Thomas H. Huxley - "Evidence as to Man's Place in Nature"

George MacDonald - "Salted With Fire"

Several - "Wenyuange Sikuquanshu"

William Shakespeare - "The Tragedy of Julius Caesar"

The Eustace Diamonds

A >> Anthony Trollope >> The Eustace Diamonds




"I wish he'd broken the infernal neck of you, you scoundrel, you; that's
what I do," said Mr. Nappie. "There was my man, and my 'orse, and myself,
all booked from Glasgow to Kilmarnock; and when I got there what did the
guard say to me? why, just that a man in a black coat had taken my horse
off at Stewarton; and now I've been driving all about the country in that
gig there for three hours!" When Mr. Nappie had got so far as this in his
explanation he was almost in tears. "I'll make 'im pay, that I will. Take
your hand off my horse's bridle, sir. Is there any gentleman here as would
like to give two hundred and eighty guineas for a horse, and then have him
rid to a standstill by a fellow like that down from London? If you're in
Parliament, why don't you stick to Parliament? I don't suppose he's worth
fifty pound this moment."

Frank had all the while been endeavouring to explain the accident; how he
had ordered a horse from Mr. MacFarlane, and the rest of it--as the reader
will understand; but quite in vain. Mr. Nappie in his wrath would not hear
a word. But now that he spoke about money Frank thought that he saw an
opening.

"Mr. Nappie," he said, "I'll buy the horse for the price you gave for
him."

"I'll see you--extremely well--first," said Mr. Nappie.

The horse had now been surrendered to Mr. Nappie, and Frank suggested that
he might as well return to Kilmarnock in the gig, and pay for the hire of
it. But Mr. Nappie would not allow him to set a foot upon the gig. "It's
my gig for the day," said he, "and you don't touch it. You shall foot it
all the way back to Kilmarnock, Mr. Greystockings." But Mr. Nappie, in
making this threat, forgot that there were gentlemen there with second
horses. Frank was soon mounted on one belonging to Lord George, and Lord
George's servant, at the corner of the farm-yard, got into the buggy, and
was driven back to Kilmarnock by the man who had accompanied poor Mr.
Nappie in their morning's hunt on wheels after the hounds.

"Upon my word, I was very sorry," said Frank as he rode back with his
friends to Kilmarnock; "and when I first really understood what had
happened, I would have done anything. But what could I say? It was
impossible not to laugh, he was so unreasonable."

"I should have put my whip over his shoulder," said a stout farmer,
meaning to be civil to Frank Greystock.

"Not after using it so often over his horse," said Lord George.

"I never had to touch him once," said Frank.

"And are you to have it all for nothing?" asked the thoughtful Lizzie.

"He'll send a bill in, you'll find," said a bystander.

"Not he," said Lord George. "His grievance is worth more to him than his
money."

No bill did come to Frank, and he got his mount for nothing. When Mr.
MacFarlane was applied to, he declared that no letter ordering a horse had
been delivered in his establishment. From that day to this Mr. Nappie's
gray horse has had a great character in Ayrshire; but all the world there
says that its owner never rides him as Frank Greystock rode him that day.




CHAPTER XXXIX

SIR GRIFFIN TAKES AN UNFAIR ADVANTAGE


We must return to the unfortunate Lucinda, whom we last saw struggling
with her steed in the black waters of the brook which she attempted to
jump. A couple of men were soon in after her, and she was rescued and
brought back to the side from which she had been taken off without any
great difficulty. She was neither hurt nor frightened, but she was wet
through; and for a while she was very unhappy, because it was not found
quite easy to extricate her horse. During the ten minutes of her agony,
while the poor brute was floundering in the mud, she had been quite
disregardful of herself, and had almost seemed to think that Sir Griffin,
who was with her, should go into the water after her steed. But there were
already two men in the water and three on the bank, and Sir Griffin
thought that duty required him to stay by the young lady's side. "I don't
care a bit about myself," said Lucinda, "but if anything can be done for
poor Warrior?" Sir Griffin assured her that "poor Warrior" was receiving
the very best attention; and then he pressed upon her the dangerous
condition in which she herself was standing, quite wet through, covered as
to her feet and legs with mud, growing colder and colder every minute. She
touched her lips with a little brandy that somebody gave her, and then
declared again that she cared for nothing but poor Warrior. At last poor
Warrior was on his legs, with the water dripping from his black flanks,
with his nose stained with mud, with one of his legs a little cut, and
alas! with the saddle wet through. Nevertheless, there was nothing to be
done better than to ride into Kilmarnock. The whole party must return to
Kilmarnock, and, perhaps, if they hurried, she might be able to get her
clothes dry before they would start by the train. Sir Griffin, of course,
accompanied her, and they two rode into the town alone. Mrs. Carbuncle did
hear of the accident soon after the occurrence, but had not seen her
niece; nor when she heard of it, could she have joined Lucinda.

