Next morning, I bethought me, I, too, had business at L-; so I
mounted my horse, and set forth on the expedition soon after
breakfast. It was a dull, drizzly day; but that was no matter: it
was all the more suitable to my frame of mind. It was likely to be
a lonely journey; for it was no market-day, and the road I
traversed was little frequented at any other time; but that suited
me all the better too.
As I trotted along, however, chewing the cud of - bitter fancies, I
heard another horse at no great distance behind me; but I never
conjectured who the rider might be, or troubled my head about him,
till, on slackening my pace to ascend a gentle acclivity, or
rather, suffering my horse to slacken his pace into a lazy walk -
for, rapt in my own reflections, I was letting it jog on as
leisurely as it thought proper - I lost ground, and my fellow-
traveller overtook me. He accosted me by name, for it was no
stranger - it was Mr. Lawrence! Instinctively the fingers of my
whip-hand tingled, and grasped their charge with convulsive energy;
but I restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with a
nod, attempted to push on; but he pushed on beside me, and began to
talk about the weather and the crops. I gave the briefest possible
answers to his queries and observations, and fell back. He fell
back too, and asked if my horse was lame. I replied with a look,
at which he placidly smiled.
I was as much astonished as exasperated at this singular
pertinacity and imperturbable assurance on his part. I had thought
the circumstances of our last meeting would have left such an
impression on his mind as to render him cold and distant ever
after: instead of that, he appeared not only to have forgotten all
former offences, but to be impenetrable to all present
incivilities. Formerly, the slightest hint, or mere fancied
coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed to repulse him: now,
positive rudeness could not drive him away. Had he heard of my
disappointment; and was he come to witness the result, and triumph
in my despair? I grasped my whip with more determined energy than
before - but still forbore to raise it, and rode on in silence,
waiting for some more tangible cause of offence, before I opened
the floodgates of my soul and poured out the dammed-up fury that
was foaming and swelling within.
'Markham,' said he, in his usual quiet tone, 'why do you quarrel
with your friends, because you have been disappointed in one
quarter? You have found your hopes defeated; but how am I to blame
for it? I warned you beforehand, you know, but you would not - '
He said no more; for, impelled by some fiend at my elbow, I had
seized my whip by the small end, and - swift and sudden as a flash
of lightning - brought the other down upon his head. It was not
without a feeling of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant,
deadly pallor that overspread his face, and the few red drops that
trickled down his forehead, while he reeled a moment in his saddle,
and then fell backward to the ground. The pony, surprised to be so
strangely relieved of its burden, started and capered, and kicked a
little, and then made use of its freedom to go and crop the grass
of the hedge-bank: while its master lay as still and silent as a
corpse. Had I killed him? - an icy hand seemed to grasp my heart
and check its pulsation, as I bent over him, gazing with breathless
intensity upon the ghastly, upturned face. But no; he moved his
eyelids and uttered a slight groan. I breathed again - he was only
stunned by the fall. It served him right - it would teach him
better manners in future. Should I help him to his horse? No.
For any other combination of offences I would; but his were too
unpardonable. He might mount it himself, if he liked - in a while:
already he was beginning to stir and look about him - and there it
was for him, quietly browsing on the road-side.
So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to his fate, and
clapping spurs to my own horse, galloped away, excited by a
combination of feelings it would not be easy to analyse; and
perhaps, if I did so, the result would not be very creditable to my
disposition; for I am not sure that a species of exultation in what
I had done was not one principal concomitant.
Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate, and not many
minutes elapsed before I had turned and gone back to look after the
fate of my victim. It was no generous impulse - no kind relentings
that led me to this - nor even the fear of what might be the
consequences to myself, if I finished my assault upon the squire by
leaving him thus neglected, and exposed to further injury; it was,
simply, the voice of conscience; and I took great credit to myself
for attending so promptly to its dictates - and judging the merit
of the deed by the sacrifice it cost, I was not far wrong.
