"We will see that presently," answered the gipsy: "if he sleep, so much the better. You can wait till tomorrow. My part of the errand must be done to-night, or never; for something at my heart tells me that I shall not long be able to walk whither I will throughout the world."
Now, although Colonel Manners, with the firm determination of pursuing the adventure to the end, whatever might come of it, had gone on with the gipsy boldly, and had conversed with him as calmly as if they had both been in a drawing-room, yet it is by no means to be supposed that he refrained from speculating upon the place and circumstances into which his enterprise might lead him; as in this instance he saw the necessity of letting imagination range free, so long as she had reason for her guide, in order that he might be prepared for all. While they were on the hill, and near the woods, Manners imagined that he would most likely find his sick friend under the care and attendance of some separate party of gipsies; and, of course, fancy employed herself in thinking what could be the train of events which had brought about so strange a result. But as they descended into a more highly cultivated and evidently well-peopled track, he began to doubt whether it was such a spot as gipsies would choose for their habitation, and, consequently, whether De Vaux would be found in the hands of any of Pharold's tribe. Imagination had now, of course, a wider, field than before; and his surprise--or whatever the feeling may be called which is excited by circumstances we cannot account for--was still greater, as they began to pass through the scattered houses and small neat enclosures which mark the approach to an English country town.
At length the gipsy stopped at a gate, opened it, and bade his companion pass in. Manners did as he was desired, and found himself standing on a neat gravel walk, with a shrubbery on either hand, plentifully provided with laurels, hollies, and many another evergreen. The gipsy followed; and the walk, skirting for a couple of hundred yards round a trim, smooth, shaven green, brought them in front of a neat house, built of brick, and evidently modern in all its parts. Plate-glass, a-well-a-day! did not in those times decorate even the houses of the greatest in the land; and the dwelling before which they now stood, although it was clearly the abode of affluence, had no pretensions to be any thing more than a handsome house of the middle rank. It might be the new-built rectory of some wealthy parish, or the place of retirement of some merchant who had had wisdom enough to seek repose at the point where competence stops short of riches; but it had no one circumstance which could entitle it to affect the name of the Mansion, or the Hall, or the Abbey, or the Castle; and in those days the word cottage had never yet been applied to designate a palace. It had its little freestone portico, however, and its two low wings, in the windows of each of which there were lights. It was evident, therefore, if this was the place where Manners was destined to find De Vaux, that, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, there were other persons awake in the house besides those who might be supposed to watch in the chamber of an invalid.
As they came near the gipsy advanced a step before his companion, and rang the bell. A few minutes elapsed without any one appearing to answer the summons; but just as Pharold was about to repeat it, the door was opened by a servant, carrying a light, which was almost instantly extinguished by the gust of wind which rushed into the unclosed door. There had been time enough, however, for the man to recognise Pharold, and to bid him come in, as if his visit were a thing of course; and in the moment that the light had remained unextinguished, Colonel Manners could distinguish the countenance of the servant, the features of which, he felt convinced, were not unknown to him.
"Come in, sir," said the gipsy.--"Is there any one in the parlour, John?" he added, turning to the man as Manners entered.
"No one, Mr. Pharold," answered the servant, intones that were still more familiar to Manners's ear than his features had been to his eye. "My master is in the little room beyond."
"Then walk in here, sir, and wait for me one moment," said the gipsy; and Colonel Manners, without question, walked into the dark room, of which Pharold had opened the door, and waited patiently to see how all the strange affair in which he was engaged would end.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
The room was, as we have said, quite dark, with the exception of a narrow line of light, which found its way under a door on the opposite side of the chamber; and by the time that Manners had been there two minutes he heard voices speaking in that direction. What was said by the first speaker, whom he concluded to be Pharold, did not make itself heard in the apartment where Manners stood; but the moment after another voice was distinguished, saying, in a louder tone, "You have done wrong, you have done wrong, Pharold. My mind was still undecided; and this will force me to act whether I will or not."
Pharold's voice replied at considerable length, and was apparently still going on, when the other exclaimed, hastily, "But, good God, did you not let her know? Did you not send her the note I despatched to you for that purpose?"