CHAPTER XI.
Charles Tyrrell was up early on the following morning. He was one of those who are born without the consciousness of fear. Though eager and enthusiastic by nature, vehement and rapid in character, his was not one of those weak-toned minds easily hurried on to violent actions, to be regretted the next moment, or to unsustained daring, which evaporates with the excitement of the hour. When he had struck an officer in the king's service, he knew the consequences likely to ensue, and he was quite as ready to meet those consequences after calm reflection as at the moment when he had committed the act.
There was, indeed, only one condition under which Charles Tyrrell regretted his actions, which was, when the impetuosity and vehemence of his nature led him to do anything which his own heart condemned. Such, however, was not the case in the present instance. He felt solemnly that there was a chance of his meeting death in the encounter to which he was voluntarily going. He felt that he might very likely be torn, in a moment, from the side of a mother to whom he was the only source of consolation, comfort, and support. He felt that he might be taken, too, from one who had wakened in his bosom, for the first time, the noblest, the most endearing, the most kindly of affections; and, therefore, on two strong motives, he hoped and prayed that life might be continued to him.
But those feelings were very different from apprehension of death. He could not bring his mind to grasp the terror with which some people regard that event. It seemed as if his mind were insusceptible of the idea of danger, and he set about all his proceedings for going out to meet Arthur Hargrave as calmly and tranquilly as he had made his preparations on the preceding day for going to Oxford.
Weighing the chances, however, he sat down and wrote three brief notes to the three persons whom he thought the most interested in his existence. One was, as may well be supposed, to Lucy Effingham, and another to his mother. The third was addressed to his father, and was addressed to him in terms of affection and kindness, as if there had never existed dispute or angry feelings between them. Before he ended it, however, he spoke of his mother, and besought Sir Francis Tyrrell, in terms which he thought would touch him, if read when the hand that wrote them was cold in death, to render her life happier by a change of conduct towards her.
When he had done it, Charles was well pleased that he had thought of so doing; for he felt that there are events which form epochs in the life of man, changing or influencing his very character itself; and he believed that the death of an only son, under such circumstances, might well form such an epoch in the life of Sir Francis and Lady Tyrrell, and might teach him to control that violent and bitter disposition which had rendered the existence of his wife an existence of misery.
He had concluded the whole of these arrangements some time before Mr. Driesen knocked at his door. That gentleman entered with a cheerful face, carrying his pistol-case under his arm, and saying, "Early rising, Charles, early rising; very good for the health this. A breeze upon Harbury Hill will do us a great deal of good; but we shall find it necessary, Charles, to jump out of your window, I think, for it seems to me the only one open in the house; all the rest are as dark as the pit of Acheron, or, to use a not less classical simile, as dark as a dog's mouth. Those lazy jades of yours are never up before six o'clock in the morning, so that, when I come down sometimes to seek for a book in the library, I find them walking about, with their brooms in their hands, like the apotheosis of a March wind, enveloped in a cloud of dust. But I see you are ready, and so am I, and so are the pistols; for I looked at them last night, and there is not a speck upon them. You see I always cram them, Charles, when I put them into their cases, with a piece of dry tow, wrapped up first in a piece of chamois leather, and that wrapped up again in a piece of fine green cloth. I have got little instruments made, too, for stopping the touch-holes, so that not the slightest particle of flue or dust can get in. But now we had better set off; for we must walk quietly, you know; no running and scampering to-day."
Charles was quite willing to set out; and, unlocking one of the doors which led into the courtyard for themselves, they proceeded calmly towards Harbury Hill, Mr. Driesen himself carrying the pistols, for which he seemed to have a high veneration and respect. The walk was long and beautiful, the scenery varying every moment, the new-risen sun lighting up hill and dale with all the fresh and varying loveliness of morning, and the wind blowing the foliage about, and carrying here and there a light cloud rapidly across the sky.
It was a scene to look upon, and to think of long life and manifold enjoyments; and there was something in gazing upon it, and thinking of death and departure from all known and habitual pleasures, which had some thing solemn in it even to the heart of Charles Tyrrell.
Finding that they had plenty of time, Mr. Driesen insisted upon Charles climbing the hill slowly, declaring that any great exertion unsteadied the hand. He also made him quit the road, which was covered with large, hard stones, and, mounting the bank, proceed over the short soft turf which clothed the old Roman encampment.
Before they reached the top, however, he said, "They are there before us; I saw a man's head at that corner. However, as we have fully five minutes to the time, we need not hurry."
When they had reached the top, however, they found that the head which Mr. Driesen had seen belonged to a no less innocent person than an old shepherd, who, accompanied by his two faithful dogs, sat upon the brow of the hill while his sheep fed quietly on the grassy side. There was nobody else there; and when they had reached the flat top, Mr. Driesen having laid down the pistol-case, put on his spectacles, and, mounting upon a part of the old intrenchments, looked over the country to see if their adversaries were coming.
"It's very odd," he said, "very odd indeed. One can see all round here, and yet I can perceive nothing like them on any of the roads. Well, we must wait;" and thereupon he took out his silk pocket-handkerchief, and tied on his hat to prevent it being blown away by the wind.
After waiting some short time longer, Charles began to be apprehensive that his watch might have been slow, and that his opponent might have been on the spot before him and gone away; under which supposition he advanced to the shepherd, and asked him how long he had been there.
"Why, for this hour and a half, Master Charles," replied the man, who knew him well; "I always set out pretty earlyish, and have been sitting here ever since."
