Wetheral supplemented his French and fencing lessons with private practice in his rooms, or in some solitary part of the grove by the Avon, or of King's Mead Fields, or elsewhere. His natural readiness and his fierce application soon enabled him to read and write easy French pa.s.sably well; but when he came to speak in that language to the foppish little master of ceremonies at the Rooms, he brought confusion on himself. He made a better show at dancing, though; and a few trials of the foils with Lord George, on a rainy day, displayed a promise of early ability to handle a sword in the approved fashion.

One evening in the second week of May, Lord George announced his wish of starting for London on the morrow, as the fashionable season at Bath would soon be over. d.i.c.k had no sorrow at this, for he had resolved to continue in London his present way of life, by means of the cards and by whatever other resources he might find at hand. He was quite ready for fresh fields, as long as they were of the flowery kind. Desiring, though, a last survey of the field he was about to leave, d.i.c.k sallied forth alone that night for the Rooms, Lord George having to remain at his lodgings to write some letters he had postponed to the last moment.

Just as Mr. Wetheral was entering the ballroom, during a cessation of dancing, and was felicitating himself on the flattering salutations he got from acquaintances obtained through Lord George,--and several of these greetings came with melting smiles from fair faces,--he heard a voice at his side cry out:

"Why, by G.o.d, 'tis the rascal gamekeeper masquerading as a gentleman!"

d.i.c.k recognized the voice, now bellow and now whimper, ere even he turned, like a man shot, and saw the face. At sight of the gross, insolent visage of Squire Bullcott, the memory of the horse-whipping drove away every other consideration, and d.i.c.k, thinking only of revenge, not of his own possible discomfiture, replied, hotly:

"So 'tis you, Bully Bullcott! I intended to return and pay off my score, but kind Providence has saved me the trouble by sending you to Bath.

Wait until I meet you in the street, sir!"

"What, you dog!" cried the Squire, whose corpulent body was dressed as if it were the elegant figure of a beau of twenty-five. "Why, hear the cur talk, will you that! The low, dirty, mongrel cur, that came starving along the road, with tongue hanging out and ne'er a kennel to sleep in; and that I took in and made a gamekeeper of! How in the name of G.o.d he ever came by those clothes he has on, I know not. But you sha'n't play any of your tricks here, you impostor! I denounce this rascal, gentlemen! He's not what he pretends to be!"

"Gentlemen," said d.i.c.k, to the crowd that had quickly a.s.sembled, "there are many of you here who know me--"

"If there be," said Bullcott, cutting d.i.c.k's speech short, "how long have you known him? Hey? And is there any gentleman here that doesn't know me?" From the manner in which the Squire glared around, and that of the gentlemen who amiably nodded in confirmation, it was plain that Squire Bullcott was a very well-known person at Bath; and from other tokens it was equally plain that d.i.c.k's acquaintances were mentally recalling that the time since they had first met him was indeed short.

"The fellow is a gamekeeper, I say! A common servant, that I paid wages to, a month ago, and that my footmen drove off my place, as they shall drive him out of these Rooms now!" Whereat he strode through the crowd, which opened for him with the deference due to wealth, and at the door he called out to his servants, who were waiting with his coach.

Before Mr. Wetheral, who looked in perplexity from one acquaintance to another, and saw each man fall slightly back or look aside, could arrive at any course of action, he found himself face to face with the two low-browed fellows who had obeyed the Squire's behest on a former memorable occasion. Ere he was fully sensible of their intention, he was grasped at neck and arm, and the next instant he was being hustled swiftly to the street. Resisting blindly, and as the nether part of his person came considerably in the rear in this rapid exit, he made a ludicrous appearance, as he knew from the shout of laughter that followed him,--laughter in which, to his unutterable chagrin, the voices of the ladies mingled, for they had pushed forward among the gentlemen who had first hastened to the scene.

Once outside, d.i.c.k's two burly captors flung him forward into the street, where he landed on all fours in mire and refuse.

