The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER III. GWYNNE ABBEY

  When Forester parted with his chance companion at Kilbeggan, he pursuedhis way without meeting a single incident worth recording; nor, althoughhe travelled with all the speed of posters, aided by the persuasivepower of additional half-crowns, shall we ask of our reader to accompanyhim, but, at one bound, cross the whole island, and stand with us on themargin of that glorious sheet of water which, begirt with mountains andstudded with its hundred islands, is known as Clue Bay.

  At the southern extremity of the bay rises the great mountain of CroaghPatrick, its summit nearly five thousand feet above the sea; on the sidenext the ocean, it is bold and precipitous, crag rising above crag insuccession, and not even the track of a mountain goat visible on thedangerous surface; landward, however, a gentle slope descends about thelower third of the mountain, and imperceptibly is lost in the rich andswelling landscape beneath. Here, sheltered from the western gales, andfavored by the fertility of the soil, the trees are seen to attain agirth and height rarely met with elsewhere, while they preserve theirfoliage to a much later period than in other parts of the country.

  The ruins of an ancient church, whose very walls are washed by theAtlantic, show that the luxuriant richness of the spot was known intimes past. They who founded these goodly edifices were no mean judgesof the resources of the land, and the rich woods and blossoming orchardsthat still shelter their ruined shrines evidence with what correctnessthey selected their resting-places.

  The coast-road which leads from Westport skirts along the edge of thebay, and is diversified by many a pretty cottage whose trellised wallsand rose-covered porches vouch for the mildness of the climate, andare in summer resorted to as bathing-lodges by numbers from the inlandcounties. The high-road has, however, a grander destiny than to suchhumble, though picturesque, dwellings, for it suddenly ceases at thegate of an immense demesne, whose boundary wall may be seen stretchingaway for miles, and at last is traced high up the mountain side, whereit forms the enclosure of a deer park.

  Two square and massive towers connected by an arch form the gateway,and though ivy and honeysuckle have covered many an architectural devicewhich once were looked on with pride, a massive armorial escutcheon inyellow stone forms the key of the arch, while two leopards supportinga crown, with the motto, "Ne la touchez pas!" proclaim the territory ofthe Knight of Gwynne.

  Within, an avenue wide enough for a high-road led through a park ofgreat extent, dotted with trees single or in groups, and bounded bya vast wood, whose waving tops were seen for miles of distance. If alandscape-gardener would have deplored with uplifted hands the gloriousopportunities of embellishment which neglect or ignorance had sufferedto lie undeveloped within these grounds, a true lover of scenery wouldhave felt delighted at the wild and picturesque beauty around him, as,sometimes, the road would dip into a deep glade, where the overhangingbanks were clothed with the dog-rose and the sweet-brier, still andhushed to every sound save the song of the thrush or the not less sweetripple of the little stream that murmured past; and again, emerging fromthe shade, it wound along some height whence the great mountain mightbe seen, or, between the dark foliage, the blue surface of the sea,swelling and heaving with ever-restless motion. All the elements ofgreat picturesque beauty were here, and in that glorious profusion withwhich nature alone diffuses her wealth,--the mountain, the forest, andthe ocean, the greensward, the pebbly shore, the great rocks, thebanks blue with the violet and the veronica,--and all diversified andcontrasted to produce effects the most novel and enchanting.

  Many a road and many a pathway led through these woods and valleys,some grass-grown, as though disused, others bearing the track of recentwheels, still, as you went, the hares and the rabbits felt no terror,the wood-pigeon sat upon the branch above your head, nor was scared atyour approach; for though the Knight was a passionate lover of sport, itwas his fancy to preserve the demesne intact, nor would he suffer a shotto be fired within its precincts. These may seem small and insignificantmatters to record, but they added indescribably to the charms of thespot, completing, as they did, the ideas of tranquillity and peacesuggested by the scene.

  The approach was of some miles in extent, not needlessly prolonged byevery device of sweep and winding, but in reality proceeding by itsnearest way to the house, which, for the advantage of a view over thesea, was situated on the slope of the mountain. Nor was the buildingunworthy of its proud position: originally an abbey, its architecturestill displayed the elaborate embellishment which characterized theerections of the latter part of the sixteenth century.

