CHAPTER X.
TYRREL RETREATS.
The next morning Tyrrel rose with the sun. He had passed a restlessnight, and now sought refreshment in the early breeze. With this purposehe descended to the river, and strayed along the dewy pathway whichcrept through the shrubbery on the right bank in the direction of theFawn's Tower. He had not wandered far before he perceived a horsemanmoving along the road upon the opposite side.
"Halloo, James Curry!--which way?--What news have you?"
"I seek you, sir, I was on my way to the Dove Cote," replied thehorseman, who at the same time turned his horse's head to the river,and, spurring the animal forward, plunged into the stream which was herestill and deep enough to reach above his saddle flaps. After somefloundering, the horse and rider gained the margin, where Tyrrel awaitedthem! The vigor of the animal, as well as the practised hand that heldthe rein, was shown in the boldness of the attempt to climb the steepbank and break through the briers and bushes that here guarded it. Assoon as Curry reached the level ground, he dismounted.
"In God's name, man, what is the matter with your face?" asked Tyrrel.
"It is of that, amongst other things, that I came to speak to you," wasthe reply; "I have news for you."
"Speak, without prelude. Tell me."
"Major Butler slept last night at Mrs. Dimock's."
"And is there still?"
"No, sir. He started at early dawn this morning."
"To join Gates?"
"I think not. He talked of going to Ninety-Six--perhaps to Georgia."
"So, ho! The hawk hovers over that field! Does he travel alone?"
"He has a giant in his company, a great ploughman by the name of HorseShoe Robinson. A quarrelsome rascal; he would needs pick a quarrel withme last night. And in the skirmish I got this face."
"Did I not command you to bear yourself peaceably? Fool! will you riskour lives with your infernal broils? Now, I would wager you told thefellow your name."
"Little need of that, sir. He told it to me: said he knew me before. Thefellow, for all his rough coat, is a regular trained soldier in therebel service, and has met me somewhere--Heaven knows!--I don't rememberhim; yet he isn't a man to see once and forget again."
"And me, did he speak of me?"
"He knew that I was in the employ of an English gentleman who was hereat the Dove Cote. I have nothing especial to complain of in the man. Hespeaks soldierly enough; he said he would take no advantage of me forbeing here as long as our visit was peaceable."
"Humph! And you believed him. And you must fight with him, like abrawling knave. When will you get an ounce of wit into that fool's head!What time of day was it when this Butler arrived?"
"Long after night-fall."
"Did you understand any thing of the purpose of his visit?"
"He talked much with Mistress Dimock, and I think their conversationrelated to the lady at the Dove Cote. I could hear but a few scatteredwords."
"Away.--Here (throwing his purse to the horseman), pay up your score atthe inn, and at your greatest haste attend me on the river bank,immediately below Mr. Lindsay's house. Ask Mrs. Dimock to have abreakfast prepared for me.--Away, I will expect you in half an hour."
Curry mounted his horse, and choosing a more convenient ford than thatwhich he had passed (for the jutting rocks, on this side, prevented hisreaching Mrs. Dimock's without recrossing the river to the road), hesoon regained the track, and was seen, almost at high speed, sweepingaround the base of the Fawn's Tower.
Tyrrel returned hastily to the Dove Cote, and, seeking his valet, gaveorders to have his portmanteau packed, his horse saddled and to be inwaiting for him at the foot of the hill. These commands were speedilyobeyed, and everything was in readiness for his journey before any ofthe family had made their appearance in the breakfast room.
Whilst Tyrrel meditated writing a line to explain to Lindsay his presentsudden movement, and had drawn near a table for that purpose, he wassaluted by the voice of Henry, who had entered the apartment, and stolenunobserved almost immediately behind his chair.
"Booted and spurred, Mr. Tyrrel!" said Henry. "You are for a ride. Willyou take a fowling-piece? There are pheasants over upon the hills."
"Oh, ho! Master Henry, you are up! I am glad of it. I was just writing aword to say that business calls me away this morning. Is your father yetabed?"
"He is sound asleep," said Henry; "I will wake him."
"No, my lad. You must not do that. Say I have received news this morningthat has called me suddenly to my friends. I will return before long. Isyour sister stirring?"
