The Splendid Spur | Page 8

Yorkshire Marvels?"
"Why, yes; though but a shoot of that good stock, transplanted to Cumberland, and there sadly withered."
"'Tis no matter, sir," said he politely; "I shall be proud to cross swords with you."
"Why, bless your heart!" I cried out, full of laughter at this childish punctilio; "d'ye think I came to fight you?"
"If not, sir"--and he grew colder than ever--"you are going a cursed roundabout way to avoid it."
Upon this, finding no other way out of it, I began my tale at once: but hardly had come to the meeting of the two men on the bowling- green, when he interrupts me politely----
"I think, Master Marvel, as yours is like to be a story of some moment, I will send this fellow back to my lodgings. He's a long- ear'd dog that I am saving from the gallows for so long as my conscience allows me. The shower is done, I see; so if you know of a retir'd spot, we will talk there more at our leisure."
He dismiss'd his lackey, and stroll'd off with me to the Trinity Grove, where, walking up and down, I told him all I had heard and seen the night before.
"And now," said I, "can you tell me if you have any such enemy as this white-hair'd man, with the limping gait?"
He had come to a halt, sucking in his lips and seeming to reflect--
"I know one man," he began: "but no--'tis impossible."
As I stood, waiting to hear more, he clapp'd his hand in mine, very quick and friendly: "Jack," he cried;--"I'll call thee Jack--'twas an honest good turn thou hadst in thy heart to do me, and I a surly rogue to think of fighting--I that could make mincemeat of thee."
"I can fence a bit," answer'd I.
"Now, say no more, Jack: I love thee."
He look'd in my face, still holding my hand and smiling. Indeed, there was something of the foreigner in his brisk graceful ways--yet not unpleasing. I was going to say I had never seen the like--ah, me! that both have seen and know the twin image so well.
"I think," said I, "you had better be considering what to do."
He laugh'd outright this time; and resting with his legs cross'd, against the trunk of an elm, twirl'd an end of his long lovelocks, and looked at me comically. Said he: "Tell me, Jack, is there aught in me that offends thee?"
"Why, no," I answered. "I think you're a very proper young man--such as I should loathe to see spoil'd by Master Settle's knife."
"Art not quick at friendship, Jack, but better at advising; only in this case fortune has prevented thy good offices. Hark ye," he lean'd forward and glanc'd to right and left, "if these twain intend my hurt--as indeed 'twould seem--they lose their labor: for this very night I ride from Oxford."
"And why is that?"
"I'll tell thee, Jack, tho' I deserve to be shot. I am bound with a letter from His Majesty to the Army of the West, where I have friends, for my father's sake--Sir Deakin Killigrew of Gleys, in Cornwall. 'Tis a sweet country, they say, tho' I have never seen it."
"Not seen thy father's country?"
"Why no--for he married a Frenchwoman, Jack, God rest her dear soul!"--he lifted his hat--"and settled in that country, near Morlaix, in Brittany, among my mother's kin; my grandfather refusing to see or speak with him, for wedding a poor woman without his consent. And in France was I born and bred, and came to England two years agone; and this last July the old curmudgeon died. So that my father, who was an only son, is even now in England returning to his estates: and with him my only sister Delia. I shall meet them on the way. To think of it!" (and I declare the tears sprang to his eyes): "Delia will be a woman grown, and ah! to see dear Cornwall together!"
Now I myself was only a child, and had been made an orphan when but nine years old, by the smallpox that visited our home in Wastdale Village, and carried off my father, the Vicar, and my dear mother. Yet his simple words spoke to my heart and woke so tender a yearning for the small stone cottage, and the bridge, and the grey fells of Yewbarrow above it, that a mist rose in my eyes too, and I turn'd away to hide it.
"'Tis a ticklish business," said I after a minute, "to carry the King's letter. Not one in four of his messengers comes through, they say. But since it keeps you from the dice----"
"That's true. To-night I make an end."
"To-night!"
"Why, yes. To-night I go for my revenge, and ride straight from the inn door."
"Then I go with you to the 'Crown,'" I cried, very positive.
He dropp'd