington. The reply was, that the knight suffered considerable agony, and that the surgeon was with him still.

"Colonel Manners, you must excuse me for half an hour, while I visit my unfortunate friend," said Lord Dewry, with a frigid bow. "My poor son's death," he added, while his quivering lip, at the very mention of his son's name, betrayed that on that subject, at least, his heart was painfully sensible--"my poor son's death, of course, weighs heavily upon me; but I must not forget my wounded friend. I do not contemplate being detained longer than half an hour, and then I will have the honour of setting you down at Morley House as I drive home."