Mr. Lawrence and his pony had both altered their positions in some
degree. The pony had wandered eight or ten yards further away; and
he had managed, somehow, to remove himself from the middle of the
road: I found him seated in a recumbent position on the bank, -
looking very white and sickly still, and holding his cambric
handkerchief (now more red than white) to his head. It must have
been a powerful blow; but half the credit - or the blame of it
(which you please) must be attributed to the whip, which was
garnished with a massive horse's head of plated metal. The grass,
being sodden with rain, afforded the young gentleman a rather
inhospitable couch; his clothes were considerably bemired; and his
hat was rolling in the mud on the other side of the road. But his
thoughts seemed chiefly bent upon his pony, on which he was
wistfully gazing - half in helpless anxiety, and half in hopeless
abandonment to his fate.
I dismounted, however, and having fastened my own animal to the
nearest tree, first picked up his hat, intending to clap it on his
head; but either he considered his head unfit for a hat, or the
hat, in its present condition, unfit for his head; for shrinking
away the one, he took the other from my hand, and scornfully cast
it aside.
'It's good enough for you,' I muttered.
My next good office was to catch his pony and bring it to him,
which was soon accomplished; for the beast was quiet enough in the
main, and only winced and flirted a trifle till I got hold of the
bridle - but then, I must see him in the saddle.
'Here, you fellow - scoundrel - dog - give me your hand, and I'll
help you to mount.'
No; he turned from me in disgust. I attempted to take him by the
arm. He shrank away as if there had been contamination in my
touch.
'What, you won't! Well! you may sit there till doomsday, for what
I care. But I suppose you don't want to lose all the blood in your
body - I'll just condescend to bind that up for you.'
'Let me alone, if you please.'
'Humph; with all my heart. You may go to the d-l, if you choose -
and say I sent you.'
But before I abandoned him to his fate I flung his pony's bridle
over a stake in the hedge, and threw him my handkerchief, as his
own was now saturated with blood. He took it and cast it back to
me in abhorrence and contempt, with all the strength he could
muster. It wanted but this to fill the measure of his offences.
With execrations not loud but deep I left him to live or die as he
could, well satisfied that I had done my duty in attempting to save
him - but forgetting how I had erred in bringing him into such a
condition, and how insultingly my after-services had been offered -
and sullenly prepared to meet the consequences if he should choose
to say I had attempted to murder him - which I thought not
unlikely, as it seemed probable he was actuated by such spiteful
motives in so perseveringly refusing my assistance.
Having remounted my horse, I just looked back to see how he was
getting on, before I rode away. He had risen from the ground, and
grasping his pony's mane, was attempting to resume his seat in the
saddle; but scarcely had he put his foot in the stirrup, when a
sickness or dizziness seemed to overpower him: he leant forward a
moment, with his head drooped on the animal's back, and then made
one more effort, which proving ineffectual, he sank back on the
bank, where I left him, reposing his head on the oozy turf, and to
all appearance, as calmly reclining as if he had been taking his
rest on his sofa at home.
I ought to have helped him in spite of himself - to have bound up
the wound he was unable to staunch, and insisted upon getting him
on his horse and seeing him safe home; but, besides my bitter
indignation against himself, there was the question what to say to
his servants - and what to my own family. Either I should have to
acknowledge the deed, which would set me down as a madman, unless I
acknowledged the motive too - and that seemed impossible - or I
must get up a lie, which seemed equally out of the question -
especially as Mr. Lawrence would probably reveal the whole truth,
and thereby bring me to tenfold disgrace - unless I were villain
enough, presuming on the absence of witnesses, to persist in my own
version of the case, and make him out a still greater scoundrel
than he was. No; he had only received a cut above the temple, and
perhaps a few bruises from the fall, or the hoofs of his own pony:
that could not kill him if he lay there half the day; and, if he
could not help himself, surely some one would be coming by: it
would be impossible that a whole day should pass and no one
traverse the road but ourselves. As for what he might choose to
say hereafter, I would take my chance about it: if he told lies, I
would contradict him; if he told the truth, I would bear it as best
I could. I was not obliged to enter into explanations further than
I thought proper. Perhaps he might choose to be silent on the
subject, for fear of raising inquiries as to the cause of the
quarrel, and drawing the public attention to his connection with
Mrs. Graham, which, whether for her sake or his own, he seemed so
very desirous to conceal.
