Book: Paul Clifford, Volume 2.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Paul Clifford, Volume 2.




"Ah! my good young lady," said the doctor, squeezing her hand, "I--may,
I may say the church--for am I not its minister? was in imminent danger--
but this excellent gentleman prevented the sacrilege, at least in great
measure. I only lost some of my dues,--my rightful dues,--for which I
console myself with thinking that the infamous and abandoned villain will
suffer hereafter."

"There cannot be the least doubt of that," said the young man. "Had he
only robbed the mail-coach, or broken into a gentleman's house, the
offence might have been expiable; but to rob a clergyman, and a rector
too!--Oh, the sacrilegious dog!"

"Your warmth does you honour, sir," said the doctor, beginning now to
recover; "and I am very proud to have made the acquaintance of a
gentleman of such truly religious opinions."

"Ah!" cried the stranger, "my foible, sir,--if I may so speak,--is a sort
of enthusiastic fervour for the Protestant Establishment. Nay, sir, I
never come across the very nave of the church without feeling an
indescribable emotion--a kind of sympathy, as it were--with--with--you
understand me, sir--I fear I express myself ill."

"Not at all, not at all!" exclaimed the doctor: "such sentiments are
uncommon in one so young."

"Sir, I learned them early in life from a friend and preceptor of mine,
Mr. MacGrawler, and I trust they may continue with me to my dying day."

Here the doctor's servant entered with (we borrow a phrase from the
novel of ----------) "the tea-equipage;" and Mrs. Slopperton, betaking
herself to its superintendence, inquired with more composure than
hitherto had belonged to her demeanour, what sort of a looking creature
the ruffian was.

"I will tell you, my dear, I will tell you, Miss Lucy, all about it.
I was walking home from Mr. Slowforth's, with his money in my pocket,
thinking, my love, of buying you that topaz cross you wished to have."

"Dear, good man!" cried Mrs. Slopperton; "what a fiend it must have been
to rob so excellent a creature!"

"And," resumed the doctor, "it also occurred to me that the Madeira was
nearly out,--the Madeira, I mean, with the red seal; and I was thinking
it might not be amiss to devote part of the money to buy six dozen more;
and the remainder, my love, which would be about one pound eighteen, I
thought I would divide--'for he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the
Lord!'--among the thirty poor families on the common; that is, if they
behaved well, and the apples in the back garden were not feloniously
abstracted!"

"Excellent, charitable man!" ejaculated Mrs. Slopperton. "While I was
thus meditating, I lifted my eyes, and saw before me two men,--one of
prodigious height, and with a great profusion of hair about his
shoulders; the other was smaller, and wore his hat slouched over his
face: it was a very large hat. My attention was arrested by the
singularity of the tall person's hair, and while I was smiling at its
luxuriance, I heard him say to his companion, 'Well, Augustus, as you are
such a moral dog, he is in your line, not mine; so I leave him to you.'
Little did I think those words related to me. No sooner were they
uttered than the tall rascal leaped over a gate and disappeared; the
other fellow, then marching up to me, very smoothly asked me the way to
the church, and while I was explaining to him to turn first to the right
and then to the left, and so on,--for the best way is, you know,
exceedingly crooked,--the hypocritical scoundrel seized me by the collar,
and cried out, 'Your money or your life!' I do assure you that I never
trembled so much,--not, my dear Miss Lucy, so much for my own sake, as
for the sake of the thirty poor families on the common, whose wants it
had been my intention to relieve. I gave up the money, finding my
prayers and expostulations were in vain; and the dog then, brandishing
over my head an enormous bludgeon, said--what abominable language!--
'I think, doctor, I shall put an end to an existence derogatory to your
self and useless to others.' At that moment the young gentleman beside
me sprang over the very gate by which the tall ruffian had disappeared,
and cried, 'Hold, villain!' On seeing my deliverer, the coward started
back, and plunged into a neighbouring wood. The good young gentleman
pursued him for a few minutes, but then returning to my aid, conducted me
home; and as we used to say at school,--

"' Te rediisse incolumem gaudeo,'--

which, being interpreted, means (sir, excuse a pun, I am sure so great a
friend to the Church understands Latin) that I am very glad to get back
safe to my tea. He! he! And now, Miss Lucy, you must thank that young
gentleman for having saved the life of your pastoral teacher, which act
will no doubt be remembered at the Great Day!"

