Next morning, I bethought me,
I, too, had business at L-; so
I mounted my horse, and set forth
on the expedition soon after
breakfast. It was a dull, drizzly
day; but that was no matter:
it was all the more suitable
to my frame of mind. It was likely
to be a lonely journey; for it
was no market-day, and the road
I traversed was little frequented
at any other time; but that suited
me all the better too.
As I trotted along, however,
chewing the cud of - bitter fancies,
I heard another horse at no great
distance behind me; but I never
conjectured who the rider might
be, or troubled my head about
him, till, on slackening my pace
to ascend a gentle acclivity,
or rather, suffering my horse
to slacken his pace into a lazy
walk - for, rapt in my own reflections,
I was letting it jog on as leisurely
as it thought proper - I lost
ground, and my fellow- traveller
overtook me. He accosted me by
name, for it was no stranger
- it was Mr. Lawrence! Instinctively
the fingers of my whip-hand tingled,
and grasped their charge with
convulsive energy; but I restrained
the impulse, and answering his
salutation with a nod, attempted
to push on; but he pushed on
beside me, and began to talk
about the weather and the crops.
I gave the briefest possible
answers to his queries and observations,
and fell back. He fell back too,
and asked if my horse was lame.
I replied with a look, at which
he placidly smiled.
I was as much astonished as
exasperated at this singular
pertinacity and imperturbable
assurance on his part. I had
thought the circumstances of
our last meeting would have left
such an impression on his mind
as to render him cold and distant
ever after: instead of that,
he appeared not only to have
forgotten all former offences,
but to be impenetrable to all
present incivilities. Formerly,
the slightest hint, or mere fancied
coldness in tone or glance, had
sufficed to repulse him: now,
positive rudeness could not drive
him away. Had he heard of my
disappointment; and was he come
to witness the result, and triumph
in my despair? I grasped my whip
with more determined energy than
before - but still forbore to
raise it, and rode on in silence,
waiting for some more tangible
cause of offence, before I opened
the floodgates of my soul and
poured out the dammed-up fury
that was foaming and swelling
within.
'Markham,' said he, in his
usual quiet tone, 'why do you
quarrel with your friends, because
you have been disappointed in
one quarter? You have found your
hopes defeated; but how am I
to blame for it? I warned you
beforehand, you know, but you
would not - '
He said no more; for, impelled
by some fiend at my elbow, I
had seized my whip by the small
end, and - swift and sudden as
a flash of lightning - brought
the other down upon his head.
It was not without a feeling
of savage satisfaction that I
beheld the instant, deadly pallor
that overspread his face, and
the few red drops that trickled
down his forehead, while he reeled
a moment in his saddle, and then
fell backward to the ground.
The pony, surprised to be so
strangely relieved of its burden,
started and capered, and kicked
a little, and then made use of
its freedom to go and crop the
grass of the hedge-bank: while
its master lay as still and silent
as a corpse. Had I killed him?
- an icy hand seemed to grasp
my heart and check its pulsation,
as I bent over him, gazing with
breathless intensity upon the
ghastly, upturned face. But no;
he moved his eyelids and uttered
a slight groan. I breathed again
- he was only stunned by the
fall. It served him right - it
would teach him better manners
in future. Should I help him
to his horse? No. For any other
combination of offences I would;
but his were too unpardonable.
He might mount it himself, if
he liked - in a while: already
he was beginning to stir and
look about him - and there it
was for him, quietly browsing
on the road-side.
So with a muttered execration
I left the fellow to his fate,
and clapping spurs to my own
horse, galloped away, excited
by a combination of feelings
it would not be easy to analyse;
and perhaps, if I did so, the
result would not be very creditable
to my disposition; for I am not
sure that a species of exultation
in what I had done was not one
principal concomitant.
Shortly, however, the effervescence
began to abate, and not many
minutes elapsed before I had
turned and gone back to look
after the fate of my victim.
It was no generous impulse -
no kind relentings that led me
to this - nor even the fear of
what might be the consequences
to myself, if I finished my assault
upon the squire by leaving him
thus neglected, and exposed to
further injury; it was, simply,
the voice of conscience; and
I took great credit to myself
for attending so promptly to
its dictates - and judging the
merit of the deed by the sacrifice
it cost, I was not far wrong.
