The Cock and Anchor Part 16

"Why, ---- me, how great we've got all at once--I say, you don't know me--Eh! don't you?" exclaimed the fellow, with vulgar scorn, at the same time rather roughly poking Ashwoode's hand with the hilt of his sword.

"I shall show you, sir, when your drunken folly has pa.s.sed away, by very sore proofs, that I _do_ know you," replied the young man, clutching his cane with such a grip as threatened to force his fingers into it--"be a.s.sured, sir, I shall know you, and you me, as long as you have the power to remember."

"Whieu, d---- it, don't frighten us," said the fellow, looking round for the approbation of his companions. "I say, d----n it, don't frighten the people--come, come, no gammon. I say, Ashwoode, you must introduce me, or present me, or whatever's the word, to your sister up there--I say you _must_."

"Quit this part of the house this instant, sir, or nothing shall prevent me flogging you until I leave not a whole bone in your body--this warning is the last--profit by it," rejoined Ashwoode, in a low tone of bitter rage.

"Oh, ho! it's there you are--is it?" rejoined the fellow, with a wink at his comrades, "so you're going to beat the people--why, d----n it, you're enough to make a horse laugh. I say I want to know your sister, or your miss, or whatever she is, with the black hair up there, and if you won't introduce me, d----n it, I must only introduce myself."

So saying, the fellow made a spring and caught the ledge of the front of the box, with the intention of vaulting into the place. Lord Aspenly and the young ladies had arisen in some alarm.

"My lord," said young Ashwoode, "have the goodness to conduct the ladies to the lobby--I will join you in a moment."

This direction was promptly obeyed, and at the same moment the young man caught the fellow, already half into the box, by the neckcloth, dragged his body across the wooden parapet, and while he struggled helplessly to disengage himself--half strangled, and without the power to get either up or down--with his heavy cane, the young gentleman--every nerve, sinew, and muscle being strung to tenfold power by fury--inflicted upon his back and ribs a castigation so prolonged and tremendous, that before it had ended, the scoundrel was perfectly insensible, in which state Henry Ashwoode flung him down again into the pit, amid the obstreperous acclamations of all parts of the house--an uproar of applause in which the spectators in the pit joined with such hearty enthusiasm, that at length, touched with a kindred heroism, they turned upon the a.s.sociates of the fallen champion, and fairly kicked and cuffed them out of the house.

This feat accomplished, the young gentleman went down the stairs to the street-entrance, and, after considerable delay, succeeded, with the a.s.sistance of the footman who had attended him into the house, in finding out their carriage, and having it brought to the door--not judging it expedient that the ladies should return to their places, where they would, of course, be exposed to the gazing curiosity of the mult.i.tude. He found the party in the lobby quite recovered from whatever was unpleasant in the excitement of the scene, the more violent part of which they had not witnessed. Lord Aspenly and Emily Copland were laughing over the adventure; and Mary, flashed and agitated, was looking better than she had before upon that night.

Taking his cousin under his own protection, and consigning his sister to that of Lord Aspenly, young Ashwoode led the way to the carriage. As they pa.s.sed slowly along the lobby, the quick eye of Mary Ashwoode discerned a form, at sight of which her heart swelled and throbbed as though it would burst--the colour fled from her cheeks, and she felt for a moment on the point of swooning; the pride of her s.e.x, however, sustained her; the tingling blood again mounted warmly to her cheeks, her eye brightened, and she listened, with more apparent interest than perhaps she ever did before, to Lord Aspenly's remarks--the form was O'Connor's. As she pa.s.sed him, she returned his salute with a slight and haughty bow, and saw, and felt the stern, cold, proud expression which marked his pale and handsome features. In another moment she was seated in the carriage; the doors were closed, crack went the whip, and clatter go the iron hoofs on the pavement--but before they had traversed a hundred yards on their homeward way, poor Mary Ashwoode sunk back in her place, and fainted away.

CHAPTER XX.

THE LODGING--YOUNG MELANCHOLY AND OLD REMEMBRANCES--AN ADVENTURE AMONG THE YEW HEDGES OF MORLEY COURT.

"There is no more doubt--no more hope"--said O'Connor, as, wrapt in his cloak, he slowly pursued his way homeward--"the worst _is_ true--she is quite estranged from me--how deceived--how utterly blind I have been--yet who could have thought it? Light-hearted, vain, worthless--it is all, all true--my own eyes have seen it. Well, even this must be borne--borne as best it may, and with a manly spirit. I have been, indeed, miserably cheated"--he continued, with bitter vehemence--"and what remains for me? I've been infatuated--a self-flattered fool, and waken thus to find _all_ lost--but grief avails not--there lie before me many paths of honourable toil, and many avenues to honourable death--the ambition of my life is over--henceforth the world has nothing to offer me. I will leave this, the country of my ill-fated birth--leave it for ever, and end my days honourably, and G.o.d grant soon, far away from the only one I ever loved--from her who has betrayed me."

