St. Ronan's Well Read online

  CHAPTER VIII.

  AFTER DINNER.

  They draw the cork, they broach the barrel, And first they kiss, and then they quarrel.

  PRIOR.

  If the reader has attended much to the manners of the canine race, hemay have remarked the very different manner in which the individuals ofthe different sexes carry on their quarrels among each other. Thefemales are testy, petulant, and very apt to indulge their impatientdislike of each other's presence, or the spirit of rivalry which itproduces, in a sudden bark and snap, which last is generally made asmuch at advantage as possible. But these ebullitions of peevishness leadto no very serious or prosecuted conflict; the affair begins and ends ina moment. Not so the ire of the male dogs, which, once produced andexcited by growls of mutual offence and defiance, leads generally to afierce and obstinate contest; in which, if the parties be dogs of game,and well-matched, they grapple, throttle, tear, roll each other in thekennel, and can only be separated by choking them with their owncollars, till they lose wind and hold at the same time, or by surprisingthem out of their wrath by sousing them with cold water.

  The simile, though a currish one, will hold good in its application tothe human race. While the ladies in the tea-room of the Fox Hotel wereengaged in the light snappish velitation, or skirmish, which we havedescribed, the gentlemen who remained in the parlour were more than oncelike to have quarrelled more seriously.

  We have mentioned the weighty reasons which induced Mr. Mowbray to lookupon the stranger whom a general invitation had brought into theirsociety, with unfavourable prepossessions; and these were far from beingabated by the demeanour of Tyrrel, which, though perfectly well-bred,indicated a sense of equality, which the young Laird of St. Ronan'sconsidered as extremely presumptuous.

  As for Sir Bingo, he already began to nourish the genuine hatred alwaysentertained by a mean spirit against an antagonist, before whom it isconscious of having made a dishonourable retreat. He forgot not themanner, look, and tone, with which Tyrrel had checked his unauthorizedintrusion; and though he had sunk beneath it at the moment, therecollection rankled in his heart as an affront to be avenged. As hedrank his wine, courage, the want of which was, in his more sobermoments, a check upon his bad temper, began to inflame his malignity,and he ventured upon several occasions to show his spleen, bycontradicting Tyrrel more flatly than good manners permitted upon soshort an acquaintance, and without any provocation. Tyrrel saw his illhumour and despised it, as that of an overgrown schoolboy, whom it wasnot worth his while to answer according to his folly.

  One of the apparent causes of the Baronet's rudeness was indeed childishenough. The company were talking of shooting, the most animating topicof conversation among Scottish country gentlemen of the younger class,and Tyrrel had mentioned something of a favourite setter, an uncommonlyhandsome dog, from which he had been for some time separated, but whichhe expected would rejoin him in the course of next week.

  "A setter!" retorted Sir Bingo, with a sneer; "a pointer I suppose youmean?"

  "No, sir," said Tyrrel; "I am perfectly aware of the difference betwixta setter and a pointer, and I know the old-fashioned setter is becomeunfashionable among modern sportsmen. But I love my dog as a companion,as well as for his merits in the field; and a setter is more sagacious,more attached, and fitter for his place on the hearth-rug, than apointer--not," he added, "from any deficiency of intellects on thepointer's part, but he is generally so abused while in the management ofbrutal breakers and grooms, that he loses all excepting his professionalaccomplishments, of finding and standing steady to game."

  "And who the d----l desires he should have more?" said Sir Bingo.

  "Many people, Sir Bingo," replied Tyrrel, "have been of opinion, thatboth dogs and men may follow sport indifferently well, though they dohappen, at the same time, to be fit for mixing in friendly intercoursein society."

  "That is for licking trenchers, and scratching copper, I suppose," saidthe Baronet, _sotto voce_; and added, in a louder and more distincttone,--"He never before heard that a setter was fit to follow any man'sheels but a poacher's."

  "You know it now then, Sir Bingo," answered Tyrrel; "and I hope you willnot fall into so great a mistake again."

