Paul Clifford Part 15

"Pray," said the doctor, who had not much heeded this turn in the conversation, and was now "on hospitable cares intent,"--"pray, sir, if not impertinent, are you visiting or lodging in the neighbourhood; or will you take a bed with us?"

"You are extremely kind, my dear sir, but I fear I must soon wish you good-evening. I have to look after a little property I have some miles hence, which, indeed, brought me down into this part of the world."

"Property!--in what direction, sir, if I may ask?" quoth the doctor; "I know the country for miles."

"Do you, indeed? Where's my property, you say? Why, it is rather difficult to describe it, and it is, after all, a mere trifle; it is only some common-land near the highroad, and I came down to try the experiment of hedging and draining."

"'T is a good plan, if one has capital, and does not require a speedy return."

"Yes; but one likes a good interest for the loss of princ.i.p.al, and a speedy return is always desirable,--although, alas! it is often attended with risk!"

"I hope, sir," said the doctor, "if you must leave us so soon, that your property will often bring you into our neighbourhood."

"You overpower me with so much unexpected goodness," answered the stranger. "To tell you the truth, nothing can give me greater pleasure than to meet those again who have once obliged me."

"Whom you have obliged, rather!" cried Mrs. Slopperton; and then added, in a loud whisper to Lucy, "How modest! but it is always so with true courage!"

"I a.s.sure you, madam," returned the benevolent stranger, "that I never think twice of the little favours I render my fellow-men; my only hope is that they may be as forgetful as myself."

Charmed with so much unaffected goodness of disposition, the doctor and Mrs. Slopperton now set up a sort of duet in praise of their guest: after enduring their commendations and compliments for some minutes with much grimace of disavowal and diffidence, the stranger's modesty seemed at last to take pain at the excess of their grat.i.tude; and accordingly, pointing to the clock, which was within a few minutes to nine, he said,--

"I fear, my respected host and my admired hostess, that I must now leave you; I have far to go."

"But are you yourself not afraid of the highwaymen?" cried Mrs.

Slopperton, interrupting him.

"The highwaymen!" said the stranger, smiling; "no; I do not fear them; besides, I have little about me worth robbing."

"Do you superintend your property yourself?" said the doctor, who farmed his own glebe and who, unwilling to part with so charming a guest, seized him now by the b.u.t.ton.

"Superintend it myself! why, not exactly. There is a bailiff, whose views of things don't agree with mine, and who now and then gives me a good deal of trouble."

"Then why don't you discharge him altogether?"

"Ah! I wish I could; but 't is a necessary evil. We landed proprietors, my dear sir, must always be plagued with some thing of the sort. For my part, I have found those cursed bailiffs would take away, if they could, all the little property one has been trying to acc.u.mulate. But,"

abruptly changing his manner into one of great softness, "could I not proffer my services and my companionship to this young lady? Would she allow me to conduct her home, and indeed stamp this day upon my memory as one of the few delightful ones I have ever known?"

"Thank you, dear sir," said Mrs. Slopperton, answering at once for Lucy; "it is very considerate of you.--And I am sure, my love, I could not think of letting you go home alone with old John, after such an adventure to the poor dear doctor."

Lucy began an excuse which the good lady would not hear. But as the servant whom Mr. Brandon was to send with a lantern to attend his daughter home had not arrived, and as Mrs. Slopperton, despite her prepossessions in favour of her husband's deliverer, did not for a moment contemplate his accompanying, without any other attendance, her young friend across the fields at that unseasonable hour, the stranger was forced, for the present, to re-a.s.sume his seat. An open harpsichord at one end of the room gave him an opportunity to make some remark upon music; and this introducing an eulogium on Lucy's voice from Mrs.

Slopperton, necessarily ended in a request to Miss Brandon to indulge the stranger with a song. Never had Lucy, who was not a shy girl,--she was too innocent to be bashful,--felt nervous. .h.i.therto in singing before a stranger; but now she hesitated and faltered, and went through a whole series of little natural affectations before she complied with the request. She chose a song composed somewhat after the old English school, which at that time was reviving into fashion. The song, though conveying a sort of conceit, was not, perhaps, altogether without tenderness; it was a favourite with Lucy, she scarcely knew why, and ran thus:--

LUCY'S SONG.

