"'My sister, in short, my dear friend, has no fancy for our adored bard. I can't account for it; but so it is. Therefore, if you will just be so good as say nothing about him while she is present, it will be as well. No quotations, you understand. We'll have our revenge for this restraint when she retires. We will resume the subject then, my dear sir,' added Mr Darsy, slapping his guest, in a friendly and jocose way, on the shoulder, as he spoke. 'We'll have a night of it; and I'll smuggle down his works from my library, and we will glance them over together when we've got the room to ourselves. That will be a treat, eh?'
"Thus cautioned as to his conduct in the presence of Mr Darsy's sister, Mr Claythorn descended to the dining-room with his host. Not a word—not the most distant allusion to Pope—escaped either of the two gentlemen; so that, whatever Miss Darsy's suspicions of the case might be—and she certainly looked as if she had some suspicions of it—nothing transpired to give her assurance of the fact. On her retiring, however, the pent-up sluices of the Popites were thrown open, and out there rushed two impetuous streams of poetry; sometimes blending, sometimes alternating, and sometimes running counter to each other. Mr Darsy was delighted—more than delighted with his friend; for he had never, in the whole course of his life, met with one who could quote his favourite author with such facility and at such length, as the guest whom he was now entertaining; neither had he ever met with one who had so deep, so thorough a reverence for the mighty moral poet.
"This was altogether, in short, one of the happiest nights he had ever spent in his life. At its close, Mr Darsy accompanied his guest—who he insisted should remain with him all night—to his bedroom, and parted from him there with a very apt quotation, to which his friend replied with another no less felicitous, which he delivered in a very feeling and impressive manner. On the following morning—
"'What keeps your reverend friend, brother?' said Miss Darsy, somewhat sneeringly—for she had strong suspicions of the stranger's being a Popite—as she sat at the breakfast-table, waiting the appearance of that person, before proceeding to discharge the duties of the morning meal.
"'Really, my dear, I don't know,' replied Mr Darsy. 'The poor man is fatigued, I daresay; and we sat up rather late last night.'
"'Ay, brother, I fancy you found him a very pleasant intelligent companion,' said Miss Darsy, with a look and tone of peculiar meaning.
"What this meaning was, Mr Darsy perfectly understood. He knew that his sister was at once insinuating her suspicions of the stranger's Popism, and driving at a discovery of the fact. Aware of this, and by no means desirous of coming to an explanation on the subject, Mr Darsy, without noticing his sister's remark, said he would 'just step up-stairs to see what was keeping Mr Claythorn,' and deliver himself (but of this he said nothing) of a happy quotation which had occurred to him, and which he thought would form an exceedingly appropriate greeting.
"He entered his friend's bedroom; there was no movement. He drew aside the curtains; the bed was unoccupied. The Pope-quoter had decamped. He was off; and off, too, were a dozen silver spoons and a small gold watch; all of which property had been unguardedly left in the room in which he slept."
Here ended my good host's (Mr Pentland) anecdotes and sketch of the worthy proprietor of Dryfield; but, he added, he could give as much more of the same kind, if I chose, as would fill half-a-dozen volumes. I thanked him, and said that I would rest content with what he had been kind enough to give me, in the meantime; but that, if the readers of the "Border Tales"—for which, I told him, I intended these memorabilia—desired any more, I should, perhaps, take the liberty of applying to him again.