  The Peace-maker here seemed to think his interference necessary, and,surmounting his tactiturnity, made the following pithy speech:--"By Cot!and do you see, as you are looking for my opinion, I think there is nodispute in the matter--because, by Cot! it occurs to me, d'ye see, thatye are both right, by Cot! It may do fery well for my excellent friendSir Bingo, who hath stables, and kennels, and what not, to maintain thesix filthy prutes that are yelping and yowling all the tay, and all theneight too, under my window, by Cot!--And if they are yelping andyowling there, may I never die but I wish they were yelping and yowlingsomewhere else. But then there is many a man who may be as cood agentleman at the bottom as my worthy friend Sir Bingo, though it may bethat he is poor; and if he is poor--and as if it might be my own case,or that of this honest gentleman, Mr. Tirl--is that a reason or a law,that he is not to keep a prute of a tog, to help him to take his sportsand his pleasures? and if he has not a stable or a kennel to put thecrature into, must he not keep it in his pit of ped-room, or upon hisparlour hearth, seeing that Luckie Dods would make the kitchen too hotfor the paist--and so, if Mr. Tirl finds a setter more fitter for hispurpose than a pointer, by Cot, I know no law against it, else may Inever die the black death."

  If this oration appear rather long for the occasion, the reader mustrecollect that Captain MacTurk had in all probability the trouble oftranslating it from the periphrastic language of Ossian, in which it wasoriginally conceived in his own mind.

  The Man of Law replied to the Man of Peace, "Ye are mistaken for ance inyour life, Captain, for there is a law against setters; and I willundertake to prove them to be the 'lying dogs,' which are mentioned inthe auld Scots statute, and which all and sundry are discharged to keep,under a penalty of"----

  Here the Captain broke in, with a very solemn mien and dignifiedmanner--"By Cot! Master Meiklewham, and I shall be asking what you meanby talking to me of peing mistaken, and apout lying togs, sir--because Iwould have you to know, and to pelieve, and to very well consider, thatI never was mistaken in my life, sir, unless it was when I took you fora gentleman."

  "No offence, Captain," said Mr. Meiklewham; "dinna break the wand ofpeace, man, you that should be the first to keep it.--He is ascankered," continued the Man of Law, apart to his patron, "as an auldHieland terrier, that snaps at whatever comes near it--but I tell you aething, St. Ronan's, and that is on saul and conscience, that I believethis is the very lad Tirl, that I raised a summons against before thejustices--him and another hempie--in your father's time, for shooting onthe Spring-well-head muirs."

  "The devil you did, Mick!" replied the Lord of the Manor, alsoaside;--"Well, I am obliged to you for giving me some reason for the illthoughts I had of him--I knew he was some trumpery scamp--I'll blow him,by"----

  "Whisht--stop--hush--haud your tongue, St. Ronan's,--keep a calmsough--ye see, I intended the process, by your worthy father's desire,before the Quarter Sessions--but I ken na--The auld sheriff-clerk stoodthe lad's friend--and some of the justices thought it was but a mistakeof the marches, and sae we couldna get a judgment--and your father wasvery ill of the gout, and I was feared to vex him, and so I was fain tolet the process sleep, for fear they had been assoilzied.--Sae ye hadbetter gang cautiously to wark, St. Ronan's, for though they weresummoned, they were not convict."

  "Could you not take up the action again?" said Mr. Mowbray.

  "Whew! it's been prescribed sax or seeven year syne. It is a greatshame, St. Ronan's, that the game laws, whilk are the very bestprotection that is left to country gentlemen against the encroachment oftheir inferiors, rin sae short a course of prescription--a poacher mayjust jink ye back and forward like a flea in a blanket, (wi'pardon)--hap ye out of ae county and into anither at their pleasure,like pyots--and unless ye get your thum-nail on them in
the very nick o'time, ye may dine on a dish of prescription, and sup upon anabsolvitor."

  "It is a shame indeed," said Mowbray, turning from his confident andagent, and addressing himself to the company in general, yet not withouta peculiar look directed to Tyrrel.

  "What is a shame, sir?" said Tyrrel, conceiving that the observation wasparticularly addressed to him.

  "That we should have so many poachers upon our muirs, sir," answered St.Ronan's. "I sometimes regret having countenanced the Well here, when Ithink how many guns it has brought on my property every season."