Such were the thoughts which darkly and vaguely hurried through O'Connor's mind as he retraced his steps. Before he had arrived, however, at the "c.o.c.k and Anchor," whitherward he had mechanically directed his course, he bethought himself, and turned in a different direction towards the house in which his worthy friend, Mr.

Audley--having an inveterate prejudice against all inns, which, without exception, he averred to be the especial sanctuaries of damp sheets, bugs, thieves, and rheumatic fevers--had already established himself as a weekly lodger.

"Pooh, pooh! you foolish boy," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old bachelor, with considerable energy, in reply to O'Connor's gloomy and pa.s.sionate language; "nonsense, sir, and folly, and absurdity--you'll give me the vapours if you go on this way--what the devil do you want of foreign service and foreign graves--do you think, b.o.o.by, it was for that I came over here--tilly vally, tilly vally--I know as well as you, or any other jackanapes, what love is. I tell you, sirrah, _I_ have been in love, and _I_ have been jilted--_jilted_, sir! and when I _was_ jilted, I thought the jilting itself quite enough, without improving the matter by getting myself buried, dead or alive." Here the little gentleman knocked the table recklessly with his knuckles, buried his hands in his breeches pockets, and rising from his chair, paced the room with an impressive tread. "Had you ever seen Letty Bodkin you might, indeed, have known what love is"--he continued, breathing very hard--"Letty Bodkin jilted me, and I got over it. I did not ask for razors, or cannon b.a.l.l.s, or foreign interment, sir; but I vented my indignation like a man of business, in totting up the books, and running up a heavy arrear in the office accounts--yes, sir, I did more good in the way of arithmetic and book-keeping during that three weeks of love-sick agony, than an ordinary man, without the stimulus, would do in a year"--there was another pause here, and he resumed in a softened tone--"but Letty Bodkin was no ordinary woman. Oh! you scoundrel, had you seen her, you'd have been neither to hold nor to bind--there was nothing she could not do--she embroidered a waistcoat for me--heigho! scarlet geraniums and parsley sprigs--and she danced like--like a--a spring board--she'd sail through a minuet like a duck in a pond, and hop and bounce through 'Sir Roger de Coverley' like a hot chestnut on a griddle;--and then she sang--oh, her singing!--I've heard turtle-doves and thrushes, and, in fact, most kind of fowls of all sorts and sizes; but no nightingale ever came up to her in 'The Captain endearing and tall,' and 'The Shepherdess dying for love'--there never lived a man"--continued he, with increasing vehemence--"I don't care when or where, who could have stood, sate, or walked in her company for half-an-hour, without making an old fool of himself--she was just my age, perhaps a year or two more--I wonder whether she is much changed--heigho!"

Having thus delivered himself, Mr. Audley lapsed into meditation, and thence into a faint and rather painful attempt to vocalize his remembrance of "The Captain endearing and tall," engaged in which desperate operation of memory, O'Connor left the old gentleman, and returned to his temporary abode to pa.s.s a sleepless night of vain remembrances, regrets, and despair.

On the morning subsequent to the somewhat disorderly scene which we have described as having occurred in the theatre, Mary Ashwoode, as usual, sate silent and melancholy, in the dressing-room of her father, Sir Richard. The baronet was not yet sufficiently recovered to venture downstairs to breakfast, which in those days was a very early meal indeed. After an unusually prolonged silence, the old man, turning suddenly to his daughter, abruptly said, "Mary, you have now had some days to study Lord Aspenly--how do you like him?"

The girl raised her eyes, not a little surprised at the question, and doubtful whether she had heard it aright.

"I say," resumed he, "you ought to have been able by this time to arrive at a fair judgment as to Lord Aspenly's merits--what do you think of him--do you like him?"

"Indeed, father," replied she, "I have observed him very little--he may be a very estimable man, but I have not seen enough of him to form any opinion; and indeed, if I had, _my_ opinion must needs be a matter of the merest indifference to him and everyone else."

"Your opinion upon this point," replied Sir Richard, tartly, "happens _not_ to be a matter of indifference."

A considerable pause again ensued, during which Mary Ashwoode had ample time to reflect upon the very unpleasant doubts which this brief speech, and the tone in which it was uttered, were calculated to inspire.

"Lord Aspenly's manners are very agreeable, _very_," continued Sir Richard, meditatively--"I may say, indeed, fascinating--_very_--do you think so?" he added sharply, turning towards his daughter.

This was rather a puzzling question. The girl had never thought about him except as a frivolous old beau; yet it was plain she could not say so without vexing her father; she therefore adopted the simplest expedient under such perplexing circ.u.mstances, and preserved an embarra.s.sed silence.