Mr. Lawrence and his pony had
both altered their positions
in some degree. The pony had
wandered eight or ten yards further
away; and he had managed, somehow,
to remove himself from the middle
of the road: I found him seated
in a recumbent position on the
bank, - looking very white and
sickly still, and holding his
cambric handkerchief (now more
red than white) to his head.
It must have been a powerful
blow; but half the credit - or
the blame of it (which you please)
must be attributed to the whip,
which was garnished with a massive
horse's head of plated metal.
The grass, being sodden with
rain, afforded the young gentleman
a rather inhospitable couch;
his clothes were considerably
bemired; and his hat was rolling
in the mud on the other side
of the road. But his thoughts
seemed chiefly bent upon his
pony, on which he was wistfully
gazing - half in helpless anxiety,
and half in hopeless abandonment
to his fate.
I dismounted, however, and
having fastened my own animal
to the nearest tree, first picked
up his hat, intending to clap
it on his head; but either he
considered his head unfit for
a hat, or the hat, in its present
condition, unfit for his head;
for shrinking away the one, he
took the other from my hand,
and scornfully cast it aside.
'It's good enough for you,'
I muttered.
My next good office was to
catch his pony and bring it to
him, which was soon accomplished;
for the beast was quiet enough
in the main, and only winced
and flirted a trifle till I got
hold of the bridle - but then,
I must see him in the saddle.
'Here, you fellow - scoundrel
- dog - give me your hand, and
I'll help you to mount.'
No; he turned from me in disgust.
I attempted to take him by the
arm. He shrank away as if there
had been contamination in my
touch.
'What, you won't! Well! you
may sit there till doomsday,
for what I care. But I suppose
you don't want to lose all the
blood in your body - I'll just
condescend to bind that up for
you.'
'Let me alone, if you please.'
'Humph; with all my heart.
You may go to the d-l, if you
choose - and say I sent you.'
But before I abandoned him
to his fate I flung his pony's
bridle over a stake in the hedge,
and threw him my handkerchief,
as his own was now saturated
with blood. He took it and cast
it back to me in abhorrence and
contempt, with all the strength
he could muster. It wanted but
this to fill the measure of his
offences. With execrations not
loud but deep I left him to live
or die as he could, well satisfied
that I had done my duty in attempting
to save him - but forgetting
how I had erred in bringing him
into such a condition, and how
insultingly my after-services
had been offered - and sullenly
prepared to meet the consequences
if he should choose to say I
had attempted to murder him -
which I thought not unlikely,
as it seemed probable he was
actuated by such spiteful motives
in so perseveringly refusing
my assistance.
Having remounted my horse,
I just looked back to see how
he was getting on, before I rode
away. He had risen from the ground,
and grasping his pony's mane,
was attempting to resume his
seat in the saddle; but scarcely
had he put his foot in the stirrup,
when a sickness or dizziness
seemed to overpower him: he leant
forward a moment, with his head
drooped on the animal's back,
and then made one more effort,
which proving ineffectual, he
sank back on the bank, where
I left him, reposing his head
on the oozy turf, and to all
appearance, as calmly reclining
as if he had been taking his
rest on his sofa at home.
I ought to have helped him
in spite of himself - to have
bound up the wound he was unable
to staunch, and insisted upon
getting him on his horse and
seeing him safe home; but, besides
my bitter indignation against
himself, there was the question
what to say to his servants -
and what to my own family. Either
I should have to acknowledge
the deed, which would set me
down as a madman, unless I acknowledged
the motive too - and that seemed
impossible - or I must get up
a lie, which seemed equally out
of the question - especially
as Mr. Lawrence would probably
reveal the whole truth, and thereby
bring me to tenfold disgrace
- unless I were villain enough,
presuming on the absence of witnesses,
to persist in my own version
of the case, and make him out
a still greater scoundrel than
he was. No; he had only received
a cut above the temple, and perhaps
a few bruises from the fall,
or the hoofs of his own pony:
that could not kill him if he
lay there half the day; and,
if he could not help himself,
surely some one would be coming
by: it would be impossible that
a whole day should pass and no
one traverse the road but ourselves.
As for what he might choose to
say hereafter, I would take my
chance about it: if he told lies,
I would contradict him; if he
told the truth, I would bear
it as best I could. I was not
obliged to enter into explanations
further than I thought proper.
