And to this pass had the hardening heart, and the growing covetousness of Charles Sidney brought him: to be disowned by his mother on his one-and-twentieth birthday, at the moment of his earthly pride, and of his acquiring princely possessions!
Yet now, even at this eleventh hour, a merciful God might have pardoned and protected him.
The feasting and attempted merry-making went off heavily. There was no spirit of love, or reverence, or gratitude, to warm the hearts of the tenantry, or make their lips eloquent; and not a few were glad when the day was drawing to a close.
Towards evening, the young lord mounted his horse, and rode in the direction of the much admired neighbouring estate. Wishing to examine some particular spots minutely, and to revel in the contemplation of the whole without being disturbed, he was not even accompanied by a groom.
The sun was going down in all its glory, casting tall shadows of the trees across the
road, when it peeped from the clouds of crimson and gold that encircled it. The young lord came to a field dotted with the graceful wheat-sheaves, for it was harvest time, and knowing that if he rode across it, he should be saved half a mile of road, he determined to do so. Two men were lounging at the gate through which he passed. One of them was Thomas Bennett, whom circumstances had induced to become a labourer on the estate, and he it was who remarked, “He’ll be thrown, that’s my opinion; those fine-paced gentlemen’s horses are not used to make their own roads across a corn field.”
“Then why don’t you warn my lord?” said the other.
“Warn him!” replied Bennett, who it must be owned, had grown up a violent tempered vindictive man; “you have not lived long in these parts, or you would have known better than ask that question. If it were Master William, now, I should make free to seize the bridle—but as for my lord there—why, I have known him man and boy, and I’ll answer for it, no one has love enough towards him to warn him from any danger.” And so saying they both walked rapidly away.
Bennett’s words were indeed true, for scarcely had the young lord proceeded a hundred yards, when the horse, unused to such uneven ground, stumbled and fell, throwing his unhappy master. Nor was this all, for Charles had remained entangled in the stirrup: he was dragged along the stubble a considerable distance, with a broken arm and fearful bruises, till, stunned by a kick from the horse, he became insensible. Probably the saddle-girth at the same moment gave way and released him, for the unconscious animal trotted home, and was discovered with disordered trappings at the park gates.
It was evident some accident had happened, and servants were sent out in all directions. The first conscious perception Charles had was of waking to excruciating agony, and finding himself supported on men’s shoulders along the road. No doubt every one believed him still insensible, or, much as he was disliked, they would not have been so cruel as to reproach him in his hour of agony. He had not strength to speak, but he could not avoid hearing.