  A long facade, interrupted at intervals by square towers, formed thefront, the roof consisting of a succession of tall and pointed gables,in each of which some good saint stood enshrined in stone; the windows,throughout this long extent, were surmounted by pediments and figuresnot rudely chiselled, but with high pretension as works of art, andevidencing both taste and skill in the designer; while the greatentrance was a miracle of tracery and carving, the rich architravesretreating one within another to the full depth of twelve feet, suchbeing the thickness of the external wall.

  Spacious and imposing as this great mass of building appeared at firstsight, it formed but a fragment of the whole, and was in reality but theside of a great quadrangle, the approach to which led through one of thelarge towers, defended by fosse and drawbridge, while overhead the ironspikes of a massive portcullis might be seen; for the Abbot of Gwynnehad been a "puissance" in days long past, and had his servitors insteel, as well as his followers in sackcloth. This road, which wasexcessively steep and difficult of access, was yet that by whichcarriages were accustomed to approach the house; for the stablesoccupied one entire wing of the quadrangle, the servants, of whomthere were a goodly company, holding possession of the suite of roomsoverhead, once the ancient dormitory of the monks of Gwynne.

  In the middle of the courtyard was a large fountain, over which aneffigy of St. Francis had formerly stood; but the saint had unhappilybeen used as a lay figure whereupon to brush hunting-coats and soiledleathers, and gradually his proportions had suffered grievous injury,till at last nothing remained of him save the legs, which were stillprofaned as a saddle-tree; for grooms and stable-boys are irreverent intheir notions, and, probably, deemed it no disgrace for a saint to carrysuch honorable trappings.

  The appearance of the abbey from within was even more picturesque thanwhen seen from the outside, each side of the quadrangle displaying adifferent era and style of architecture; for they had been built withlong intervals of time between them, and one wing, a low, two-storiedrange, with jail-like windows and a small, narrow portal, bore, on athree-cornered stone, the date 1304.

  We shall not ask of our readers to accompany us further in our drydescription, nor even cast a glance up at that myriad of strange beastswhich, in dark gray stone, are frowning or grinning, or leaping orrearing, from every angle and corner of the building,--a strangecompany, whose representatives in real life it would puzzle thezoologist to produce; but there they were, some with a coat-of-armsbetween their paws, some supporting an ornamental capital, and othersactually, as it seemed, cutting their uncouth capers out of pureidleness.

  At the back of the abbey, and terraced on the mountain side, lay aperfect wilderness of flower-gardens and fishponds, amid which a tastemore profane than that of the founders had erected sundry summer-housesin rockwork, hermitages without hermits, and shrines withoutworshippers, but all moss-grown, and old enough to make them objects ofcuriosity, while some afforded glorious points of view over the distantbay and the rich valley where stands the picturesque town of Westport.

  The interior of this noble edifice was worthy of its appearance fromwithout. Independent of the ample accommodation for a great household,there was a suite of state apartments running along the entire front andpart of one wing, and these were fitted up and furnished with a luxuryand costliness that would not have disgraced a royal palace. Here wereseen velvet hangings and rich tapestries upon the walls, floors inlaidwith
tulip and sandal-wood, windows of richly stained glass threw amysterious and mellow light over richly carved furniture, the triumphsof that art which the Netherlands once boasted; cabinets, curiouslyinlaid with silver and tortoiseshell, many of them gifts ofdistinguished donors, few without their associations of story; whileone chamber, the ancient hall of audience, was hung round with armor andweapons, the trophies of long-buried ancestors, the proud memorials ofa noble line; dark suits of Milan mail, or richly inlaid cuirasses ofSpanish workmanship, with great two-handed swords and battle-axes, and,stranger still, weapons of Eastern mould and fashion, for more than oneof the house had fought against the Turks, and crossed his broadswordwith the scimitar.

  There were objects rare and curious enough within these walls to stayand linger over; but even if we dared to take such a liberty with ourreader, our duty would not permit the dalliance, and it is to a verydifferent part of the building, and one destined for far other uses,that we must now for a brief space conduct him.

