Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 32

"Now, mine host," said the chairman, at the conclusion of this somewhat prolonged narrative, "what do you say to that?"

"Well, well, well," replied that worthy, musingly. "To think that all that should have happened to one of my gentlemen customers, what's been in furren parts. Why, it beats the story books out and out. Blessed if I can't see it all a goin' on before my very eyes."

"True, Jack," agreed Mr. Oldstone, "such is the power of our young friend's eloquence, that one feels that we ourselves have taken part in it."

"Might I point out to the company," began Mr. Blackdeed, "the intensely dramatic situation of----"

"Also the highly poetical episode----" broke in Mr. Parna.s.sus.

"And if you had been there," interrupted our artist in his turn, "you would have noticed the vivid colouring, the fine grouping of the figures, the chiaroscuro--the fantastic light and shade that would have impressed the scene upon your memory in a way never to be forgotten."

"Hark at him! Hark at him!" cried several members at once, as they refilled their gla.s.ses from the punch-bowl.

The conversation then drifted towards more recent adventures, and our artist explained in full his sudden appearance on the spot in time to frustrate the designs of the ravishers, and rescue innocence from pollution.

"And to think that you rescued _my_ daughter from those ruffians, sir, and at the risk of your own life, too. Why it was admirable! But there, sir, I can't find no words to thank you with--that I can't."

Here our worthy host became very moist; but the chairman filled up his gla.s.s again for him, which he tossed off at a gulp, and felt better.

"And now, gentlemen," said the chairman, rising, "just one more toast before I dismiss this honourable meeting, which I am sure you will all join in. Here is 'Health, long life, and happiness, both to the rescuer and the rescued!'"--(Shouts of "Hear, hear!" and "Yes; none but the brave deserve the fair.")--"Then, here goes with a 'Hip! hip!

hip!--hurrah!'"

Our artist, somewhat taken aback, blushed up to his scalp, and drank off the toast good humouredly, after which there was shaking of hands all round, and every one retired to his dormitory in a comfortable frame of mind and body.

CHAPTER XIV.

Need it be told how, on the following morning, as soon after breakfast as convenient, our artist--and now rich land-proprietor--beckoned to our host of the "Headless Lady," and with trembling lips and palpitating heart seized him by the arm, and walked with him for a good pace down the long, straight road leading up to the door of the inn? Or how the members of the club, who happened to be looking through the diamond-shaped panes of the old-fashioned bow window in that direction, remarked one to the other how mighty intimate our hero had suddenly become with his landlord, and their wonderments as to what he could find to talk to him about so confidentially?

Suddenly our host was observed to start, slap his thigh, then, with a hand upon each bent knee, he peers steadily into the face of his interlocutor, who is placing a hand upon his shoulder. Our host, now changing his position, extends a broad, fleshy palm towards his customer, which our artist clasps in his long, slender fingers with a more than usual hearty shake.

"Why, if they are not patting each other on the back, and laughing,"

exclaimed Parna.s.sus. "What _can_ be up?"

"Well, that's queer," observed the Professor. "Um--m--m--m?"

Whilst this dumb show was being enacted Dame Hearty entered her daughter's bedroom to announce to her that she had Dr. Bleedem's full permission to get up and dress herself; which permission, we may easily guess, was promptly taken advantage of. So jumping suddenly out of bed with the agility of youth, she quickly set about her toilet and ablutions.

"There is one thing," began her parent, "I wish to speak to you about."

"Yes, mother," responded Helen, absently, brushing out her curls before the gla.s.s with unusual despatch, and without turning towards her parent.

"Nay, hear me, girl," continued Dame Hearty; "it is seriously I would speak."

"Say on, then, madam; I am listening."

