"Depend upon it, my dear sir," replied Charles Tyrrell, "depend upon it, you are mistaken; and that I shall go to Oxford to-day without opposition."
"Poo, poo, Charles!" said Mr. Driesen; "I have known your father for thirty years too well to be mistaken in what he intends to do. You will soon see, and judge by that how right I am regarding all the rest. As far as we have gone yet, Charles, I have been acting quite disinterestedly, and out of regard for my friend's son, as well as for my friend himself, who does not always know his own interests. I do not mean to say that the day will not come when I may ask a favour of you in return; but that period, I should think, is far distant. However, if ever it should, you will remember what I do for you on the present occasion, and, if I know you right, you will be very willing to return it."
"That I will, Mr. Driesen," replied Charles, warmly, for the other had touched exactly the right point; but before he could proceed any farther, either in thanks or professions, he saw a servant at the other end of the walk apparently seeking him, and in a minute or two after the man came up and told him that Sir Francis wished to see him immediately, as there had occurred important business which he feared might prevent the journey to Oxford that day. Mr. Driesen grinned slightly, and, with the servant following, accompanied Charles into the house.
CHAPTER VIII.
We must now leave the party of Harbury Park for a short period; ay! and the party at the manor-house also, and go to a somewhat humbler scene, though not without its comforts and even elegances. We must also go back in point of time for somewhat more than one day, and yet not quite two, and ask the gentle reader to accompany us to a small but neat white stone house, situated among the woods, which we have mentioned as crowning the summits of the high cliffs that guarded the seashore. The house was perched upon the top of one of the highest of these, which overhung the group of small fishermen's cottages, in which the brother of good John Hailes dwelt, and at the distance of about a mile from John's own abode. Through the wood and down to the shore was practised a small, well-trimmed path, from the gate of the little garden over the face of the cliff, guarded in the precipitous parts by neat wooden balustrades, from which a pleasant scene of ocean and seacoast was visible at various points to the walker who chose to pause, and, leaning his folded arms upon the railing, gaze over at the view below.
There was no carriage-way through the wood up to the house, and for about a quarter of a mile there did not appear even a cart-road; but there was an excellent, well-beaten footpath, wide enough for a horse or two abreast, which led out into the way made for the wood-carts, and thence to a small by-road, by which the fishermen sent up their fish to the county town. Those were not days when everything on earth went to London.
The house itself was neat, the garden kept in beautiful order, and, in a warm situation upon a genial coast, was prolific of every kind of flower that had been at that time introduced into England; but although these were signs of a landsman's tastes, there were not wanting indications of nautical habits and associations. There was a tall pole, with a vane at the top, carried sufficiently high above the neighbouring trees to indicate truly what wind was blowing at the time. A difficulty having been found in carrying this pole up to the proper height in one piece, it had been managed as a mast, with a step and sort of topmast; and, to make the whole sure, various stays and braces had been carried down and made fast to the roof of the house; so that, seen over the tops of the trees, it appeared exactly like the mast of a ship rising out of the wood. In the garden was seen a little summer-house, formed from a large boat sawn in two; and at the other end of the house, opposite to the mast, was raised a flagstaff, with a block and pulley, for running up and down a flag upon occasion.
As far as description goes, this will be enough; and we will now immediately proceed to the dwellers in that house, and those with whom they were in communication about six-and-thirty hours previously to the period at which we last left Charles Tyrrell.
The evening sunshine was at that time bright over the world; but it reached not the house or the gardens around it, the trees throwing them at that period into shadow. The door, however, was open, and leaning against one of the doorposts was a stout, elderly man, strong in limb, rather bulky in size, and with a form apparently better adapted for the exertion of slow but vigorous efforts, than for anything like grace or activity. His features were good, though somewhat heavy; except, indeed, the eyes, which were keen and even sharp in expression. His complexion was of that dark brown hue which is generally called weather-beaten, and his hair was gray and rather short, except, indeed, behind, where it was gathered into an enormously long, thin queue, as was not uncommon among seamen at that time. This queue was bound tightly up with black riband, and in colour, form, and length resembled very much a lady's riding-whip of the present day.
He was raised upon the step of the door, and was, consequently, looking down upon another person, whom he spoke to, standing on the little gravel semicircle before the house, and who was also somewhat shorter than himself. His companion, however, was apparently not less endowed with corporeal vigour, and though not a young man by any means, was two or three years younger than the master of the house. He was broadly built, with large, strong limbs, a rough, hale countenance, and a frank, clear blue eye. There were one or two deep scars upon his face, which somewhat disfigured him; but in every other respect his countenance was good and pleasing, though there was about it, at the moment, a sort of thoughtfulness and sternness which betokened occupation with matters of importance and moment.