  In a small chamber of the ground-floor, whose curiously groined roof andrichly stained window showed that its occupancy had once been heldby those in station above the common, now sat two persons at awell-garnished table, while before them, on the wide hearth, blazed acheerful fire of bog deal. On either side of the fireplace was a niche,in which formerly some saintly effigy had stood, but now--such areTime's chances--an earthenware pitcher, with a pewter lid, decoratedeach, of whose contents the boon companions drank jovially to eachother. One of these was a short, fat old fellow of nigh eighty years;his bowed legs and wide round shoulders the still surviving signs ofgreat personal strength in days gone by; his hair, white as snow, wascarefully brushed back from his forehead, and tied into "queue" behind.Old as he was, the features were intelligent and pleasing, the hale andhearty expression of good health and good temper animated them whenhe spoke, nor were the words the less mellow to an Irish ear that theysmacked of the "sweet south," for Tate Sullivan was a Kerry man, andpossessed in full measure the attributes of that pleasant kingdom; hewas courteous and obliging, faithful in his affections, and if a bithasty in temper, the very first to discover and correct it. His failingwas the national one,--the proneness to conceal a truth if itsdisclosure were disagreeable: he could not bring himself to bear badtidings; and this tendency had so grown with years that few who knew hisweakness could trust any version of a fact from his lips without makingdue allowance for blarney.

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  For eight-and-forty years he had been a butler in the Knight's family,and his reverence for his master went on increasing with his years;in his eyes he was the happy concentration of every good quality ofhumanity, nor could he bring himself to believe that his like would evercome again.

  Opposite to him sat one as unlike him in form and appearance as he wasin reality by character: a gaunt, thin, hollow-cheeked man of sixty-sixor seven, rueful and sad-looking, with a greenish gray complexion, and ahead of short, close gray hair, cut horseshoe fashion over the temples,his long thin nose, pointed chin, and his cold green eye only wantedthe additional test of his accent to pronounce him from the North. So itwas, Sandy M'Grane was from Antrim, and a keener specimen of the "coldcountrie" need not have been looked for.

  His dress was a wide-skirted, deep-cuffed brown coat, profusely studdedwith large silver buttons richly crested, one sleeve of which, armlessand empty, was attached to his breast; a dark-crimson waistcoat, edgedwith silver lace, descended below the hips; black leather breechesand high black boots,--a strange costume, uniting in some respects theattributes of in-door life and the road. On the high back of his oakenchair hung a wide-brimmed felt hat and a black leather belt, fromwhich a short straight sword depended, the invariable companion of hisjourneys; for Sandy had travelled in strange lands, where protectivepolice were unknown, and his master, Mr. Bagenal Daly, was one who everpreferred his own administration of criminal law, when the occasionrequired such, to the slower process of impartial justice.

  Meagre and fleshless as he looked, he was possessed of great personalstrength, and it needed no acute physiognomist to pronounce, from thecharacter of his head and features, that courage had not been omittedamong the ingredients of his nature.

  A word of explanation may be necessary as to how a western gentleman,as Bagenal Daly was, should have attached to his person for someforty years a native of a distant county, and one all whose habits andsympathies seemed so little in unison with his own part of the country.Short as the story is, we should not feel warranted in obtruding it onour readers if it did not to a certain extent serve to illustrate thecharacters of both master and man.

  Mr. Daly when a very young man chanced to make an excursion to thenorthern part of the island, the principal object of which was to seethe Giant's Causeway, and the scenery in the neighborhood. The visit wasundertaken with little foresight or precaution, and happened at the verytime of the year when severe gales from the north and west prevail, anda heavy sea breaks along that iron-bound coast. Having come so far tosee the spot, he was unwilling to be baulked in his object; but still,the guides and boatmen of the neighborhood refused to venture out, and,notwithstanding the most tempting offers, would not risk their lives byan enterprise so full of danger.

  Daly's ardor for the expedition seemed to increase as the difficultyto its accomplishment grew greater, and he endeavored, now by profuseoffers of money, now by taunting allusions to their want of courage, tostimulate the men to accompany him; when, at last, a tall, hard-featuredyoung fellow stood forward and offered, if Daly himself would pull anoar, to go along with him. Overjoyed at his success, Daly agreed to theproposal; and although a heavy sea was then running, and the coastfor miles was covered with fragments of a wreck, the skiff was Boonlaunched, and stood out to sea.

  "I'll ga wi'ye to the twa caves and Dunluce; but I 'll no engage to gato Carrig-a-rede," said Sandy, as the sea broke in masses on the bow,and fell in torrents over them.

