Frank Fairlegh

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Oaklands heard me for some time in silence, and I began to fear my
efforts would be fruitless, when suddenly he turned towards me, and
said--his fine eyes beaming with an almost womanly expression of
tenderness as he spoke--"Would this thing make you happier in case I
fall?" A silent pressure of the hand was my only answer, and he added in
a low voice, "then it shall be as you wish". A pause ensued for my
own part, the thought that this might be our last meeting completely
overpowered me; I did not know till that moment the strength and
intensity of my affection for him. The silence was at length interrupted
by Oaklands himself, and the low tones of his deep rich voice trembled
with emotion, as they fell mournfully on the stillness of the evening
air. "My father!" he said, "that kind old man, whose happiness is
wrapped up in my welfare--it will break his heart, for he has only me to
love. Frank, my brother!" he added, passing his arm round my neck, as he
had used to do when we were boys together, "you are young; your mind is
strong and vigorous, and will enable you to meet sorrow as a man should
confront and overcome whatever is ~211~~opposed to him in his path
through life. I will not disguise from you that, looking rationally
and calmly at the matter, I have but little hope of quitting the
field to-morrow alive. My antagonist, naturally a man of vindictive
disposition, is incensed against me beyond all power of forgiveness, and
his skill is fully equal to his malice: should I fall, I leave my father
to your care; be a son to him in the place of the one he will have lost.
This is not a light thing which I ask of you, Frank! I ask you to give
up your independence, your high hopes of gaining name and fortune by
the exercise of your own talents and industry, and to devote some of
the best years of your life to the weary task of complying with the
caprices, and bearing the sorrows, of a grief-stricken old man. Will you
do this for me, Frank?"

"I will," replied I; "and may God help me, as I execute this trust
faithfully!"

"You have relieved my mind of half its burden," returned Oaklands
warmly. "I have only one thing more to mention--When I came of age last
year my father's liberality made over to me an ample income for a single
man to live on: excepting a few legacies to old servants, I have divided
this between your good little sister and yourself, which I thought you
would prefer to my leaving it to you alone."

"Harry I indeed, I cannot allow you to do this; others must surely have
claims upon you."

"There is not a being in the world who has a right to expect a farthing
at my death," answered he; "the next heir to the entailed estates is a
distant relation in Scotland, already wealthy. My father has always been
a careful man, and, should he lose me, will have a larger income than he
can possibly be able to spend; besides, as the duties I have led you
to undertake must necessarily prevent you from engaging actively in any
profession, I am bound in common fairness to provide for you."

"Be it so, then," replied I--inwardly breathing a prayer that I never
might possess a sixpence of the promised fortune.

"One thing more," added Harry. "When you return to Trinity--poor old
Trinity, shall I ever visit you again!--find out how Lizzie Maurice is
going on, and if she should marry respectably in her own rank, ask my
father to give you a hundred pounds as a wedding present for her; only
hint that it was my wish, and he would give twenty times the sum. And
now good--pshaw!" he continued, drawing his hand across his eyes, "I
shall ~212~~play the woman if I talk to you much more--good-night,
Frank--do you accompany us to the ground to-morrow morning?"

"I will go with you," returned I, with difficulty overcoming a choking
sensation in my throat; "I may be able to be of some use."

"Here comes Archer," said Oaklands, "so once more good-night; I must get
home, or my father will wonder what is become of me."

My heart was too full to speak, and pressing his hand I turned abruptly
away, and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

CHAPTER XXVII -- THE DUEL

"The sun begins to gild the western sky,
And now it is about the very hour.

They will not fail,
Unless it be to come before their time;
So much they spur their expedition."
--_Shakspeare_.

"Now go thy way: faintness constraineth me
To measure out my length on this cold bed."
--_Shakspeare_.

"And me they bore.....
To one deep chamber shut from sound, and due
To languid limbs and sickness."
--_Tennyson's Princess_.

