The Actress in High Life Part 21

"I suspect that often happens in the progress of life," said Lady Mabel. "We seem to stand still for a while at a monotonous stage of our existence; a sudden change of condition comes, and we leap forward toward maturity. So, too, we may for years continue young in heart and health; some heavy trouble or deep grief overtakes us, and we at once are old."

"It is not a leap forward in life that you have made, but a leap aside, out of your own character. It amazes me to see you galloping wildly over this outlandish country, without a thought but flowers, soldiers, and sightseeing. I sometimes think you bewitched."

"What is more likely?" said Lady Mabel. "To us silly women, flowers, soldiers, and sightseeing, are the most bewitching things in the world."

"But you have lost all caution, all fear, and let these friends of yesterday lead you you know not whither."

"Traveling is one way to grow wise; and as to danger, what did you leave Craiggyside for, if it was not to take care of me?"

"Heaven knows I knew not what I undertook. I find one young lady harder to look after than twelve score of ewes, the kine, and the crops, with the ploughmen, shepherd, and dairy-maid to boot."

"Pray do not tell that to any but myself. With such a character, so far from pa.s.sing for a lady, I could not get a place as lady's maid."

"You may laugh, my lady, but the danger is real and near. I do not trust your new friends," and Moodie shook his finger at them before him. "I know what is ordered must come to pa.s.s, and it is sinful to repine at it. But I have known you from a girl, a child, for you are a girl still, my lady, and it grieves my heart to see you galloping on to Rome and ruin."

"Is that my predestined road?" said Lady Mabel. "Then I suppose I must ride it, but it will be at a spanking pace," and giving her horse a cut she dashed off to the head of the party, while Moodie gazed after her in despair.

Hearing the tread of horses close behind him, he looked round and saw L'Isle's servants at his heels, watching him closely. The thought struck him, that he might find these men useful. So, falling back alongside of them, he said to L'Isle's man: "Do you know any thing of the strange country we are going to now?"

The man looked around for a moment with a puzzled air, but perceiving that Moodie was under some strange mistake, he merely said: "I am following my master, and leave him to choose his own road."

"We are playing the game of follow your leader, Mr. Moodie," said the groom, dipping into the dialogue. "The Colonel leads, and we are to follow you know; and d----t, we will play out the game."

"But do you know that he is leading you to the land of the Moors?"

"If he is going to the land of the great Black-a-moor himself, we must shut our eyes and gallop down hill. His country is said to lie in that way."

Moodie muttered something about a son of Belial, but he wished to use these men, and not offend them. So, turning to the groom, with grim sociability, he asked: "Can you speak the language of the people hereabouts?"

"I can call l.u.s.tily for meat and drink, and make my wants known at a pinch."

"Can you hire me a messenger at the next place we stop at? You must know," said he, in a confidential tone, "I left an important matter sadly neglected in Elvas. It is my lord's business, and I would be sorry to come to blame in it. Whatever it cost, I must send a letter there without delay, and while I write, you must find man and horse. He shall have two guineas the minute the job is done. Is that enough?"

"Quite enough," the groom answered, gravely, while his companion turned away his head to conceal a grin. "I know something about riding express, and for two guineas I will find you a man to ride to Elvas and back in double quick time."

"You shall have a guinea for yourself, if you prove a man of your word, and send my letter in time."

"If I fail you, may your guinea choke me, for I mean to melt it down into good liquor," said the groom.

"And I'll help him to drink your health in it, Mr. Moodie," said the other man. "For a guinea's worth of liquor might choke a better man than Tom."

With hope renewed, Moodie rode on after his mistress. On coming up with them, he heard L'Isle and Lady Mabel talking Portuguese. To while away an idle hour, she was taking a lesson in that tongue. This annoyed Moodie, who suspected some plot, when they thus kept him in the dark. But he consoled himself with the hope that his important dispatch would yet be in time to prevent mischief, and he once more refreshed himself with his bottle, being now well convinced of its medicinal virtue.

Lady Mabel was in high spirits, talking and laughing, and occasionally looking round at Moodie, enjoying the deception she had put upon him. Her success in bewildering him, now tempted her to quiz L'Isle, and she abruptly said: "It must have been a violent fit of patriotism and martial ardor that made you abandon the thought of taking orders, and quit Oxford for the camp."

"I never had any thought of taking orders," answered L'Isle, surprised and annoyed, he knew not exactly why. "I only lived with those who had."

"You lived with them to some purpose, then, and have, too, a great apt.i.tude for the church."

"It is not my vocation," said L'Isle, laconically.

"You have only not yet found it out. But it is not too late," she persisted. "Your case, my good man-slaying Christian, is not like Gonsalvo's of Cordova, who had but a remnant of his days in which to play the penitent monk. These wars will soon be over, and you are still young. If you cannot make a general, you may be a bishop in time. Indeed, I already see in you a pillar of our church."

It was not flattering to an ambitious young soldier to hint that he had so mistaken his calling. L'Isle was almost angry, at which Lady Mabel felt a mischievous delight; and Mrs. Shortridge was highly amused.