If anything would make a girl talk to a man, such a ducking as Lucinda had
had would do so. Such sudden events, when they come in the shape of
misfortune, or the reverse, generally have the effect of abolishing
shyness for the time. Let a girl be upset with you in a railway train, and
she will talk like a Rosalind, though before the accident she was as mute
as death. But with Lucinda Roanoke the accustomed change did not seem to
take place. When Sir Griffin had placed her on her sad lie, she would have
trotted all--the way into Kilmarnock without a word if he would have
allowed her. But he, at least, understood that such a joint misfortune
should create confidence, for he, too, had lost the run, and he did not
intend to lose his opportunity also. "I am so glad that I was near you,"
he said.

"Oh, thank you, yes; it would have been bad to be alone."

"I mean that I am glad that it was I," said Sir Griffin. "It's very hard
even to get a moment to speak to you." They were now trotting along on the
road, and there was still three miles before them.

"I don't know," said she. "I'm always with the other people."

"Just so." And then he paused. "But I want to find you when you're not
with the other people. Perhaps, however, you don't like me."

As he paused for a reply, she felt herself bound to say something. "Oh,
yes, I do," she said, "as well as anybody else."

"And is that all?"

"I suppose so."

After that he rode on for the best part of another mile before he spoke to
her again. He had made up his mind that he would do it. He hardly knew why
it was that he wanted her. He had not determined that he was desirous of
the charms or comfort of domestic life. He had not even thought where he
would live were he married. He had not suggested to himself that Lucinda
was a desirable companion, that her temper would suit his, that her ways
and his were sympathetic, or that she would be a good mother to the future
Sir Griffin Tewett. He had seen that she was a very handsome girl, and
therefore he had thought that he would like to possess her. Had she fallen
like a ripe plum into his mouth, or shown herself ready so to fall, he
would probably have closed his lips and backed out of the affair. But the
difficulty no doubt added something to the desire. "I had hoped," he said,
"that after knowing each other so long there might have been more than
that."

She was again driven to speak because he paused. "I don't know that that
makes much difference."

"Miss Roanoke, you can't but understand what I mean."

"I'm sure I don't," said she.

"Then I'll speak plainer."

"Not now, Sir Griffin, because I'm so wet."

"You can listen to me even if you will not answer me. I am sure that you
know that I love you better than all the world. Will you be mine?" Then he
moved on a little forward so that he might look back into her face. "Will
you allow me to think of you as my future wife?"

Miss Roanoke was able to ride at a stone wall or at a river, and to ride
at either the second time when her horse balked the first. Her heart was
big enough to enable her to give Sir Griffin an answer. Perhaps it was
that, in regard to the river and the stone wall, she knew what she wanted;
but that, as to Sir Griffin, she did not. "I don't think this is a proper
time to ask," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because I am wet through and cold. It is taking an unfair advantage."

"I didn't mean to take any unfair advantage," said Sir Griffin scowling;
"I thought we were alone----"

"Oh, Sir Griffin, I am so tired!" As they were now entering Kilmarnock, it
was quite clear that he could press her no further. They clattered up,
therefore, to the hotel, and he busied himself in getting a bedroom fire
lighted, and in obtaining the services of the landlady. A cup of tea was
ordered, and toast, and in two minutes Lucinda Roanoke was relieved from
the presence of the baronet.

"It's a kind of thing a fellow doesn't quite understand," said Sir Griffin
to himself. "Of course she means it, and why the devil can't she say so?"
He had no idea of giving up the chase, but he thought that perhaps he
would take it out of her when she became Lady Tewett.