  After about an hour's rowing, during which the boat several timesnarrowly escaped being swamped, and was already more than half full ofwater, they arrived off the great cave, and could see the boiling surfas, sent back with force, it issued beneath the rock, with a musiclouder than thunder, while from the great cliffs overhead the waterpoured in a thick shower, as each receding wave left a part behind it.

  "The cobble" (so is the boat termed there) "is aye drawing in to shore,"said Sandy; "I trow we 'd better pull back, noo."

  "Not till we 've seen Carrig-a-rede, surely," said Daly, on whom dangeracted like the most exciting of all stimulants.

  "Ye may go there by yersel," said Sandy, "when ye put me ashore; I tauldyou, I 'd no ga so far."

  "Come, come, it's no time to flinch now," said Daly; "turn her headabout, and lean down to your oar."

  "I 'll no do it," said Sandy, "nor will I let you either." And as hespoke, he leaned forward to take the oar from Daly's hand. The youngman, irritated at the attempt, rudely repulsed him, and Sandy, whosetemper, if not as violent, was at least as determined, grappled with himat once.

  "You'll upset the boat--curse the fellow!" said Daly, who now found thathe had met his match in point of strength and daring.

  "Let go the oar, man," cried Sandy, savagely.

  "Never," said Daly, with a violent effort to free his hands.

  "Then swim for it, if ye like better," said Sandy; and, placing one footon the gunwale, he gave a tremendous push, and the next instant theywere both struggling in the sea. For a long time they continued, almostside by side, to buffet the dark water; but at last Daly began tofalter, his efforts became more labored, and his strength seemedfailing; Sandy turned his head, and seized him in the very struggle thatprecedes sinking. They were still far from shore, but the hardy Northernnever hesitated; he held him by the arm, and after a long and desperateeffort succeeded in gaining the land.

  "Ye got a bra wetting for your pains, anyhow," said Sandy; "but I 'm nothe best off either: I 'll never see the cobble mair."

  Such were the first words Bag
enal Daly heard when consciousness returnedto him; the rest of the story is soon told. Daly took Sandy into hisservice, not without all due thought and consideration on the latter'spart, for he owned a small fishing-hut, for which he expected andreceived due compensation, as well as for the cobble and the damage tohis habiliments by salt water,--all matters of which, as they wereleft to his own uncontrolled valuation, he was well satisfied with thearrangement; and thus began a companionship which had lasted to the verymoment we have presented him to our readers.

  It is but fair to say that in all this time no one had ever heard fromSandy's lips one syllable of the adventure we have related, nor didhe ever, in the remotest degree, allude to it in intercourse with hismaster. Sandy was little disposed to descant either on the life orthe character of his master; the Scotch element of caution was mingledstrongly through his nature, and he preferred any other topic ofconversation than such as led to domestic events. Whether that he wasless on his guard on this evening, or that, esteeming Tate's perceptionsat no very high rate, so it is, he talked more freely and unadvisedlythan was his wont.

  "Ye hae a bra berth o' it here, Maister Sullivan," said he, as hesmacked his lips after the smoking compound, whose odor pronounced itmulled port; "I maun say, that a man wha has seen a good deal of lifemight do far war' than settle down in a snug little nook like this;maybe, ye hae no journeyed far in your time either."

  "Indeed, 'tis true for you, Mr. M'Grane, I had not the opportunities youhad of seeing the world, and the strange people in foreign parts; theytell me you was in Jericho, and Jerusalem, and Gibraltar."

  "Further than that, Maister Sullivan. I hae been in very curious placeswi' Mr. Daly; this day nine years we were in the Rocky Mountains, amongthe Red Indians."

  "The Red Indians! blood alive! them was dangerous neighbors."

  "Not in our case. My master was a chief among them, I was the doctor ofthe tribe,--the 'Great Mystery Man,' they cau'd me; my master's name wasthe 'Howling Wind.'"

  "Sorra doubt, but it was not a bad one,--listen to him now;" and Tatelifted his hand to enforce silence, while a cheer loud and sonorous rangout, and floated in rich cadence along the arched corridors of the oldabbey; "'tis singing he is," added Tate, lower, while he opened the doorto listen.

  "That's no a sang, that's the war-cry of the Manhattas," said Sandy,gravely.

  "The saints be praised it's no worse!" remarked Tate, with pious horrorin every feature. "I thought he was going to raise the divil. And whowas the man-haters, Mr. M'Grane?" added he, meekly.

