Frank Fairlegh

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"That's the line of argument you intend to bring forward by way of
consolation, is it? Well, it is not such a bad notion," replied I; "but
don't be too sure of success, '_Equo ne credite Tueri_': I doubt its
being in the power ~382~~ of horse-flesh to carry such a weight of
disappointment as I fear this news will occasion him."

"Well, I've other schemes to fall back upon if this should fail,"
returned Freddy; "and now let us get on, for the sooner we put him out
of his misery the better."

"Where's the master?" inquired I, encountering Shrimp as we crossed the
hall.

"He's upstairs, sir; in his own room, sir; a-going it like bricks, if
you please, sir; you can hear him down here, Gents."

"Stop a minute--listen!" said Coleman; "I can hear him now."

As he spoke, the sound of some one running quickly in the room overhead
was distinctly audible; then came a scuffling noise, and then a heavyish
fall.

"What's he doing?" asked Coleman.

"He's a-trainin' of hisself for some match as must be a-coming off, sir;
leastways so I take it; he's been a-going on like that for the last hour
and a quarter, and wery well he's lasted out, I say; he'll be safe to
win, don't you think, Gents?"

"Out of the way, you imp!" exclaimed Coleman, seizing Shrimp by the
collar, and swinging him half across the hall, where, cat-like, he fell
upon his legs, and walked off, looking deeply insulted.

"I can't make out what he can be doing," continued Freddy. "Come along!"
so saying, he sprang up the staircase, two steps at a time, an example
which I hastened to imitate.

"Come in!" cried the voice of Lawless, as Coleman rapped at the door;
and anxious to discover the occasion of the sounds which had reached our
ears in the hall, we lost no time in obeying the summons. On entering
the apartment a somewhat singular spectacle greeted our sight. All the
furniture of the room, which was a tolerably large one, was piled on two
lines on either side, so as to leave a clear course along the middle; in
the centre of the space thus formed were placed two chairs about a
yard apart, and across the backs of these was laid the joint of a
fishing-rod.

[Illustration: page382 A New Cure for the Heart-ache]

As we entered, Lawless--who was without shoes, coat, or
waistcoat--exclaiming, "Wait a minute, I've just done it"--started from
one end of the room, and, running up to the chairs in the centre, leaped
over the fishing-rod. "Ninety-nine!" he continued; then, proceeding to
the other end, he again ran up to and sprang over the barrier, shouting
as he did so, in a tone of triumph, "A hundred!" ~383~~ and dragging an
easy-chair out of the chaotic heap of furniture, he flung himself into
it to all appearance utterly exhausted.

"Why, Lawless, man!" cried Freddy, "what are you doing? Have you taken
leave of your senses all of a sudden?"

"Eh! I believe 1 should have, if I had not hit upon that dodge for
keeping myself quiet."

"A somewhat Irish way of keeping quiet," returned Freddy; "why, the
perspiration is pouring down your face--you look regularly used up."

"Well, I am pretty nearly done brown--rather baked than otherwise,"
replied Lawless; "let me tell you, it's no joke to jump five hundred
times over a stick three feet high or more."

"And why, in the name of all that's absurd, have you been doing it
then?"

"Eh I why, you see, after I had sent our letter, I got into such a
dreadful state of impatience and worry, I didn't know what to do with
myself; I could not sit still at any price, and, first of all, I thought
I'd have a good gallop, but I declare to you I felt so reckless and
desperate, that I fancied I should go and break my neck; well, then it
occurred to me to jump over that stick till I had tired myself out--five
hundred times have I done it, and a pretty stiff job it was, too. And
now, what news have you got for me, Frank?"

"My dear Lawless," said I, laying my hand on his shoulder, "you must
prepare for a disappointment."

"There, that will do," interrupted Lawless; "as to preparation, if my
last hour's work is not preparation enough for anything, it's a pity.
What! she'll have nothing to say to me at any price, eh?"

"Why, you see, we have all been labouring under a delusion," I began.

"I have, under a most precious one," continued Lawless--"regularly put
my foot in it--made a complete ass of myself--eh! don't you see? Well,
I'm not going to break my heart about it after all; it's only a woman,
and it's my opinion people set a higher price upon those cattle than
they are worth--they are a shying, skittish breed, the best of them."

"That's the light to take it in," exclaimed Coleman, coming forward;
"if one woman says 'No,' there are a hundred others will say 'Yes'; and,
after all, it's an open question whether a man's not better off without
'em."

"Eh! Freddy boy, our fine letter's been no go--turned out a regular
sell, you see, eh?"

