LI b RAR.Y OF THE UN IVLR.SITY or ILLINOIS »S3S .■^fm*r^~ THE ROBBER: A TALE. BY THE AUTHOR OF " RICHELIEU," " THE GIPSY, " " ATTILA," &c. " More should I question thee, and more I must — Though more to know would not be more to trust — From whence thou cam'st, how tended on. But rest Unquestioned, welcome ; and undoubted, blest." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, «Sc LONGMANS, FATERNOSTEU-KOW. 1838. LoNfOON : Printed by A. SPoiTrswoonE, New-Street-Square. TO WILLIAM JAMES ATKINSON, ESQ AND TO THE MEMORY OF MANY PLEASANT HOURS SPENT IN HIS SOCIETY, WHERE LEARNING, CHEERFULNESS, AND BENEVOLENCE LEFT NOTHING TO BE REGRETTED BUT THE FLIGHT OF TIME, THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. 1 ^ 3^ THE ROBBER CHAPTER I. It was in the olden time of merry England — Not at that far removed period when our native land first received its jocund name from the bowmen of Sherwood, and when the yeoman or the franklin, who had wandered after some knightly banner to the plains of the Holy Land, looked back upon the little island of his birth with forgetfulness of all but its cheerful hearths and happy days. Oh no ! it was in a far later age when, notwithstanding wars and civil con- tentions not long past by, our country still deserved the name of merry England, and .received it constantly amongst a class pecu- : liarly its own. That class was the " good old ' country gentleman," an antediluvian animal swallowed up and exterminated by the deluge ^ VOL. I. B 2 THE ROBBER. of modern improvements, and whose very bones are now being ground to dust by rail- roads and steam-carriages. Nevertheless, in that being there was much to wonder at and much to admire ; and the inimitable song which commemorates its existence, does not more than justice to the extinct race. It was in the days of Walton and Cotton, then or some- where thereabouts (for it is unnecessary in a tale purely domestic to fix the date to a year), that the events which we are about to narrate took place, and the scene is entirely in merry England. The court and the country were at that period — with the present v/e have nothing to do — tvv^o completely distinct and separate climates; and while the wits and the libertines, the fops and the soldiers, the poets and the philosophers, of the reigns of Charles, James, William, and Anne, formed a world in which debauchery, vice, strife, evil passion, rage, jealousy, and hatred, seemed the only occupations of genius, and the true sphere for talent ; while Oxford and Cam- bridge had their contentions, and vied with the THE ROBBER. 3 capital in nourishing feuds and follies of their own ; there was a calm and quiet w^orld apart, amidst the shady brooks and sunny fields and dancing streams of merry England; a world which knew but little of the existence of the other, except when the vices, or follies, or crimes of the world of the court called upon the world of the country to resist the encroach- ments of its neighbour, and defend its own quiet prosperity. From the peasant who tilled the glebe, and whistled to outsing the lark over his happy toil, up to the lord of the manor, the knight whose many ancestors had all been knights before him, the countr^^men of England mingled hardly, if at all with the world of the metropolis and of the court ; except indeed when some as- piring spirit, filled with good viands and a fair conceit, raised his wishes to be knight of the shire, and sit in parliament amongst the more courtly of the land ; or else when some borough sent its representative to the senate to bring dow^n strange tales of London life and fresh fashions for the wives and daughters. B 2 4 THE ROBBER. There was indeed a connecting link between the two states of being we have described, afforded by the old hereditary nobility of the land ; many members of which still lingered by the ancestral hall, as yet unallured from the calm delights of rural life and the dignified satisfaction oi dwelling amongst their oivn people, even by all the amuse- ments or luxuries of the capital. An annual visit to London, an appearance in the court of the sovereign and the house of peers at certain times, varied the existence of this class of men ; and neither liking, comprehending, nor esteem- ing the wits and foplings of the metropolis, they returned well pleased to hold their ancient state in the country, bearing renewed importance amongst the county gentlemen around, from this fresh visit to the fountain of all honours and distinctions. Great indeed was their importance amongst their neighbours at all times — far greater than we in the present day can well picture to ourselves ; for independent of the consequence acquired by spending large incomes within a limited sphere, the feeling of feudal influence THE ROBBER. 