"The fact is," said Sir Richard, raising himself a little, so as to look full in his daughter's face, at the same time speaking slowly and sternly, "the fact is, I had better be explicit on this subject. _I_ am anxious that you should think well of Lord Aspenly; it is, in short, my wish and pleasure that you should _like_ him; you understand me--you had _better_ understand me." This was said with an emphasis not to be mistaken, and another pause ensued. "For the present," continued he, "run down and amuse yourself--and--stay--offer to show his lords.h.i.+p the old terrace garden--do you mind? Now, once more, run away."

So saying, the old gentleman turned coolly from her, and rang his hand-bell vehemently. Scarcely knowing what she did, such was her astonishment at all that had pa.s.sed, Mary Ashwoode left the room without any very clear notion as to whither she was going, or what to do; nor was her confusion much relieved when, on entering the hall, the first object which encountered her was Lord Aspenly himself, with his triangular hat under his arm, while he adjusted his deep lace ruffles--he had never looked so ugly before. As he stood beneath her while she descended the broad staircase, smiling from ear to ear, and bowing with the most chivalric profundity, his skinny, lemon-coloured face, and cold, glittering little eyes raised toward her--she thought that it was impossible for the human shape so nearly to a.s.sume the outward semblance of a squat, emaciated toad.

"Miss Ashwoode, as I live!" exclaimed the n.o.ble peer, with his most gracious and fascinating smile. "On what mission of love and mercy does she move? Shall I hope that her first act of pity may be exercised in favour of the most devoted of her slaves? I have been looking in vain for a guide through the intricacies of Sir Richard's yew hedges and leaden statues; may I hope that my presiding angel has sent me one in you?"

Lord Aspenly paused, and grinned wider and wider, but receiving no answer, he resumed,--

"I understand, Miss Ashwoode, that the pleasure-grounds, which surround us, abound in samples of your exquisite taste; as a votary of Flora, may I ask, if the request be not too bold, that you will vouchsafe to lead a bewildered pilgrim to the object of his search? There is--is there not?--shrined in the centre of these rustic labyrinths, a small flower-garden which owes its sweet existence to your creative genius; if it be not too remote, and if you can afford so much leisure, allow me to implore your guidance."

As he thus spoke, with a graceful flourish, the little gentleman extended his hand, and courteously taking hers by the extreme points of the fingers, he led her forward in a manner, as he thought, so engaging as to put resistance out of the question. Mary Ashwoode felt far too little interest in anything but the one ever-present grief which weighed upon her heart, to deny the old fop his trifling request; shrouding her graceful limbs, therefore, in a short cloak, and drawing the hood over her head, she walked forth, with slow steps and an aching heart, among the trim hedges which fenced the old-fas.h.i.+oned pleasure walks.

"Beauty," exclaimed the n.o.bleman, as he walked with an air of romantic gallantry by her side, and glancing as he spoke at the flowers which adorned the border of the path--"beauty is nowhere seen to greater advantage than in spots like this; where nature has ama.s.sed whatever is most beautiful in the inanimate creation, only to prove how unutterably more exquisite are the charms of _living_ loveliness: these walks, but this moment to me a wilderness, are now so many paths of magic pleasure--how can I enough thank the kind enchantress to whom I owe the transformation?" Here the little gentleman looked unutterable things, and a silence of some minutes ensued, during which he effected some dozen very wheezy sighs. Emboldened by Miss Ashwoode's silence, which he interpreted as a very unequivocal proof of conscious tenderness, he resolved to put an end to the skirmis.h.i.+ng with which he had opened his attack, and to commence the action in downright earnestness. "This place breathes an atmosphere of romance; it is a spot consecrated to the wors.h.i.+p of love; it is--it is the shrine of pa.s.sion, and I--_I_ am a votary--a wors.h.i.+pper."

Miss Ashwoode paused in mingled surprise and displeasure, for his vehemence had become so excessive as, in conjunction with his asthma, to threaten to choke his lords.h.i.+p outright. When Mary Ashwoode stopped short, Lord Aspenly took it for granted that the crisis had arrived, and that the moment for the decisive onset was now come; he therefore e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with a rapturous croak,--

"And you--_you_ are my divinity!" and at the same moment he descended stiffly upon his two knees, caught her hand in his, and began to mumble it with unmistakable devotion.

"My lord--Lord Aspenly!--surely your lords.h.i.+p cannot mean--have done, my lord," exclaimed the astonished girl, withdrawing her hand indignantly from his grasp. "Rise, my lord; you cannot mean otherwise than to mock me by such extravagance. My lord--my lord, you surprise and shock me beyond expression."

