"Under the roof of his home," says a pleasing writer, "the boy feels safe; and where in the whole realm of life, with its bitter toils and its bitterer temptations, will he ever feel safe again?"
I had no roof-tree—I had never felt this charming safety or security—this sublime knowledge of home, and keenly came this conviction to my heart, as I walked on that dark February night along the solitary highway, with the rain plashing in my face; for now, as if to add to the misery of my situation, the clouds had gathered in heaven and the rain fell heavily.
An old fir-tree with its thick dark foliage sheltered me for a time. Towards daybreak the weather became fair, and after sleeping for some hours in a hayrick, I set forward again. I knew that I must present but a sorry figure, but cared not. I was always a lover of effect, and hoped it might aid me in my purpose, which was to urge Sir Basil to make some fitting provision for me.
Alas! I was ignorant that he had actually written to Nathan Wylie, desiring that the pittance allowed me should be withdrawn, and that he was to turn me adrift for ever. The old minister of Netherwood, who was with him when this severe answer was despatched, besought him to "be clement, and to remember that he too had once been young."
"Yes," growled the gruff baronet, "but it is so very long ago that I have forgotten all about it. Zounds!" he added, flourishing his crutch, and smashing a wine decanter, "I'll make that young dog smart for this, as I made his father smart before him!"
His orders Mr. Nathan Wylie would cheerfully have obeyed; but in the end I may show how the lawyer, even in the matter of the will, outwitted himself, as he might, but for his hatred of my father's memory, and his slavish obsequiousness to Sir Basil, have made little Ruth one day Lady of Netherwood, and me, perhaps, his friend for ever.
On that dull February eve I knew nothing of all this, and so trod on for several miles with hope in my breast—hope that I might stir some chord of sympathy in the withered heart of Sir Basil; but when I drew near Netherwood, and saw its copper vanes and antique turrets shining above the trees, my spirit failed me, and I thought with just indignation of my favoured cousin Tony, of his probable mockery at the sorry figure I presented, and the quiet insolence of the domestics; so I sat by the wayside inspired only by that bitterness and irresolution which I have described in the opening of my story.
To Nathan Wylie's house I would never return.
I sorrowed for poor Ruth, the sweet companion of so many stolen interviews—the secret love of my boyish heart. But to what end was this sorrow? Marriage and the responsibilities of life had never occurred to me. I felt, like a boy, that I loved Ruth dearly, and that was all.
I would go away somewhere—where, it mattered not; I would seek a path for myself; another time—a year hence, perhaps—I would come back and see Ruth again, if Fortune smiled on me. And with such thoughts as these, my sadness and dejection gave place to the springy and joyous conviction of a young heart—that I was free—absolutely FREE—the master of my own person—the arbiter of my own destiny!
The wide world was all before me, and to leave care and trouble behind should be now my task and duty.
How was this to be achieved? I was the possessor only of a shilling; but greater men than I have begun the world with less.
As these ideas occurred to me, I perceived in the twilight a gentleman with two valets in livery, all well mounted, coming along the road with their nags at a trot. He wore a green sporting suit, with large gilt buttons, yellow buckskin breeches, a jockey cap, and carried a heavy hunting-whip.
As the two valets were not riding behind, but were abreast with their master, and conversing with him in loud and noisy familiarity, I soon recognised my cousin Tony the Foxhunter, an interview with whom I would fain have avoided; but he knew me at once, and came brusquely up, checking his horse, with foam upon its bit, so close to me, that I was nearly knocked over.
"Zounds, cousin Basil!" said he, insolently, and in the hearing of his valets, "you are in a fine scrape now!"
"How, sir?" said I, sourly.
"So you have levanted from old Wylie's—or been turned adrift—'tis all one, for making love to his niece—eh—is this true?"
"I have no confidences to make to you, sir," said I, haughtily, for the idea that I had placed Ruth—she so innocent and pure—in a position so false, filled me with remorse and rage.
"No confidences," stammered Tony; "eh—damme?"
"None."
"Oh, it is of no use denying it; we have just ridden from old Wylie's this morning. We don't blame you for making love to the girl—she is deuced pretty, and we all agreed it was just what we should have done ourselves."
