“There you go with your chivalric, high-flown, romantic notions, you would stand coolly by, and see the best friend you have in the world butchered before your eyes, rather than avail yourself of a splendid chance of saving him, which Fortune has thrown in your way, because, forsooth, it involves a little innocent manoeuvring!—for heaven's sake, my dear boy, get off your stilts, and give common sense fair play.”
“I can only repeat what I have just said,” replied I; “I will do it, because I believe it is the only thing to save Harry; but I do not like it, and never shall.”
“I cry you mercy, Signor Francisco dc Fairlegh, the veritable Don Quixote of the nineteenth century,” laughed Freddy; “and now, most chivalrous sir, where do you imagine it probable that this evil faiteur, this man of powder and pistols, hangs out?”
“He is most likely at the inn at Carsley, a village on the London road, about four miles from us,” replied I; “I don't know of any other place in the neighbourhood where he could be lodged. But I'll tell you what I'll do—the name of the inn is the White Horse—if I should prove wrong in fancying he is there, I will send a message to that inn to say where he may be found.”
“Exactly,” returned Freddy, entering the White Horse, Carsley, in his tablets; “now I think I know all about it, and it shall not be my fault if this duel comes off to-morrow morning. Good-bye, old fellow! I wish you did not look quite so grumpy about it, but it's all those mediæval prejudices of yours. I daresay you'd think it a much more manly way of stopping the business to electrotype yourself in brass and steel, throw yourself across a cart-horse plated to match, and shouting, 'Fairlegh to the rescue!' run a long pole, pointed with iron, through Wilford's jugular. Now, I consider mine much the most philosophical way of doing the trick; in fact, conducting a dodge of this kind always affords me intense satisfaction, and puts me into the highest possible spirits. Have you ever seen the war dance, in which the Hotto-potto-cum-from-the-wash-ki Indians usually indulge before they set out on an expedition?—A quarter to three,” he continued, pulling out his watch, “the coach to London passes in five minutes, I shan't have time to show it you—it begins so.” Thus saying, he flung himself into a perfectly indescribable attitude, and commenced a series of evolutions, more nearly resembling the contortions of a dancing bear, than any other Terpsichorean exhibition with which I was acquainted. Having continued this until he had made himself very unnecessarily hot, he wound up the performance by flinging a summerset, in doing which he overturned himself and the coal-scuttle into a box of deeds; whereby becoming embarrassed, he experienced much difficulty in getting right end upwards again. “There,” he exclaimed, throwing himself into an arm-chair commonly occupied by his father's portly form—“There! talk of accomplishments—show me a fashionable young lady who can do that, and I'll say she is accomplished. It's rather warm work, though,” he continued, wiping his brow, “unless one wears the appropriate costume, which, I believe, consists of a judicious mixture of red and yellow paint, three feathers, and the scalp of your opposite neighbour. Pleasant that,” he added, pointing to the reversed coal-scuttle—“that's a new addition, not of 'Coke upon Littleton,' but of Coal upon—what's the suit? aye, Buffer versus Stoker. I shall have to make out a case of circumstantial evidence against the cat, or I'm safe for a rowing from the governor. Good-bye, old boy! don't fancy I'm mad; I'm not the fool I seem, though I confess appearances are against me just at present. There's the coach, by Jingo, three bays and a grey—no chance of the box—is this a hat? off we go.” So saying, he shook my hand warmly, bounded down the steps, and the next moment was rattling away towards London as fast as four horses could hurry him.
It was with a heavy heart, and a foreboding of coming evil, that I mounted my horse, and slowly retraced my way towards Heathfield. Coleman's exuberant spirits, which, I believe, were partly assumed with a view to cheer me by diverting my attention from the painful subject which engrossed it, had produced an effect diametrically opposite to that which he had intended, and I felt dissatisfied with the step I had taken, doubtful of the success of his mission, anxious to a degree, which was absolutely painful, about the fate of Harry, and altogether thoroughly miserable. I reached home in time for dinner, during which meal my abstracted manner and low spirits were so apparent as to set my mother speculating on the chances of my having over-heated myself and “got a chill,” whilst Fanny's anxious questioning glances, to which I was well aware I could furnish no satisfactory reply, produced in me a degree of nervous excitement which was unbearable, and, the moment the cloth was withdrawn, I left the room and rambled forth into the wildest parts of the park. The quiet peaceful beauty of the scene, and the refreshing coolness of the evening air, had, in a great measure, calmed the excitement under which I laboured, and I was turning my steps towards the Hall when I met Oaklands and Archer, who, finding I was not at the cottage, had come in search of me. Half an hour's conversation served to render all my previous conjectures matters of certainty. The challenge had been given and accepted, Wentworth was to be Wilford's second, and he and his principal were staying at the inn at Carsley.
The spot chosen for the scene of action was a plot of grass-land situated about half-way between Carsley and Heathfield, so as to be equally accessible to both parties; the time appointed was five o'clock the following morning. Archer was to act as Oaklands' second; everything had been managed with the greatest caution, and they did not believe a single creature, excepting themselves, had the slightest suspicion that such an event was likely to take place. They had resolved not to tell me till everything was settled, as they feared my opposition. Having thus taken me into their confidence, Archer left us, saying, that “probably Oaklands might like to have some private conversation with me, and he would join us again in half an hour”. Rejoiced at this opportunity, I entered at once upon the subject which most interested me, and used every argument I could think of to induce Harry not to return Wilford's fire.
Oaklands heard me for some time in silence, and I began to fear my efforts would be fruitless, when suddenly he turned towards me, and said—his fine eyes beaming with an almost womanly expression of tenderness as he spoke—“Would this thing make you happier in case I fall?” A silent pressure of the hand was my only answer, and he added in a low voice, “then it shall be as you wish”. A pause ensued for my own part, the thought that this might be our last meeting completely overpowered me; I did not know till that moment the strength and intensity of my affection for him. The silence was at length interrupted by Oaklands himself, and the low tones of his deep rich voice trembled with emotion, as they fell mournfully on the stillness of the evening air. “My father!” he said, “that kind old man, whose happiness is wrapped up in my welfare—it will break his heart, for he has only me to love. Frank, my brother!” he added, passing his arm round my neck, as he had used to do when we were boys together, “you are young; your mind is strong and vigorous, and will enable you to meet sorrow as a man should confront and overcome whatever is opposed to him in his path through life. I will not disguise from you that, looking rationally and calmly at the matter, I have but little hope of quitting the field to-morrow alive. My antagonist, naturally a man of vindictive disposition, is incensed against me beyond all power of forgiveness, and his skill is fully equal to his malice: should I fall, I leave my father to your care; be a son to him in the place of the one he will have lost. This is not a light thing which I ask of you, Frank! I ask you to give up your independence, your high hopes of gaining name and fortune by the exercise of your own talents and industry, and to devote some of the best years of your life to the weary task of complying with the caprices, and bearing the sorrows, of a grief-stricken old man. Will you do this for me, Frank?”
“I will,” replied I; “and may God help me, as I execute this trust faithfully!”
“You have relieved my mind of half its burden,” returned Oaklands warmly. “I have only one thing more to mention—When I came of age last year my father's liberality made over to me an ample income for a single man to live on: excepting a few legacies to old servants, I have divided this between your good little sister and yourself, which I thought you would prefer to my leaving it to you alone.”