As Lucy, looking towards the stranger, said something in compliment, she
observed a vague, and as it were covert smile upon his countenance, which
immediately and as if by sympathy conjured one to her own. The hero of
the adventure, however, in a very grave tone replied to her compliment,
at the same time bowing profoundly,--

"Mention it not, madam! I were unworthy of the name of a Briton and a
man, could I pass the highway without relieving the distress or
lightening the burden of a fellow-creature. And," continued the
stranger, after a momentary pause, colouring while he spoke, and
concluding in the high-flown gallantry of the day, "methinks it were
sufficient reward, had I saved the whole church instead of one of its
most valuable members, to receive the thanks of a lady whom I might
reasonably take for one of those celestial beings to whom we have been
piously taught that the Church is especially the care!"

Though there might have been something really ridiculous in this
overstrained compliment, coupled as it was with the preservation of Dr.
Slopperton, yet, coming from the mouth of one whom Lucy thought the very
handsomest person she had ever seen, it appeared to her anything but
absurd; and for a very long time afterwards her heart thrilled with
pleasure when she remembered that the cheek of the speaker had glowed,
and his voice had trembled as he spoke it.

The conversation now, turning from robbers in particular, dwelt upon
robberies in general. It was edifying to hear the honest indignation
with which the stranger spoke of the lawless depredators with whom the
country, in that day of Macheaths, was infested.

"A pack of infamous rascals!" said he, in a glow, "who attempt to justify
their misdeeds by the example of honest men, and who say that they do no
more than is done by lawyers and doctors, soldiers, clergymen, and
ministers of State. Pitiful delusion, or rather shameless hypocrisy!"

"It all comes of educating the poor," said the doctor. "The moment they
pretend to judge the conduct of their betters, there's an end of all
order! They see nothing sacred in the laws, though we hang the dogs ever
so fast; and the very peers of the land, spiritual and temporal, cease to
be venerable in their eyes."

"Talking of peers," said Mrs. Slopperton, "I hear that Lord Mauleverer is
to pass by this road to-night on his way to Mauleverer Park. Do you know
his lordship, Miss Lucy: He is very intimate with your uncle."

"I have only seen him once," answered Lucy.

"Are you sure that his lordship will come this road?" asked the stranger,
carelessly. "I heard something of it this morning, but did not know it
was settled."

"Oh, quite so!" rejoined Mrs. Slopperton. "His lordship's gentleman
wrote for post-horses to meet his lordship at Wyburn, about three miles
on the other side of the village, at ten o'clock to-night. His lordship
is very impatient of delay."

"Pray," said the doctor, who had not much heeded this turn in the
conversation, and was now "on hospitable cares intent,"--"pray, sir, if
not impertinent, are you visiting or lodging in the neighbourhood; or
will you take a bed with us?"

"You are extremely kind, my dear sir, but I fear I must soon wish you
good-evening. I have to look after a little property I have some miles
hence, which, indeed, brought me down into this part of the world."

"Property!--in what direction, sir, if I may ask?" quoth the doctor; "I
know the country for miles."

"Do you, indeed? Where's my property, you say? Why, it is rather
difficult to describe it, and it is, after all, a mere trifle; it is only
some common-land near the highroad, and I came down to try the experiment
of hedging and draining."

"'T is a good plan, if one has capital, and does not require a speedy
return."

"Yes; but one likes a good interest for the loss of principal, and a
speedy return is always desirable,--although, alas! it is often attended
with risk!"

"I hope, sir," said the doctor, "if you must leave us so soon, that your
property will often bring you into our neighbourhood."

"You overpower me with so much unexpected goodness," answered the
stranger. "To tell you the truth, nothing can give me greater pleasure
than to meet those again who have once obliged me."

"Whom you have obliged, rather!" cried Mrs. Slopperton; and then added,
in a loud whisper to Lucy, "How modest! but it is always so with true
courage!"