Why sleep, ye gentle flowers, ah, why, When tender eve is falling, And starlight drinks the happy sigh Of winds to fairies calling?

Calling with low and plaining note, Most like a ringdove chiding, Or flute faint-heard from distant boat O'er smoothest waters gliding.

Lo, round you steals the wooing breeze; Lo, on you falls the dew!

O sweets, awake, for scarcely these Can charm while wanting you!

Wake ye not yet, while fast below The silver time is fleeing?

O heart of mine, those flowers but show Thine own contented being.

The twilight but preserves the bloom, The sun can but decay The warmth that brings the rich perfume But steals the life away.

O heart, enjoy thy present calm, Rest peaceful in the shade, And dread the sun that gives the balm To bid the blossom fade.

When Lucy ended, the stranger's praise was less loud than either the doctor's or his lady's; but how far more sweet it was! And for the first time in her life Lucy made the discovery that eyes can praise as well as lips. For our part, we have often thought that that discovery is an epoch in life.

It was now that Mrs. Slopperton declared her thorough conviction that the stranger himself could sing. He had that about him, she said, which made her sure of it.

"Indeed, dear madam," said he, with his usual undefinable, half-frank, half-latent smile, "my voice is but so-so, and any memory so indifferent that even in the easiest pa.s.sages I soon come to a stand. My best notes are in the falsetto; and as for my execution--But we won't talk of that."

"Nay, nay; you are so modest," said Mrs. Slopperton. "I am sure you could oblige us if you would."

"Your command," said the stranger, moving to the harpsichord, "is all-sufficient; and since you, madam," turning to Lucy, "have chosen a song after the old school, may I find pardon if I do the same? My selection is, to be sure, from a lawless song-book, and is supposed to be a ballad by Robin Hood, or at least one of his merry men,--a very different sort of outlaws from the knaves who attacked you, sir!"

With this preface the stranger sung to a wild yet jovial air, with a tolerable voice, the following effusion:

THE LOVE OF OUR PROFESSION; OR THE ROBBER'S LIFE.

On the stream of the world, the robber's life Is borne on the blithest wave; Now it bounds into light in a gladsome strife, Now it laughs in its hiding cave.

At his maiden's lattice he stays the rein; How still is his courser proud (But still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main In the breast of the boding cloud),

With the champed bit and the archd crest, And the eye of a listening deer, Like valour, fretful most in rest, Least chafed when in career.

Fit slave to a lord whom all else refuse To save at his desperate need; By my troth! I think one whom the world pursues Hath a right to a gallant steed.

"Away, my beloved, I hear their feet!

I blow thee a kiss, my fair, And I promise to bring thee, when next we meet, A braid for thy bonny hair.

Hurrah! for the booty!--my steed, hurrah!

Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we; And the coy moon smiles on our merry way, Like my own love,--timidly."

The parson he rides with a jingling pouch, How it blabs of the rifled poor!

The courtier he lolls in his gilded coach, --How it smacks of a sinecure!

The lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise Sweet thoughts of a mischief done; And the lady that knoweth the card she plays Is counting her guineas won!

"He, lady!--What, holla, ye sinless men!

My claim ye can scarce refuse; For when honest folk live on their neighbours, then They encroach on the robber's dues!"

The lady changed cheek like a bashful maid, The lawyer talked wondrous fair, The parson blasphemed, and the courtier prayed, And the robber bore off his share.

"Hurrah! for the revel! my steed, hurrah!

Thorough bush, thorough brake, go we!

It is ever a virtue, when others pay,

To ruffle it merrily!"

Oh, there never was life like the robber's, --so Jolly and bold and free!

And its end-why, a cheer from the crowd below, And a leap from a leafless tree!