~384~~ "Well, that only proves the young lady's want of taste," replied
Coleman; "but we had not exactly a fair start. You have more to bear
about it yet; the article you wished for was gone already--the damsel
had not a heart to bestow. Tell him how it was, Frank."

Thus urged, I gave a hurried outline of the affair as it really stood,
dwelling much on the fact that Oaklands and Fanny had become attached
in bygone years, long ere she had ever seen Lawless--which I hoped might
afford some slight consolation to his wounded self-love. As I concluded,
he exclaimed: "So Fanny's going to marry Harry Oak-lands--that's the
long and short of it all. Well, I'm uncommonly glad to hear it--almost
as glad as if I was going to marry her myself; there is not a better
fellow in the world than Harry, though he has not regarded me with the
most friendly looks of late. I was beginning not to like it, I can tell
you, and meant to ask him why he did it; but I understand it all now.
What a bore I must have been to them both! I declare I'm quite sorry;
why, I would not have done it for any money, if I'd been up to the move
sooner. Oh! I must tell Harry."

"You certainly are the most good-natured fellow breathing, Lawless,"
said I.

"Eh! yes, take me in the right way, I am quiet enough, a child may guide
me with a snaffle; but stick a sharp bit in my mouth, and tickle my
sides with the rowels, and I rear up before, and lash out behind, so
that it would puzzle half the rough-riders in the country to back me.
I always mean to go ahead straight enough if I can see my way clearly
before me, but it's awkward driving when one gets among women, with
their feelings, and sympathies, and all that style of article. I'm not
used to it, you see, so no wonder if I run foul of their sensibilites
and sentimentalities, and capsize a few of them. I've got pretty well
knocked over myself though this time. Misfortunes never come alone too,
they say; and I've just had a letter from Leatherley to tell me Spiteful
got loose when the groom was leading him out to exercise, and trying to
leap a fence staked himself so severely that they were obliged to have
him shot. I refused eighty guineas for him from Dunham of the Guards
only a month ago; I shall have my new tandem cart home, and no horses to
run in it."

"How well those chestnuts would look tandem!" observed Coleman
carelessly; "I wonder whether Harry would sell them?"

"By Jove! I shouldn't like to ask him," exclaimed Lawless quickly; "it
is too much to expect of any man."

~385~~ "Oh! as to that," replied Coleman, "I dare say I could contrive
to find it out, without exactly asking him to sell them."

"My dear fellow, if you would, I should be so much obliged to you,"
replied Lawless eagerly; "if I could but get those horses to start the
new cart with, I should be as happy as a king--that is," he continued,
checking himself, "I might become so; time, don't you see, resignation,
and all that sort of thing--heigh ho!--By the way, how far is it from
dinner? for jumping over those confounded chairs has made me uncommonly
peckish, I can tell you."

"He'll do," said Coleman, as we separated to prepare for dinner.

It was easy to see by Sir John's beaming face, and the hearty squeeze he
gave my hand when I entered the drawing-room, that Harry would not have
to fear much opposition to his wishes on the part of his father. The
dinner passed off pleasantly enough, though even when the meal was
concluded, and the servants had left the room, no allusion was made (out
of delicacy to Lawless) to the subject which engrossed the thoughts of
many of the party. As soon, however, as the wine had gone the round
of the table, Lawless exclaimed: "Gentlemen! are you all charged?" and
receiving affirmatory looks from the company in general, he continued,
"Then I beg to propose a toast, which you must drink as such a toast
ought to be drunk, _con amore_. Gentlemen, I rise to propose the health
of the happy couple that is to be."

"Umph! eh I what?--what are you talking about, sir?--what are you
talking about?" inquired Mr. Frampton, hastily setting down his wine
untasted, and speaking quickly, and with much excitement.

"Do you see that?" whispered Lawless, nudging me, "he's off on a false
scent; he never could bear the idea of my marrying Fanny, he as good as
told me so one day; now be quiet, and I'll get a rise out of him." He
then continued, addressing Mr. Frampton: "You're getting a little hard
of hearing, I'm afraid, sir; I was proposing the health of a certain
happy couple, or rather of two people, who will, I hope, become so, in
the common acceptation of the term, before very long".

"Umph! I heard what you said, sir, plain enough (wish I hadn't), and I
suppose I can guess what you mean. I'm a plain-spoken man, sir, and I
tell you honestly I don't like the thing, and I don't approve of the
thing--I never have, and so once for all--I--umph! I won't drink your
toast, sir, that's flat. Umph! umph!"