"It is but a small inducement I can offer you, among so many higher motives," Lady Mabel continued. "But I promise you, that, whenever you preach your first sermon, I will travel even to Land's-end to hear it."

"Lady Mabel shall offer a greater bribe," said Mrs. Shortridge, with an arch look. "If you will only exchange the sword for the surplice, Colonel L'Isle, whenever she commits matrimony, no one but you shall solemnize the rite."

Far from being tempted, L'Isle seemed utterly disgusted at the inducement.

Lady Mabel blushed to the crown of her head, and exclaimed, "I am too fond of my liberty to offer that bribe. That is a high and bare hill,"

she said, seeking to divert their attention. "Let us ride to the top of it, and survey the country around."

"You may do so, if you like," said Mrs. Shortridge, composedly; "but I have made a vow to do no extra riding to-day. This road is long enough and rough enough for me."

Lady Mabel turned from the path, and, followed by L'Isle, was soon ascending the hill. Moodie, somewhat under the influence of his soporific draughts, was in a reverie, wondering whether Lord Strathern would get his letter in time to send a troop of horse after the fugitives, and whether it might not come within the provisions of the military code to have L'Isle court-martialed and shot for running off with his General's daughter, when, looking up, he missed Lady Mabel, and then discovered her with L'Isle, scampering over the hill. In great confusion, he rode up to Mrs. Shortridge, and asked, "Where are they going now?"

"I scarcely know," she answered; "but Colonel L'Isle will take care of Lady Mabel, so you can stay and take care of me."

Moodie cast on her a look of angry suspicion, which scanned her from head to foot, and plainly p.r.o.nounced her no sufficient pledge for his mistress. Spurring his horse, he followed Lady Mabel at a run. The animal he rode had often carried fifteen stone, in Lord Strathern's person, over as rough ground as this, and made light of Moodie's weight, which was scarcely more than nine. Without picking his way, he made directly for his companions ahead; and the clatter of his hoofs soon making Lady Mabel look round, she drew up her horse in haste, and anxiously watched Moodie's career. A deep chasm, washed out by the winter rains, was cleared by the horse in capital style, but Moodie lit on his valise, and with difficulty recovered the saddle. Just between him and Lady Mabel the last tree on the hill-side, torn from the shallow soil by some heavy blast, lay horizontally on its decaying roots and branches. Moodie rode at it with unquailing eye; and, while Lady Mabel uttered an exclamation of alarm, the horse cleared it in a bucking leap, throwing Moodie against the holsters; but he fell back into his seat, and rode up triumphantly to his mistress. This energetic demonstration seemed to overawe Lady Mabel. Turning from the hill-top before them, she rode demurely back to the party, resolved not to wander from the beaten path, or go faster than a foot-pace, until Moodie had dismounted, and his neck was safe.

A peasant on an a.s.s, coming down the road, had stopped and stood at gaze at a distance, watching these equestrian manoeuvres. But when he saw the party, now united, coming toward him, he turned short to the left, and hastened away at a pace that proved that his _burro_ had four nimble legs.

"That must be a thief," said Mrs. Shortridge, "afraid of falling in with honest folks."

"Or an honest man," suggested L'Isle, "afraid of falling among thieves. I have observed a growing dislike in the peasantry to meeting small parties of our people in out of the way places. I suspect that they are sometimes made to pay toll for traveling their own roads."

Their road was winding round the side of the hill, and they presently got a glimpse of a cultivated valley before them. The spirit of mischief suddenly revived in Lady Mabel's bosom. She fell back alongside of Moodie, and said: "This way seems much traveled. It is no longer a by-path; we may call it a high road in this country. We must be drawing near to the city of Mauropolis. I wonder we have yet met none of these turbaned Moors."

Moodie roused himself, and looked anxiously ahead. The mountain shadows already fell upon the valley; but the evening sun still shone upon a city opposite to them. It was seated high above the valley, and flanked by two fortresses of unequal elevation, which partly hid it.

The Serra de Portalagre rising behind, overhung it, and the city seemed nestled in a nook in the steep mountain side. Moodie from this point did not recognize the place, but gazed on it steadfastly, with no kindly feeling. "Edom is exalted. He hath made his habitation in the clefts of the rock. He sayeth in his heart, who shall bring me down?" But presently he distinguished the peculiar aqueduct, and his eye roving westward, was struck by the familiar outline of _Serra D'Ossa_.

"We have lost our road," said Lady Mabel, "and found our way back to Elvas;" and, laughing merrily, she shot ahead, leaving Moodie too much angered and mortified to enjoy the relief of his anxieties.

On reaching his quarters he went straight to his bed, to sleep off his fatigue, his chagrin, and the good wine which had befriended yet beguiled him.

CHAPTER XIV.

It snowed in his house of meat and drink, Of all dainties that men could of think; After the sundry seasons of the year, So changed he his meat and soupere.

Full many a fat patriarch had he in mew, And many a breme and many a luce in stew; Wo was his cook, but if his sauce were Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gere, His table dormant in his hall alway, Stood ready covered all the long day.

_Prologue to Canterbury Tales_.