Perhaps he might choose to be
silent on the subject, for fear
of raising inquiries as to the
cause of the quarrel, and drawing
the public attention to his connection
with Mrs. Graham, which, whether
for her sake or his own, he seemed
so very desirous to conceal.
Thus reasoning, I trotted away
to the town, where I duly transacted
my business, and performed various
little commissions for my mother
and Rose, with very laudable
exactitude, considering the different
circumstances of the case. In
returning home, I was troubled
with sundry misgivings about
the unfortunate Lawrence. The
question, What if I should find
him lying still on the damp earth,
fairly dying of cold and exhaustion
- or already stark and chill?
thrust itself most unpleasantly
upon my mind, and the appalling
possibility pictured itself with
painful vividness to my imagination
as I approached the spot where
I had left him. But no, thank
heaven, both man and horse were
gone, and nothing was left to
witness against me but two objects
- unpleasant enough in themselves
to be sure, and presenting a
very ugly, not to say murderous
appearance - in one place, the
hat saturated with rain and coated
with mud, indented and broken
above the brim by that villainous
whip-handle; in another, the
crimson handkerchief, soaking
in a deeply tinctured pool of
water - for much rain had fallen
in the interim.
Bad news flies fast: it was
hardly four o'clock when I got
home, but my mother gravely accosted
me with - 'Oh, Gilbert! - Such
an accident! Rose has been shopping
in the village, and she's heard
that Mr. Lawrence has been thrown
from his horse and brought home
dying!'
This shocked me a trifle, as
you may suppose; but I was comforted
to hear that he had frightfully
fractured his skull and broken
a leg; for, assured of the falsehood
of this, I trusted the rest of
the story was equally exaggerated;
and when I heard my mother and
sister so feelingly deploring
his condition, I had considerable
difficulty in preventing myself
from telling them the real extent
of the injuries, as far as I
knew them.
'You must go and see him to-morrow,'
said my mother.
'Or to-day,' suggested Rose:
'there's plenty of time; and
you can have the pony, as your
horse is tired. Won't you, Gilbert
- as soon as you've had something
to eat?'
'No, no - how can we tell that
it isn't all a false report?
It's highly im-'
'Oh, I'm sure it isn't; for
the village is all alive about
it; and I saw two people that
had seen others that had seen
the man that found him. That
sounds far-fetched; but it isn't
so when you think of it.'
'Well, but Lawrence is a good
rider; it is not likely he would
fall from his horse at all; and
if he did, it is highly improbable
he would break his bones in that
way. It must be a gross exaggeration
at least.'
'No; but the horse kicked him
- or something.'
'What, his quiet little pony?'
'How do you know it was that?'
'He seldom rides any other.'
'At any rate,' said my mother,
'you will call to-morrow. Whether
it be true or false, exaggerated
or otherwise, we shall like to
know how he is.'
'Fergus may go.'
'Why not you?'
'He has more time. I am busy
just now.'
'Oh! but, Gilbert, how can
you be so composed about it?
You won't mind business for an
hour or two in a case of this
sort, when your friend is at
the point of death.'
'He is not, I tell you.'
'For anything you know, he
may be: you can't tell till you
have seen him. At all events,
he must have met with some terrible
accident, and you ought to see
him: he'll take it very unkind
if you don't.'
'Confound it! I can't. He and
I have not been on good terms
of late.'
'Oh, my dear boy! Surely, surely
you are not so unforgiving as
to carry your little differences
to such a length as - '
'Little differences, indeed!'
I muttered.
'Well, but only remember the
occasion. Think how - '
'Well, well, don't bother me
now - I'll see about it,' I replied.
And my seeing about it was
to send Fergus next morning,
with my mother's compliments,
to make the requisite inquiries;
for, of course, my going was
out of the question - or sending
a message either. He brought
back intelligence that the young
squire was laid up with the complicated
evils of a broken head and certain
contusions (occasioned by a fall
- of which he did not trouble
himself to relate the particulars
- and the subsequent misconduct
of his horse), and a severe cold,
the consequence of lying on the
wet ground in the rain; but there
were no broken bones, and no
immediate prospects of dissolution.
It was evident, then, that
for Mrs. Graham's sake it was
not his intention to criminate
me.
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