"Angel of beauty! most exquisite--most perfect of your s.e.x," gasped his lords.h.i.+p, "I love you--yes, to distraction. Answer me, if you would not have me expire at your feet--ugh--ugh--tell me that I may hope--ugh--that I am not indifferent to you--ugh, ugh, ugh,--that--that you can love me?" Here his lords.h.i.+p was seized with so violent a fit of coughing, that Miss Ashwoode began to fear that he would expire at her feet in downright earnest. During the paroxysm, in which, with one hand pressed upon his side, he supported himself by leaning with the other upon the ground, Mary had ample time to collect her thoughts, so that when at length he had recovered his breath, she addressed him with composure and decision.

"My lord," she said, "I am grateful for your preference of me; although, when I consider the shortness of my acquaintance with you, and how few have been your opportunities of knowing me, I cannot but wonder very much at its vehemence. For me, your lords.h.i.+p cannot feel more than an idle fancy, which will, no doubt, pa.s.s away just as lightly as it came; and as for my feelings, I have only to say, that it is wholly impossible for you ever to establish in them any interest of the kind you look for. Indeed, indeed, my lord, I hope I have not given you pain--nothing can be further from my wish than to do so; but it is my duty to tell you plainly and at once my real feelings. I should otherwise but trifle with your kindness, for which, although I cannot return it as you desire, I shall ever be grateful."

Having thus spoken, she turned from her n.o.ble suitor, and began to retrace her steps rapidly towards the house.

"Stay, Miss Ashwoode--remain here for a moment--you _must_ hear me!"

exclaimed Lord Aspenly, in a tone so altered, that she involuntarily paused, while his lords.h.i.+p, with some difficulty, raised himself again to his feet, and with a flushed and haggard face, in which still lingered the ghastly phantom of his habitual smile, he hobbled to her side. "Miss Ashwoode," he exclaimed, in a tone tremulous with emotions very different from love, "I--I--I am not used to be treated cavalierly--I--I will not brook it: I am not to be trifled with--jilted--madam, jilted, and taken in. You have accepted and encouraged my attentions--attentions which you cannot have mistaken; and now, madam, when I make you an offer--such as your ambition, your most presumptuous ambition, dared not have antic.i.p.ated--the offer of my hand--and--and a coronet, you coolly tell me you never cared for me.

Why, what on earth do you look for or expect?--a foreign prince or potentate, an emperor, ha--ha--he--he--ugh--ugh--ugh! I tell you plainly, Miss Ashwoode, that _my_ feelings _must_ be considered. I have long made my pa.s.sion known to you; it has been encouraged; and I have obtained Sir Richard's--your father's--sanction and approval. You had better reconsider what you have said. I shall give you an hour; at the end of that time, unless you see the propriety of avowing feelings which, you must pardon me when I say it, your encouragement of my advances has long virtually acknowledged, I must lay the whole case, including all the painful details of my own ill-usage, before Sir Richard Ashwoode, and trust to his powers of persuasion to induce you to act reasonably, and, I _will_ add, _honourably_."

Here his lords.h.i.+p took several extraordinarily copious pinches of snuff, after which he bowed very low, conjured up an unusually hideous smile, in which spite, fury, and triumph were eagerly mingled, and hobbled away before the astonished girl had time to muster her spirits sufficiently to answer him.

CHAPTER XXI.

WHO APPEARED TO MARY ASHWOODE AS SHE SATE UNDER THE TREES--THE CHAMPION.

With flas.h.i.+ng eyes and a swelling heart, struck dumb with unutterable indignation, the beautiful girl stood fixed in the att.i.tude in which his last words had reached her, while the enraged and unmanly old fop hobbled away, with the ease and grace with which a crippled ape might move over a hot griddle. He had disappeared for some minutes before she had recovered herself sufficiently to think or speak.

"If _he_ were by my side," she said, "this n.o.ble lord dared not have used me thus. Edmond would have died a thousand deaths first. But oh!

G.o.d look upon me, for _his_ love is gone from me, and I am now a poor, grieved, desolate creature, with none to help me."

Thus saying, she sate herself down upon the gra.s.s bank, beneath the tall and antique trees, and wept with all the bitter and devoted abandonment of hopeless sorrow. From this unrestrained transport of grief she was at length aroused by the pressure of a hand, gently and kindly laid upon her shoulder.

"What vexes you, Mary, my little girl?" inquired Major O'Leary, for he it was that stood by her. "Come, darling, don't fret, but tell your old uncle the whole business, and twenty to one, he has wit enough in his old noddle yet to set matters to rights. So, so, my darling, dry your pretty eyes--wipe the tears away; why should they wet your young cheeks, my poor little doat, that you always were. It is too early yet for sorrow to come on you. Wouldn't I throw myself between my little pet and all grief and danger? Then trust to me, darling; wipe away the tears, or by ---- I'll begin to cry myself. Dry your eyes, and see if I can't help you one way or another."