~386~~ "Well," said Lawless, making a sign to Harry not to speak, "you
are a privileged person, you know; and if Sir John and my friend Harry
here don't object to your refusing the toast, it's not for me to take
any notice of it; but I must say, considering the lady is the sister of
your especial favourite Frank Fairlegh, and the gentleman one whom you
have known from boyhood, I take it as particularly unkind of you, Mr.
Frampton, not even to wish them well."

"Eh! umph! it isn't that, boy--it isn't that," returned Mr. Frampton,
evidently taken aback by this appeal to his kindly feeling. "But, you
see," he added, turning to Sir John, "the thing is foolish altogether,
they are not at all suited to each other; and instead of being happy, as
they fancy, they'll make each other miserable: the boy's a very good boy
in his way, kind-hearted and all that, but truth is truth, and he's no
more fit to marry Fanny Fairlegh than I am."

"Sorry I can't agree with you, Mr. Frampton," replied Sir John Oaklands,
drawing himself up stiffly; "I thank Mr. Lawless most heartily for his
toast, and drink it without a moment's hesitation. Here's to the health
of the young couple!"

"Well, I see you are all against me," exclaimed Mr. Frampton, "and I
don't like to seem unkind. They say marriages are made in heaven, so I
suppose it must be all right. Here's the health of the happy couple, Mr.
Lawless and Miss Fairlegh!"

It was now Lawless's turn to look out of countenance, and for a moment
he did appear thoroughly disconcerted, more especially as it was next
to impossible to repress a smile, and Freddy Coleman grinned outright;
quickly recovering himself, however, he resumed, "Laugh away, Freddy,
laugh away, it only serves me right for playing such a trick. I've
been deceiving you, Mr. Frampton; Miss Fairlegh is indeed going to be
married, but she has had the good taste to choose a fitter bridegroom
than she would have found in such a harum-scarum fellow as I am.
So here's a long life, and a merry one, to Fanny Fairlegh and Harry
Oaklands; you won't refuse that toast, I dare say?"

"Umph! Harry Oaklands!" exclaimed Mr. Frampton aghast; "and I've been
telling Sir John he wasn't good enough for Frank's sister--just like me,
umph!"

"My dear Lawless," said Harry, taking a seat next the person he
addressed, which movement he accomplished during an immense row
occasioned by Mr. Frampton, ~387~~ who was grunting forth a mixed
monologue of explanations and apologies to Sir John, by whom they were
received with such a hearty fit of laughing that the tears ran down his
cheeks--"My dear Lawless, the kind and generous way in which you take
this matter makes me feel quite ashamed of my behaviour to you lately,
but I think, if you knew how miserable I have been, you would forgive
me."

"Forgive you! eh?" returned Lawless; "ay, a precious deal sooner than
I can forgive myself for coming here and making you all uncomfortable.
Nobody but such a thickheaded ass as I am would have gone on all this
time without seeing how the game stood. I hate to spoil sport; if I had
had the slightest idea of the truth, I'd have been off out of your way
long ago."

"You are a noble fellow!" exclaimed Harry, "and your friendship is a
thing to be proud of. If there is any way in which I can testify my
strong sense of gratitude, only name it."

"I'll tell you," said Coleman, who had caught the last few words--"I'll
tell you what to do to make him all right--sell him your chestnuts."

"The phaeton horses?" replied Harry. "No, I won't sell them."

"Ah! I thought he would not," murmured Lawless, "it was too much to
expect of any man."

"But," continued Oaklands, "I am sure my father will join me in saying,
that if Lawless will do us the favour of accepting them, nothing would
give us greater pleasure than to see them in the possession of one who
will appreciate their affections as they deserve."

"Nay, they are your property, Harry," returned Sir John; "I shall be
delighted if your friend will accept them, but the present is all your
own."

"Eh! give 'em me, all free gratis, and for nothing!" exclaimed Lawless,
overpowered at the idea of such munificence. "Why, you'll go and ruin
yourself--Queen's Bench, whitewash, and all the rest of it! Recollect,
you'll have a wife to keep soon, and that isn't done for nothing they
tell me--pin-money, ruination-shops, diamonds, kid gloves, and bonnet
ribbons--that's the way to circulate the tin; there are some losses
that may be gains, eh? When one comes to think of all these things,
it strikes me I'm well out of it, eh, Mr. Frampton?--Mind you, I don't
think that really," he added aside to me, "only I want Harry to fancy I
don't care two straws about it; he's such a feeling fellow is Harry, lie
would not be properly jolly if he thought I took it to heart much."