I DID not return to the cottage until the usual hour for going to bed,
as I did not dare subject myself to Fanny's penetrating glance in my
present state of excitement. The moment family prayers were concluded I
took my candle, and, pleading fatigue, retired to my room. Knowing
that sleep was out of the question in my then frame of mind, I merely
substituted the clothes I intended to wear in the morning for those I
had on, and, wrapping my dressing-gown round me, flung myself on the
bed. Here I lay, tossing about, and unable to compose myself for an hour
or two, the one idea constantly recurring to me, "What if Coleman should
fail!" At length, feverish and excited, I sprang up, and throwing open
the window which was near the ground, enjoyed the fresh breeze as it
played around my heated temples. It was a lovely night; the stars, those
calm eyes of heaven, gazed down in their brightness on this world
of ~213~~sin and sorrow, seeming to reproach the stormy passions and
restless strife of men by contrast with their own impassive grandeur.
After remaining motionless for several minutes, I was about to close the
window when the sound of a footstep on the turf beneath caught my ear,
and a form, which I recognised in the moonlight as that of Archer,
approached.

"Up and dressed already, Fairlegh?" he commenced in a low tone as he
perceived me; "may I come in?"

In silence I held out my hand to him, and assisted him to enter.

"Like me," he resumed, "I suppose, you could not sleep."

"Utterly impossible," replied I; "but what brings you here--has anything
occurred?"

"Nothing," returned Archer; "Oaklands retired early, as he said he
wished to be alone, and I followed his example, but could not contrive
to sleep. I don't know how it is, I was engaged in an affair of this
nature once before, and never cared a pin about the matter; but
somehow I have got what they call a presentiment that harm will come of
to-morrow's business. I saw that man, Wilford, for a minute yesterday,
and I know by the expression of his eye that he means mischief; there
was such a look of fiendish triumph in his face when he found the
challenge was accepted--if ever there was a devil incarnate, he is one."

A sigh was my only answer, for his words were but the echo of my
forebodings.

"Now I will tell you what brought me here," he continued; "don't you
think that we ought to have a surgeon on the ground, in case of anything
going wrong?"

"To be sure," replied I; "I must have been mad to have forgotten that it
was necessary--what can be done?--it is not every man that would choose
to be mixed up with such an affair. Where is it that William Ellis's
brother (Ellis of Trinity Hall, you know) has settled?--he told me he
had purchased a practice somewhere in our neighbourhood."

"The very man, if we could but get him," replied Archer; "the name of
the village is Harley End; do you know such a place?"

"Yes," returned I, "I know it well; it is a favourite meet of the
hounds, about twelve miles hence. I'll find him, and bring him
here--what time is it? just two--if I could get a horse I would do it
easily."

"My tilbury and horse are up at the village," said ~214~~Archer; "now
Harry's horses are at home, they could not take mine in at the hall."

"The very thing," said I, "we shall not lose a moment in that case. Is
your horse fast? I shall have to try his mettle."

"He'll not fail you," was the reply, "but don't spare him--I would
rather you should ruin fifty horses than arrive too late."

On reaching the inn we had to rouse a drowsy hostler in order to procure
the key of the stables, and it was half-past two before I was able, to
start.

The road to Harley End was somewhat intricate, more than once I took a
wrong turning, and was forced to retrace my steps; being aware also of
the distance I had to perform, I did not dare to hurry the horse
too much, so that it only wanted a quarter to four when I reached my
destination. Here, however, fortune favoured me. Mr. Ellis, it appeared,
being an ardent disciple of Isaac Walton, had resolved to rise at
day-break in order to beguile sundry trout, and, at the entrance of the
village, I met him strolling along, rod in hand. Two minutes sufficed to
make him acquainted with the object of my mission, and in less than
five minutes more (a space of time which I employed in washing out
the horse's mouth at an opportune horse-trough, with which I took
the liberty of making free) he had provided himself with a case of
instruments and other necessary horrors, all of which he described to me
_seriatim_, as we returned, with an affectionate minuteness for which I
could have strangled him.

We started at a rattling pace on our homeward drive, hedgerow and fence
gliding by us like slides in a magic lantern. Archer's horse did not
belie the character he had given of him. With head erect, and expanded
nostril, he threw his legs forward in a long slashing trot, whirling the
light tilbury along at the rate of at least eleven miles an hour;
and fortunate it was that he did not flinch from his work, for we
had between thirteen and fourteen miles to perform in an hour and ten
minutes in order to reach the appointed spot by five o'clock. In our way
we had to pass within a quarter of a mile of Heathfield Hall; all seemed
quiet as we did so, and I heard the old clock over the stables strike a
quarter to five.

"We shall be in capital time," said I, drawing a long breath, as I felt
relieved from an anxious dread of being too late. "It was a near thing
though, and if I had not met you as I did, we should scarcely have done
it."