They were an hour at the inn before Mrs. Carbuncle and Lady Eustace
arrived, and during that hour Sir Griffin did not see Miss Roanoke. For
this there was, of course, ample reason. Under the custody of the
landlady, Miss Roanoke was being made dry and clean, and was by no means
in a condition to receive a lover's vows. The baronet sent up half a dozen
messages as he sauntered about the yard of the inn, but he got no message
in return. Lucinda, as she sat drinking her tea and drying her clothes,
did no doubt think about him, but she thought about him as little as she
could. Of course he would come again, and she could make up her mind then.
It was no doubt necessary that she should do something. Her fortune, such
as it was, would soon be spent in the adventure of finding a husband. She
also had her ideas about love, and had enough of sincerity about her to
love a man thoroughly; but it had seemed to her that all the men who came
near her were men whom she could not fail to dislike. She was hurried here
and hurried there, and knew nothing of real social intimacies. As she told
her aunt in her wickedness, she would almost have preferred a shoemaker,
if she could have become acquainted with a shoemaker in a manner that
should be unforced and genuine. There was a savageness of antipathy in her
to the mode of life which her circumstances had produced for her. It was
that very savageness which made her ride so hard, and which forbade her to
smile and be pleasant to people whom she could not like. And yet she knew
that something must be done. She could not afford to wait as other girls
might do. Why not Sir Griffin as well as any other fool? It may be doubted
whether she knew how obstinate, how hard, how cruel to a woman a fool can
be.

Her stockings had been washed and dried, and her boots and trousers were
nearly dry, when Mrs. Carbuncle, followed by Lizzie, rushed into the room.
"Oh, my darling, how are you?" said the aunt, seizing her niece in her
arms.

"I'm only dirty now," said Lucinda.

"We've got off the biggest of the muck, my lady," said the landlady.

"Oh, Miss Roanoke," said Lizzie, "I hope you don't think I behaved badly
in going on."

"Everybody always goes on, of course," said Lucinda.

"I did so pray Lord George to let me try and jump back to you. We were
over, you know, before it happened. But he said it was quite impossible.
We did wait till we saw you were out."

"It didn't signify at all, Lady Eustace."

"And I was so sorry when I went through the wall at the corner of the wood
before you. But I was so excited I hardly knew what I was doing." Lucinda,
who was quite used to these affairs in the hunting-field, simply nodded
her acceptance of this apology. "But it was a glorious run, wasn't it?"

"Pretty well," said Mrs. Carbuncle.

"Oh, it was glorious; but then I got over the river. And, oh, if you had
been there afterwards. There was such an adventure between a man in a gig
and my cousin Frank." Then they all went to the train, and were carried
home to Portray.




CHAPTER XL

YOU ARE NOT ANGRY


On their journey back to Portray, the ladies were almost too tired for
talking, and Sir Griffin was sulky. Sir Griffin had as yet heard nothing
about Greystock's adventure, and did not care to be told. But when once
they were at the castle, and had taken warm baths and glasses of sherry,
and got themselves dressed and had come down to dinner, they were all very
happy. To Lizzie it had certainly been the most triumphant day of her
life. Her marriage with Sir Florian had been triumphant, but that was only
a step to something good that was to come after. She then had at her own
disposal her little wits and her prettiness, and a world before her in
which, as it then seemed to her, there was a deal of pleasure if she could
only reach it. Up to this period of her career she had hardly reached any
pleasure; but this day had been very pleasant. Lord George de Bruce
Carruthers had in truth been her Corsair, and she had found the thing
which she liked to do, and would soon know how to do. How glorious it was
to jump over that black, yawning stream, and then to see Lucinda fall into
it! And she could remember every jump, and her feeling of ecstasy as she
landed on the right side. And she had by heart every kind word that Lord
George had said to her--and she loved the sweet, pleasant, Corsair--like
intimacy that had sprung up between them. She wondered whether Frank was
at all jealous. It wouldn't be amiss that he should be a little jealous.
And then somebody had brought home in his pocket the fox's brush, which
the master of the hounds had told the huntsman to give her. It was all
delightful; and so much more delightful because Mrs. Carbuncle had not
gone quite so well as she liked to go, and because Lucinda had fallen into
the water.

They did not dine till past eight, and the ladies and gentlemen all left
the room together. Coffee and liqueurs were to be brought into the
drawing-room, and they were all to be intimate, comfortable, and at their
ease; all except Sir Griffin Tewett, who was still very sulky.

"Did he say anything?" Mrs. Carbuncle had asked.

"Yes."

"Well."

"He proposed; but of course I could not answer him when I was wet
through." There had been but a moment, and in that moment this was all
that Lucinda would say.

"Now I don't mean to stir again," said Lizzie, throwing herself into a
corner of a sofa, "till somebody carries me to bed. I never was so tired
in all my life." She was tired, but there is a fatigue which is delightful
as long as all the surroundings are pleasant and comfortable.

"I didn't call it a very hard day," said Mrs. Carbuncle.

"You only killed one fox," said Mr. Mealyus, pretending a delightfully
clerical ignorance, "and on Monday you killed four. Why should you be
tired?"

"I suppose it was nearly twenty miles," said Frank, who was also ignorant.