~388~~ "Umph! if those are your ideas about matrimony, sir," growled
Mr. Frampton, "I think you are quite right to leave it alone--puppy-dogs
have no business with wives." "Now don't be grumpy, governor," returned
Lawless, "when you've had your own way about the toast and all. Take
another glass of that old port, that's the stuff that makes your hair
curl and look so pretty" [Mr. Framp-ton's _chevelure_ was to be likened
only to a grey scrubbing-brush], "we'll send for the new dog-cart
to-morrow, and you shall be the first man to ride behind the chestnuts."
"Thank ye kindly, I'll take your advice at all events," replied Mr.
Frampton, helping himself to a glass of port; "and as to your offer, why
I'll transfer that to him (indicating Coleman), 'funny boy,' as I used
to call him, when he _was_ a boy, and he doesn't seem much altered in
that particular now. Umph!"

This, as was intended, elicited a repartee from Coleman, and the evening
passed away merrily, although I could perceive, in spite of his attempts
to seem gay, that poor Lawless felt the destruction of his hopes deeply.

On my return to the cottage, the servant informed me that a man had been
there, who wished very particularly to see me; that she had offered to
send for me, but that he had professed himself unable to wait.

"What kind of looking person was he?" inquired I. "He was an oldish
man, sir; very tall and thin, with grey hair, and he rode a little rough
pony." "Did he leave no note or message?" "He left this note, sir."

Hastily seizing it, I locked myself into my own room, and tearing open
the paper, read as follows:--

"Honoured Sir,--In case I should not see you, has my time will be short,
I takes the liburty of writin' a line, and ham 'appy to hinform you,
as things seem to me awl a-goin' wrong, leastways I think you'll say so
when you 'ears my tail. Muster Richard's been back above a week, and
he and the Old Un is up to their same tricks again; but that ain't
awl--there's a black-haired pale chap cum with a heye like a nork, as
seems to me the baddest of the lot, and that ain't sayin' a little.
But there's worse news yet, for I'm afraid we ain't only get to contend
hagainst the henemy, but there's a traytur in the camp, _and that in a
quarter where you cares most_. Meet me tomorrow mornin' at the old place
at seven o'clock, when you shall 'ear more from, Your umbel servant, to
command,

"Peter Barnett, "late Sergeant in the --th Dragoons."

~389~~ Reader, do you wish me a good-night?--many thanks for your
kindness, but if you have any hope that your wish will be realised, you
must be of a very sanguine temperament, or you have never been in love.

CHAPTER XLVIII -- PAYING OFF OLD SCORES

"'Oh most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman?
Is there more?'
'More, sir, and worse.'"
--_Cymbeline_.

"The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he--
'Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from
me, That woman's faith's a brittle trust. Seven twelve-
months didst thou say? I'll pledge me for no lady's truth
beyond the seventh day.'"
--_Ballad of the Noble Moringer_