"Famous horse," replied Ellis; "but you've rather ~215~~over-driven him
the last two or three miles; if I were Archer, I should have a little
blood taken from him--nothing like venesection; it's safe practice in
such cases as the present. You've a remarkably clear head, Fairlegh, I
know; now I'll just explain to you the common sense of the thing: the
increased action of the heart forces the blood so rapidly through the
lungs, that proper time is not allowed for oxygenisation----"

"We shall be in sight of the place when we have advanced another hundred
yards," interrupted I, as we turned down a green lane.

"Shall we?" replied my companion, standing up in the gig, and shading
his eyes with his hand. "Yes, I see them, they're on the ground already,
and, by Jove, they are placing their men; they must have altered the
time, for it wants full ten minutes of five now."

"If they have," replied I, lashing the horse into a gallop, as I
remembered that this unhappy change would probably frustrate Coleman's
scheme, "if they have, all is lost."

My companion gazed upon me with a look of surprise, but had no time to
ask for an explanation, for at that moment we reached the gate leading
into the field, around which was collected a group, consisting of a gig
and a dog-cart (which had conveyed the respective parties, and a servant
attendant upon each, to the ground), and two or three labouring men,
whom the unusual occurrence had caused to leave their work, and who were
eagerly watching the proceedings--whilst, just inside the gate, a boy,
whom I recognised as Wilford's tiger, was leading about a couple of
saddle-horses, one of them being the magnificent black thorough-bred
mare, of which mention has been already made.

Pulling up the horse with a jerk which threw him on his haunches, I
sprang out, and, placing my hand on the top rail of the gate, leaped
over it, gaining, as I did so, a full view of the antagonist parties,
who were stationed at about two hundred yards from the spot where I
alighted. Scarcely, however, had I taken a step or two towards the scene
of action when one of the seconds, Wentworth, I believe, dropped a white
handkerchief, and immediately the sharp report of a pistol rang in
my ear, followed instantaneously by a second. From the first moment
I caught sight of them my eyes had become riveted by a species of
fascination, which rendered it impossible to withdraw them, upon
Oaklands. As the handkerchief dropped I beheld him raise his arm, and
discharge his ~216~~pistol in the air, at the same moment he gave a
violent start, pressed his hand to his side, staggered blindly forward a
pace or two, then fell heavily to the ground (rolling partially over
as he did so), where he lay perfectly motionless, and to all appearance
dead.

[Illustration: page216 Result of Giving Satisfaction]

On finding all my worst forebodings thus apparently realised, I stood
for a moment horror-stricken by the fearful sight I had witnessed. I
was first roused to a sense of the necessity for action by Ellis, the
surgeon, who shouted as he ran past me:--

"Come on, for God's sake, though I believe he's a dead man!"'

In another moment I was kneeling on the turf, assisting Archer (who
trembled so violently that he could scarcely retain his grasp) to raise
and support Oaklands' head.

"Leave him to me," said I; "I can hold him without assistance; you will
be of more use helping Ellis."

"Oh! he's dead--I tell you he is dead!" exclaimed Archer in a tone of
the most bitter anguish.

"He is no such thing, sir," returned Ellis angrily; "hand me that lint,
and don't make such a fuss; you're as bad as a woman."

Though slightly reassured by Ellis's speech, I confess that, as I looked
upon the motionless form I was supporting, I felt half inclined to fear
Archer might be correct in his supposition. Oaklands' head, as it rested
against me, seemed to lie a perfectly dead weight upon my shoulder; the
eyes were closed, the lips, partly separated, were rapidly assuming a
blue, livid tint, whilst from a small circular orifice on the left side
of the chest the life-blood was gushing with fearful rapidity.

"Open that case of instruments, and take out the tenaculum. No, no! not
that; here, give them to me, sir; the man will bleed to death while
you are fumbling," continued Ellis, snatching his instruments from the
trembling hands of Archer. "You are only in the way where you are," he
added; "fetch some cold water, and sprinkle his face; it will help to
revive him."

At this moment Wilford joined the group which was beginning to form
round us. He was dressed as usual in a closely-fitting suit of black,
the single-breasted frockcoat buttoned up to the neck, so as not to show
a single speck of white which might serve to direct his antagonist's
aim. He approached with his wonted air of haughty indifference, coolly
fastening the button of his glove. On perceiving me he slightly raised
his hat, saying:--

"You are resolved to see this matter to its conclusion, ~217~~then, Mr.
Fairlegh; no one can be better aware than you are how completely your
friend brought his fate upon himself".