5 was not extinct, though the fact had become a nonentity ; and the tenantry on a great man's estate looked up to him in those days, with the greater veneration and devotion, because they were not compelled to do so. Above the te- nantry again, the squire and the magistrate, who not only owed a great part of their comfort in the county, their consideration with their neigh- bours, and their estimation in their own eyes, to the degree of favour in which they stood with the earl, the marquis, or the duke; but who might at any time be rendered uncomfortable and persecuted, if not oppressed, in case they forfeited his good graces, failed not to show their reverence for him on every legitimate occasion — and sometimes perhaps went a little farther also. Thus of the little hierarchy of the county, there was generally some nobleman as the chief, and from him it descended through baronets, lords of the manor, knights, justices, squires, and many an et cetera down to the lowest class of all, who still looked up to that chief, and would tell the passer-by, with much solemn truth, B 3 6 THE ROBBER. that " the earl was quite a king in his own part of the world." Amongst such classes, in such scenes, and at such a period, took place the events about to be described. At the door of a small neat country inn, stood gazing forth a traveller, one clear bright morn- ing in the end of the month of May. The hour was early : the matutinal servants of the house were scarcely up; and Molly, with mop and pail, was busily washing out the passage which was soon to be thickly strewn with clean yellow- sand. The scene before the traveller's eyes was one on which it is pleasant to dwell; the centre street of a small country town, many miles from a great city. There were a few light clouds in the sky, but they did not interrupt the rays of the great orb of light, who was yet low down in the heaven; and the shadows of the manifold white houses, with their peaked gables turned towards the street, fell more than half across the road, forming a fanciful pattern on the ground; the yellow sunshine and the blue shade lying clear and distinct, except where a THE ROBBER. 7 little fountain burst forth half way down the town, and mingled the two together. It was, as I have said, a cool and pleasant scene for the eye to rest upon; and even the casements of the houses opposite, shaded by the close-drawn white curtain, gave an idea of calm and happy repose. The world within were all yet asleep : the toil, the anxiety, the care, the strife of active life, had not yet began. The eye of the traveller rested upon the picture apparently well pleased. It gazed con- templative up the street to where the road had been made to take a turn, in order to avoid the brow of the gentle hill on which the town was built ; and which, crowned with houses of pleasant irregularity, interrupted the farther view in that direction ; and then that eye turned downward to the place where the highway opened out into the country beyond, after passing over a small bright stream by a brick bridge of ancient date. Over the bridge was slowly wending at the same moment a long line of cattle, lowing as they went forth to pasture, with a herd following in tuneful mood, and B 4 8 THE ROBBER. neither hurrying himself nor them. The stranger's eye rested on them for a single mo- ment, but then roved on to the landscape which was spread out beyond the bridge, and on it he gazed as curiously as if he had been a painter. On it, too, we must pause, for it has matter for our consideration. The centre of the picture presented a far view over a bright and smiling country, with large masses of woodland, sloping up in blue lines to some tall brown hills at the distance of ten or twelve miles. A gleaming peep of the river was caught in the foreground, with a sandy bank crowned with old trees ; and above the trees again appeared the high slated roofs of a mansion, whose strong walls, formed of large flints cemented together, might also here and there be seen looking forth, grey and heavy, through the green, light foliage. Three or four casements, too, were apparent, but not enough of the house was visible to afford any sure indication of its extent, though the mas- siveness of the walls, the width of the spaces between the windows, the size of the roofs, and THE ROBBER. « the multitude of the chimneys, instantly made one mentally call it The Manor House. This mansion seemed to be at the distance of about a mile from the town ; but vipon a rising ground on the opposite side of the picture, seen above bridge and trees, and the first slopes of the ofFscape, appeared, at the distance of seven or eight miles, or more, a large irregular mass of building, apparently constructed of grey stone, and in some places covered vi\\h ivy — at least, if one might so interpret the dark stains apparent even at that distance upon various parts of its face. There was a deep wood behind it, from which it stood out conspicuously, as the morn- ing sun poured clear upon it; and in front ap- peared what might either be a deer park filled with stunted hawthorn and low chestnut trees, or a wide common. Such was the scene on which the traveller