"She was in the garden but a moment since," replied Henry; and the youngman left the room, to which he returned after a short space. "SisterMildred is engaged in her chamber, and begs you will excuse her," saidhe, as he again entered the door.
"Tush, Henry, I didn't tell you to interrupt your sister. Make her mymost respectful adieu. Don't forget it. I have all my way to win," hesaid to himself, "and a rough road to travel, I fear."
Tyrrel now left the house and descended to the river, accompanied byHenry, who sought in vain to know why he departed in such haste as notto stay for breakfast. James Curry waited below; and, when Henry saw hisfather's guest mount in his saddle and cross the ford, attended by histwo servants, he turned about and clambered up the hill again, halfsinging and half saying to him self,--"I'm glad he's gone, I'm glad he'sgone," accompanied with a trolling chorus, expressive of thesatisfaction of his feelings at the moment. "He'd a got a flea in hisear, if he had stay'd. I should like to know what Major Butler would sayto Mr. Tyrrel, if he was to meet him. Zooks! may be Butler will see himthis very morning at Mrs. Dimock's. Now, I wonder! Shall I whisper thatto sister Mildred? She would be glad, for one, I'll be bound! May be,they might have a fight. And if they do, let Mr. Tyrrel look out! Henever had his bread so buttered in his life, as it would be then."
In such a strain of cogitation and conjecture, Henry reached the parlor,where he found Mildred. The melancholy that hung upon her spirits, theevening before, seemed to have been dispelled by the repose of thenight, and was doubtless relieved, in part, by the intelligence thatTyrrel had quitted the Dove Cote.
"Come, sister," said Henry, throwing his arm round her waist, and almostdancing, as he forced her through the open window, "come, it will be agood while before father is ready for his breakfast. Let us look at yourflowers; I have something to tell you."
"You are quite an important personage, this morning," replied Mildred,moving off towards the lawn with her brother. "Your face looks as wiseas a book of proverbs."
It was some time before the brother and sister returned to the parlor,and when they did so, their father had not yet appeared. The delay wasunusual; for Lindsay generally rose at an early hour, and frequentlywalked abroad before his morning meal. When he at last entered the room,there was an expression of care and thought upon his brow that made himhaggard. Mildred, as was her custom, approached him with a kiss, and,taking both of his hands, as she looked up in his face, she said, withsome earnestness:
"You are not well, my dear father."
Lindsay paused a moment, while he gazed affectionately upon her, andthen pressing her to his bosom, uttered in a low voice, with a smile,--
"God bless my dear child! How carefully does she read my looks! Comehither, Henry," he continued, as he gave his son one hand, and stillheld Mildred with the other, and then turned his eyes alternately uponeach. "Now, tell me, which of you love me best? Who has waited mostpatiently for me this morning? I see by that glance of your blue eye,master Henry, that you have been chiding your lazy father for lying solong abed. Now, I dare say, if the truth were known, you have had yourrifle ready to go out and shoot squirrels an hour ago. I beg yourpardon, Mr. Sportsman--not to shoot the squirrel, but to shoot at him.Or, perhaps, you mean to bring us a deer to-day; you know you havepromised to do that every morning for a week."
"You shall eat a slice from as fine a saddle of venison to-day, father,as you ev
er saw smoke over a chafing-dish."
"In good truth, shall I, boy? You are a brave promiser! You rememberyour own adage,--Brag was a good dog, but Holdfast was better."
"In right down earnest, father, you shall. You needn't laugh. Now,you're thinking I have the deer to shoot; there's your mistake. Thesaddle is this minute lying on the dresser in the kitchen. He was arunning buck yesterday; and I could tell where the powder and ball camefrom (here Henry made the motion of opening a hunting pouch at his side)that put an end to his capers."
"He is a monstrous braggart; is he not, Mildred?" said Lindsay,directing a look of incredulity at his daughter.
"What Henry tells you is true," replied Mildred. "Stephen Foster washere at sunrise with a part of a buck, which he says was shotyesterday."
"Indeed! Then it is to Stephen's rifle we are indebted. You kill yourbucks by proxy, master."
"I'll bet," said Henry, "that Stephen Foster hasn't the impudence tocharge one penny for that venison. And why? Because, by the laws ofchace, one-half belongs to me."
