I DID not return to the cottage until the usual hour for going to bed, as I did not dare subject myself to Fanny's penetrating glance in my present state of excitement. The moment family prayers were concluded I took my candle, and, pleading fatigue, retired to my room. Knowing that sleep was out of the question in my then frame of mind, I merely substituted the clothes I intended to wear in the morning for those I had on, and, wrapping my dressing-gown round me, flung myself on the bed. Here I lay, tossing about, and unable to compose myself for an hour or two, the one idea constantly recurring to me, “What if Coleman should fail!” At length, feverish and excited, I sprang up, and throwing open the window which was near the ground, enjoyed the fresh breeze as it played around my heated temples. It was a lovely night; the stars, those calm eyes of heaven, gazed down in their brightness on this world of sin and sorrow, seeming to reproach the stormy passions and restless strife of men by contrast with their own impassive grandeur. After remaining motionless for several minutes, I was about to close the window when the sound of a footstep on the turf beneath caught my ear, and a form, which I recognised in the moonlight as that of Archer, approached.
“Up and dressed already, Fairlegh?” he commenced in a low tone as he perceived me; “may I come in?”
In silence I held out my hand to him, and assisted him to enter.
“Like me,” he resumed, “I suppose, you could not sleep.”
“Utterly impossible,” replied I; “but what brings you here—has anything occurred?”
“Nothing,” returned Archer; “Oaklands retired early, as he said he wished to be alone, and I followed his example, but could not contrive to sleep. I don't know how it is, I was engaged in an affair of this nature once before, and never cared a pin about the matter; but somehow I have got what they call a presentiment that harm will come of to-morrow's business. I saw that man, Wilford, for a minute yesterday, and I know by the expression of his eye that he means mischief; there was such a look of fiendish triumph in his face when he found the challenge was accepted—if ever there was a devil incarnate, he is one.”
A sigh was my only answer, for his words were but the echo of my forebodings.
“Now I will tell you what brought me here,” he continued; “don't you think that we ought to have a surgeon on the ground, in case of anything going wrong?”
“To be sure,” replied I; “I must have been mad to have forgotten that it was necessary—what can be done?—it is not every man that would choose to be mixed up with such an affair. Where is it that William Ellis's brother (Ellis of Trinity Hall, you know) has settled?—he told me he had purchased a practice somewhere in our neighbourhood.”
“The very man, if we could but get him,” replied Archer; “the name of the village is Harley End; do you know such a place?”