gazed, as standing in front of the ^deep double- seated porch of the little inn, he looked down the road to the country beyond. There was no moving object before his eyes but the herd passing over the bridge; there was no sound 10 THE ROBBER. but the lowing of the cattle, the whistling of their driver, and a bright lark singing far up in the blue sky. It is time, however, to turn to the traveller himself, who may not be unworthy of some slight attention. Certain it is, that the good girl who was now sprinkling the passage and porch behind him with fine sand, thought that he was worthy of such; for though she had seen him before, and knew his person well, yet ever and anon she raised her eyes to gaze over his figure, and vowed, we believe, in her heart, that he was as good-looking a youth as ever she had set eyes on. His age might be five or six and twenty, and his height, perhaps, five feet eleven inches. He was both broad and deep-chested, that combin- ation which insures the greatest portion of strength, with length and ease of breath ; and though his arms were not such as would have called attention from their robustness, yet they were evidently muscular and finely proportioned. Thin in the flanks, and with the characteristic English hollow of the back, his lower limbs were THE ROBBER. 11 remarkably powerful, ending, however, in a small well-shaped foot and ankle, set oiF to good advantage in the neat close-fitting shoe. His countenance was as handsome as his figure, and remarkably prepossessing ; the features, slightly aquiline; the colouring, a rich brown, though the eyes were found to be decidedly blue, when fully seen through the black lashes. His hair waving round his face, and curling upon his neck, was of a deep glossy brown, and the fine shaped lips, which, in their natural position were slightly open, showed beneath a row of even teeth as white as snow. The brow was broad, straight, and high, with the eyebrow, that most expressive of all the features, forming a wavy line of beauty, strongly marked upon the clear skin, and growing somewhat thicker and deeper above the inner can thus of the eye. Between the eyebrows, however, appeared the only thing that the most fastidious critic of beauty could have objected to. It was a deep scar, evidently the mark of a severe cut, whether received by accident in the jocund days of boyhood, or in the manly sports of the country, or in the field of 12 THE ROBBER. battle, might be doubtful : but there it rested for ever, a clear, long scar, beginning half-way up the forehead, and growing deeper as it de- scended, till it formed a sort of indentation between the eyebrows, similar to that produced in some countenances by a heavy frown. Thus to look at the brow, one would have said the face was stern ; to look at the eyes, one might have pronounced it thoughtful ; but the bland, good-humoured, cheerful smile upon the lips contradicted both, and spoke of a heart which fain would have been at ease, whose own qua- lities v/ere all bright, and warm and gay, if the cares and strifes of the world would but let them have way. We shall not pause long upon the stranger's dress. It was principally composed of what was then called brown kersey, a coarse sort of stuff used by the common people; but the buttons were of polished jet, the linen remarkably fine, the hat, with its single straight feather, set on with an air of smartness; while the fishing-basket under the arm, and the rod in the hand, and all the rest of an angler's paraphernalia conspicuous THE ROBBER. 13 upon the person, reconciled the homely dress with the distinguished appearance. He was evidently boon for the banks of the clear stream; and yet, though it was the hour of all others, which a fisherman should have cultivated, he lingered for some minutes at the door of the little inn; gazing, as we have depicted him, alternately up and down the street, with a slow, meditative look, as if enjoying the beauty of the morning, and the fair scene around him. It is true, that his e3^es turned most frequently, and rested longest, upon the bridge and stream and old manor-house, with the wide country beyond ; but still, he occasionally looked to the other bend of the road, and once seemed to listen for some sound. He had at length taken one step forward, as if to pursue his way, when the voice of the host of the Talbot, good Gregory Myrtle, was heard coming down the stairs, talking all the way for the benefit of any one who might hear, with a fat, jovial ale-burdened sound, which, at other times and seasons, rejoiced the hearts of many a " gay companion of the bowl." The first in- 14 THE ROBBER. dication of his coming was a peal of laughter, a loud " Haw, haw, haw ! " at some conjugal joke uttered by his dame as he left his chamber* " Well said, wife ! well said ! '' he exclaimed, " it is good to be fat, for when I can no longer walk, I shall easily be rolled — Haw, haw, haw ! Gads my life ! I must have these stairs propped, or else