Thus reasoning, I trotted away to the town, where I duly transacted
my business, and performed various little commissions for my mother
and Rose, with very laudable exactitude, considering the different
circumstances of the case. In returning home, I was troubled with
sundry misgivings about the unfortunate Lawrence. The question,
What if I should find him lying still on the damp earth, fairly
dying of cold and exhaustion - or already stark and chill? thrust
itself most unpleasantly upon my mind, and the appalling
possibility pictured itself with painful vividness to my
imagination as I approached the spot where I had left him. But no,
thank heaven, both man and horse were gone, and nothing was left to
witness against me but two objects - unpleasant enough in
themselves to be sure, and presenting a very ugly, not to say
murderous appearance - in one place, the hat saturated with rain
and coated with mud, indented and broken above the brim by that
villainous whip-handle; in another, the crimson handkerchief,
soaking in a deeply tinctured pool of water - for much rain had
fallen in the interim.
Bad news flies fast: it was hardly four o'clock when I got home,
but my mother gravely accosted me with - 'Oh, Gilbert! - Such an
accident! Rose has been shopping in the village, and she's heard
that Mr. Lawrence has been thrown from his horse and brought home
dying!'
This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose; but I was comforted
to hear that he had frightfully fractured his skull and broken a
leg; for, assured of the falsehood of this, I trusted the rest of
the story was equally exaggerated; and when I heard my mother and
sister so feelingly deploring his condition, I had considerable
difficulty in preventing myself from telling them the real extent
of the injuries, as far as I knew them.
'You must go and see him to-morrow,' said my mother.
'Or to-day,' suggested Rose: 'there's plenty of time; and you can
have the pony, as your horse is tired. Won't you, Gilbert - as
soon as you've had something to eat?'
'No, no - how can we tell that it isn't all a false report? It's
highly im-'
'Oh, I'm sure it isn't; for the village is all alive about it; and
I saw two people that had seen others that had seen the man that
found him. That sounds far-fetched; but it isn't so when you think
of it.'
'Well, but Lawrence is a good rider; it is not likely he would fall
from his horse at all; and if he did, it is highly improbable he
would break his bones in that way. It must be a gross exaggeration
at least.'
'No; but the horse kicked him - or something.'
'What, his quiet little pony?'
'How do you know it was that?'
'He seldom rides any other.'
'At any rate,' said my mother, 'you will call to-morrow. Whether
it be true or false, exaggerated or otherwise, we shall like to
know how he is.'
'Fergus may go.'
'Why not you?'
'He has more time. I am busy just now.'
'Oh! but, Gilbert, how can you be so composed about it? You won't
mind business for an hour or two in a case of this sort, when your
friend is at the point of death.'
'He is not, I tell you.'
'For anything you know, he may be: you can't tell till you have
seen him. At all events, he must have met with some terrible
accident, and you ought to see him: he'll take it very unkind if
you don't.'
'Confound it! I can't. He and I have not been on good terms of
late.'
'Oh, my dear boy! Surely, surely you are not so unforgiving as to
carry your little differences to such a length as - '
'Little differences, indeed!' I muttered.
'Well, but only remember the occasion. Think how - '
'Well, well, don't bother me now - I'll see about it,' I replied.
And my seeing about it was to send Fergus next morning, with my
mother's compliments, to make the requisite inquiries; for, of
course, my going was out of the question - or sending a message
either. He brought back intelligence that the young squire was
laid up with the complicated evils of a broken head and certain
contusions (occasioned by a fall - of which he did not trouble
himself to relate the particulars - and the subsequent misconduct
of his horse), and a severe cold, the consequence of lying on the
wet ground in the rain; but there were no broken bones, and no
immediate prospects of dissolution.
It was evident, then, that for Mrs. Graham's sake it was not his
intention to criminate me.
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