Things went on so comfortably, that Egerton's spirits rose to as high a state of exuberance as if he were really the owner of the splendid mansion in which he was entertaining his relations and friends:—Mrs. Bustard declared that she never had seen any thing so pleasant since the day when her poor deceased husband and herself dined with the Lord Mayor;—Mr. Tedworth Jones insisted upon singing a song which he had himself composed to his intended, and the two first lines of which delicately eulogised the fair "Clarissa," and plainly stated how grieved the poet would be to "miss her;"—and even the young lady herself was so happy and contented that she forgot to reproach her lover for thus publicly complimenting one "in her situation."
Dunstable flattered the old lady: Cholmondeley, Harborough, and Chichester made themselves agreeable to the young ones; and every thing was progressing as "merry as a marriage bell," when the old gardener rushed franticly into the room, carrying his paper cap in one hand, his wig in the other, and bawling at the top of his cracked voice, "A corpse! a corpse!"
Every one started from his seat around the table, and surveyed the gardener with looks of astonishment.
For a moment Egerton and his four fashionable friends imagined that this was some scheme of the gardener to break up the party, and was therefore to some extent a stratagem in favour of Egerton himself: but a second glance at the horror-struck countenance of the old man convinced them that his present conduct was far different from a mere feint.
"A corpse! a corpse!" he repeated, casting haggard looks around.
"What in the name of heaven do you mean?" demanded Egerton, now advancing towards him.
The gardener sank, trembling all over, upon a seat; and Egerton made him swallow a glass of wine.
In a few minutes he grew more composed, put on his wig,—which, it seemed, bad fallen off as he was rushing up the stairs,—and then related in his characteristic round-about manner the causes of his ejaculations and his alarms.
But it will perhaps suit the convenience of the reader much better if we explain the whole affair in our own language, and as succinctly as possible.
It appeared, then, that while the company in the drawing-room were discussing their wine, and the gardener, his wife, and the servants in attendance upon the vehicles, were dining off the remains of the banquet in the kitchen, a stout, hearty, decently dressed man, of about eight-and-forty years of age, was passing through a field near Ravensworth Hall. He was accompanied by a beautiful terrier, with which he amused himself by throwing a small stick to as great a distance as he could, and making the dog fetch it back to him. The little animal was very sagacious, and performed its duty well: until at last the man threw the stick into a certain part of the field where the dog persisted in remaining, instead of hastening back to its master. Vainly did the man whistle and call from a distance: the dog would not obey him, but kept scratching in a particular spot from which it would not stir. Thither did the man accordingly proceed; and, on reaching the spot, he found the dog working away with its little paws in a hollow which had doubtless been caused by the recent rains. At the same time a nauseous effluvium assailed the man's nostrils; and, on examining the spot more attentively, he discovered—to his indescribable horror—a human hand protruding from the soil!