Arthur O'Leary Part 33

I ate my breakfast rapidly and called for my bill. The sum was a mere trifle, and I was just adding something to it when a knock came to the door.

'Come in,' said I, and the _pere_ entered.

'How sadly unfortunate,' began he, when I interrupted him at once, a.s.suring him of his mistake--telling him that we were no runaway couple at all, had not the most remote idea of being married, and in fact owed our whole disagreeable adventure to his ridiculous misconception.

'It's very well to say that _now_,' growled out the _pere_, in a very different accent from his former one. 'You may pretend what you like, but'--and he spoke in a determined tone--'you'll pay _my_ bill.'

'_Your_ bill!' said I, waxing wroth. 'What have I had from you. How am I _your_ debtor? I should like to hear.'

'And you shall,' said he, drawing forth a long doc.u.ment from a pocket in his ca.s.sock. 'Here it is.'

He handed me the paper, of which the following is a transcript:--

NOCES DE MI LORD O'LEARY ET MADEMOISELLE MI LADY DE MUDDLETON.

FRANCS.

Two conversations--preliminary, admonitory, and consolatory 10 0

Advice to the young couple, with moral maxims interspersed 3 0

Soiree, and society at wine 5 0

Guide to the chateau, with details, artistic and antiquarian 12 0

Eight children with flowers, at half a franc each 4 0

Fees at the chateau 2 0

Chorus of virgins, at one franc per virgin 10 0

Roses for virgins 2 10

M. le Maire et Madame 'en grande tenue' 1 0

Book of Registry, setting forth the date of the marriage-----

'The devil take it!' said I; 'it was no marriage at all.' 'Yes, but it was, though,' said he. 'It's your own fault if you can't take care of your wife.'

The noise of his reply brought the host and hostess to the scene of action; and though I resisted manfully for a time, there was no use in prolonging a hopeless contest, and, with a melancholy sigh, I disbursed my wedding expenses, and with a hearty malediction on Bouvigne--its chateau, its inn, its _pere_, its _maire_, and its virgins--I took the road towards Namur, and never lifted my head till I had left the place miles behind me.

CHAPTER XVI. A MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE

It was growing late on a fine evening in autumn, as I, a solitary pedestrian, drew near the little town of Spa. From the time of my leaving Chaude Fontaine, I lingered along the road, enjoying to the utmost the beautiful valley of the Vesdre, and sometimes half hesitating whether I would not loiter away some days in one of the little villages I pa.s.sed, and see if the trout, whose circling eddies marked the stream, might not rise as favourably to my fly as to the vagrant insect that now flitted across the water. In good sooth I wished for rest, and I wished for solitude; too much of my life latterly had been pa.s.sed in salons and soirees; the peaceful habit of my soul, the fruit of my own lonely hours, had suffered grievous inroads by my partners.h.i.+p with the world, and I deemed it essential to be once more apart from the jarring influences and distracting casualties which every step in life is beset by, were it only to recover again my habitual tranquillity--to refit the craft ere she took the sea once more.

I wanted but little to decide my mind; the sight of an inn, some picturesque spot, a pretty face--anything, in short, would have sufficed. But somehow I suppose I must have been more fastidious than I knew of, for I continued to walk onward; and at last, leaving the little hamlet of Pepinsterre behind me, I set out with brisker pace towards Spa. The air was calm and balmy; no leaf stirred; the river beside the road did not even murmur, but crept silently along its gravelly bed, fearful to break the stillness. Gradually the shadows fell stronger and broader, and at length mingled into one broad expanse of gloom; in a few minutes more it was night.

There is something very striking, I had almost said saddening, in the sudden transition from day to darkness in those countries where no twilight exists. The gradual change by which road and mountain, rock and cliff, mellow into the hues of sunset, and grow grey in the gloaming, deepening the shadows, and by degrees losing all outline in the dimness around, prepares us for the gloom of night. We feel it like the tranquil current of years marking some happy life, where childhood and youth and manhood and age succeed in measured time. Not so the sudden and immediate change, which seems rather like the stroke of some fell misfortune, converting the cheerful hours into dark, brooding melancholy. Tears may--they do--fall lightly on some; they creep with noiseless step, and youth and age glide softly into each other without any shock to awaken the thought that says, Adieu to this! Farewell to that for ever!

