CHAPTER XXII. In Hospital
Sinking into a sweet slumber, and lulled by those harmonious sounds, ouryoung patient passed a night of pleasant unconsciousness, and awoke inthe morning to find a summer sun streaming in at the window, and hiskind host and hostess smiling at his bed-curtains. He was ravenouslyhungry, and his doctor permitted him straightway to partake of a mess ofchicken, which the doctor's wife told him had been prepared by the handsof one of her daughters.
One of her daughters? A faint image of a young person--of two youngpersons--with red cheeks and black waving locks, smiling round hiscouch, and suddenly departing thence, soon after he had come tohimself, arose in the young man's mind. Then, then, there returned theremembrance of a female--lovely, it is true, but more elderly--certainlyconsiderably older--and with f----. Oh, horror and remorse! He writhedwith anguish, as a certain recollection crossed him. An immense gulf oftime gaped between him and the past. How long was it since he had heardthat those pearls were artificial,--that those golden locks were onlypinchbeck? A long, long time ago, when he was a boy, an innocent boy.Now he was a man,--quite an old man. He had been bled copiously; he hada little fever; he had had nothing to eat for very many hours; he had asleeping-draught, and a long, deep slumber after.
"What is it, my dear child?" cries kind Mrs. Lambert, as he started.
"Nothing, madam; a twinge in my shoulder," said the lad. "I speak to myhost and hostess? Sure you have been very kind to me."
"We are old friends, Mr. Warrington. My husband, Colonel Lambert,knew your father, and I and your mamma were schoolgirls together atKensington. You were no stranger to us when your aunt and cousin told uswho you were."
"Are they here?" asked Harry, looking a little blank.
"They must have lain at Tunbridge Wells last night. They sent a horsemanfrom Reigate yesterday for news of you."
"Ah! I remember," says Harry, looking at his bandaged arm.
"I have made a good cure of you, Mr. Warrington. And now Mrs. Lambertand the cook must take charge of you."
"Nay; Theo prepared the chicken and rice, Mr. Lambert," said the lady."Will Mr. Warrington get up after he has had his breakfast? We will sendyour valet to you."
"If howling proves fidelity, your man must be a most fond, attachedcreature," says Mr. Lambert.
"He let your baggage travel off after all in your aunt's carriage," saidMrs. Lambert. "You must wear my husband's linen, which, I dare say, isnot so fine as yours."
"Pish, my dear! my shirts are good shirts enough for any Christian,"cries the Colonel.
"They are Theo's and Hester's work," says mamma. At which her husbandarches his eyebrows and looks at her. "And Theo hath ripped and sewedyour sleeve to make it quite comfortable for your shoulder," the ladyadded.
"What beautiful roses!" cries Harry, looking at a fine China vase fullof them that stood on the toilet-table, under the japan-framed glass.
"My daughter Theo cut them this morning. Well, Mr. Lambert? She did cutthem!"
I suppose the Colonel was thinking that his wife introduced Theo toomuch into the conversation, and trod on Mrs. Lambert's slipper, orpulled her robe, or otherwise nudged her into a sense of propriety.
"And I fancied I heard some one singing the Evening Hymn very sweetlylast night--or was it only a dream?" asked the young patient.
"Theo again, Mr. Warrington!" said the Colonel, laughing. "My servantssaid your negro man began to sing it in the kitchen as if he was achurch organ."
"Our people sing it at home, sir. My grandpapa used to love it verymuch. His wife's father was a great friend of good Bishop Ken, who wroteit; and--and my dear brother used to love it too;" said the boy, hisvoice dropping.
It was then, I suppose, that Mrs. Lambert felt inclined to give the boya kiss. His little accident, illness and recovery, the kindness ofthe people round about him, had softened Harry Warrington's heart, andopened it to better influences than those which had been brought to bearon it for some six weeks past. He was breathing a purer air than thattainted atmosphere of selfishness, and worldliness, and corruption, intowhich he had been plunged since his arrival in England. Sometimes theyoung man's fate, or choice, or weakness, leads him into the fellowshipof the giddy and vain; happy he, whose lot makes him acquainted withthe wiser company, whose lamps are trimmed, and whose pure hearts keepmodest watch.