"I assure you, madam," returned the benevolent stranger, "that I never
think twice of the little favours I render my fellow-men; my only hope is
that they may be as forgetful as myself."

Charmed with so much unaffected goodness of disposition, the doctor and
Mrs. Slopperton now set up a sort of duet in praise of their guest: after
enduring their commendations and compliments for some minutes with much
grimace of disavowal and diffidence, the stranger's modesty seemed at
last to take pain at the excess of their gratitude; and accordingly,
pointing to the clock, which was within a few minutes to nine, he said,--

"I fear, my respected host and my admired hostess, that I must now leave
you; I have far to go."

"But are you yourself not afraid of the highwaymen?" cried Mrs.
Slopperton, interrupting him.

"The highwaymen!" said the stranger, smiling; "no; I do not fear them;
besides, I have little about me worth robbing."

"Do you superintend your property yourself?" said the doctor, who farmed
his own glebe and who, unwilling to part with so charming a guest, seized
him now by the button.

"Superintend it myself! why, not exactly. There is a bailiff, whose
views of things don't agree with mine, and who now and then gives me a
good deal of trouble."

"Then why don't you discharge him altogether?"

"Ah! I wish I could; but 't is a necessary evil. We landed proprietors,
my dear sir, must always be plagued with some thing of the sort. For my
part, I have found those cursed bailiffs would take away, if they could,
all the little property one has been trying to accumulate. But,"
abruptly changing his manner into one of great softness, "could I not
proffer my services and my companionship to this young lady? Would she
allow me to conduct her home, and indeed stamp this day upon my memory as
one of the few delightful ones I have ever known?"

"Thank you, dear sir," said Mrs. Slopperton, answering at once for Lucy;
"it is very considerate of you.--And I am sure, my love, I could not
think of letting you go home alone with old John, after such an adventure
to the poor dear doctor."

Lucy began an excuse which the good lady would not hear. But as the
servant whom Mr. Brandon was to send with a lantern to attend his
daughter home had not arrived, and as Mrs. Slopperton, despite her
prepossessions in favour of her husband's deliverer, did not for a moment
contemplate his accompanying, without any other attendance, her young
friend across the fields at that unseasonable hour, the stranger was
forced, for the present, to re-assume his seat. An open harpsichord at
one end of the room gave him an opportunity to make some remark upon
music; and this introducing an eulogium on Lucy's voice from Mrs.
Slopperton, necessarily ended in a request to Miss Brandon to indulge the
stranger with a song. Never had Lucy, who was not a shy girl,--she was
too innocent to be bashful,--felt nervous hitherto in singing before a
stranger; but now she hesitated and faltered, and went through a whole
series of little natural affectations before she complied with the
request. She chose a song composed somewhat after the old English
school, which at that time was reviving into fashion. The song, though
conveying a sort of conceit, was not, perhaps, altogether without
tenderness; it was a favourite with Lucy, she scarcely knew why, and ran
thus:--

LUCY'S SONG.

Why sleep, ye gentle flowers, ah, why,
When tender eve is falling,
And starlight drinks the happy sigh
Of winds to fairies calling?
Calling with low and plaining note,
Most like a ringdove chiding,
Or flute faint-heard from distant boat
O'er smoothest waters gliding.
Lo, round you steals the wooing breeze;
Lo, on you falls the dew!
O sweets, awake, for scarcely these
Can charm while wanting you!
Wake ye not yet, while fast below
The silver time is fleeing?
O heart of mine, those flowers but show
Thine own contented being.
The twilight but preserves the bloom,
The sun can but decay
The warmth that brings the rich perfume
But steals the life away.
O heart, enjoy thy present calm,
Rest peaceful in the shade,
And dread the sun that gives the balm
To bid the blossom fade.

When Lucy ended, the stranger's praise was less loud than either the
doctor's or his lady's; but how far more sweet it was! And for the first
time in her life Lucy made the discovery that eyes can praise as well as
lips. For our part, we have often thought that that discovery is an
epoch in life.

It was now that Mrs. Slopperton declared her thorough conviction that the
stranger himself could sing. He had that about him, she said, which made
her sure of it.