Thus was I musing, when suddenly I found myself at the spot where the road branched off in two directions. No house was near, nor a living thing from whom I could ask the way. I endeavoured by the imperfect light of the stars, for there was no moon, to ascertain which road seemed most frequented and travelled, judging that Spa was the most likely resort of all journeying in these parts; but unhappily I could detect no difference to guide me. There were wheel-tracks in both, and ruts and stones tolerably equitably adjusted; each had a pathway, too--the right-hand road enjoying a slight superiority over the other in this respect, as its path was more even.

I was completely puzzled. Had I been mounted, I had left the matter to my horse; but unhappily my decision had not a particle of reason to guide it. I looked from the road to the trees, and from the trees to the stars, but they looked down as tranquilly as though either way would do--all save one, a sly little brilliant spangle in the south, that seemed to wink at my difficulty. 'No matter,' said I, 'one thing is certain--neither a supper nor a bed will come to look for me here; and so now for the best pathway, as I begin to feel foot-sore.'

My momentary embarra.s.sment about the road completely routed all my musings, and I now turned my thoughts to the comforts of the inn, and to the pleasant little supper I promised myself on reaching it. I debated as to what was in season and what was not. I spelled October twice to ascertain if oysters were in, and there came a doubt across me whether the Flemish name for the month might have an r in it, and then I laughed at my own bull; afterwards I disputed with myself as to the relative merits of Chablis and Hochheimer, and resolved to be guided by the _garcon_. I combated long a weakness I felt growing over me for a pint of mulled claret, as the air was now becoming fresh; but I gave in at last, and began to hammer my brain for the French words for cloves and nutmeg.

In these innocent ruminations did an hour pa.s.s by, and yet no sign of human habitation, no sound of life, could I perceive at either side of me. The night, 'tis true, was brighter as it became later, and there were stars in thousands in the sky; but I would gladly have exchanged Venus for the chambermaid of the humblest _auberge_, and given the Great Bear himself for a single slice of bacon. At length, after about two hours' walking, I remarked that the road was becoming much more steep; indeed, it had presented a continual ascent for some miles, but now the acclivity was very considerable, particularly at the close of a long day's march. I remembered well that Spa lay in a valley, but for the life of me I could not think whether a mountain was to be crossed to arrive there. 'That comes of travelling by post,' said I to myself; had I walked the road, I had never forgotten so remarkable a feature.' While I said this, I could not help confessing that I had as lief my present excursion had been also in a conveyance.

'Forwarts! fort, und immer fort!'

hummed I, remembering Korner's song; and taking it for my motto, on I went at a good pace. It needed all my powers as a pedestrian, however, to face the mountain, for such I could see it was that I was now ascending; the pathway, too, less trodden than below, was enc.u.mbered with loose stones, and the trees which lined the way on either side gradually became thinner and rarer, and at last ceased altogether, exposing me to the cold blast which swept from time to time across the barren heath with a chill that said October was own brother to November.

Three hours and a half did I toil along, when at last the conviction came over me that I must have taken the wrong road. This could not possibly be the way to Spa; indeed, I had great doubts that it led anywhere. I mounted a little rock, and took a survey of the bleak mountain-side; but nothing could I see that indicated that the hand of man had ever laboured in that wild region. Fern and heath, clumps of gorse and misshapen rocks, diversified the barren surface on every side, and I now seemed to have gained the summit, a vast tableland spreading away for miles. I sat down to consider what was best to be done. The thought of retracing so many leagues of way was very depressing; and yet what were my chances if I went forward?

Ah, thought I, why did not some benevolent individual think of erecting lighthouses inland? What a glorious invention would it have been! Just think of the great mountain districts which lie in the very midst of civilisation, pathless, trackless, and unknown, where a benighted traveller may perish within the very sound of succour, if he but knew where to seek it. How cheering to the wayworn traveller as he plods along his weary road, to lift from time to time his eyes to the guide-star in the distance! Had the monks been in the habit of going out in the dark, there's little doubt they'd have persuaded some good Catholics to endow some inst.i.tutions like this. How well they knew how to have their chapels and convents erected! I'm not sure but I'd vow a little lighthouse myself to the Virgin, if I could only catch a glimpse of a gleam of light this moment.

Just then I thought I saw something twinkle, far away across the heath.

I climbed up on the rock, and looked steadily in the direction. There was no doubt of it-there was a light; no Jack-o'-Lantern either, but a good respectable light, of domestic habits, s.h.i.+ning steadily and brightly. It seemed far off; but there is nothing so deceptive as the view over a flat surface. In any case, I resolved to make for it; and so, seizing my staff, I once more set forward. Unhappily, however, I soon perceived that the road led off in a direction exactly the reverse of the object I sought, and I was now obliged to make my choice of quitting the path or abandoning the light; my resolve was quickly made, and I started off across the plain, with my eyes steadily fixed upon my beacon.