"Oh, I understand," interrupted Lindsay, with affected gravity; "it is amatter of great doubt which of you shot it. You both fired at once; or,perhaps, Stephen first, and you afterwards; and the poor animal droppedthe moment you took your aim,--even before your piece went off. You knowyour aim, Harry, is deadly,--much worse than your bullet."
"There is no doubt who killed him," said Henry; "for Stephen was on thatside of the hill, and I was a little below him, and the buck ran rightto Stephen, who, of course, gave him the first shot. But there was I,father, just ready, if Stephen had missed, to bring old Velvet-Horns tothe ground, before he could have leaped a rod."
"But, unluckily, Stephen's first shot killed him?"
"I don't know that," replied Henry. "Another person's knife might havedone the business; for the deer jumped down the bank into the road, andthere"--
Mildred cast a sidelong look of caution at her brother, to warn himagainst alluding to a third person, whom it was not discreet to mention.
"And there," said Henry, taking the sign, "when I got up to him he wasstone dead. I would almost think a deer couldn't be shot dead sosuddenly. But Stephen can pitch his lead, as he calls it, just where helikes."
"Well, it isn't fair to inquire who killed him," said Lindsay. "Onehunter often turns the game to the other's rifle. And, at all events,your dogs, Henry, I dare say, did as much as either of you."
"Hylas was just at his heels when he was shot," replied Henry; "and abetter dog there isn't in Amherst, or Albemarle to boot."
"Well, well! Let us to breakfast. Where is our guest? Tyrrel is surelyout before this."
"He has been gone from the Dove Cote more than an hour," said Henry. "Hetold me to say, that some sudden news took him off in haste. I wouldhave waked you, but he forbade it. His man, Curry, who was waiting forhim at the ford, I dare say, brought him some dispatches."
"It was very sudden," said Lindsay, musing; "the great game will beshortly played."
"My dear father, you have not your usual look of health," said Mildredagain. "I fear something disturbs you."
"A slight cold, only, from exposure to the night air, perhaps. You didnot see Tyrrel this morning, Mildred?"
"I did not wish to see him, father. I was up when he set out, but I wasnot in his way."
"Fie, girl, you almost speak crossly! Tyrrel, I must think, is not a manto win his way with ladies. But he is a loyal subject to his king. I cantell you, Mildred, loyalty is a virtue of good associations in thesetimes."
"It is the last virtue, my dear father, that a woman ever writes down inthe list of noble qualities. We generally forget it altogether. Historyis so full of the glory of disloyal heroes, that the indiscriminate andpersevering loyalty of brave men has come to be but little noticed.Brutus was disloyal, and so was Tell; and the English barons, of whomyou boast so much, when you call them sturdy, were disloyal; andWashington--who knows, my dear father, but that he may be written downby some future nation, (and she laid an emphasis on this word,) asanother name to give credit to this word, disloyal."
"Thou art a shrewd orator, Mildred," exclaimed her father, as he soughtto change the subject, "and I doubt not, if Heaven had made you man, youwould now be flattering these rebels by persuading them they were allborn for heroes. We may thank the gods that they have given you thepetticoat instead of the soldier's cloak, and placed you at the head ofa breakfast table instead of a regiment."
"I do not think," replied Mildred smiling, "that I should altogetherdisgrace the cloak now, woman as I am, if the occasion required me toput it on."
"Pray drop this subject, my dear child; you know it makes me sad. Myfamily, I fear, are foredoomed to some strange mishap from these civilbroils. Attend me presently in the library, I have matters tocommunicate that concern you. Henry, my boy," Lindsay continued, as herose from his breakfast, "pay Stephen Foster the full value of thevenison; as a sportsman you have a right perhaps to your share of thegame, but a gentleman shows his courtesy by waiving such claims; heshould suffer no friend to be his creditor, even in opinion. Stephen maynot expect to be paid; no matter, it concerns your own character to beliberal."
"I have promised Stephen a new rifle," replied Henry; "since they haveelected him lieutenant of the Amherst Rangers he wants something betterthan his old deer gun."