"Indeed, dear madam," said he, with his usual undefinable, half-frank,
half-latent smile, "my voice is but so-so, and any memory so indifferent
that even in the easiest passages I soon come to a stand. My best notes
are in the falsetto; and as for my execution--But we won't talk of that."

"Nay, nay; you are so modest," said Mrs. Slopperton. "I am sure you
could oblige us if you would."

"Your command," said the stranger, moving to the harpsichord, "is all-
sufficient; and since you, madam," turning to Lucy, "have chosen a song
after the old school, may I find pardon if I do the same? My selection
is, to be sure, from a lawless song-book, and is supposed to be a ballad
by Robin Hood, or at least one of his merry men,--a very different sort
of outlaws from the knaves who attacked you, sir!"

With this preface the stranger sung to a wild yet jovial air, with a
tolerable voice, the following effusion:

THE LOVE OF OUR PROFESSION; OR THE ROBBER'S LIFE.

On the stream of the world, the robber's life
Is borne on the blithest wave;
Now it bounds into light in a gladsome strife,
Now it laughs in its hiding cave.

At his maiden's lattice he stays the rein;
How still is his courser proud
(But still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main
In the breast of the boding cloud),

With the champed bit and the archd crest,
And the eye of a listening deer,
Like valour, fretful most in rest,
Least chafed when in career.

Fit slave to a lord whom all else refuse
To save at his desperate need;
By my troth! I think one whom the world pursues
Hath a right to a gallant steed.

"Away, my beloved, I hear their feet!
I blow thee a kiss, my fair,
And I promise to bring thee, when next we meet,
A braid for thy bonny hair.

Hurrah! for the booty!--my steed, hurrah!
Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we;
And the coy moon smiles on our merry way,
Like my own love,--timidly."

The parson he rides with a jingling pouch,
How it blabs of the rifled poor!
The courtier he lolls in his gilded coach,
--How it smacks of a sinecure!

The lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise
Sweet thoughts of a mischief done;
And the lady that knoweth the card she plays
Is counting her guineas won!

"He, lady!--What, holla, ye sinless men!
My claim ye can scarce refuse;
For when honest folk live on their neighbours, then
They encroach on the robber's dues!"

The lady changed cheek like a bashful maid,
The lawyer talked wondrous fair,
The parson blasphemed, and the courtier prayed,
And the robber bore off his share.

"Hurrah! for the revel! my steed, hurrah!
Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we!
It is ever a virtue, when others pay,

To ruffle it merrily!"

Oh, there never was life like the robber's,
--so Jolly and bold and free!
And its end-why, a cheer from the crowd below,
And a leap from a leafless tree!


This very moral lay being ended, Mrs. Slopperton declared it was
excellent; though she confessed she thought the sentiments rather loose.
Perhaps the gentleman might be induced to favour them with a song of a
more refined and modern turn,--something sentimental, in short. Glancing
towards Lucy, the stranger answered that he only knew one song of the
kind Mrs. Slopperton specified, and it was so short that he could
scarcely weary her patience by granting her request.

At this moment the river, which was easily descried from the windows of
the room, glimmered in the starlight; and directing his looks towards the
water, as if the scene had suggested to him the verses he sung, he gave
the following stanzas in a very low, sweet tone, and with a far purer
taste, than, perhaps, would have suited the preceding and ruder song.

THE WISH.

As sleeps the dreaming Eve below,
Its holiest star keeps ward above,
And yonder wave begins to glow,
Like friendship bright'ning into Love!

Ah, would thy bosom were that stream,
Ne'er wooed save by the virgin air!--
Ah, would that I were that star, whose beam
Looks down and finds its image there!


Scarcely was the song ended, before the arrival of Miss Brandon's servant
was announced; and her destined escort, starting up, gallantly assisted
her with her cloak and her hood,--happy, no doubt, to escape in some
measure the overwhelming compliments of his entertainers.

"But," said the doctor, as he shook hands with his deliverer, "by what
name shall I remember and" (lifting his reverend eyes) "pray for the
gentleman to whom I am so much indebted?"