The pleased matron left her young patient devouring Miss Theo's mess ofrice and chicken, and the Colonel seated by the lad's bedside. Gratitudeto his hospitable entertainers, and contentment after a comfortablemeal, caused in Mr. Warrington a very pleasant condition of mind andbody. He was ready to talk now more freely than usually was his custom;for, unless excited by a strong interest or emotion, the young man wascommonly taciturn and cautious in his converse with his fellows, and wasby no means of an imaginative turn. Of books our youth had been but avery remiss student, nor were his remarks on such simple works as hehad read, very profound or valuable; but regarding dogs, horses, andthe ordinary business of life, he was a far better critic; and, with anyperson interested in such subjects, conversed on them freely enough.
Harry's host, who had considerable shrewdness, and experience of books,and cattle, and men, was pretty soon able to take the measure of hisyoung guest in the talk which they now had together. It was now, for thefirst time, the Virginian learned that Mrs. Lambert had been an earlyfriend of his mother's, and that the Colonel's own father had servedwith Harry's grandfather, Colonel Esmond, in the famous wars of QueenAnne. He found himself in a friend's country. He was soon at ease withhis honest host, whose manners were quite simple and cordial, and wholooked and seemed perfectly a gentleman, though he wore a plain fustiancoat, and a waistcoat without a particle of lace.
"My boys are both away," said Harry's host, "or they would have shownyou the country when you got up, Mr. Warrington. Now you can only havethe company of my wife and her daughters. Mrs. Lambert hath told youalready about one of them, Theo, our eldest, who made your broth, whocut your roses, and who mended your coat. She is not such a wonderas her mother imagines her to be: but little Theo is a smart littlehousekeeper, and a very good and cheerful lass, though her father saysit."
"It is very kind of Miss Lambert to take so much care for me," says theyoung patient.
"She is no kinder to you than to any other mortal, and doth but herduty." Here the Colonel smiled. "I laugh at their mother for praisingour children," he said, "and I think I am as foolish about them myself.The truth is, God hath given us very good and dutiful children, and Isee no reason why I should disguise my thankfulness for such a blessing.You have never a sister, I think?"
"No, sir, I am alone now," Mr. Warrington said.
"Ay, truly, I ask your pardon for my thoughtlessness. Your man hath toldour people what befell last year. I served with Braddock in Scotland;and hope he mended before he died. A wild fellow, sir, but there wasa fund of truth about the man, and no little kindness under his roughswaggering manner. Your black fellow talks very freely about his masterand his affairs. I suppose you permit him these freedoms as he rescuedyou----"
"Rescued me?" cries Mr. Warrington.
"From ever so many Indians on that very expedition. My Molly and I didnot know we were going to entertain so prodigiously wealthy a gentleman.He saith that half Virginia belongs to you; but if the whole of NorthAmerica were yours, we could but give you our best."
"Those negro boys, sir, lie like the father of all lies. They think itis for our honour to represent us as ten times as rich as we are. Mymother has what would be a vast estate in England, and is a very goodone at home. We are as well off as most of our neighbours, sir, but nobetter; and all our splendour is in Mr. Gumbo's foolish imagination. Henever rescued me from an Indian in his life, and would run away at thesight of one, as my poor brother's boy did on that fatal day when hefell."
"The bravest man will do so at unlucky times," said the Colonel. "Imyself saw the best troops in the world run at Preston, before a raggedmob of Highland savages."
> "That was because the Highlanders fought for a good cause, sir."
"Do you think," asks Harry's host, "that the French Indians had the goodcause in the fight of last year?"
"The scoundrels! I would have the scalp of every murderous redskin among'em!" cried Harry, clenching his fist. "They were robbing and invadingthe British territories, too. But the Highlanders were fighting fortheir king."
"We, on our side, were fighting for our king; and we ended by winningthe battle," said the Colonel, laughing.
"Ah!" cried Harry; "if his Royal Highness the Prince had not turned backat Derby, your king and mine, now, would be his Majesty King James theThird!"
"Who made such a Tory of you, Mr. Warrington?" asked Lambert.
"Nay, sir, the Esmonds were always loyal!" answered the youth. "Had welived at home, and twenty years sooner, brother and I often and oftenagreed that our heads would have been in danger. We certainly would havestaked them for the king's cause."
"Yours is better on your shoulders than on a pole at Temple Bar. I haveseen them there, and they don't look very pleasant, Mr. Warrington."
"I shall take off my hat, and salute them, whenever I pass the gate,"cried the young man, "if the king and the whole court are standing by!"