"About ten, perhaps," said Lord George. "It was an hour and forty minutes,
and there was a good bit of slow hunting after we had come back over the
river."

"I'm sure it was thirty," said Lizzie, forgetting her fatigue in her
energy.

"Ten is always better than twenty," said Lord George, "and five generally
better than ten."

"It was just whatever is best," said Lizzie. "I know Frank's friend, Mr.
Nappie, said it was twenty. By-the-by, oughtn't we to have asked Mr.
Nappie home to dinner?"

"I thought so," said Frank; "but I couldn't take the liberty myself."

"I really think poor Mr. Nappie was very badly used," said Mrs. Carbuncle.

"Of course he was," said Lord George; "no man ever worse since hunting was
invented. He was entitled to a dozen dinners and no end of patronage; but
you see he took it out in calling your cousin Mr. Greystockings."

"I felt that blow," said Frank.

"I shall always call you Cousin Greystockings," said Lizzie.

"It was hard," continued Lord George, "and I understood it all so well
when he got into a mess in his wrath about booking the horse to
Kilmarnock. If the horse had been on the roadside, he or his men could
have protected him. He is put under the protection of a whole railway
company, and the company gives him up to the first fellow that comes and
asks for him."

"It was cruel," said Frank.

"If it had happened to me, I should have been very angry," said Mrs.
Carbuncle.

"But Frank wouldn't have had a horse at all," said Lizzie, "unless he had
taken Mr. Nappie's."

Lord George still continued his plea for Mr. Nappie. "There's something in
that certainly; but, still, I agree with Mrs. Carbuncle. If it had
happened to me, I should--just have committed murder and suicide. I can't
conceive anything so terrible. It's all very well for your noble master to
talk of being civil, and hoping that the horse had carried him well, and
all that. There are circumstances in which a man can't be civil. And then
everybody laughed at him! It's the way of the world. The lower you fall,
the more you're kicked."

"What can I do for him?" asked Frank.

"Put him down at your club and order thirty dozen of gray shirtings from
Nappie & Co., without naming the price."

"He'd send you gray stockings instead," said Lizzie.

But though Lizzie was in heaven, it behooved her to be careful. The
Corsair was a very fine specimen of the Corsair breed, about the best
Corsair she had ever seen, and had been devoted to her for the day. But
these Corsairs are known to be dangerous, and it would not be wise that
she should sacrifice any future prospect of importance on behalf of a
feeling, which, no doubt, was founded on poetry, but which might too
probably have no possible beneficial result. As far as she knew, the
Corsair had not even an island of his own in the Aegean Sea. And, if he
had, might not the island too probably have a Medora or two of its own? In
a ride across the country the Corsair was all that a Corsair should be;
but knowing, as she did, but very little of the Corsair, she could not
afford to throw over her cousin for his sake. As she was leaving the
drawing-room she managed to say one word to her cousin. "You were not
angry with me because I got Lord George to ride with me instead of you?"

"Angry with you?"

"I knew I should only be a hindrance to you."

"It was a matter of course. He knows all about it, and I know nothing. I
am very glad that you liked it so much."

"I did like it; and so did you. I was so glad you got that poor man's
horse. You were not angry then?" They had now passed across the hall, and
were on the bottom stair.

"Certainly not."

"And you are not angry for what happened before?" She did not look into
his face as she asked this question, but stood with her eyes fixed on the
stair-carpet.

"Indeed no."

"Good night, Frank."

"Good night, Lizzie." Then she went, and he returned to a room below which
had been prepared for purposes of tobacco and soda-water and brandy.

"Why, Griff, you're rather out of sorts to-night," said Lord George to his
friend, before Frank had joined them.

"So would you be out of sorts if you'd lost your run and had to pick a
young woman out of the water. I don't like young women when they're damp
and smell of mud."

"You mean to marry her, I suppose."

"How would you like me to ask you questions? Do you mean to marry the
widow? And, if you do, what'll Mrs. Carbuncle say? And if you don't, what
do you mean to do; and all the rest of it?"

"As for marrying the widow, I should like to know the facts first. As to
Mrs. C., she wouldn't object in the least. I generally have my horses so
bitted that they can't very well object. And as to the other question, I
mean to stay here for the next fortnight, and I advise you to make it
square with Miss Roanoke. Here's my lady's cousin; for a man who doesn't
ride often, he went very well to-day."

"I wonder if he'd take a twenty-pound note if I sent it to him," said
Frank, when they broke up for the night. "I don't like the idea of riding
such a fellow's horse for nothing."

