"What a singular old shop!” exclaimed my companion, regarding the structure with a look of displeased criticism; “wretched little windows as ever I saw; they must be all in the dark inside on a dull day, and every day would be dull if one lived there, I should think. It would puzzle a fellow to tell whether that building was clerical or lay, fish or flesh; a castle that had taken a serious turn, or a church out for the day in plain clothes; how people can like to live in such a mouldy, rusty, musty old barn, that looks as full of ghosts as a cheese is of mites, I can't conceive.”
“There certainly is an appearance of gloom and loneliness about the place,” replied I; “but I think it is chiefly owing to the absence of any living object—a herd of deer in the park, a group of children and dogs playing on the lawn—anything to give animation to the picture, would be the greatest improvement.”
“I should just think it would,” returned Lawless. “Fancy a pack of hounds under that jolly old oak yonder, the huntsman and whips in their bits of pink, and a field of about fifty of the right sort of fellows on thorough-breds, dawdling about, talking to one another, or taking a canter over the turf, just to settle themselves in the saddle; that would be a sight to make old Vernor look a little better pleased than he did last night, sing out for his boots and buckskins, and clap his leg over the first four-footed beast that came in his way, even if it should happen to be the old cow.”
“I hope I may be there to see if he does,” replied I laughing.
On inquiring whether Mr. Vernor was at home we were answered in the affirmative by a tall, gaunt-looking man-servant, with a stern, not to say surly, countenance, the expression of which was in some degree contradicted by a pair of quick, restless little grey eyes, which in any other face one should have said twinkled merrily beneath the large grizzled eyebrows which o'ershadowed them.
Having, at Lawless's request, procured a nondescript hobbledehoy of indefinite character to stand at the horses' heads (we had left Shrimp behind, by common consent, that he might be no restraint on our conversation), he conducted us across the hall into a kind of morning-room, fitted up with oak panels, and with a very handsome old carved oak chimney-piece reaching half-way to the ceiling. He was leaving the room to inform his master of our arrival when Lawless stopped him by saying:—
“Here, just wait a bit; tell the young woman—that is to say, don't tell her anything; but I mean, let Miss Saville be made aware (I see you're awake, for all your long face), put her up to our being here; don't you know, eh?” “Tip him,” whispered I.
“Eh, stop a bit; you're a very honest fellow, and it's right to reward faithful servants; and—you understand all about it, eh?”
One portion of this somewhat incoherent address he did understand, evidently, for without altering a muscle of his face, he put out his hand, took the money, and left the room with the same unconscious air of imperturbability which he had maintained throughout the whole conference. “Good move that, eh?” exclaimed Lawless, as soon as the door was closed; “that'll fetch her out of her hole, for a guinea. Mind, I shall do my best to cut you out, Master Frank. I don't see why I haven't a right to quite as large a share of her gratitude as you have, for if I hadn't set her on fire you'd never have put her out; so, in fact, she owes it all to me—don't you see?”
“I'm afraid there's a little sophistry in that argument,” replied I; “but we had better wait till we find whether we shall have the opportunity afforded us of trying our powers of fascination before we quarrel about the effects to be produced by them. I cannot say I feel over sanguine as to the success of your somewhat original negotiation with that raw-boned giant in the blue plush sine qua nons, as Coleman calls them.”