"I positively forbid it," interrupted Lindsay hastily, returning towardsthe middle of the room from the door through which he was about todepart. "What! would you purchase weapons for those clowns to enablethem to shoot down his majesty's liege subjects? to make war upon theirrightful king, against his laws and throne? to threaten your life, yoursister's and mine, unless we bowed to this impious idol of democracy,which they have set up--this Washington?"
"My dear, dear father," interposed Mildred as she came up to him andflung her arms about his neck. "Consider, Henry is a thoughtless boy,and does not look to consequences."
"Heaven bless you both, my children! I beg your pardons. I am overcaptious. Henry, pay Stephen for the venison, and give him somethingbetter than a rifle. Mildred, I will see you presently."
When Lindsay had left the parlor Mildred besought her brother, in themost earnest terms, to be more guarded against giving expression to anysentiment which might bring their father's thoughts to the existing war.Her own observation had informed her of the nature of the struggle thatagitated his mind, and her effort was continually directed to calm andsoothe his feelings by the most unremitting affection, and thus tofoster his resolution against taking any part in those schemes in which,she shrewdly guessed, it was the purpose of the emissaries of the royalparty to involve him.
Her attachment to Arthur Butler she feared to mention to her father,whilst her self-respect and her conviction of her duty to a parent wholoved her with unbounded devotion, would not allow her altogether toconceal it. Upon this subject, Lindsay had sufficiently read her heartto know much more about it than she chose to confess; and it did notfail to kindle up in his mind a feverish excitement, that occasionallybroke forth in even a petulant reproof, and to furnish the only occasionthat had ever arisen of serious displeasure against his daughter. Theunhappy association between this incident in the life of Mildred, andthe current of a feeling which had its foundation in a weak piece ofsuperstition, to which I have alluded in a former chapter, gave to theidea of Mildred's marriage with Butler a fatal complexion in Lindsay'sthoughts. "For what purpose," he asked himself, "but to avert thisill-omened event could I have had such an extraordinary warning?" It hadoccurred to him that the surest method of protecting his family againstthis misfortune would be to throw Mildred into other associations, andencourage the growth of other attachments, such as might be expected togrow up in her heart out of the kindness of new friendships. He had evenmeditated removing her to England, but that plan became so repulsive tohim when he found the mention of it distasteful to his children, and itsuited so little his own fondness for the retirement he had alreadycultivated, that he had abandone
d it almost as soon as it occurred tohim. His next alternative was to favor--though he did so with no greatzeal--the proposal lately made by Tyrrel. He little knew the characterof the woman he had to deal with. Never was more devotion enshrined in awoman's heart than in Mildred's. Never was more fixed and steady purposeto encounter all hazards and hold cheap all dangers more deeply rootedin man's or woman's resolution, than was Mildred's to cherish the loveand follow the fortunes of Arthur Butler.
This conflict between love and filial duty sadly perplexed thedaughter's peace; and not less disturbing was the strife betweenparental affection and the supposed mandate of fate, in the breast ofthe father.
Henry protested his sorrow for his recent indiscretion and promised morecaution for the future, and then recurring to what more immediatelyconcerned his sister's interest, he said, "I do much wonder whatTyrrel's man had to say this morning; it took our good gentleman away sosuddenly. I can't help thinking it has something to do with Butler andHorse Shoe. They must have been seen by Curry at Mrs. Dimock's, and oldTony knows the major very well, and has told his name. Besides, do youknow, sister, I think Curry is a spy? Else, why should he be left atMrs. Dimock's always? There was room enough here for both of Mr.Tyrrel's servants. I have a thought that I will reconnoitre: I will rideover to the Blue Ball, and see what I can learn."
"Do, my good brother," replied Mildred, "and in the meantime I must goto my father, who has something disagreeable to tell me--so Ifear--concerning that busy plotter who has just left us. My spirits growheavy at the thought of it. Ah, Henry, if I could but speak out, andunpack my heart, what a load would I throw off! How does it grieve me tohave a secret that I dare not tell my dear father! Thank heaven,brother, your heart and mine have not yet had a secret that they couldnot whisper to each other!"
"Give care the whip, sister," said Henry, like a young gallant, "itbelongs to the bat family and should not fly in day-time. Farewell forthe next two hours!" and saying these words the sprightly youth kissedhis hand, and, with an alert step, left the room.
Mildred now retired to prepare for the interview with her father.
Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency Page 12