  "A vara fine set o' people; a leetle fond o' killing and eating theirneighbors, but friendly and ceevil to strangers; I hae a wife amang themmysel."

  "A wife! Is she a Christian, then?"

  "Nae muck le o' that, but a douce, good-humored lassie for a' that."

  "And she'sa black?"

  "Na, na; she was a rich copper tint, something deeper than my waistcoathere, but she had twa yellow streaks over her forehead, and the tip o'her nose was blue."

  "The mother of Heaven be near us! she was a beauty, by all accounts."

  "Ay, that she was; the best-looking squaw of the tribe, and rare handywi' a hatchet."

  "Divil fear her," muttered Tate, between his teeth. "And what was hername, now?"

  "Her name was Orroawaccanaboo, the 'Jumping Wild Cat.'"

  "Oh, holy Moses!" exclaimed Tate, unable any longer to subdue hisfeelings, "I would n't be her husband for a mine of goold."

  "You are no sae far wrong there, my auld chap," said Sandy, withoutshowing any displeasure at this burst of feeling.

  "And Mr. Daly, had he another--of these craytures?" said Tate, who feltscruples in applying the epithet of the Church in such a predicament.

  "He had twa," said Sandy, "forbye anein the mountains, that was too auldto come down; puir lone body, she was unco' fond of a child's head andshoulders wi' fish gravy!"

  "To ate it! Do you mane for ating, Mr. M'Grane?"

  "Ay, just so; butchers' shops is no sae plenty down in them parts. Butwhat's that! dinna ye hear a ringing o' the bell at the gate there?"

  "I hear nothing, I can think of nothing! sorra bit! with the thought ofthat ould baste in my head, bad luck to her!" exclaimed Tate, ruefully."A child's head and shoulders! Sure enough, that's the bell, and themthat's ringing it knows the way, too." And with these words Tate lightedhis lantern and issued forth to the gate tower, the keys of which wereeach night deposited in his care.

  As the massive gates fell back, four splashed and heated horses drewforward a caleche, from which, disengaging himself with speed, DickForester descended, and endeavored, as well as the darkness wouldpermit, to survey the great pile of building around him.

  "Coming to stop, yer honor?" said Tate, courteously uncovering his whitehead.

  "Yes. Will you present these letters and this card to your master?"

  "I must show you your room first,--that's my orders always.--Tim, bringup this luggage to 27.--Will yer honor have supper in the hall, or inyour own dressing-room?"

  There is nothing more decisive as to the general tone of hospitalitypervading any house than the manner of the servants towards strangers;and thus, few and simple as the old butler's words were, they were amplysufficient to satisfy Forester that his reception would be a kindly one,even though less ably accredited than by Lionel Darcy's introduction;and he followed Tate Sullivan with the pleasant consciousness that hewas to lay his head beneath a friendly roof.

  "Never mind the supper," said he; "a good night's rest is what I standmost in need of. Show me to my room, and to-morrow I 'll pay my respectsto the Knight."

  "This way then, sir," said Tate, entering a large hall, and leadingthe way up a wide oak staircase, at the top of which was a corridor ofimmense extent. Turning short at the head of this, Tate opened a smallempanelled door, and with a gesture of caution moved forwards. Foresterfollowed, not a little curious to know the meaning of the precaution,and at the same instant the loud sounds of merry voices laughing andtalking reached him, but from what quarter he could not guess, when,suddenly, his guide drew back a heavy cloth curtain, and he perceivedthat they were traversing a long gallery, which ran along the entirelength of a great room, in the lower part of which a large company wasassembled. So sudden and unexpected was the sight that Forester startedwith amazement, and stood uncertain whether to advance or retire, whileTate Sullivan, as if enjoying his surprise, leaned his hands on hisknees and stared steadily at him.

