“Aye, that's a dolt indeed, for he doth nothing but talk of
his horse.”
—Merchant of Venice.
“Yond young fellow swears he will speak with you. What's
to be said to him? He's fortified against any denial.”
—Twelfth Night.
“Be subject to no sight but mine; invisible
To every eyeball else.”
—Tempest.
ON arriving at the inn, to which I was forced to return to order my horse, I perceived Lawless's tandem waiting at the door, surrounded by a crowd of admiring rustics, with Shrimp, his arms folded with an air of nonchalant defiance, which seemed to say, “Oh! run over me by all means if you choose,” stationed directly in front of the leader's head. On entering the parlour I found Lawless busily engaged in pulling on a pair of refractory boots, and looking very hot and red in the face from the exertion.
“How are you, Fairlegh? how are you? That stupid fool has made 'em too tight for anybody but Tom Thumb, and be hanged to him. Ever read fairy tales, Fairlegh? I did when I was a little shaver, and wore cock-tailed petticoats—all bare legs and bustle—'a Highland lad my love was born'; that style of thing, rather, you know; never believed 'em, though: wasn't to be done even then; eh? Well, this is a puzzler; I can't get 'em on. Where's the fellow they call Boots? Here, you sir, come and see if you can pull on these confounded namesakes of yours, and I'll tip you half a crown if you succeed; cheaper than breaking one's back, eh?”
“Where are you off to, supposing you should ever get those boots on?” asked I.
“Eh? I am going to call on the young woman I set alight at the hop last night, and tell her I'm quite down in the mouth about it; explain that I didn't go to do it; that it was quite a mistake, and all owing to the other young woman's being so fresh, in fact; and then offer to rig her out again, start her in new harness from bridle crupper, all at my own expense, and that will be finishing off the affair handsomely, won't it?”
“I should advise your leaving out that last piece of munificence,” replied I; “she might think it an insult.” “An insult, eh? Oh, if she's so proud as all that comes to I'd better stay away altogether; I shall be safe to put my foot into it there, a good deal faster than I have into these villainous boots—that's it, Sampson, another pull such as that and the deed's done,” added Lawless, patting the human Boots on the back encouragingly.
“I was just going to ride over to inquire after Miss Saville myself,” said I.
“That's the very thing, then,” was the reply. “I'll drive you there instead; it will be better for your scorched fin (pointing to my injured arm) than jolting about outside a horse, and you shall tell me what to say as we go along; you seem to understand the sex, as they call the petticoats, better than I do, and can put a fellow up to a few of the right dodges. I only wish they were all horses, and then I flatter myself I should not require any man's advice how to harness, drive, train, or physic them.”
“The ladies are infinitely indebted to you,” replied I, as I ran upstairs to prepare for our expedition.
A drive of rather less than an hour and a half, during which the thorough-breds performed in a way to delight every lover of horseflesh, brought us to the park gate of Barstone Priory, where Mr. Vernor resided. After winding in and out for some half-mile amongst groups of magnificent forest-trees, their trunks partially concealed by plantations of rare and beautiful shrubs, a sudden turn of the road brought us in front of the Priory—an ancient, venerable-looking pile of building, which had evidently, as its name implied, once belonged to some religious community. The alterations it had undergone, in order to adapt it to its present purpose, had been carried out with more taste and skill than are usually met with in such cases. The garden, with its straight terrace-walks and brilliant flower-beds, contrasted well with the grey stone of which the building was composed, while the smooth-shaven lawn, with an old, quaintly carved sundial in the centre, and, above all, the absence of any living creature whatsoever, imparted an air of severe formality to the scene, which, as the eye rested upon it, seemed to realise all one had read of monastic discipline and seclusion; and one half expected to see a train of dark-veiled nuns or sandalled friars winding slowly forth from the hall-door.