A crowd of servants and rabble quickly gathered around, shouting with glee. d.i.c.k's mood, when he rose, bruised and soiled, was to return and do battle with the whole a.s.sembly in the Rooms. But he knew the futility of such heroic measures, and that the present was no time in which to seek retaliation. He contented himself, therefore, with what effective lunges were necessary in order to break through the street crowd. Having achieved a pa.s.sage in one fierce dash, he ran on, at a pace that soon ended pursuit, until he reached his lodgings. There he made himself presentable before joining Lord George, to whom he said nothing of the night's occurrence.

Their early departure, the next morning, alone prevented his lordship from hearing the news that was now all over Bath; and d.i.c.k felt a decided relief when he saw the city receding in the morning sunshine while the post-chaise they had taken was bowling merrily towards Wiltshire. An uneventful day, diversified by many stops for refreshment, brought them late in the afternoon to Marlboro, where d.i.c.k had time, before nightfall, to ascend by the winding path the famous mount, and to meditate in the grotto where Thomson had composed "The Seasons," as well as to stroll through the charming grounds stretching at the rear of the inn to the Kennet.

As the Bath stage-coach for London drove up, d.i.c.k looked furtively from the inn window to see if it should let out any of those who had witnessed his humiliation the previous night. Lord George, glancing from the same window, suddenly exclaimed, "Egad, there's a fine woman!"

Following his lordship's gaze, d.i.c.k beheld a slender and graceful lady emerging from a private coach. Her face, round, soft, childlike, with clear and gentle blue eyes, instantly captivated d.i.c.k. He watched her while she gave hasty directions to her coachman, and while she stepped quickly and with downcast look, as if wishing to avoid observation, to the inn. She was accompanied by another lady, also quite handsome, but of a somewhat severe and defiant countenance.

Having entered the inn, the two ladies were seen no more while d.i.c.k and Lord George remained at Marlboro, although these candid admirers of beauty delayed their departure thence till the next day was far advanced. With sighs of disappointment, they then resumed their journey, and pa.s.sed through the forest and on to Hungerford, where they dined and tarried awhile in the vain hope that yet the lady of the private coach might overtake them.

Continuing in disappointment, they proceeded into Berkshire and along the pleasant Kennet to Speenhamland, which, as all the world knows, is but the northern part of Newbury, the Kennet flowing between under a stone bridge. They had no sooner made themselves comfortable in the last two available rooms at the Pelican Inn, than Wetheral happened to look out into the corridor and see, accidentally glancing from the opposite chamber at the same moment, the beautiful lady of the private coach.

CHAPTER XII.

THE DEVIL TO PAY AT THE PELICAN INN.

The lady, on seeing herself observed, immediately disappeared, and closed her door. d.i.c.k imparted his discovery to Lord George, who thereupon sent his man Wilkins to inquire of the servants who the lady was. Wilkins returned with the information, obtained from an inn maid who had quizzed the lady's own man-servant, that the lady was Miss Englefield, Sir Hilary Englefield's sister, returning to her brother's seat near Reading, to escape the attentions of a very wealthy gentleman who had pursued her at Bath.

"Why, I know Sir Hilary," cried Lord George. "Wilkins, you will take this message to Miss Englefield at once. Say to her that I have learned she is here, and that, supposing she must have heard her brother speak of me, though I have never had the honor and pleasure of meeting her, I send my most respectful compliments and will do myself the happiness of waiting upon her in the public parlor. Make haste, Wilkins! Come, Wetheral,--d.a.m.n it, your hair is all right! We shall probably have the joy of supping with these ladies."

d.i.c.k hastened down to the parlor with his lordship and waited in a very pleasant trepidation. Wilkins soon came with the answer that Miss Englefield would give herself the honor, etc. "She seemed at first quite took by surprise, my lord," added Wilkins, "and repeated the name Englefield after me, as if to make me think there was a mistake and she wasn't that lady. But she whispered awhile with the other lady, and then gave me the answer."

"If she is really running away from some obnoxious suitor, she would quite naturally wish to hide her name," commented Lord George to d.i.c.k; and then a rustle of skirts heralded the entrance of the lady and her companion themselves.

