Volume One—Chapter Twenty Two.
It was late at night when Henry Holtspur passed between the ivy-mantled piers, that supported the dilapidated wooden gate of Stone Dean Park. The massive door of the old mansion was standing open, as he rode forward to it. A light, faintly flickering within the hall, showed in dim outline the wide doorway, with its rounded arch of Norman architecture.
Midway between the jambs could be distinguished the figure of a man—standing motionless—as if awaiting his approach.
The moon was shining upon this individual with sufficient clearness to show: that he was a young man of medium stature, straight as a lance, and habited in a sort of tunic, of what appeared to be dressed deerskin. His complexion was a reddish brown—darker from the shadowing of a shock of jet-black hair; while a pair of eyes, that glistened against the moonlight, like two circular discs of highly-polished ebony, exhibited no appearance of surprise at the approach of the horseman.
Something resembling a turban appeared upon the young man’s head; while his legs were wrapped in leggings of similar material to that which composed the tunic, and his feet were also encased in a chaussure of buckskin. A belt around his waist showed a pattern of coloured embroidery; with a short knife stuck behind it, resting diagonally over the region of the heart.
Up to the moment that the horseman made halt in front of the doorway, this individual had neither spoken nor moved—not even as much as a finger; and with the moonlight full upon his face, and revealing his dusky complexion, it would not have been difficult for a stranger to have mistaken him for a statue of bronze—the stoop of the doorway appearing as its pedestal, and the arch above answering to the alcove in which it had been placed. It was only after the horseman had fairly checked his steed to a stand, that the statue condescended to step down from its niche!
Then, gliding forward with the stealthy tread of a cat, the Indian—for such was this taciturn individual—caught hold of the bridle-rein, and stood waiting for his master to dismount.
“Walk Hubert about for five minutes,” said the latter, as he leaped out of the saddle. “That ruined stable’s too damp for him after the exercise he has had. See that he’s well rubbed down, and freely fed, before you leave him.”
To these directions, although delivered in his own native language, the copper-coloured groom made no verbal response.
A slight motion of the head alone indicated that he understood, and consented to obey them.