Sir Henry Leyton pressed the old gentleman's hand in his, with much emotion; for the prospect seemed brightening to him, and the dark clouds which had so long overshadowed his course appeared to be breaking away. He had been hitherto like a traveller on a strong and spirited horse, steadfastly pursuing his course, and making his way onward, with vigour and determination, but with a dark and threatening sky over head, and not even a gleam of hope to lead him on. Distinction, honours, competence, command, he had obtained by his own talents and his own energies; he was looked up to by those below him, by his equals, even by many of his superiors. The eyes of all who knew him turned towards him as to one who was destined to be a leading man in his day. Everything seemed fair and smiling around him, and no eye could see the cloud that overshadowed him but his own. But what to him were honours, or wealth, or the world's applause, if the love of his early years were to remain blighted for ever? and in the tented field, the city, or the court, the shadow had still remained upon his heart's best feelings, not checking his energies, but saddening all his enjoyments. How often is it in the world, that we thus see the bright, the admired, the powerful, the prosperous, with the grave hue of painful thoughts upon the brow, the never unmingled smile, the lapses of gloomy meditation, and ask ourselves, "What is the secret sorrow in the midst of all this success? what is the fountain of darkness that turns the stream of sunshine grey? what the canker-worm that preys upon so bright a flower?" Deep, deep in the recesses of the heart, it lies gnawing in silence; but never ceasing, and never satisfied. Now, however, there was a light in the heavens for him; and whether it was as one of those rays that sometimes break through a storm, and then pass away, no more to be seen till the day dies in darkness; or whether it was the first glad harbinger of a serene evening after a stormy morning, the conclusion of this tale must show.
"I'll tell you something, my dear boy," continued Mr. Croyland, forgetting that he was speaking to the colonel of a dragoon regiment, and going back at a leap to early days. "Your father was my old school-fellow and dear companion; your uncle was the best friend I ever had, and the founder of my fortune; for to his interest I owe my first appointment to India--ay, and to his generosity the greater part of my outfit and my passage. To them I am indebted for everything, to my brother for nothing; and I look upon you as a relation much more than upon him; so I have no very affectionate motives for countenancing or assisting him in doing what is not right. I'll tell you something more, too, Harry; I was sure that you would do what is honourable and right--not because you have got a good name in the world; for I am always doubtful of the world's good names, and, besides, I never heard the name of Sir Harry Leyton till this blessed day--but because you were the son of one honest man and the nephew of another, and a good wild frank boy too. So I was quite sure you would not come to my house under a false name, when my niece was in it, without, at all events, letting me into the secret; and you have justified my confidence, young man."
"I would not have done such a thing for the world," replied the young officer; "but may I ask, then, my dear Mr. Croyland, if you recognised me in the stage coach? for it must be eighteen or nineteen years since you saw me."
"Don't call me Mr. Croyland," said the old gentleman, abruptly; "call me Zachary, or Nabob, or Misanthrope, or Bear, or anything but that. As to your question, I say, no. I did not recognise you the least in the world. I saw in your face something like the faces of old friends, and I liked it on that account. But as for the rest of the matter, there's a little secret, my boy--a little bit of a puzzle. By one way or another--it matters not what--I had found out that Captain Osborn was my old friend Leyton's son; but till I came here to-day, I had no notion that he was colonel of the regiment, and a Knight of the Bath, to boot, as your corporal fellow took care to inform me. I thought you had been going under a false name, perhaps, all this time, and fancied I should find Captain Osborn quite well known in the regiment. I had a shrewd notion, too, that you had sent for me to tell the secret; but I was determined to let you explain yourself without helping you at all; for I'm a great deal fonder of men's actions than their words, Harry."
"Is it fair to ask, who told you who I was?" asked Sir Henry Leyton. "My friend Digby has some----"
"No, no," cried Mr. Croyland; "it wasn't that good, rash, rattle-pate, coxcomb of a fellow, who is only fit to be caged with little Zara; and then they may live together very well, like two monkeys in a show-box. No, he had nothing to do with it, though he has been busy enough since he came here, shooting partridges, and fighting young Radfords, and all that sort of thing."
"Fighting young Radfords!" exclaimed Sir Henry Leyton, suddenly grasping the sheath of his sword with his right hand. "He should not have done that--at least, without letting me know."
"Why, he knew nothing about it himself," replied Mr. Croyland, "till the minute it took place. The young vagabond followed him to my house; so I civilly told my brother's pet that I didn't want to see him; and he walked away with your friend Digby just across the lawn in front of the house, when, after a few minutes of pleasant conversation, the baronet applies me a horsewhip, with considerable unction and perseverance, to the shoulders of Richard Radford, Esquire, junior; upon which out come the pinking-irons, and in the course of the scuffle, Sir Edward receives a little hole in the shoulder, and Mr. Radford is disarmed and brought upon his knee, with a very unpleasant and ungentleman-like bump upon his forehead, bestowed, with hearty good-will, by the hilt of Master Digby's sword. Well, when he had got him there, instead of quietly poking a hole through him, as any man of common sense would have done, your friend lets him get up again, and ride away, just as a man might be supposed to pinch a Cobra that had bit him, by the tail, and then say, 'Walk off, my friend.' However, so stands the matter; and young Radford rode away, vowing all sorts of vengeance. He'll have it, too, if he can get it; for he's as spiteful as a baboon; so I hope you've caught him, as he was with these smuggling vagabonds, that's certain."
Sir Henry Leyton shook his head. "He has escaped, I am sorry to say," he replied. "How, I cannot divine; for I took means to catch him that I thought were infallible. All the roads through Harbourne Wood were guarded, but yet in that wood, all trace of him was lost. He left his horse in the midst of it, and must have escaped by some of the by-paths."
"He's concealed in my brother's house, for a hundred guineas!" cried Mr. Croyland. "Robert's bewitched, to a certainty; for nothing else but witchcraft could make a man take an owl for a cock pheasant. Oh yes! there he is, snug in Harbourne House, depend upon it, feeding upon venison and turbot, and with a magnum of claret and two bottles of port to keep him comfortable--a drunken, beastly, vicious brute! A cross between a wolf and a swine, and not without a touch of the fox either--though the first figure is the best; for his father was the wolf, and his mother the sow, if all tales be true."