"He'll bring an action against the railway, and then you can offer to pay
if you like." Mr. Nappie did bring an action against the railway, claiming
exorbitant damages; but with what result, we need not trouble ourselves to
inquire.




CHAPTER XLI

LIKEWISE THE BEARS IN COUPLES AGREE


Frank Greystock stayed till the following Monday at Portray, but could not
be induced to hunt on the Saturday, on which day the other sporting men
and women went to the meet. He could not, he said, trust to that traitor
MacFarlane, and he feared that his friend Mr. Nappie would not give him
another mount on the grey horse. Lizzie offered him one of her two
darlings, an offer which he, of course, refused; and Lord George also
proposed to put him up. But Frank averred that he had ridden his hunt for
that season, and would not jeopardise the laurels he had gained. "And
moreover," said he, "I should not dare to meet Mr. Nappie in the field."
So he remained at the castle and took a walk with Mr. Mealyus. Mr. Mealyus
asked a good many questions about Portray, and exhibited the warmest
sympathy with Lizzie's widowed condition. He called her a "sweet, gay,
unsophisticated, light-hearted young thing."

"She is very young," replied her cousin. "Yes," he continued, in answer to
further questions; "Portray is certainly very nice. I don't know what the
income is. Well, yes. I should think it is over a thousand. Eight! No, I
never heard it said that it was as much as that." When Mr. Mealyus put it
down in his mind as five, he was not void of acuteness, as very little
information had been given to him.

There was a joke throughout the castle that Mr. Mealyus had fallen in love
with Miss Macnulty. They had been a great deal together on those hunting
days; and Miss Macnulty was unusually enthusiastic in praise of his manner
and conversation. To her, also, had been addressed questions as to Portray
and its income, all of which she had answered to the best of her ability;
not intending to betray any secret, for she had no secret to betray; but
giving ordinary information on that commonest of all subjects, our
friends' incomes. Then there had risen a question whether there was a
vacancy for such promotion to Miss Macnulty. Mrs. Carbuncle had certainly
heard that there was a Mrs. Emilius. Lucinda was sure that there was not,
an assurance which might have been derived from a certain eagerness in the
reverend gentleman's demeanour to herself on a former occasion. To Lizzie,
who at present was very good-natured, the idea of Miss Macnulty having a
lover, whether he were a married man or not, was very delightful. "I'm
sure I don't know what you mean," said Miss Macnulty. "I don't suppose Mr.
Emilius had any idea of the kind." Upon the whole, however, Miss Macnulty
liked it.

On the Saturday nothing especial happened. Mr. Nappie was out on his gray
horse, and condescended to a little conversation with Lord George. He
wouldn't have minded, he said, if Mr. Greystock had come forward; but he
did think Mr. Greystock hadn't come forward as he ought to have done. Lord
George professed that he had observed the same thing; but then, as he
whispered into Mr. Nappie's ear, Mr. Greystock was particularly known as a
bashful man. "He didn't ride my 'orse anyway bashful," said Mr. Nappie--
all of which was told at dinner in the evening amidst a great deal of
laughter. There had been nothing special in the way of sport, and Lizzie's
enthusiasm for hunting, though still high, had gone down a few degrees
below fever heat. Lord George had again coached her; but there had been no
great need for coaching, no losing of her breath, no cutting down of
Lucinda, no river, no big wall--nothing, in short, very fast. They had
been much in a big wood; but 'Lizzie, in giving an account of the day to
her cousin, had acknowledged that she had not quite understood what they
were doing at any time.

"It was a-blowing of horns and a-galloping up and down all the day," she
said; "and then Morgan got cross again and scolded all the people. But
there was one nice paling, and Dandy flew over it beautifully. Two men
tumbled down, and one of them was a good deal hurt. It was very jolly--but
not at all like Wednesday."

Nor had it been like Wednesday to Lucinda Roanoke, who did not fall into
the water, and who did accept Sir Griffin when he again proposed to her in
Sarkie Wood. A great deal had been said to Lucinda on the Thursday and the
Friday by Mrs. Carbuncle--which had not been taken at all in good part by
Lucinda. On those days Lucinda kept as much as she could out of Sir
Griffin's way, and almost snapped at the baronet when he spoke to her. Sir
Griffin swore to himself that he wasn't going to be treated that way. He'd
have her, by George! There are men in whose love a good deal of hatred is
mixed--who love as the huntsman loves the fox, towards the killing of
which he intends to use all his energies and intellects. Mrs. Carbuncle,
who did not quite understand the sort of persistency by which a Sir
Griffin can be possessed, feared greatly that Lucinda was about to lose
her prize, and spoke out accordingly.

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.