The mountain was marshy and wet--that wearisome surface of spongy hillock, and low, creeping brushwood, the most fatal thing to a tired walker--and I made but slow progress; besides, frequently, from inequalities of the soil, I would lose sight of the light for half an hour together, and then, on its reappearing suddenly, discover how far I had wandered out of the direct line. These little aberrations did not certainly improve my temper, and I plodded along, weary of limb and out of spirits.

At length I came to the verge of a declivity. Beneath me lay a valley, winding and rugged, with a little torrent brawling through rocks and stones--a wild and gloomy scene by the imperfect light of the stars.

On the opposite mountain stood the coveted light, which now I could discover proceeded from a building of some size, at least so far as I could p.r.o.nounce from the murky shadow against the background of sky.

I summoned up one great effort, and pushed down the slope--now sliding on hands and feet, now trusting to a run of some yards where the ground was more feasible. After a fatiguing course of two hours, I reached the crest of the opposite hill, and stood within a few hundred yards of the house--the object of my wearisome journey. It was indeed in keeping with the deserted wildness of the place. A ruined tower, one of those square keeps which formerly were intended as frontier defences, standing on a rocky base, beside the edge of a steep cliff, had been made a dwelling of by some solitary herdsman--for so the sheep collected within a little inclosure bespoke him. The rude efforts to make the place habitable were conspicuous in the door formed of wooden planks nailed coa.r.s.ely together, and the window, whose panes were made of a thin substance like parchment, through which, however, the blaze of a fire shone brightly without.

Creeping carefully forward to take a reconnaissance of the interior before I asked for admission, I approached a small aperture, where a single pane of gla.s.s permitted a view. A great heap of blazing furze, that filled the old chimney of the tower, lit up the whole s.p.a.ce, and enabled me to see a man who sat on a log of wood beside the hearth, with his head bent upon his knees. His dress was a coa.r.s.e blouse of striped woollen descending to his knees, where a pair of gaiters of sheepskin were fastened by thongs of untanned leather; his head was bare, and covered only by a long ma.s.s of black hair, that fell in tangled locks down his back, and even over his face as he bent forward. A shepherd's staff and a broad hat of felt lay on the ground beside him; there was neither chair nor table, nor, save some fern in one corner, anything that might serve as a bed; a large earthenware jug and a metal pot stood near the fire, and a knife, such as butchers kill with, lay beside them.

Over the chimney, however, was suspended, by two thongs of leather, a sword, long and straight, like the weapon of the heavy cavalry of France; and, higher again, I could see a great piece of printed paper was fastened to the wall. As I continued to scan, one by one, these signs of utter poverty, the man stretched out his limbs and rubbed his eyes for a minute or two, and then with a start sprang to his feet, displaying, as he did so, the proportions of a most powerful and athletic frame.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 231-333]

He was, as well as I could guess, about forty-five years of age; but hards.h.i.+p and suffering had worn deep lines about his face, which was sallow and emaciated. A black moustache, that hung down over his lip and descended to his chin, concealed the lower part of his face; the upper was bold and manly, the forehead high and well developed; but his eyes--and I could mark them well as the light fell on him--were of an unnatural brilliancy; their sparkle had the fearful gleam of a mind diseased, and in their quick, restless glances through the room I saw that he was labouring under some insane delusion. He paced the room with a steady step, backwards and forwards, for a few minutes, and once, as he lifted his eyes above the chimney, he stopped abruptly and carried his hand to his forehead in a military salute, while he muttered something to himself. The moment after he threw open the door, and stepping outside, gave a long shrill whistle; he paused for a few seconds, and repeated it, when I could hear the distant barking of a dog replying to his call. Just then he turned abruptly, and with a spring seized me by the arm.

'Who are you? What do you want here?' said he, in a voice tremulous with pa.s.sion.

A few words--it was no time for long explanations--told him how I had lost my way in the mountain, and was in search of shelter for the night.

'It was a lucky thing for you that one of my lambs was astray,' said he, with a fierce smile. 'If Tete-noir had been at home, he'd have made short work of you. Come in.'

With that he pushed me before him into the tower, and pointed to the block of wood where he had been sitting previously, while he threw a fresh supply of furze upon the hearth, and stirred up the blaze with his foot.

'The wind is moving round to the southard,' said he; 'we 'll have a heavy fall of rain soon.'