"You are very kind," said the stranger; "my name is Clifford. Madam,"
turning to Lucy, "may I offer my hand down the stairs?"

Lucy accepted the courtesy; and the stranger was half-way down the
staircase, when the doctor, stretching out his little neck, exclaimed,--

"Good-evening, sir! I do hope we shall meet again."

"Fear not!" said Mr. Clifford, laughing gayly; "I am too great a
traveller to make that hope a matter of impossibility. Take care, madam,
--one step more."

The night was calm and tolerably clear, though the moon had not yet
risen, as Lucy and her companion passed through the fields, with the
servant preceding them at a little distance with the lantern.

After a pause of some length, Clifford said, with a little hesitation,
"Is Miss Brandon related to the celebrated barrister of her name?"

"He is my uncle," said Lucy; "do you know him?"

"Only your uncle?" said Clifford, with vivacity, and evading Lucy's
question. "I feared--hem! hem!--that is, I thought he might have been a
nearer relation." There was another, but a, shorter pause, when Clifford
resumed, in a low voice: "Will Miss Brandon think me very presumptuous if
I say that a countenance like hers, once seen, can never be forgotten;
and I believe, some years since, I had the honour to see her in London,
at the theatre? It was but a momentary and distant glance that I was
then enabled to gain; and yet," he added significantly, "it sufficed!"

"I was only once at the theatre while in London, some years ago," said
Lucy, a little embarrassed; "and indeed an unpleasant occurrence which
happened to my uncle, with whom I was, is sufficient to make me remember
it."

"Ha! and what was it?"

"Why, in going out of the play-house his watch was stolen by some
dexterous pickpocket."

"Was the rogue caught?" asked the stranger.

"Yes; and was sent the next day to Bridewell. My uncle said he was
extremely young, and yet quite hardened. I remember that I was foolish
enough, when I heard of his sentence, to beg very hard that my uncle
would intercede for him; but in vain."

"Did you, indeed, intercede for him?" said the stranger, in so earnest a
tone that Lucy coloured for the twentieth time that night, without seeing
any necessity for the blush. Clifford continued, in a gayer tone: "Well,
it is surprising how rogues hang together. I should not be greatly
surprised if the person who despoiled your uncle were one of the same
gang as the rascal who so terrified your worthy friend the doctor. But
is this handsome old place your home?"

"This is my home," answered Lucy; "but it is an old-fashioned, strange
place; and few people, to whom it was not endeared by associations, would
think it handsome."

"Pardon me!" said Lucy's companion, stopping, and surveying with a look
of great interest the quaint pile, which now stood close before them; its
dark bricks, gable-ends, and ivied walls, tinged by the starry light of
the skies, and contrasted by the river, which rolled in silence below.
The shutters to the large oriel window of the room in which the squire
usually sat were still unclosed, and the steady and warm light of the
apartment shone forth, casting a glow even to the smooth waters of the
river; at the same moment, too, the friendly bark of the house-dog was
heard, as in welcome; and was followed by the note of the great bell,
announcing the hour for the last meal of the old-fashioned and hospitable
family.

"There is a pleasure in this," said the stranger, unconsciously, and with
a half-sigh; "I wish I had a home!"

"And have you not a home?" said Lucy, with naivety. "As much as a
bachelor can have, perhaps," answered Clifford, recovering without an
effort his gayety and self-possession. "But you know we wanderers are
not allowed the same boast as the more fortunate Benedicts; we send our
hearts in search of a home, and we lose the one without gaining the
other. But I keep you in the cold, and we are now at your door."

"You will come in, of course!" said Miss Brandon, "and partake of our
evening cheer."

The stranger hesitated for an instant, and then said in a quick tone,--

"No! many, many thanks; it is already late. Will Miss Brandon accept my
gratitude for her condescension in permitting the attendance of one
unknown to her?" As he thus spoke, Clifford bowed profoundly over the
hand of his beautiful charge; and Lucy, wishing him good-night, hastened
with a light step to her father's side.

Meanwhile Clifford, after lingering a minute, when the door was closed on
him, turned abruptly away; and muttering to himself, repaired with rapid
steps to whatever object he had then in view.

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