"I doubt whether your relative, my Lord Castlewood, is as staunch asupporter of the king over the water," said Colonel Lambert, smiling:"or your aunt, the Baroness of Bernstein, who left you in our charge.Whatever her old partialities may have been, she has repented of them;she has rallied to our side, landed her nephews in the Household,and looks to find a suitable match for her nieces. If you have Toryopinions, Mr. Warrington, take an old soldier's advice, and keep them toyourself."
"Why, sir, I do not think that you will betray me!" said the boy.
"Not I, but others might. You did not talk in this way at Castlewood? Imean the old Castlewood which you have just come from."
"I might be safe amongst my own kinsmen, surely, sir!" cried Harry.
"Doubtless. I would not say no. But a man's own kinsmen can play himslippery tricks at times, and he finds himself none the better fortrusting them. I mean no offence to you or any of your family; butlacqueys have ears as well as their masters, and they carry about allsorts of stories. For instance, your black fellow is ready to tell allhe knows about you, and a great deal more besides, as it would appear."
"Hath he told about the broken-kneed horse?" cried out Harry, turningvery red.
"To say truth, my groom seemed to know something of the story, and saidit was a shame a gentleman should sell another such a brute; let alonea cousin. I am not here to play the Mentor to you, or to carry aboutservants' tittle-tattle. When you have seen more of your cousins, youwill form your own opinion of them; meanwhile, take an old soldier'sadvice, I say again, and be cautious with whom you deal, and what yousay."
Very soon after this little colloquy, Mr. Lambert's guest rose, with theassistance of Gumbo, his valet, to whom he, for the hundredth time atleast, promised a sound caning if ever he should hear that Gumbo hadventured to talk about his affairs again in the servants'-hall,--whichprohibition Gumbo solemnly vowed and declared he would for ever obey;but I dare say he was chattering the whole of the Castlewood secretsto his new friends of Colonel Lambert's kitchen; for Harry's hostesscertainly heard a number of stories concerning him which she couldnot prevent her housekeeper from telling; though of course I would notaccuse that worthy lady, or any of her sex or ours, of undue curiosityregarding their neighbours' affairs. But how can you prevent servantstalking, or listening when the faithful attached creatures talk to you?
Mr. Lambert's house stood on the outskirts of the little town ofOakhurst, which, if he but travels in the right direction, the patientreader will find on the road between Farnham and Reigate,--and MadameBernstein's servants naturally pulled at the first bell at hand, whenthe young Virginian met with his mishap. A few hundred yards farther,was the long street of the little old town, where hospitality might havebeen found under the great swinging ensigns of a couple of tuns, andmedical relief was to be had, as a blazing gilt pestle and mortarindicated. But what surgeon could have ministered more cleverly toa patient than Harry's host, who tended him without a fee, or whatBoniface could make him more comfortably welcome?
Two tall gates, each surmounted by a couple of heraldic monsters, ledfrom the highroad up to a neat, broad stone terrace, whereon stoodOakhurst House; a square brick building, with windows faced with stone,and many high chimneys, and a tall roof surmounted by a fair balustrade.Behind the house stretched a large garden, where there was plenty ofroom for cabbages as well as roses to grow; and before the mansion,separated from it by the highroad, was a field of many acres, where theColonel's cows and horses were at grass. Over the centre window was acarved shield supported by the same monsters who pranced or ramped uponthe entrance-gates; and a coronet over the shield. The fact is, that thehouse had been originally the jointure-house of Oakhurst Castle, whichstood hard by,--its chimneys and turrets appearing over the surroundingwoods, now bronzed with the darkest foliage of summer. Mr. Lambert'swas the greatest house in Oakhurst town; but the Castle was ofmore importance than all the town put together. The Castle and thejointure-house had been friends of many years' date. Their fathers hadfought side by side in Queen Anne's wars. There were two small piecesof ordnance on the terrace of the jointure-house, and six before theCastle, which had been taken out of the same privateer, which Mr.Lambert and his kinsman and commander, Lord Wrotham, had brought intoHarwich in one of their voyages home from Flanders with despatches fromthe great Duke.