choose me a chamber on the ground-floor. Sand the floor well, Molly, sand the floor well I Think were I to slip, what a squelch would be there. Ha, Master Harry ! ha ! " he continued, seeing the stranger turn towards him ; " how was it I saw you not last night, when you arrived? You flinched the flagon, I fear me. Master Harry ! Nay, good faith, that was not right to old Gregory Myrtle." " I was tired, good Gregory !" replied the stranger : " I had ridden more than fifty miles to be here to-day, and I wished to rise early, for the sake of my speckled friends in the stream." " Ale keeps no man from rising," cried the host. " See how it has made me rise, like a pat of dough in a baker's oven ! haw, haw, haw ! " and he patted his own fat round paunch. THE ROBBER. 15 " But whence come ye. Master Harry ? from the court, or the city, or the wars ? " " From neither. Myrtle," replied the stranger; " I come from a far distance, to take my tithe of the stream as usual. But how goes on the country since I left it ? " " Well ! Mighty well !" answered the land- lord, "all just as it was, I think — No ! poor old Milson, the sexton, is dead : he had buried four generations of us, and the fifth has buried him. He caught cold at the justice room, giving evidence about that robbery, you re- member, out upon the moor; and took to his bed and died." "Which robbery do you mean?" demanded the other ; " there were many going on about that time upon the moor and over the hill. Have there been any lately ? " " Not one since you left the country. Master Harry," replied the landlord. " I hope you do not mean to hint that I had any hand in them," rejoined his companion with a smile. " God forbid ! " exclaimed good Gregory 16 THE ROBBER. Myrtle, " Haw, hcaw, haw ! That was a funny sh'p of mine ! No, no. Master Harry, we know you too well ; you are more likely to give away all your own than take a bit of other people's, God bless you." " I think indeed I am," answered the young man with a sigh; " but if I talk with you much longer, I shall be too late to rob the stream of its trout. Don't forget. Myrtle, to send up to the manor for leave for me, as usual. I suppose his worship is awake by this time, or will be by the time my tackle is all ready : " and so saying, he sauntered on down the street, took the path- way by the bridge, and turning along the bank of the river, was soon lost to the sight. THE ROBBER. 17 CHAPTER II. Sometimes in bright sunny expanse over a broad shallow bed of glittering stones and sand; sometimes in deep pools under high banks bend- ing with shrubs and trees ; sometimes winding through a green meadow ; sometimes quick and fretful ; sometimes slow and sullen ; on flowed the little river on its course, like a moody and capricious man amidst all the various accidents of life. Beginning his preparations close to the bridge, upon a low grassy bank which ran out from the buttress, and aiforded a passage round be- neath the arches, the stranger, whom the land- lord had called Master Harry, had not yet com- pleted all the arrangement of his fishing tackle, when one of those servants — who, in that day, were as famous for a good-humoured idleness in the great hall, as their successors are for an insolent idleness in the present times, and were known by the familiar name of blue-bof ties — made VOL. I. c 18 THE ROBBER. his appearance, carrying his goodly personage with a quick step towards the fisherman. The infinite truth generally to be found in old say- ings was never more happily displayed than in the proverb, " Like master, like man !'* and if so, a pleasant augury of the master's disposition was to be derived from the demeanour of his messenger. As he came near he raised his hand, touched his cap respectfully, though the fisherman was dressed in kersey; and, with a grave complacent smile, wished him good morn- ing. " Sir Walter gives you good day, sir," he said, " and has told me to let you know that you are quite welcome to fish the stream from Ab- bot's Mill to Harland, which, God help us, is the whole length of the manor. He says, he has heard of your being here these two years, and always asking leave and behaving con- sistent ; and he is but too happy to give such a gentleman a day or two's pleasure. Let me help you with the rod, sir — it is somewhat stifF- ish." The stranger expressed his thanks, both to THE ROBBER. 