"What note? When did you send?" demanded Pharold, eagerly, "I had no note."
"This is most unfortunate," replied the other. "I sent up a note to you, intended to be conveyed to her for the purpose of putting her mind at ease; and it should have reached you beyond all doubt; for I gave it, with my own hand, to the youth Dickon, yesterday morning, when he came with the message from you."
"Ay, that is it, that is it," answered the gipsy. "I chose him as my messenger to keep him out of evil; but ere I could get back to my people, I found that, on some pretence, strangers on horseback were watching for us on the common, and I betook me to the wood again. But they set a watch round the wood; and it was long ere I could slip through unseen; and when I did so, and got to the tents under Dimden wall, I found that this very Dickon had seduced several others to go and shoot the deer in the park. Deer were killed, the keepers were met, blood was shed, and I drove the offender out from among us, that he might not lead others again into evil, and draw down the rage of the powerful upon us. Thus I saw him but for a moment, and he went without giving me your letter."
Now Manners, although he could not help hearing what was passing, had a great objection to so doing; and he had therefore from the very beginning contrived to make as much noise as possible, by every means that suggested itself, in order both to render the sounds which reached him indistinct, and to make the speakers aware that their conversation might be overheard. Their first eagerness, however, prevented them from taking warning; but at length their tone was lowered, and for the next five minutes Manners heard nothing further than a low indistinct murmur, which sufficiently showed that the conference was continued, but did not betray the matter thereof.
At length, however, the second voice spoke louder, in the sort of marked manner with which one ends a private conversation, by words which have little meaning to any ear but that of the person to whom they are addressed. "Well, well, it is time that such a state should be put an end to! As to this other business, there is nothing to fear from Colonel Manners: I know him well, as I told you before; and were I to choose any man in whom to confide, it would be him. Now rest you, Pharold; rest you while I go and speak with him. Would to God that you would quit this wandering life, and now in your age wisely accept from me what you foolishly rejected in your youth from one long dead; but rest you, as I have said, and I will return in a few minutes to hear out your account."
Pharold's reply was not distinct; but the next moment the door opened between the two rooms, and Manners was joined by a gentleman whom we have seen once, and only once, before in the course of this history. It was, in short, the same hale, handsome old man whom we last heard of conversing with the gipsy Pharold, in the beginning of the first volume of this book, who now advanced with a light into the dark room in which Manners had been left. He could not be less than sixty-three or four years of age; but his frame appeared as vigorous as if twenty of those years had been struck off the amount. His figure was tall and upright, and his step had in it a peculiar bold and firm elasticity, that spoke the undiminished energy of both mind and body. He was, in short, a person whom, once seen, it would be difficult to forget; and although the light he carried dazzled Manners's eyes a little, yet the instant he entered the room his visiter advanced towards him, holding out his hand, and exclaiming, "My dear Sir William Ryder, I am delighted to meet you again, and to meet you in England."
"Not less delighted than I am to see you, Manners," answered the other, "although we meet under somewhat strange circumstances, and though I am obliged to bid you, for a short time, forget that I am Sir William Ryder, without forgetting that I am a sincere friend. My name, for the present, is Mr. Harley; and now, having introduced myself as such, let us sit down, and talk over old stories."
"But, first, my dear sir," said Manners, "a word or two of new stories, if you please. I am most anxious to inquire after my poor friend De Vaux, though no longer anxious in regard to his situation, now that I find he is in hands so kind and so skilful as yours. Indeed, the first sight of your servant, though I caught but a glimpse of him, set my mind at ease regarding my poor friend, as far as it can be at ease till I hear how he is, and what is the matter with him."
"He is better, he is better," answered Sir William Ryder; "and so far banish all anxiety, for he will do well. I know such affairs of old; and as he has been neither scalped nor tomahawked by any of my children of the Seven Nations, I will answer for his recovery. But I dare say you wonder at his being here with me; and, indeed, it is altogether an odd coincidence, for I can assure you that it is by no plot or contrivance of mine that I have got you and him once more under my roof together, when the last time we so met was in my wigwam on the very farthest verge of the inhabited world."
"But first tell me what is the matter with him," said Manners; "and then I will put all sorts of questions to you, which you shall answer or not as you think fit."