"I am aware--ahem!--I have long taken note," continued her mother, "of a growing intimacy--a friendship, I may say, and perhaps something more--between you and this Mr. McGuilp, our guest. I know that he has done us all a great service--a service that none of us can ever forget, and you in particular, since he saved your life. It is therefore only natural and proper that you should feel grateful towards him, and regard him in the light of a friend, and as a friend, I hope, we shall ever esteem him; but listen, now, my girl, to what I say. A _too_ intimate friendship between a young couple, out of different stations in life, such as in the case of yourself, who are only the daughter of a country inn-keeper, and a gentleman born and educated like Mr. McGuilp, who is, besides, enormously rich, having inherited all his uncle's fortune and estates, and consequently moves in the very best society.

Such intimacies are dangerous, and may lead on to trouble before you are aware."

"How, mother?"

"Bless the child!" answered her mother, impatiently, "must I tell you everything? Must I make you as wise as myself? No; there are things I can't discuss with you. What I want of you is to be patient, and obey."

"You--all of you--treat me like a child," broke in Helen, reproachfully.

"And so you are," retorted her mother; "therefore take advice. The feeling that the world calls _love_--love, I say, that speaks not of marriage is denounced as _sin_ by the laws of G.o.d and man."

"Well, that's strange," mused Helen. "Then, one may not love a friend, a parent, a child, without marrying them?"

"I have no time to quibble," replied her mother, with some asperity, "but would simply remark that whatever your feelings may be towards Mr.

McGuilp, or his towards _you_, nothing but harm and unhappiness can be the lot of you both--without marriage. Now, you can't well expect a rich gentleman like Mr. McGuilp to displease all his friends by marrying a penniless girl like yourself--country bred, without education, who knows nothing of the world and society, when he could marry some high-born lady out of his own cla.s.s--some rich heiress, educated and accomplished, who would grace the society to which he belongs. He might be a great man in the county, and enter Parliament, with such a wife, while you would only drag him down to your level."

Helen had already hidden her face in her hands, and her bare shoulders heaved convulsively, while the hot tears trickled through her fingers.

"Cease, mother! Oh! cease, in pity!" she cried. "I cannot bear it."

Her anguish would have wrung the heart of a stone, and her parent being a really tender-hearted woman, deeply sympathised with her daughter, though she felt it her duty to be firm, "For what could it all end in?"

she argued.

At this juncture, the voice of our host was heard at the bottom of the staircase calling out, "Molly, my dear! Mr. McGuilp wants to speak to you."

"In one moment, Jack," answered his spouse. Then to her daughter, "Dry your eyes, my girl. Bathe your face and follow me. Mr. McGuilp doubtless wants to see you. You have much to thank him for, and do it with grace, but mind what I have said."

With this parting admonition she left the room and hurried downstairs, whilst Helen deftly finished her toilet, and with one last look at the gla.s.s to ascertain that her eyes bore no traces of weeping, she was preparing to descend the stairs, when her attention was attracted by sounds from below that she was at a loss to account for. There was a jumble of human voices, but above them all was the voice of her mother, now screaming, now half laughing and half crying, whilst that of Dr.

Bleedem was heard giving orders to her father, and all seemed bustle and confusion. Dame Hearty was in hysterics.

"And you really do mean it, Mr. McGuilp?" asked, in a sweet voice, a bright-faced country girl of eighteen summers of a slim young man in the garb of a gentleman, who followed her through the narrow mossy pathway of a wood adjacent to the inn at the cross roads.

"Mean it, my angel! Why, of course I do, and feel proud at the very thought of you being all my own. Only don't call me any more 'Mr.

McGuilp,' or 'Sir.' It hurts my feelings. Call me 'Van'--just 'Van' as my friends and relatives have ever called me."

"Van, let it be then," quoth the maiden, "_dear_ Van, my own sweet love for ever and ever! Oh! Van, you _have_ made me so happy! And my parents, how you must have surprised them when you told them! Poor mother! No wonder she went into highstrikes!"

"Hysterics," corrected her lover.

"Well, that's what they call them here," answered the girl; "but you will correct me every time I make a mistake, won't you Van?"

"With pleasure, dearest," replied her suitor.

"And nothing can ever come between us now? Nothing can part us?"