His toilet completed with Mr. Gumbo's aid, his fair hair neatly dressedby that artist, and his open ribboned sleeve and wounded shouldersupported by a handkerchief which hung from his neck, Harry Warringtonmade his way out of the sick-chamber, preceded by his kind host, wholed him first down a broad oak stair, round which hung many pikes andmuskets of ancient shape, and so into a square marble-paved room, fromwhich the living-rooms of the house branched off. There were more armsin this hall-pikes and halberts of ancient date, pistols and jack-bootsof more than a century old, that had done service in Cromwell's wars,a tattered French guidon which had been borne by a French gendarme atMalplaquet, and a pair of cumbrous Highland broadswords, which, havingbeen carried as far as Derby, had been flung away on the fatal field ofCulloden. Here were breastplates and black morions of Oliver's troopers,and portraits of stern warriors in buff jerkins and plain bands andshort hair. "They fought against your grandfathers and King Charles, Mr.Warrington," said Harry's host. "I don't hide that. They rode to jointhe Prince of Orange at Exeter. We were Whigs, young gentleman, andsomething more. John Lambert, the Major-General, was a kinsman of ourhouse, and we were all more or less partial to short hair and longsermons. You do not seem to like either?" Indeed, Harry's facemanifested signs of anything but pleasure whilst he examined theportraits of the Parliamentary heroes. "Be not alarmed, we are verygood Churchmen now. My eldest son will be in orders ere long. He is nowtravelling as governor to my Lord Wrotham's son in Italy, and as for ourwomen, they are all for the Church, and carry me with 'em. Every womanis a Tory at heart. Mr. Pope says a rake, but I think t'other is themore charitable word. Come, let us go see them," and, flinging openthe dark oak door, Colonel Lambert led his young guest into the parlourwhere the ladies were assembled.
"Here is Miss Hester," said the Colonel, "and this is Miss Theo, thesoup-maker, the tailoress, the harpsichord-player, and the songstress,who set you to sleep last night. Make a curtsey to the gentleman, youngladies! Oh, I forgot, and Theo is the mistress of the roses which youadmired a short while since in your bedroom. I think she has kept someof them in her cheeks."
In fact, Miss Theo was making a profound curtsey and blushingmost modestly as her papa spoke. I am not going to describe herperson,--though we shall see a great deal of her in the course of thishistory. She was not a particular beauty. Harry Warrington was not overhead and ears in love with her at an instant's warning, and faithlessto
--to that other individual with whom, as we have seen, the youth hadlately been smitten. Miss Theo had kind eyes and a sweet voice; a ruddyfreckled cheek and a round white neck, on which, out of a little capsuch as misses wore in those times, fell rich curling clusters of darkbrown hair. She was not a delicate or sentimental-looking person. Herarms, which were worn bare from the elbow like other ladies' arms inthose days, were very jolly and red. Her feet were not so miraculouslysmall but that you could see them without a telescope. There was nothingwaspish about her waist. This young person was sixteen years of age, andlooked older. I don't know what call she had to blush so when she madeher curtsey to the stranger. It was such a deep ceremonial curtsey asyou never see at present. She and her sister both made these "cheeses"in compliment to the new comer, and with much stately agility.
As Miss Theo rose up out of this salute, her papa tapped her under thechin (which was of the double sort of chins), and laughingly hummed outthe line which he had read the day. "Eh bien! que dites-vous, ma fille,de notre hote?"
"Nonsense, Mr. Lambert!" cries mamma.
"Nonsense is sometimes the best kind of sense in the world," saidColonel Lambert. His guest looked puzzled.
"Are you fond of nonsense?" the Colonel continued to Harry, seeing bythe boy's face that the latter had no great love or comprehension of hisfavourite humour. "We consume a vast deal of it in this house.Rabelais is my favourite reading. My wife is all for Mr. Fielding andTheophrastus. I think Theo prefers Tom Brown, and Mrs. Hetty here lovesDean Swift."
"Our papa is talking what he loves," says Miss Hetty.
"And what is that, miss?" asks the father of his second daughter.
"Sure, sir, you said yourself it was nonsense," answers the young lady,with a saucy toss of her head.
"Which of them do you like best, Mr. Warrington?" asked the honestColonel.
"Which of whom, sir?"
"The Curate of Meudon, or the Dean of St. Patrick's, or honest Tom, orMr. Fielding?"
"And what were they, sir?"
"They! Why, they wrote books."
"Indeed, sir. I never heard of either one of 'em," said Harry, hangingdown his head. "I fear my book-learning was neglected at home, sir. Mybrother had read every book that ever was wrote, I think. He could havetalked to you about 'em for hours together."
With this little speech Mrs. Lambert's eyes turned to her daughter, andMiss Theo cast hers down and blushed.
