“Well, nothing serious, you know. A scratch or so, as one may say, getting through the bushes, but never a cropper,—nothing like a regular smash.”
“It would seem to me, then, that you have enjoyed a singularly fortunate existence, and been just as lucky in life as myself.”
Beecher started at the words. What a strange chaos did they create within him! There is no tracing the thoughts that came and went, and lost themselves in that poor bewildered head. The nearest to anything like, consistency was the astonishment he felt that she—Grog Davis's daughter—should ever imagine she had drawn a prize in the world's lottery.
“Yes, Mr. Beecher,” said she, with the ready tact with which she often read his thoughts and answered them, “even so. I do think myself very, very fortunate! And why should I not? I have excellent health, capital spirits, fair abilities, and, bating an occasional outbreak of anger, a reasonably good temper. As regards personal traits, Mr. Annesley Beecher once called me beautiful; Count Lienstahl would say something twice as rapturous; at all events, quite good-looking enough not to raise antipathies against me at first sight; and lastly, but worth all the rest, I have an intense enjoyment in mere existence; the words 'I live' are to me, 'I am happy.' The alternations of life, its little incidents and adventures, its passing difficulties, are, like the changeful aspects of the seasons, full of interest, full of suggestiveness, calling out qualities of mind and resources of temperament that in the cloudless skies of unbroken prosperity might have lain unused and unknown. And now, sir, no more sneers at my fancied good fortune; for, whatever you may say, I feel it to be real.”
There was that in her manner—a blended energy and grace—which went far deeper into Beecher's heart than her mere words, and he gazed at her slightly flushed cheek and flashing eyes with something very nearly rapture; and he muttered to himself, “There she is, a half-bred 'un, and no training, and able to beat them all!”
This time, at all events, she did not read his thoughts; as little, perhaps, did she care to speculate about them. “By the by,” said she, suddenly approaching the chimney and taking up a letter, “this has arrived here, by private hand, since you went out, and it has a half-look of papa's writing, and is addressed to you.”
Beecher took it eagerly. With a glance he recognized it as from Grog, when that gentleman desired to disguise his hand.
“Am I correct?” asked she,—“am I correct in my guess?”
He was too deep in the letter to make her any reply. Its contents were as follows:—
“Dear B.,—They 've kicked up such a row about that affair
at Brussels that I have been obliged to lie dark for the
last fortnight, and in a confoundedly stupid hole on the
right bank of the Rhine. I sent over Spicer to meet the
Baron, and take Klepper over to Nimroeguen and Magdeburg,
and some other small places in Prussia. They can pick up in
this way a few thousand florins, and keep the mill going. I
gave him strict orders not to see my daughter, who must know
nothing whatever of these or any like doings. The Baron she
might see, for he knows life thoroughly, and if he is not a
man of high honor, he can assume the part so well that it
comes pretty much to the same thing. As to yourself, you
will, on receipt of this, call on a certain Lazarus Stein,
Juden Gasse, Nov 41 or 42, and give him your acceptance for
two thousand gulden, with which settle your hotel bill, and
come on to Bonn, where, at the post-office, you will find a
note, with my address. Tramp, you see, has won the
Cotteswold, as I prophesied, and 'Leo the Tenth' nowhere.
Cranberry must have got his soup pretty hot, for he has come
abroad, and his wife and the children gone down to Scotland.
As to your own affairs, Ford says you are better out of the
way; and if anything is to be done in the way of
compromise, it must be while you are abroad. He does not
think Strich can get the rule, and you must n't distress
yourself for an extra outlawry or two. There will be some
trouble about the jewels, but I think even that matter may
be arranged also. I hope you keep from the tables, and I
look for a strict reckoning as to your expenses, and a
stricter book up as regards your care of my daughter. 'All
square' is the word between pal and pal, and there never
was born the man did n't find that to be his best policy
when he dealt with
“Your friend,
“Christopher Davis.
“To while away the time in this dreary dog-hole, I have been
sketching out a little plan of a martingale for the
roulette-table. There's only one zero at Homburg, and we can
try it there as we go up. There's a flaw in it after the
twelfth 'pass,' but I don't despair of getting over the
difficulty. Old Stein, the money-changer, was upwards of
thirty years croupier at the Cursaal, and get him to tell
you the average runs, black and red, at rouge-et-noir, and
what are the signs of an intermitting game; and also the
six longest runs he has ever known. He is a shrewd fellow,
and seeing that you come from me will be confidential.
“There has been another fight in the Crimea, and somebody
well licked. I had nothing on the match, and don't care a
brass farthing who claimed the stakes.
“Tell Lizey that I 'm longing to see her, and if I didn't
write it is because I 'm keeping everything to tell her when
we meet. If it was n't for her picture, I don't know what
would have become of me since last Tuesday, when the rain
set in.”