  "Hout fie! hout awa, St. Ronan's!" said his Man of Law; "no countenancethe Waal? What would the country-side be without it, I would be glad token? It's the greatest improvement that has been made on this countrysince the year forty-five. Na, na, it's no the Waal that's to blame forthe poaching and delinquencies on the game. We maun to the Aultoun forthe howf of that kind of cattle. Our rules at the Waal are clear andexpress against trespassers on the game."

  "I can't think," said the Squire, "what made my father sell the propertyof the old change-house yonder, to the hag that keeps it open out ofspite, I think, and to harbour poachers and vagabonds!--I cannotconceive what made him do so foolish a thing!"

  "Probably because your father wanted money, sir," said Tyrrel, dryly;"and my worthy landlady, Mrs. Dods, had got some.--You know, I presume,sir, that I lodge there?"

  "Oh, sir," replied Mowbray, in a tone betwixt scorn and civility, "youcannot suppose the present company is alluded to; I only presumed tomention as a fact, that we have been annoyed with unqualified peopleshooting on our grounds, without either liberty or license. And I hopeto have her sign taken down for it--that is all.--There was the sameplague in my father's days, I think, Mick?"

  But Mr. Meiklewham, who did not like Tyrrel's looks so well as to inducehim to become approver on the occasion, replied with an inarticulategrunt, addressed to the company, and a private admonition to hispatron's own ear, "to let sleeping dogs lie."

  "I can scarce forbear the fellow," said St. Ronan's; "and yet I cannotwell tell where my dislike to him lies--but it would be d----d folly toturn out with him for nothing; and so, honest Mick, I will be as quietas I can."

  "And that you may be so," said Meiklewham, "I think you had best take nomore wine."

  "I think so too," said the Squire; "for each glass I drink in hiscompany gives me the heartburn--yet the man is not different from otherraffs either--but there is a something about him intolerable to me."

  So saying, he pushed back his chair from the table, and--_regis adexemplar_--after the pattern of the Laird, all the company arose.

  Sir Bingo got up with reluctance, which he testified by two or threedeep growls, as he followed the rest of the company into the outerapartment, which served as an entrance-hall, and divided thedining-parlour from the tea-room, as it was called. Here, while theparty were assuming their hats, for the purpose of joining the ladies'society, (which old-fashioned folk used only to take up for that ofgoing into the open air,) Tyrrel asked a smart footman, who stood near,to hand him the hat which lay on the table beyond.

  "Call your own servant, sir," answered the fellow, with the trueinsolence of a pampered menial.

  "Your master," answered Tyrrel, "ought to have taught you good manners,my friend, before bringing you here."

  "Sir Bingo Binks is my master," said the fellow, in the same insolenttone as before.

  "Now for it, Bingie," said Mowbray, who was aware that the Baronet'spot-courage had arrived at fighting pitch.

  "Yes!" said Sir Bingo aloud, and more articulately than usual--"Thefellow is my servant--what has any one to say to it?"

  "I at least have my mouth stopped," answered Tyrrel, with perfectcomposure. "I should have been surprised to have found Sir Bingo'sservant better bred than himself."

  "What d'ye mean by that, sir?" said Sir Bingo, coming up in an offensiveattitude, for he was no mean pupil of the Fives-Court--"What d'ye meanby that? D----n you, sir! I'll serve you out before you can saydumpling."

  "And I, Sir Bingo, unless you presently lay aside that look and manner,will knock you down before you can cry help."

  The visitor held in his hand a slip of oak, with which he gave aflourish, that, however slight, intimated some acquaintance with thenoble art of single-stick. From this demonstration Sir Bingo thought itprudent somewhat to recoil, though backed by a party of friends, who, intheir zeal for his honour, would rather have seen his bones broken inconflict bold, than his honour injured by a discreditable retreat; andTyrrel seemed to have some inclination to indulge them. But, at the veryinstant when his hand was raised with a motion of no doubtful import, awhispering voice, close to his ear, pronounced the emphatic words--"Areyou a man?"

  Not the thrilling tone with which our inimitable Siddons used toelectrify the scene, when she uttered the same whisper, ever had a morepowerful effect upon an auditor, than had these unexpected sounds onhim, to whom they were now addressed. Tyrrel forgot every thing--hisquarrel--the circumstances in which he was placed--the company. Thecrowd was to him at once annihilated, and life seemed to have no otherobject than to follow the person who had spoken. But suddenly as heturned, the disappearance of the monitor was at least equally so, for,amid the group of commonplace countenances by which he was surrounded,there was none which assorted to the tone and words, which possessedsuch a power over him. "Make way," he said, to those who surrounded him;and it was in the tone of one who was prepared, if necessary, to makeway for himself.

  Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's stepped forward. "Come, sir," said he, "thiswill not do--you have come here, a stranger among us, to assume airs anddignities, which, by G--d, would become a duke, or a prince! We mustknow who or what you are, before we permit you to carry your high toneany farther."

  This address seemed at once to arrest Tyrrel's anger, and his impatienceto leave the company. He turned to Mowbray, collected his thoughts foran instant, and then answered him thus:--"Mr. Mowbray, I seek no quarrelwith any one here--with you, in particular, I am most unwilling to haveany disagreement. I came here by invitation, not certainly expectingmuch pleasure, but, at the same time, supposing myself secure fromincivility. In the last point, I find myself mistaken, and thereforewish the company good-night. I must also make my adieus to the ladies."

  So saying, he walked several steps, yet, as it seemed, ratherirresolutely, towards the door of the card-room--and then, to theincreased surprise of the company, stopped suddenly, and mutteringsomething about the "unfitness of the time," turned on his heel, andbowing haughtily, as there was way made for him, walked in the oppositedirection towards the door which led to the outer hall.

  "D----me, Sir Bingo, will you let him off?" said Mowbray, who seemed todelight in pushing his friend into new scrapes--"To him, man--to him--heshows the white feather."

  Sir Bingo, thus encouraged, planted himself with a look of defianceexactly between Tyrrel and the door; upon which the retreating guest,bestowing on him most emphatically the epithet Fool, seized him by thecollar, and flung him out of his way with some violence.

  "I am to be found at the Old Town of St. Ronan's by whomsoever has anyconcern with me."--Without waiting the issue of this aggression fartherthan to utter these words, Tyrrel left the hotel. He stopped in thecourt-yard, however, with the air of one uncertain whither he intendedto go, and who was desirous to ask some question, which seemed to dieupon his tongue. At length his eye fell upon a groom, who stood not farfrom the door of the inn, holding in his hand a handsome pony, with aside-saddle.

  "Whose"----said Tyrrel--but the rest of the question he seemed unable toutter.

  The man, however, replied, as if he had heard the wholeinterrogation.--"Miss Mowbray's, sir, of St. Ronan's--she leavesdirectly--and so I am walking the pony--a clever thing, sir, for alady."

  "She returns to Shaws-Castle by the Buck-stane road?"

  "I suppose so, sir," said the groom. "It is the nighest, and Miss Claracares little for rough roads. Zounds! She can
spank it over wet anddry."

  Tyrrel turned away from the man, and hastily left the hotel--not,however, by the road which led to the Aultoun, but by a footpath amongthe natural copsewood, which, following the course of the brook,intersected the usual horse-road to Shaws-Castle, the seat of Mr.Mowbray, at a romantic spot called the Buck-stane.

  In a small peninsula, formed by a winding of the brook, was situated, ona rising hillock, a large rough-hewn pillar of stone, said by traditionto commemorate the fall of a stag of unusual speed, size, and strength,whose flight, after having lasted through a whole summer's day, hadthere terminated in death, to the honour and glory of some ancient baronof St. Ronan's, and of his stanch hounds. During the periodical cuttingsof the copse, which the necessities of the family of St. Ronan's broughtround more frequently than Ponty would have recommended, some oaks hadbeen spared in the neighbourhood of this massive obelisk, old enoughperhaps to have heard the whoop and halloo which followed the fall ofthe stag, and to have witnessed the raising of the rude monument bywhich that great event was commemorated. These trees, with their broadspreading boughs, made a twilight even of noon-day; and, now that thesun was approaching its setting point, their shade already anticipatednight. This was especially the case where three or four of themstretched their arms over a deep gully, through which winded thehorse-path to Shaws-Castle, at a point about a pistol-shot distant fromthe Buck-stane. As the principal access to Mr. Mowbray's mansion was bya carriage-way, which passed in a different direction, the present pathwas left almost in a state of nature, full of large stones, and brokenby gullies, delightful, from the varied character of its banks, to thepicturesque traveller, and most inconvenient, nay dangerous, to him whohad a stumbling horse.