"Never mind, honesty is better than books any day, Mr. Warrington!"cried the jolly Colonel. "You may go through the world very honourablywithout reading any of the books I have been talking of, and some ofthem might give you more pleasure than profit."
"I know more about horses and dogs than Greek and Latin, sir. We most ofus do in Virginia," said Mr. Warrington.
"You are like the Persians; you can ride and speak the truth."
"Are the Prussians very good on horseback, sir? I hope I shall see theirking and a campaign or two, either with 'em or against 'em," remarkedColonel Lambert's guest. Why did Miss Theo look at her mother, and whydid that good woman's face assume a sad expression?
Why? Because young lasses are bred in humdrum country towns, do yousuppose they never indulge in romances? Because they are modest and havenever quitted mother's apron, do you suppose they have no thoughts oftheir own? What happens in spite of all those precautions which theKing and Queen take for their darling princess, those dragons, andthat impenetrable forest, and that castle of steel? The fairy princepenetrates the impenetrable forest, finds the weak point in the dragon'sscale armour, and gets the better of all the ogres who guard the castleof steel. Away goes the princess to him. She knew him at once. Herbandboxes and portmanteaux are filled with her best clothes and all herjewels. She has been ready ever so long.
That is in fairy tales, you understand--where the blessed hour and youthalways arrive, the ivory horn is blown at the castle gate; and far offin her beauteous bower the princess hears it, and starts up, and knowsthat there is the right champion. He is always ready. Look! how thegiants' heads tumble off as, falchion in hand, he gallops over thebridge on his white charger! How should that virgin, locked up in thatinaccessible fortress, where she has never seen any man that was noteighty, or humpbacked, or her father, know that there were such beingsin the world as young men? I suppose there's an instinct. I supposethere's a season. I never spoke for my part to a fairy princess, orheard as much from any unenchanted or enchanting maiden. Ne'er a oneof them has ever whispered her pretty little secrets to me, or perhapsconfessed them to herself, her mamma, or her nearest and dearestconfidante. But they will fall in love. Their little hearts areconstantly throbbing at the window of expectancy on the lookout for thechampion. They are always hearing his horn. They are for ever on thetower looking out for the hero. Sister Ann, Sister Ann, do you see him?Surely 'tis a knight with curling mustachios, a flashing scimitar, and asuit of silver armour. Oh no! it is only a costermonger with his donkeyand a pannier of cabbage! Sister Ann, Sister Ann, what is that cloud ofdust? Oh, it is only a farmer's man driving a flock of pigs from market.Sister Ann, Sister Ann, who is that splendid warrior advancing inscarlet and gold? He nears the castle, he clears the drawbridge, helifts the ponderous hammer at the gate. Ah me, he knocks twice! 'Tisonly the postman with a double letter from Northamptonshire! So it is wemake false starts in life. I don't believe there is any such thing knownas first love--not within man's or woman's memory. No male or femaleremembers his or her first inclination any more than his or her ownchristening. What? You fancy that your sweet mistress, your spotlessspinster, your blank maiden just out of the schoolroom, never caredfor any but you? And she tells you so? Oh, you idiot! When she was fouryears old she had a tender feeling towards the Buttons who brought thecoals up to the nursery, or the little sweep at the crossing, or themusic-master, or never mind whom. She had a secret longing towardsher brother's schoolfellow, or the third charity boy at church, andif occasion had served, the comedy enacted with you had been performedalong with another. I do not mean to say that she confessed this amatorysentiment, but that she had it. Lay down this page, and think howmany and many and many a time you were in love before you selected thepresent Mrs. Jones as the partner of your name and affections!
So, from the way in which Theo held her head down, and exchanged lookswith her mother, when poor unconscious Harry called the Persians thePrussians, and talked of serving a campaign with them, I make no doubtshe was feeling ashamed, and thinking within herself, "Is this the herowith whom my mamma and I have been in love for these twenty-four hours,and whom we have endowed with every perfection? How beautiful, pale, andgraceful he looked yesterday as he lay on the ground! How his curls fellover his face! How sad it was to see his poor white arm, and the bloodtrickling from it when papa bled him! And now he is well and amongst us,he is handsome certainly, but oh, is it possible he is--he is stupid?"When she lighted the lamp and looked at him, did Psyche find Cupid out;and is that the meaning of the old allegory? The wings of love dropoff at this discovery. The fancy can no more soar and disport in skyeyregions, the beloved object ceases at once to be celestial, and remainsplodding on earth, entirely unromantic and substantial.
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