He paused as if for an answer; but, as I remained silent, not being able
to trust myself to speak, he added, gazing sternly at the prostrate form
before him--"Thus perish all who dare to cross my path!" Then casting
a withering glance around, as he marked the indignant looks of the
by-standers, he turned on his heel and stalked slowly away.

"He'd best quicken his pace," observed one of the countrymen who had
joined the group, "for there's them a coming as may stop his getting
away quite so easy."

As he spoke the gate of the field was thrown open, and a couple of men
on horseback rode hastily in. Wilford, however, as soon as he perceived
their approach, made a sign to the boy to bring his horse, and,
springing lightly into the saddle, waited quietly till they came near
enough for him to recognise their faces, when, raising his voice, he
said in a tone of the most cutting sarcasm:--

"As I expected, I perceive it is to Mr. Cumberland's disinterested
attachment that I am indebted for this kind attempt to provide for my
safety; it so happens you are a quarter of an hour too late, sir. I have
the honour to wish you good-morning."

Thus saying, he turned his horse's head, and cantered across the field.
The man he had addressed, and in whom, though he was considerably
altered, I recognised the well-remembered features of Richard
Cumberland, paused, as if in doubt what to do; not so his companion,
however, who, shouting, "Come on, sir, we may nab him yet," drove the
spurs into the stout roadster he bestrode and galloped furiously after
him, an example which Cumberland, after a moment's hesitation, hastened
to follow, though at a more moderate rate. Wilford suffered the foremost
rider to come nearly up to him, and then, quickening his pace, led him
round the two sides of the field; but perceiving the gate was closed,
and that men had stationed themselves in front of it to prevent his
egress, he doubled upon his pursuers, and, putting the mare for the
first time to her full speed, galloped towards the opposite side of the
field, which was enclosed by a strong fence, consisting of a bank with
oak palings on the top and a wide ditch beyond. Slackening his pace as
he approached this obstacle, he held his horse cleverly together,
and, without a moment's hesitation, rode at it. The beautiful animal,
gathering her legs well under her, ~218~~faced it boldly, rose to the
rail, and, clearing it with the greatest ease, bounded lightly over the
ditch, and continued her course on the further side with unabated speed.
Apparently determined not to be outdone, his pursuer, whipping and
spurring with all his might, charged the fence at the same spot where
Wilford had cleared it; the consequence was his horse rushed against the
rail, striking his chest with so much violence as to throw himself
down, pitching his rider over his head into the ditch beyond, whence he
emerged, bespattered with mud, indeed, but otherwise uninjured. As he
reappeared his companion rode up to him, and, after conversing with
him earnestly for a minute or so, turned and left the field, without
exchanging a word with any other person.

During this transaction, which did not occupy one-fourth of the time
it has taken us to describe, Ellis had in a great measure succeeded in
staunching the flow of blood, and a slight shade of colour became again
visible in Oaklands' cheek.

"He will bear moving now," said Ellis quickly, "but you must find
something to lay him upon; take that gate off its hinges, some of
you fellows--that will answer the purpose capitally. Come, bestir
yourselves; every moment is of importance."

Thus urged, five or six sturdy labourers, who had been standing round,
gazing with countenances of rude but sincere commiseration on the
wounded man (for Harry's kind-heartedness and liberality made him
very popular amongst the tenantry), started off, and returned in an
incredibly short space of time with the gate; upon this were spread our
coats and waistcoats, so as to form a tolerably convenient couch, upon
which, under Ellis's direction, we lifted with the greatest caution the
still insensible form of Harry Oaklands.

"Now," exclaimed Ellis, "raise him very slowly on your shoulders, and
take care to step together, so as not to jolt him;--if the bleeding
should break out again, the whole College of Surgeons could not save
him. Where's the nearest house he can be taken to? He'll never last out
till we reach the Hall."

"Take him to our cottage," said I eagerly; "it is more than half a mile
nearer than the Hall."

"But your mother and sister?" asked Archer.

"Of course it will be a great shock to them," replied I; "but I know
them both well enough to feel sure they would not hesitate a moment when
Harry's life was in ~219~~the balance. Do you want me for anything, or
shall I go on and prepare them for your arrival?"