While introductions were being made, the four people became so grouped that Wetheral found himself near Miss Englefield, an advantage he was quite ready to keep when it had come through circ.u.mstance, although he would not with premeditation have competed for it with Lord George. His lordship, noting the circ.u.mstance with a smile partly of reproach and partly of resignation, accepted with good grace the place of partner to the other lady, Miss Thorpe, whom Miss Englefield addressed as Celestine. Thus coupled, the new acquaintances talked of the crowded state of the inns, the excellence of the weather and roads, the season at Bath (d.i.c.k learned with ineffable relief that Miss Englefield's departure had occurred before his ejection from the Rooms), and such matters.

It was agreed presently, on Lord George's proposal, that the four should sup together in a corner of their own in the dining-room; and d.i.c.k there contrived to retain his post as cavalier to Miss Englefield, with whom he became more entranced at every commonplace utterance from her dainty lips, every meaningless glance from her soft eyes, every change of expression of her girlish face, every insignificant sigh, every occasionless laugh.

Her manner was generally that of a woman under some kind of anxiety or suspense, from which she found relief in a half timid, half reckless abandonment to gaiety; she was like a schoolgirl on some feminine lark, entirely novel to her, to which some severity had driven her for relief, yet of which she was constantly in terror.

In the parlor, after supper, Wetheral's supposed travels being mentioned, he led up to the highly original remark, spoken with a most meaning look, "But of all women, I'll swear the finest I have seen are in England,--nay, I must say, _is_ in England!" The charming blush with which she received this extremely subtle compliment encouraged d.i.c.k to further efforts in the same strain, for the conversation of the two had now fallen to a tone inaudible to Lord George and Miss Thorpe. These, on their side, sat at some distance, deep in a masked contest arising from the haughty Celestine's declared invulnerability to any man's attack, and from Lord George's complacent conviction that he could make a swift conquest of any woman without even seriously exerting himself.

This game, between the irresistible and the immovable, enabled Wetheral and Miss Englefield to proceed unwatched through a flirtation's first stages, so delicious to the partic.i.p.ants, so insipid to third persons.

Silly as their talk was, it derived unutterable charm from the low tones in which it was spoken, the ardent looks and suppressed agitation of d.i.c.k, the furtive glances and demure blushes of Miss Englefield. At last the silence of the inn, and the shortened state of the candles, broke up the reluctant quartette, and the ladies said good night, leaving d.i.c.k on the outer threshold of his paradise, and Lord George at the first manoeuvre in his campaign against the composure of Celestine.

"By the lord," cried Wetheral in ecstasy, when he and Lord George were alone together, "did you ever see a more heavenly creature? She's divine, she's perfect, and her name is Amabel, as lovely as herself! She told me it, and she told me, too, almost in as many words, that her affections were not engaged--previously. Amabel! Could any name fit any woman better?"

"Come, come," said Lord George, "it's bedtime. I must sleep well to-night, and look my best to-morrow, for I've a conquest to make."

"'Fore gad, I sha'n't sleep at all!" cried d.i.c.k. "I've been made a conquest of!"

But he followed his friend up-stairs, where he found the latter slightly meditative and absent, a circ.u.mstance that would have held his attention had not his mind been full of other thoughts. d.i.c.k looked out of the window, at the inn garden. It was a perfect night, with a glorious moonlight. d.i.c.k could never go to bed in his present mood. He longed to walk, to revel in the moonlight, which was all his own, now that the rest of the world was asleep. If he could but pace beneath her window!

That window also, being in line with his own, looked out on the garden.

Between the two windows was that of the corridor, and beneath this there was a rear door leading to the garden, which door was flanked by a vine-clad trellis.

"I'm going for a stroll in the garden," said d.i.c.k, suddenly, to Lord George, who was already in bed. "I sha'n't want a candle to go to bed by."

He thereupon stepped from his window to the trellis, and descended thereby to the ground, heedless of the impeding vines. Amabel's window was already dark, as his own became a moment later. The garden sloped gently, between a wall and a hedge, to the Kennet, which reflected the moon between shadows of over-arching boughs. With its small trees, its bushes and flowers, its solitary bench, and its clear s.p.a.ces of short gra.s.s, all made beautiful and mysterious by the moonlight, its spring odors, and the murmur of the stream, the place seemed to d.i.c.k like some Italian garden, and he imagined himself Romeo gazing up at Juliet's balcony.