  The footpath to the Buck-stane, which here joined the bridle-road, hadbeen constructed, at the expense of a subscription, under the directionof Mr. Winterblossom, who had taste enough to see the beauties of thissecluded spot, which was exactly such as in earlier times might haveharboured the ambush of some marauding chief. This recollection had notescaped Tyrrel, to whom the whole scenery was familiar, who now hastenedto the spot, as one which peculiarly suited his present purpose. He satdown by one of the larger projecting trees, and, screened by itsenormous branches from observation, was enabled to watch the road fromthe Hotel for a great part of its extent, while he was himself invisibleto any who might travel upon it.

  Meanwhile his sudden departure excited a considerable sensation amongthe party whom he had just left, and who were induced to formconclusions not very favourable to his character. Sir Bingo, inparticular, blustered loudly and more loudly, in proportion to theincreasing distance betwixt himself and his antagonist, declaring hisresolution to be revenged on the scoundrel for his insolence--to drivehim from the neighbourhood--and I know not what other menaces offormidable import. The devil, in the old stories of _diablerie_, wasalways sure to start up at the elbow of any one who nursed diabolicalpurposes, and only wanted a little backing from the foul fiend to carryhis imaginations into action. The noble Captain MacTurk had so far thisproperty of his infernal majesty, that the least hint of an approachingquarrel drew him always to the vicinity of the party concerned. He wasnow at Sir Bingo's side, and was taking his own view of the matter, inhis character of peace-maker.

  "By Cot! and it's very exceedingly true, my goot friend, Sir Binco--andas you say, it concerns your honour, and the honour of the place, andcredit and character of the whole company, by Cot! that this matter beproperly looked after; for, as I think, he laid hands on your body, myexcellent goot friend."

  "Hands, Captain MacTurk!" exclaimed Sir Bingo, in some confusion; "no,blast him--not so bad as that neither--if he had, I should have handed_him_ over the window--but, by ----, the fellow had the impudence tooffer to collar me--I had just stepped back to square at him, when,curse me, the blackguard ran away."

  "Right, vara right, Sir Bingo," said the Man of Law, "a vara perfectblackguard, a poaching sorning sort of fallow, that I will have scouredout of the country before he be three days aulder. Fash you your beardnae farther about the matter, Sir Bingo."

  "By Cot! but I can tell you, Mr. Meiklewham," said the Man of Peace,with great solemnity of visage, "that you are scalding your lips inother folk's kale, and that it is necessary for the credit, and honour,and respect of this company, at the Well of St. Ronan's, that Sir Bingogoes by more competent advice than yours upon the present occasion, Mr.Meiklewham; for though your counsel may do very well in a small debtcourt, here, you see, Mr. Meiklewham, is a question of honour, which isnot a thing in your line, as I take it."

  "No, before George! it is not," answered Meiklewham; "e'en take it allto yoursell, Captain, and meikle ye are likely to make on't."

  "Then," said the Captain, "Sir Binco, I will beg the favour of yourcompany to the smoking room, where we may have a cigar and a glass ofgin-twist; and we will consider how the honour of the company must besupported and upholden upon the present conjuncture."

  The Baronet complied with this invitation, as much, perhaps, inconsequence of the medium through which the Captain intended to conveyhis warlike counsels, as for the pleasure with which he anticipated theresult of these counsels themselves. He followed the military step ofhis leader, whose stride was more stiff, and his form moreperpendicular, when exalted by the consciousness of an approachingquarrel, to the smoking-room, where, sighing as he lighted his cigar,Sir Bingo prepared to listen to the words of wisdom and valour, as theyshould flow in mingled stream from the lips of Captain MacTurk.

  Meanwhile the rest of the company joined the ladies. "Here has beenClara," said Lady Penelope to Mr. Mowbray; "here has been Miss Mowbrayamong us, like the ray of a sun which does but dazzle and die."

  "Ah, poor Clara," said Mowbray; "I thought I saw her thread her waythrough the crowd a little while since, but I was not sure."

  "Well," said Lady Penelope, "she has asked us all up to Shaws-Castle onThursday, to a _dejeuner a la fourchette_--I trust you confirm yoursister's invitation, Mr. Mowbray?"