  The scene below was indeed enough to warrant his astonishment. In thegreat hail, which had once been the refectory of the abbey, a partyof about thirty gentlemen were now seated around a table covered withdrinking vessels of every shape and material, as the tastes of theguests inclined their potations. Claret, in great glass jugs holdingthe quantity of two or three ordinary bottles; port, in huge squaredecanters, both being drunk from the wood, as was the fashion of theday; large china bowls of mulled wine, in which the oranges and limesfloated fragrantly; and here and there a great measure made of wood andhooped with silver, called the "mether," contained the native beveragein all its simplicity, and supplied the hard drinker with the liquor hepreferred to all,--"poteen." The guests were no less various than thegood things of which they partook. Old, young, and middle-aged; some menstamped with the air and seeming of the very highest class; others asundeniably drawn from the ranks of the mere country squire; a few weredressed in all the accuracy of dinner costume; some wore the well-knownlivery of Daly's Club, and others were in the easy negligence of morningdress; while, scattered up and down, could be seen the red coat of ahunter, whose splashed and stained scarlet spoke rather for the daringthan the dandyism of its wearer. But conspicuous above all was a figurewho, on an elevated seat, sat at the head of the table and presided overthe entertainment. He was a tall--a very tall--and powerfully built man,whose age might have been guessed at anything, from five-and-forty toseventy; for though his frame and figure indicated few touches of time,his seared and wrinkled forehead boded advance
d life. His head was longand narrow, and had been entirely bald, were it not for a single stripeof coal-black hair which grew down the very middle of it, and came to apoint on the forehead, looking exactly like the scalplock of an Indianwarrior. The features were long and melancholy in expression,--acharacter increased by a drooping moustache of black hair, the points ofwhich descended below the chin. His eyes were black as a raven's wing,and glanced with all the brilliancy and quickness of youth, while theincessant motion of his arched eyebrows gave to their expressiona character of almost demoniac intelligence. His voice was low andsonorous, and, although unmistakably Irish in accent, occasionallylapsed into traits which might be called foreign, for no one that knewhim would have accused him of the vice of affectation. His dress was aclaret-colored coat edged with narrow silver lace, and a vest of whitesatin, over which, by a blue ribbon, hung the medal of a foreign order;white satin breeches and silk stockings, with shoes fastened by largediamond buckles, completed a costume which well became a figure that hadlost nothing of its pretension to shapeliness and symmetry. His hands,though remarkably large and bony, were scrupulously white and cared for,and more than one ring of great value ornamented his huge and massivefingers. Altogether, he was one whom the least critical would havepronounced not of the common herd of humanity, and yet whose characterwas by no means so easy to guess at from external traits.

  Amid all the tumult and confusion of the scene, his influence seemedfelt everywhere, and his rich, solemn tones could be heard high abovethe crash and din around. As Forester stood and leaned over the balcony,the noise seemed to have reached its utmost; one of the company--ashort, square, bull-faced little squire--being interrupted in a songby some of the party, while others--the greater number--equally loud,called on him to proceed. It was one of the slang ditties of thetime,--a lyric suggested by that topic which furnished matter forpamphlets and speeches and songs, dinners, debates, and even duels,--theUnion.

  "Go on, Bodkin; go on, man! You never were in better voice in yourlife," mingled with, "No, no; why introduce any party topic here?"--witha murmured remark: "It's unfair, too. Hickman O'Reilly is with theGovernment."

  The tumult, which, without being angry, increased every moment, was atlast stilled by the voice of the chairman, saying,--

  "If the song have a moral, Bodkin--"

  "It has, I pledge my honor it has, your 'Grandeur.'" said Bodkin.

  "Then finish it. Silence there, gentlemen." And Bodkin resumed hischant:--

  "'Trust me, Squire,' the dark man cried, 'I 'll follow close and mind you, Nor however high the fence you ride, I 'll ever be far behind you.'

  "And true to his word, like a gentleman He rode, there 'a no denying; And though full twenty miles they ran, He took all his ditches flying.

  "The night now came, and down they sat, And the Squire drank while he was able; But though glass for glass the dark man took, He left him under the table.

  "When morning broke, the Squire's brains, Though racking, were still much clearer. 'I know you well,' said he to his guest, 'Now that I see you nearer.

  "'You 've play'd me a d----d scurvy trick: Come, what have I lost--don't tease me. Is it my soul?' 'Not at all,' says Nick; 'Just vote for the Union, to please me.'"

  Amid the loud hurrahs and the louder laughter that fol-lowed this rudechant Forester hurried on to his room, fully convinced that his missionwas not altogether so promising as he anticipated.

  Undeniable in every respect as was the accommodation of his bed-chamber,Forester lay awake half the night, the singular circumstances in whichhe found himself occupied his thoughts, while at intervals camethe swelling sounds of some loud cheers from the party below, whoseboisterous gayety seemed to continue without interruption.