"Were there two gentlemen here then," said Charles, "just before we came?"
"No, Master Charles, no," answered the man. "There's been nobody here since I was here. What happened before I came I can't say: but there's been nobody here since, not a living soul, except one of the two old ravens that live in those trees there. He came, old boy, and swung himself backward and forward on his feet, putting down his head, and croaking as if he had got hold of a sheep. I thought it boded no good to the old north country ram, that has been ailing like for the last week; but he seems better to-day. No, Master Charles, not a living soul but the old raven."
So far satisfied, Charles walked back to Mr. Driesen, whom he found engaged in the humane and rational sport of pelting a lizard to death, which he had found sunning itself among the stones. He left off, however, as Charles Tyrrell approached, and said,
"This is very odd, Charles; it's near a quarter past the hour. Do you think this can be a white feather, my boy? We must give 'em a little more time, however; watches may differ, and, though mine goes well, yet it may be found at fault when compared with one regulated by observation taken from the deck of his majesty's revenue cutter, the--what is she called, Charles?"
"I am sure I do not know," answered Charles Tyrrell; "but I think I see somebody coming along the farther part of that road. Oh yes, it is certainly; I saw him pass the trees."
Mr. Driesen now looked, and anxiously; but in a moment after he said,
"That's but a single person, and looks to me too little for a man. It's a boy, Charles, it's a boy. He's making straight for the hill, however; perhaps they've sent him on to say they're coming."
They watched the person who approached, and whom they could plainly distinguish to be a boy of no very great age, as he came along the road to the hill, and then mounted directly towards them. He was soon, however, seen to be a mere country lad in a smock frock; and Mr. Driesen, concluding that he was one of the shepherd's sons, or something of that kind, was turning away, when the youth came up and stared, with an inquiring countenance, first at him and then at Charles.
"Are you one of the gentlemen I was to find upon the hill?" said the boy, addressing the latter.
"I really do not know," replied Charles Tyrrell. "Pray, who told you you would find anybody here?"
"Ay, that I can't tell either," replied the boy, "but he looked like a sea-captain."
"What is that you've got in your hand, my man?" said Mr. Driesen; "I dare say it is for us; let me look at it;" and, without ceremony, he took from the reluctant hands of the boy a note, which he found to be directed to ---- Tyrrell, Esq. "There, Charles, there," continued Mr. Driesen, "that's for you. Let us hear what all this is about."
Charles took the note, which was wafered, and opened it, when he found written within, in a hasty and nearly illegible manner,
"Sir,
"I am sorry to inform you that unexpected events will prevent my friend Lieutenant Hargrave from giving you the meeting proposed for this morning. I have not time to explain this matter farther; but have only to add, that you will hear either from him or me in a few days, and that I am,
"Sir,
"Your most obedient servant," &c., &c./
"White feather! Charles," said Mr. Driesen. "White feather, no doubt of it! Well, you have done with the matter. If the fellow comes in your way again, horsewhip him, that's all; but don't suffer yourself to be tempted to meet him any more. Sometimes these cowardly fellows, after hanging back for a time, screw themselves up to behave like gentlemen; but you are not to be trifled with by such a scoundrel. You have kept your engagement, and been to your time, and that's quite enough. Hark you, my man," he continued, turning to the boy, "what did they give you for bringing this note?"
"They gave me a shilling, sir," said the boy.
"Give it me," said Mr. Driesen. "There's half a crown for you instead. Now I want you to do two things. If ever you meet that gentleman again, tell him it would not pass current, and so you had the broad arrow stamped upon it; and, here, take this mahogany case, and walk on before us to that house that you see in the park beyond the trees there. We are close behind you; but take no notice; give the case to one of the servants, and tell him to put it in Mr. Driesen's room; Mr. Driesen's room, mind!"
The boy pulled the front lock of his hair and took the pistol case; and Driesen, turning to Charles, led the way homeward, saying, "Come, Charles, come. My walk has given me an appetite, and I don't think it has taken yours away, though something has taken away the stomach of your adversary, seemingly. I shall go and coax Mrs. Housekeeper to make me a cup of chocolate; for it wants an hour and a half to the breakfast-time yet, and I should be starved if I were to wait so long."
Charles determined he would do so likewise, and they accordingly returned to the house with a more rapid pace than that with which they had left it.
When there, Charles Tyrrell destroyed the notes that he had written, and the whole party met at breakfast, he having once more prepared to set out for Oxford immediately after. Sir Francis, in reality ashamed of what had taken place the day before, but forcing down the throat of his own conscience a persuasion that he had been very much ill treated by his son, enshrouded himself in sullen dignity, read the newspaper, and scarcely spoke to anyone. Lady Tyrrell was present, but sad at her son's departure; and the burden of conversation devolved upon Mr. Driesen, who, to do him but justice, bore it up stoutly.
When breakfast was over, Charles ordered his packages to be taken down to the lodge, and bade his mother farewell. Lady Tyrrell melted into tears, and retired immediately into her own room. Sir Francis shook hands with his son, wished him good-by, and returned to his newspaper again. Mr. Driesen accompanied Charles to the lodge, and left him fully satisfied that he had established a hold upon the young man's regard which he had never before possessed.
The coach came up in a few minutes, the luggage was taken up, Charles mounted on the top, the horses started, and he was borne away from the scenes which were endeared to him by early reflections, but still more by the one sweet attaching tie of his love for Lucy Effingham.