"Do so, by all means," replied Ellis; "but stay--have you a bedroom on
the ground-floor?"

"Yes," returned I, "my own."

"Get the bed-clothes open," continued Ellis, "so that we can put him in
at once; it will save me half an hour's time afterwards, and is a thing
which should always be thought of on these occasions."

"Anything else?" inquired I.

"Yes, send somebody for the nearest surgeon; two heads are better than
one," said Ellis.

Remembering, as I approached the cottage, that the window of my room
by which Archer and I had quitted it the previous night would be
unfastened, I determined I would enter there, and, proceeding to my
mother's door, call her up, and break the news as gently as the exigency
of the case would permit, leaving her to act by Fanny as she should
think best. Accordingly, I flung up the window, sprang in, and, throwing
myself on the nearest chair, sat for a moment, panting from the speed
at which I had come. As I did so, a timid knock was heard at the door. I
instinctively cried, "Come in!" and Fanny entered.

"I have been so anxious all night about what you told me yesterday, that
I could not sleep, so I thought I would come to see if you were up," she
commenced; then, for the first time remarking my breathless condition
and disordered dress, she exclaimed, "Good Heavens! are you ill?
you pant for breath, and your hands and the sleeves of your coat are
saturated with water--with--oh! it is blood; you are wounded!" she
cried, sinking in a chair, and turning as pale as ashes.

"Indeed, darling, you are alarming yourself unnecessarily; I am
perfectly uninjured," replied I soothingly.

"Something dreadful has happened!" she continued, fixing her eyes upon
me; "I read it in your face."

"An accident has occurred," I began; "Oaklands----"

"Stop!" she exclaimed, interrupting me, "the two shots I heard but
now--his agitation--his strange manner yesterday--oh! I see it all; he
has been fighting a duel." She paused, pressed her hands upon her eyes,
as if to shut out some dreadful vision, and then asked, in a low, broken
voice, "Is he killed?"

"No," replied I, "on my word, on my honour, I assure you he is not;
the bleeding had ceased when I left him, which is a very favourable
symptom."

~220~~Fanny sighed heavily, as if relieved from some unbearable weight,
and, after remaining silent for about a minute, she removed her hands
from her face, and said, in a calm tone of voice:--

"And now, what is to be done? can I be of any use?"

Astonished at the rapidity with which she had regained her self-control
and presence of mind after the violent emotion she had so recently
displayed, I replied:--

"Yes, love, you can, the Hall is too far off, and they are bringing him
here".

As I spoke these words she shuddered slightly, but seeing I was doubtful
whether to proceed, she said, "Go on, pray".

"Would you," I continued, "break this to my mother, and tell her I
believe--that is, I trust--there is no great danger--and--and--do that
first."

With a sad shake of the head, as if she mistrusted my attempt to
reassure her, she quitted the room, whilst I obeyed Ellis's instructions
by preparing the bed; after which I unclosed the hall-door, and,
despatching the gardener's boy to fetch the surgeon, stood anxiously
awaiting the arrival of the party. I had not done so many minutes when
the measured tramp of feet gave notice of their approach, and in another
instant they came in sight.

CHAPTER XXVIII -- THE SUBSTANCE OF THE SHADOW

"Recovery, where art thou?

Daughter of Heaven, where shall we seek thy help?"

"Come thou and chase away
Sorrow and Pain, the persecuting Powers,
Who make the melancholy day so long,
So long the anxious night."

"I look for thy approach,
O life-preserving Power! as one who strays
Alone in darkness o'er the pathless marsh,
Watches the dawn of day."
--_Southey_.

"ALL well so far," replied Ellis, in answer to my look of inquiry; "the
bleeding has ceased, and he is fast recovering consciousness. Where is
the room? We must get him into bed at once."

~221~~When we had placed him in the bed Oaklands lay for a short space
with his eyelids closed, uttering a low groan at intervals; at length
the quiet appeared in some measure to restore him, and, slowly opening
his eyes, he gazed languidly around, asking in a low voice, "Where am
I?"

"Let me beg you not to speak, Mr. Oaklands," said Ellis; "your safety
depends upon your keeping silence; you are at the cottage of your friend
Fairlegh."

As he heard these words Harry perceived me standing near the bed, and
smiled faintly in token of recognition; then, making a sign for me to
stoop down to him, he whispered, "My father--you must break this to
him--go, Frank".