IT is a weary thing to lie tossing restlessly from side to side,
sleepless, through the silent watches of the night, spirit and matter
warring against each other--the sword gnawing and corroding its
sheath. A weary and harassing thing it is even where the body is the
aggressor--when the fevered blood, darting like liquid fire through the
veins, mounts to the throbbing brow, and, pressing like molten lead
upon the brain, crushes out thought and feeling, leaving but a dull
consciousness of the racking agony which renders each limb a separate
instrument of torture. If, on the other hand, it be the mind that is
pestilence-stricken, the disease becomes well-nigh unbearable, as it
is incurable; and thus it was with me on the night in question. The
suspense and anxiety I had undergone during the preceding day had
indisposed me for sustaining any fresh annoyance with equanimity, and
now, in confirmation of my worst fears, that hateful sentence in old
Peter's note, warning me of treachery in the quarter where I was most
deeply interested, rose up before me like some messenger of evil,
torturing me to the verge of distraction with vague doubts and
suspicions--fiends which the bright spirits of Love and Faith were
powerless to banish. The old man's meaning was obvious; he imagined
Clara inconstant, and was anxious to warn me against some supposed
rival; this in itself was not agreeable; but I should have reckoned
at once that he must be labouring under ~390~~ some delusion, and
disregarded his suspicions as unworthy of a moment's notice, had it not
been for Clara's strange and unaccountable silence. I had written to her
above a week before--in fact, as soon as I became at all uneasy at not
having heard from her, urging her to relieve my anxiety, if but by half
a dozen lines. Up to this time I had accounted for not having received
any answer, by the supposition that Mr. Vernor had, by some accident,
detected our correspondence, and taken measures to interrupt it. But
this hypothesis was evidently untrue, or Peter Barnett would have
mentioned in his note such an easy solution of the difficulty. Yet, to
believe Clara false was treason against constancy. Oh! the thing was
impossible; to doubt her sincerity would be to lose my confidence in the
existence of goodness and truth on this side the grave! The recollection
of her simple, child-like confession of affection--the happiness my
love appeared to afford her--the tender glance of those honest, trustful
eyes--who could think of these things and suspect her for one moment?
But that old man's letter! What did it--what could it mean? His allusion
to some dark, hawk-eyed stranger--ha!--and as a strange, improbable idea
glanced like lightning through my brain--like lightning, too, searing
as it passed--I half sprung from the bed, unable to endure the agony
the thought had costume. Reason, however, telling me that the idea was
utterly fanciful and without foundation, restrained me from doing--I
scarcely know what--something desperately impracticable, which should
involve much violent bodily action, and result in attaining some certain
confirmation either of my hopes and fears, being my nearest approach
to any formed scheme. Oh! that night--that weary, endless night! Would
morning never, never come! About five o'clock I arose, lighted a candle,
dressed myself, and then, sitting down, wrote a short note to my mother,
telling her that an engagement, formed the previous evening, to meet
a friend, would probably detain me the greater part of the day; and
another note to Oaklands, saying that I had taken the liberty of
borrowing a horse, begging him to speak of my absence as a thing of
course, and promising to tell him more when I returned. I then waited
till a faint grey tint in the eastern sky gave promise of the coming
dawn; when letting myself noiselessly out, I took my way towards the
Hall. It was beginning to get light as I reached the stables, and,
arousing one of the drowsy helpers, I made him saddle a bay mare, with
whose high courage, speed, ~391~~ and powers of endurance I was well
acquainted, and started on my expedition.

As it was nearly eighteen miles to the place of meeting, I could
scarcely hope to reach it by seven o'clock, the time mentioned in old
Peter's note; but action was the only relief to my anxiety, and it may
easily be supposed I did not lose much time on the road, so that it was
but ten minutes after seven when I turned down the lane in which the
little alehouse appointed as our rendezvous was situated. I found old
Peter waiting to receive me, though the cloud upon his brow, speaking
volumes of dark mystery, did not tend to raise my spirits.

"Late on parade, sir," was his greeting--"late on parade; we should
never have driven the Mounseers out of Spain if we'd been ten minutes
behind our time every morning."

"You forget, my friend, that I have had eighteen miles to ride, and that
your notice was too short to allow of my giving orders about a horse
over night."

"You do not seem to have lost much time by the way," he added, eyeing my
reeking steed. "What a slap-up charger that mare would make! Here, you
boy, take her into the shed there, and throw a sack or two over her,
wash out her mouth, and give her a lock of hay to nibble; but don't go
to let her drink, unless you want my cane about your shoulders--do ye
hear? Now, sir, come in."

"What in the world did you mean by that note, Peter?" exclaimed I, as
soon as we were alone; "it has nearly driven me distracted--I have never
closed my eyes all night."

"Then it's done as I intended," was the satisfactory reply; "it's
prepared you for the worst."

"Nice preparation!" muttered I, then added, "Worst! what do you refer
to? Speak out, man--you are torturing me!"

"You'll hear it sooner than you like; try and take it easy, young
gentleman. Do you feel yourself quite prepared?"

I am afraid my rejoinder was more energetic than correct; but it
appeared to produce greater effect than my entreaties had done, for he
continued:--

"Well I see you will have it out, so you must, I suppose; only if you
ain't prepared proper, don't blame me. As far as I can see and hear--and
I keeps my eyes and ears open pretty wide, I can tell you--I feels
convinced that Miss Clara's guv you the sack, and gone and taken ~392~~
up with another young man." As he delivered himself of this pleasant
opinion, old Peter slowly approached me, and ended by laying his hands
solemnly on my shoulders, and, with an expression of fearful import
stamped on his grotesque features, nodded thrice in my very face.

"Nonsense!" replied I, assuming an air of indifference I was far from
feeling; "such a thing is utterly impossible--you have deceived yourself
in some ridiculous manner."

"I only wish as I could think so, for all our sakes, Mr. Fairlegh; but
facts is like jackasses, precious stubborn things. Why are they always
a-walking together, and talking so loving like, that even the old un
hisself looks quite savage about it? And why ain't she never wrote to
you since he cum--though she's had all your letters--eh?"

"Then she _has_ received my letters?"