In the midst of this fancy, he was rudely brought back to England by the sound of wheels and horse, and of voices speaking guardedly in very un-Italian accents, in the inn coach-yard beyond the wall that bounded one side of the garden. The sounds came to a stop, and the gate of the wall opened cautiously, whereupon d.i.c.k stepped into the shadow of the trellis flanking the rear doorway. Through the gateway he could see a rickety coach, of which the door was open and from about which there now stepped stealthily into the garden four ill-clad, desperate-looking fellows, one wearing a cloak about his lank body and stifling a cough as he walked, another carrying a large handkerchief in his hand, two others awkwardly bearing a ladder.

"'Tis all clear," said the cloaked individual. "Quick work, captain, now! That's the room." And he pointed to the window of Amabel.

d.i.c.k gave a violent start. What could be the purpose, concerning her chamber, of these birds of ill omen, who, doubtless through the collusion of some inn servant, had driven so secretly into the coach-yard at this hour? He decided to wait, that he might, before interfering, discover their plans.

The two ladder-bearers, at a whisper from the man with the handkerchief, placed the ladder to the window. The captain--a t.i.tle which d.i.c.k guessed in this case to indicate a highwayman rather than a gentleman of war or sea--mounted with agility, and disappeared through the window, followed by one of the men. The cloaked fellow stood holding the ladder, and the other went to the gate to keep watch.

d.i.c.k, thinking it high time to take a hand, looked about for a weapon, and, seeing nothing else, finally pulled a stout cross-piece from the trellis. By this time the expeditious captain had reappeared at the top of the ladder, bearing the swooning form of Amabel, whose possible screams he had provided against with the handkerchief. His a.s.sistant followed him down the ladder, to give aid should the nimble captain's burden prove too heavy.

d.i.c.k ran forward with a threatening shout, and brought his extemporized cudgel down on the skull of the man in the cloak; at the same time there rose, in the chamber above, loud cries of "Help!" from Celestine, who had just awakened to what was going on. The sudden rush and noise took the enemy by surprise. The man attacked by d.i.c.k made for the gate, leaving his cloak in the hands of his a.s.sailant, who had mechanically clutched it. The captain's princ.i.p.al a.s.sistant leaped from the ladder, and followed with all speed to the gate, while the man on watch scrambled to the seat on the coach and whipped the horses to a gallop.

The captain, seeing himself deserted, dropped Amabel as soon as he reached the bottom of the ladder, drew a pistol, and made ready for a fight over her body. But d.i.c.k clubbed the pistol from his hand, whereupon the captain, with merely an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of annoyance, turned and fled after his retreating forces.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BEARING THE SWOONING FORM OF AMABEL."]

d.i.c.k picked up the fainting Amabel, and carried her to the garden bench, whereon he placed her in a sitting att.i.tude, and put the captured cloak about her, lest in her fragile night-dress she might be chilled.

Meanwhile Celestine's cries had not abated, and suddenly d.i.c.k, while trying to fan Miss Englefield back to recovery with his hat, beheld Lord George emerge from the gentlemen's window, in night-gown and coat, drop to the ground, rush up the ladder, and plunge into the chamber whence the shouts for aid continued to issue. Lord George, in his haste to the rescue, had not noticed d.i.c.k and Amabel in the garden.

At last the tender creature on the bench gently stirred, feebly opened her eyes, and faintly asked where she was. d.i.c.k immediately enlightened her. She appeared astonished at what had befallen, and murmured, reflectively, "I shouldn't have thought he would take that way of doing it," then checked herself as if she had said too much. d.i.c.k supposed she alluded to the rich suitor, and that the attempted abduction was the work of that person. He could not enough thank heaven for having enabled him to be her preserver, and he sat by her side, on the bench, while she remained wrapped in the cloak, apparently too prostrated by the recent occurrence to return immediately to her chamber.

And now was the time for a romantic love scene, suitable to the youth and beauty of the two partic.i.p.ants, to the charm of the surroundings, to the May night, the moonlight, the odor of flowers, the ripple of the stream, and the preceding circ.u.mstances of the interview; and doubtless the conversation was poetic enough to the two who engaged in it, thanks to all these matters and to the glances, low tones of agitation, suppressed fervor, tremblings, etc.; but the talk in itself was no more original or impa.s.sioned than this:

"I'm glad you aren't hurt," said she.