“You have not heard the worst,” continued the steward. “Give me some wine—for faith, my nerves are sorely shaken by the occurrences of this afternoon. Fill your glass, father, and listen to a tale, singular and wonderful as any which, even in the confessional, may have reached your ears.”
“You know that the object of my ride to-day was to trace, if possible, the person with whom the old man holds his dangerous correspondence. Every inquiry failed—and I was returning a sadder, but not a wiser man than when I left you, considering what channel I should next try to seek the information we require, when simple accident discovered the perilous position in which we stand—one that, in danger, infinitely surpasses any thing which our gloomiest apprehensions could have fancied.
“A short time since, a stranger, named Hartley, took Bromley Hall for a few months; and there he immediately removed his establishment. It was on a small scale, ‘twas said, but in every respect that befitting a gentleman; and as Mr. Hartley was retired in his habits, and visited with no one in the neighbourhood, his arrival made no sensation in the country; he was scarcely known beyond his own domain, nor did any one inquire who he was, or whence he came.
“On my return this evening, after an unsuccessful mission, close to ‘the George’—a road-side house contiguous to Bromley Hall—my horse cast a shoe, and I stopped to have it replaced. While the smith was doing it, I strolled from the forge and sauntered down a shaded lane; within an open gate a fallen tree was lying, and as the evening was close, I turned in and sate down to rest myself upon its stem. Presently, at the other side of the paling, I heard footsteps move cautiously along. An opening in the fence enabled me to ascertain who the person was—and you may easily fancy my astonishment, when I recognised the gipsy woman, who, for the last three weeks, has been every day in Clifford Park under the pretence of gathering fire-wood. Although surprised for a moment at her appearance, I remembered that the wandering habits of her people throw them across one’s path in every direction where business calls; I rose to return to the forge and resume my ride, when suddenly the gipsy stopped, looked suspiciously around to see that no one had observed her, then drawing a key from her bosom she applied it to a wicket in the paling, and the next moment entered the grounds of Bromley Hall, and disappeared.
“Strange and mysterious fancies crossed my mind—I determined to watch her movements, but how was I to follow? I continued my researches along the park palings, and at last discovered an opening occasioned by the removal of several slabs, for what purpose I cannot pretend to guess.
“I found myself in a thick plantation, left all to chance, and blindly wandered on. Imagine my surprise when, not forty yards off, I suddenly perceived the gipsy in deep conversation with a stranger. They spoke in whispers, hence I could not overhear a word that passed; but I saw distinctly a letter pass from her hand to his, and the action of both during their brief conversation was marked and energetic. At last the interview was over, and both returned towards the wicket in the paling through which the gipsy had entered Bromley Park.
“The path wound through the plantation, and at not a yard’s distance from the spot where I had concealed myself, but fortunately a thick holly hid me effectually, and yet permitted me to observe the faces of the persons who approached. Almost within arm’s length the man paused suddenly—
“‘And is he so far prepared for the extraordinary revelations which are about to be made?’ he inquired in a low voice that thrilled through my very soul.
“‘He is’—returned this infernal agent. ‘He knows that his grandson is recalled—that Hector’s father is already in England—that his daughter is ready to fly to the bosom from which she has been so long estranged. Nay, more—I have darkly insinuated that many a wild youth, after years of wandering, has returned; and plainly hinted that a son lost to him so long might live—nay, did live!’
“Could I believe the evidences of my senses, holy father? Was it a dream? Oh! no, no—all was fatal reality.