  "Certainly, Lady Penelope," replied Mowbray; "and I am truly glad Clarahas had the grace to think of it--How we shall acquit ourselves is adifferent question, for neither she nor I are much accustomed to playhost or hostess."

  "Oh! it will be delightful, I am sure," said Lady Penelope; "Clara has agrace in every thing she does; and you, Mr. Mowbray, can be a perfectlywell-bred gentleman--when you please."

  "That qualification is severe--Well--good manners be my speed--I willcertainly please to do my best, when I see your ladyship atShaws-Castle, which has received no company this many a day.--Clara andI have lived a wild life of it, each in their own way."

  "Indeed, Mr. Mowbray," said Lady Binks, "if I might presume to speak--Ithink you do suffer your sister to ride about a little too much withoutan attendant. I know Miss Mowbray rides as woman never rode before, butstill an accident may happen."

  "An accident?" replied Mowbray--"Ah, Lady Binks! accidents happen asfrequently when ladies _have_ attendants as when they are without them."

  Lady Binks, who, in her maiden state, had cantered a good deal aboutthese woods under Sir Bingo's escort, coloured, looked spiteful, and wassilent.

  "Besides," said John Mowbray, more lightly, "where is the risk, afterall? There are no wolves in our woods to eat up our pretty Red-RidingHoods; and no lions either--except those of Lady Penelope's train."

  "Who draw the car of Cybele," said Mr. Chatterly.

  Lady Penelope luckily did not understand the allusion, which was indeedbetter intended than imagined.

  "Apropos!" she said; "what have you done with the great lion of the day?I see Mr. Tyrrel nowhere--Is he finishing an additional bottle with SirBingo?"

  "Mr. Tyrrel, madam," said Mowbray, "has acted successively the lionrampant, and the lion passant: he has been quarrelsome, and he has runaway--fled from the ire of your doughty knight, Lady Binks."

  "I am sure I hope not," said Lady Binks; "my Chevalier's unsuccessfulcampaigns have been unable to overco
me his taste for quarrels--a victorywould make a fighting-man of him for life."

  "That inconvenience might bring its own consolations," saidWinterblossom, apart to Mowbray; "quarrellers do not usually live long."

  "No, no," replied Mowbray, "the lady's despair, which broke out justnow, even in her own despite, is quite natural--absolutely legitimate.Sir Bingo will give her no chance that way."

  Mowbray then made his bow to Lady Penelope, and in answer to her requestthat he would join the ball or the card-table, observed, that he had notime to lose; that the heads of the old domestics at Shaws-Castle wouldbe by this time absolutely turned, by the apprehensions of what Thursdaywas to bring forth; and that as Clara would certainly give no directionsfor the proper arrangements, it was necessary that he should take thattrouble himself.

  "If you ride smartly," said Lady Penelope, "you may save even atemporary alarm, by overtaking Clara, dear creature, ere she getshome--She sometimes suffers her pony to go at will along the lane, asslow as Betty Foy's."

  "Ah, but then," said little Miss Digges, "Miss Mowbray sometimes gallopsas if the lark was a snail to her pony--and it quite frights one to seeher."

  The Doctor touched Mrs. Blower, who had approached so as to be on theverge of the genteel circle, though she did not venture within it--theyexchanged sagacious looks, and a most pitiful shake of the head.Mowbray's eye happened at that moment to glance on them; and doubtless,notwithstanding their hasting to compose their countenances to adifferent expression, he comprehended what was passing through theirminds;--and perhaps it awoke a corresponding note in his own. He tookhis hat, and with a cast of thought upon his countenance which it seldomwore, left the apartment. A moment afterwards his horse's feet wereheard spurning the pavement, as he started off at a sharp pace.

  "There is something singular about these Mowbrays to-night," said LadyPenelope.--"Clara, poor dear angel, is always particular; but I shouldhave thought Mowbray had too much worldly wisdom to be fanciful.--Whatare you consulting your _souvenir_ for with such attention, my dear LadyBinks?"

  "Only for the age of the moon," said her ladyship, putting the littletortoise-shell-bound calendar into her reticule; and having done so, sheproceeded to assist Lady Penelope in the arrangements for the evening.