Tom Tuftons Travels | Page 3

backward glance in so doing,
when the expression on her mother's face brought a quick spasm of
pain to her heart. There was a strange conflict of feeling going on
within her, as she trod the corridor with swift steps, and passed rapidly
down into the hall beneath.
This hall was a great square place, with a glowing fire illuminating it,
the dancing shadows falling grotesquely upon the pictured Tuftons that
lined the walls, and upon the weapons which hung, together with
trophies of game, between them. In the centre of the hall was an oak
table, heavily carved about the legs, and at this table stood a tall,
broad-shouldered young man, clad in the stout leathern breeches and
full coat of the period, tossing off a steaming tankard of some
spirituous liquor, although the flush on his face, and the slightly
unsteady way in which he held the vessel, seemed to indicate that he
stood in no further need of strong drink.

Rachel came swiftly down the staircase, her footfall making scarcely
any sound upon the shallow polished steps.
"Tom!" she exclaimed, in a voice full of repressed feeling, "how can
you delay drinking here, when your father upstairs is dying, and is
asking for you?"
"Dying, quotha!" returned the young man, with a foolish laugh;
"methinks I have heard that tale somewhat too often to be scared by it
now, sweet sister!" and he patted her shoulder with a gesture from
which she instinctively recoiled.
"Tom, have you no heart? He will not last the night through. Got you
not our messages, sent hours ago? How can you show yourself so
careless--so cruel? But tarry no longer now you are here. He has asked
for you twice. Take care lest you dally too long!"
Something in Rachel's face and in her manner of speaking seemed to
make an impression upon the young roisterer. Tom was not drunk,
although he had been spending the day with comrades who seasoned
every sentence with an oath, and flavoured every pastime with strong
drink. A man with a weaker head might have been overcome by the
libations in which he had indulged, but Tom was a seasoned vessel by
that time, and he could stand a good deal.
He was in a noisy and reckless mood, but he had the command of his
faculties. He saw that his sister was speaking with conviction, and he
prepared to do her bidding.
At the same time, Tom was not seriously alarmed about his father. The
Squire's long illness had bred in him a sort of disbelief in any fatal
termination. He had made up his mind that women and doctors were all
fools together, and frightened themselves for nothing. He had resolved
against letting himself be scared by their long faces and doleful
prognostications, and had gone on in his wonted courses with reckless
bravado. He was not altogether an undutiful son. He had some affection
for both father and mother. But his affection was not strong enough to
keep him from following out his own wishes. He had long been a sort

of leader amongst the young men of the place and neighbourhood, and
he enjoyed the reputation he held of being a daring young blade, not far
inferior in prowess and recklessness to those young bloods about town,
reports of whose doings sometimes reached the wilds of Essex, stirring
up Tom Tufton's ambition to follow in their wake.
He always declared that he meant no harm, and did no harm, to any.
The natives of the place were certainly proud of him, even if they
sometimes fell to rating and crying shame upon him. He knew his
popularity; he knew that he had a fine figure and a handsome face; he
knew that he had the sort of address which carried him through his
scrapes and adventures with flying colours. He found the world a
pleasant place, and saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself in
his own way whilst he was young. Some day he would marry and sober
down, and live as his fathers had done before him; but, meantime, he
meant to have his fling.
There were other Tuftons who had done the like before him, as his
father knew to his cost. Several times had the estate been sadly
impoverished by the demands made upon it by some of the wild
younger brothers, who had bequeathed (as it seemed) their
characteristics to this young scion, Tom. The Squire himself had been
living with great economy, that he might pay off a mortgage which had
been contracted by his own father, in order to save the honour of the
family, which had been imperilled by the extravagance of his brother.
Tom never troubled himself about these things. He cared