The Smuggler: A Tale. Volumes I-III

by G. P. R. James

"I think not," replied Osborn. "But one thing will be necessary. I expect five horses down to-morrow, and there must be found stabling for them, and accommodation for the servants."

The landlord, who was greatly consoled by these latter proofs of his guest's opulence and importance, was proceeding to assure him that all manner of conveniences, both for horse and man were to be found at his inn, when the door of the room opened, and a third person was added to the party within. The moment the eye of the traveller by the coach fell upon him, his face lighted up with a well pleased smile, and he exclaimed, "Ah, my good friend, is that you?--I little expected to find you in this part of Kent. What brought you hither, after our long voyage?"

"The same that brought you," answered the other: "old memories and loved associations."

But before we proceed to notice what was Osborn's reply, we must, though very unwilling to give long descriptions either of personal appearance or of dress, pause to notice briefly those of the stranger who had just entered.

He had originally been a tall man, and probably a powerful one, but he now stooped considerably, and was extremely thin. His face had no colour in it, and even the lips were pale, but yet the hue was not cadaverous, or even what could be called sickly. The features were generally small and fine, except the eyes, which were large and bright, with a sort of brilliant but unsafe fire in them, and that peculiar searching and intense gaze when speaking to any one, which is common to people of strong imaginations, who try to convey to others more than they actually say. His forehead, too, was high and grand, but wrinkled over with the furrows of thought and care; and on the right side was a deep indentation, with a gash across it, as if the skull had been driven in by a blow. His hair, which was long and thin, was milk white, and though his teeth were fine, yet the wrinkles of his skin, the peculiar roughness of the ear, and the shrivelled hand, all bore testimony of an advanced age. Yet, perhaps, he might be younger than he looked, for the light in that eager eye plainly spoke one of those quick, anxious, ever labouring spirits which wear the frame by the internal emotions, infinitely more rapidly and more destructively than any of the external events and circumstances of life. One thing was very peculiar about him--at least, in this country--for on another continent such a peculiarity might have called for no attention. On either cheek, beginning just behind the external corner of the eye, and proceeding in a graceful wave all along the cheek bone, turning round, like an acanthus leaf, at the other extremity upon the cheek itself, was a long line of very minute blue spots, with another, and another, and another beneath it, till the whole assumed the appearance of a rather broad arabesque painted in blue upon his face. His dress in other respects (if this tattooing might be called a part of his dress) though coarse in texture was good. The whole, too, was black, except where the white turned-down collar of his shirt appeared between his coat and his pale brownish skin. His shoes were large and heavy like those used by the countrymen in that part of the county, and in them he wore a pair of silver buckles, not very large, but which in their peculiar form and ornaments, gave signs of considerable antiquity. Though bent, as we have said, thin, and pale, he seemed active and energetic. All his motions were quick and eager, and he grasped the hand which Osborn extended to him, with a warmth and enthusiasm very different from the ordinary expression of common friendship.

"You mistake," said the young gentleman, in answer to his last observation. "It was not old memories and loved associations which brought me here at all, Mr. Warde. It was an order from the commander-in-chief. Had I not received it, I should not have visited this place for years--if ever!"

"Yes, yes, you would," replied the old man; "you could not help yourself. It was written in the book of your fate. It was not to be avoided. You were drawn here by an irresistible impulse to undergo what you have to undergo, to perform that which is assigned you, and to do and suffer all those things which are written on high."

"I wonder to hear you speaking in terms so like those of a fatalist," answered Osborn--"you whom I have always heard so strenuously assert man's responsibility for all his actions, and scoff at the idea of his excusing himself on the plea of his predestination."

"True, true," answered the old man whom he called Warde,--"predestination affords him no excuse for aught that is wrong, for though it be an inscrutable mystery how those three great facts are to be reconciled, yet certain it is that Omniscience cannot be ignorant of that which will take place, any more than of that which has taken place; that everything which God foreknows, must take place, and has been pre-determined by his will, and that yet--as every man must feel within himself--his own actions depend upon his volition, and if they be evil he alone is to blame. The end is to come, Osborn--the end is to come when all will be revealed--and doubt not that it will be for God's glory. I often think," he continued in a less emphatic tone, "that man with his free will is like a child with a plaything. We see the babe about to dash it against the wall in mere wantonness, we know that he will injure it--perhaps break it to pieces--perhaps hurt himself with it in a degree; we could prevent it, yet we do not, thinking perhaps that it will be a lesson--one of those, the accumulation of which makes experience, if not wisdom. At all events the punishment falls upon him; and, if duly warned, he has no right to blame us for that which his own will did, though we saw what he would do, and could have prevented him from doing so. We are all spoilt children, Osborn, and remain so to the end, though God gives us warning enough,--but here comes my homely meal."

At the same moment the landlord brought in a dish of vegetables, some milk and some pottage, which he placed upon the table, giving a shrewd look to the young officer, but saying to his companion, "There, I have brought what you ordered, sir; but I cannot help thinking you had better take a bit of meat. You had nothing but the same stuff this morning, and no dinner that I know of."