The Gipsy: A Tale (Vols I & II)

by G. P. R. James

"Poor boy!" he said, as soon as he perceived that Manners did not reply--"poor boy! I am sorry for him. He has never known anything but liberty, and the enjoyment of all the free, wide, beautiful world; he has never known what it is to have fetters on his young limbs, or to be shut from the air and light of heaven, in some dark and gloomy dungeon."

"You must not let your imagination draw such a picture of his situation," answered Manners, who, having nothing to conceal, was easily led in the direction the gipsy wished. "The boy is not and cannot be in such a state as you suppose. He has no fetters upon his limbs, and, in all probability, is as well treated as a proper regard for his safe custody will permit."

"It will be pain and grief enough," rejoined the gipsy, "for one who has never in his life been debarred from turning his steps in whatsoever direction he thought fit--who has never been cutoff from the sight of nature, and the breath of the free air, since his eyes were first opened upon God's heaven and earth, and the breath of life was breathed into his nostrils--it will be pain and grief enough for him to be thrust into some dark and gloomy dungeon, perhaps under ground, or, at all events, looking into some dull stone-built court, where he can see nothing on any side but the hateful walls that keep him in, and the sly, dastard faces of those that watch him."

"Of course," answered Manners, "as I am nearly unacquainted with this part of the country and with Dimden Hall, I cannot be aware of the nature of the place in which the lad is confined. A dungeon it is not, certainly; for such things are now, thank God, quite out of the question. It appeared to me, too, that there was no such thing as a court to the dwelling-house; and that, therefore, wherever he may be placed, he will be able to see the face of nature, which you love so much. But you yourself--at least, all I have heard would lead me to suppose so--must know Dimden Hall far better than I do, and perhaps may be aware of where the strong room is; for it was to it that I heard Lord Dewry direct him to be taken, after we had in vain tried to gain any information from him."

"If he be there, he may do well," answered the gipsy; "but probably they will remove him to the county-jail, and there he will have sad and bitter hours enough."

"I should certainly think that they will not do so," answered Manners, "if what you tell me in regard to his innocence of all participation in the actual slaughter of the deer be correct. The magistrates will, of course, investigate the matter, and seek full evidence of the facts, before they either commit the boy, or even send him off to the jail, which, I understand, is many miles distant; so that it is much more probable that he will remain where he is for the present."

The gipsy saw well that Manners spoke without disguise, and that he had, in fact, nothing more to tell in regard to the situation of the prisoner. However, he had gained at least the certainty that the lad was confined in the strong room, which he knew well; that he was not likely to be speedily removed, and that he was not encumbered with fetters to impede his escape. Lest he might have been so secured, Pharold had entertained some fear, as he knew that blood had been shed in the encounter between the deer-stealers and the keepers, and thought it more than likely that the peer would strive to prove the lad William to have been an actual participator in that part of the unfortunate affair, and would treat him accordingly. His next anxiety was to know what was the state of the men who had been wounded, and what was the exact charge against himself, in regard to the affray in Dimden Park, as well as what evidence had been given to inculpate him.

He had found so much frankness in the replies of Colonel Manners to his former inquiries, however, that he now quitted the artful path which he had taken, and spoke more boldly of his own situation. "I would fain know," he said, after he had walked on about two hundred paces farther in silence--"I would fain know how I stand in regard to that false accusation which my enemy brought against me, respecting the slaughter of his pitiful deer. As I passed through the country this morning, after quitting his park, I gained some tidings; but when I first met you, gentleman, to-night, you told me that though I might be guilty of other things, you knew me to be innocent of that. If you be, as you seem to be, a friend to justice and humanity, you will tell me how you know that charge to be false, that I may prove it so, too, by some proof that will be better received than the mere oath of my own people."

"I can have no objection whatever," Manners answered, "to tell you at once how I was led to the conclusion that you mention. There were two persons wounded in that unfortunate affair--one a gentleman who is now lying at Dimden, and another a keeper, who was removed from the park to his own cottage. As I found that the surgeon had confined his attention to the person at Dimden, whose wound is far the most dangerous, I went down to the cottage of the keeper to inquire how he was going on--"

"Good and kind, good and kind!" interrupted the gipsy, with one of those bursts of vehement feeling to which he at times gave way. "Ah, I see and understand it all! The mercenary manufacturer of diseases and maker of men's ills remained with the gentleman, who could pay him for his fancied skill, and left the poor man to do the best for himself; and you went down to comfort him whom the other had neglected."