"We—who do you speak of?"
"Why, Tom, Dick, and myself," he replied, pointing to his servants; "and no bad judges either of the points and paces of a woman or a horse."
"Rein back from the footpath if you please, Mr. Gauntlet, and permit me to pass," I added, for he had me completely hemmed against a hedge.
"Well, but what are you going, to do now, for we can have no onhangers idling about Netherwood Hall?" he exclaimed, imperiously.
Instead of replying, I took his horse by the bridle, thrust its head aside, and passed disdainfully on, for I saw that he had been dining, and was flushed alike with wine and insolence. Anthony was four years older than I, and had seen much more of the world; yet, so far as education or accomplishments were concerned, this pet of my grandfather was nearly as ignorant as the grooms and stable-boys who were his constant companions and chosen friends, and who, in those capacities, fleeced him of large sums on the turf, in the tavern, and at the gaming-table.
"Did you hear me speak, fellow?" he thundered out, with an oath, while urging his horse close behind me, as if to ride me down.
Instead of turning, I quickened my pace; but he and his grooms put spur to their nags and followed me.
"S'blood!" exclaimed Tony, "but this will make you feel if you cannot hear me!" and he dealt me a heavy lash across the shoulders with his hunting-whip.
With all the strength and fury that a long sense of unmerited wrong, hardship, neglect, and opprobrium could inspire, I rushed upon this usurper of my patrimony, and in a moment he was torn from his saddle and stretched upon the highway. I wrenched away his whip, and, twisting the lash round my wrist, beat him soundly with the handle.
Being stronger than I, he scrambled up, with his green coat covered with dust and his features inflamed by rage; he closed with me, swearing frightfully, while his two mounted followers assailed me in the rear with their clubbed whips.
"Lay on, Dick! lay on, Tom!" he cried repeatedly; "d—n him, beat the beggarly rascal's brains out!"
I received several severe blows on the head and shoulders, while Tony actually strove to strangle me by twisting my necktie; and in a combat so unequal I must have been defeated and severely handled in the end, had not two men who were clad in long scarlet cloaks, and were mounted on grey horses, interposed, and one who had drawn his sword, exclaimed—
"Hold, fellows, hold! What the devil do you mean—is it murder? Back! on your lives, stand back! Why this cowardly attack of three upon one?"
On this the valets precipitately withdrew a little way; but Tony still grasped my collar, and on perceiving by their dress and accoutrements that the interposers were two Horse Grenadiers or Dragoons, he swore at them roundly, and said—
"What value do you put upon your ears that you dare to accost me upon the highway?"
"Dare?" repeated the soldier, contemptuously.
"Yes, dare!" exclaimed my cousin, foaming with rage. "Be off with you. Do you imagine that a scurvy trooper can scare me? I am Anthony Gauntlet of Netherwood Hall, and in the commission of the peace for this county; so begone I say, or d—n me I'll put you both in the stocks at the nearest market cross."
The dragoon laughed, and placed the bare blade of his sword so close to Tony's neck that he hastily released me and slunk back.
"If you are what you say, sir," observed the other dragoon, with a singular hauteur in his tone and manner, "a justice of the peace, you should not be brawling thus with people on the king's highway."
"Rascal, to whom do you presume to give advice, eh?" roared Tony, choking with passion.
"Double rascal, to you!" thundered out the soldier, as he wrenched away by a single twitch of his right hand one of the valets' whips, and lashed Tony and his fellows so soundly, and with such rapidity, that they scarcely knew whether they were on the highway or in the air.
He fairly drove them off, while his comrade, who had now sheathed his sword, sat in his saddle and laughed heartily as he looked on.
"Come with us, my lad," said he, "lest those cowardly curs return and fall on you again. There is an inn somewhere near this, I believe—or at least there was when last we marched into England."
"Yes, you mean the 'Marquis of Granby,'" said I, while applying my handkerchief to a cut on my left temple, which bled profusely.
"Ah! that is the place I mean; we must find our quarters there for the night. You will share a glass with us and tell us how this battle came to pass?"
And to this invitation I assented.