19 Sir Walter Herbert for his permission, and to the servant for his assistance ; and the hlue- hottle, who had also a well-exercised taste for angling, stood and looked on and aided till all was ready. By this time the day had some- what advanced, and the steps passing to and fro over the bridge and along the road had become more frequent; but they did not disturb the fisherman in his avocations : and as he prepared to ascend the stream, whipping it as he went with the light fly, the old servant turned to de- part with one more " good morning, sir ; " add- ing, however, as he looked at a birding-piece which the stranger carried across his shoulder, and then glanced his eye to some red coots which were floating about upon the stream, as familiarly as if they had been small farmers of the water and held it under lease, " Perhaps, sir, you will be kind enough not to shoot the coots and divers — Sir Walter likes to see them on the river." " I would as soon think of shooting myself, my good friend," replied the other : " 1 have heard that poor Lady Herbert was fond of c 2 20 THE ROBBER. them ; and I would not repay Sir Walter's per- mission so ill." The servant bowed and withdrew; and, as he passed on, took off his hat reverentially to an old gentleman and a young lady, who were leaning over a low parapet- wall flanking a terrace in the gardens just opposite the bridge. The last words of the servant and the angler had been overheard, and the result we may soon have occasion to show. We will not write a chapter upon angling. It matters little to the reader whether the stranger caught few or many fish, or whether the fish were large or small. Suffice it to say, that he was an expert angler ; that the river was one of the best trout streams in England ; that the day was favourable ; and if the stranger did not fill his basket with the speckled tenants of the stream, it proceeded from an evil habit of occasionally forgetting what he was about, and spending many minutes gazing alternately at the lordly mansion to be seen in the distance, and the old manor-house beyond the bridge. He came at length, however, to a spot where THE ROBBER. 21 both were shut out by the deep banks overhead, and there he soon made up for lost tune, though he still threw his line, in thoughtful mood, and seemed all too careless whether the fish were caught or not. It was their will, however, to be caught ; but at the end of four or five hours' fishing, he was interrupted again by the appearance of the same old servant, who now approached, bearing on his arm a basket evidently well laden. " Sir Walter desired me to compliment you, sir," he said, " and to wish you good sport. He prays you, too, to honour him by supping with him, for he will not interrupt your fishing by asking you to dine. He has sent you, how- ever, wherewithal to keep off hunger and thirst, and trusts you will find the viands good. Shall I spread them out for you ? " There is no sport in the world better cal- culated to promote the purposes of that pleasant enemy hunger, than throwing the long light line over the clear brook ; and the angler, who, in the busy thoughts of other things, had left chance to provide him with a dinner, willingly availed c 3 22 THE ROBBER. himself of the good knight's hospitable supply, and did ample justice to all that the basket contained. But there was something more in his feelings on this occasion than the mere gra- tification of an appetite, though the satisfaction of our hunger has proved a magnificent theme in the hands of our greatest epic poets. There were other feelings ; and there must always be other feelings mingling with our animal impulses, in order to dignify and elevate the needs that unite us with the brute creation : there must be something which links the earthly portion to the unearthly, some- thing that leads the thoughts from the mere act of the clay to things less coarse, to brighter and purer affections. In ancient days they wreathed the wine-cup with flowers, and strewed the festal board with blossoms. Sweet sounds and grateful odours have in all times accompanied the banquet ; but few of those who drank and feasted have known why : few have understood that the immortal mind craved occupation of a higher kind, while the body supplied its neces- sities. The brightest and the tenderest friend THE ROBBER. 23 of our earthly being, is that imagination which lends its splendid colouring to all we do, and which, like the beneficent hand of nature itself, clothes dust and ashes, and clouds and vapours, in beauty and brightness not their own. There were other feelings in the breast of the angler, as he sat down and partook of the viands provided for him, which rendered those viands grateful to the mind as well as to the body ; and though the beauty of the scene around, the freshness and splendour of the bright spring day, the wooing of the soft air by the bank of the river, the music of the waters as they glided by him, and the carols of manifold birds in the neighbouring woods, were all accessories which might well render a meal tasted in the midst of them not only pleasant at the time, but memorable in after days : yet there was something more than all this which made the little basket of provisions thrice agree- able to him — something that made him believe he had been understood, as it were intuitively, by the only persons he would have stooped to seek in the neighbourhood, if he could have c 4 24 THE ROBBER. Stooped to seek any one — something, perhaps, beyond that, which may or may not be ren- dered clear hereafter, as the reader's eye is ob- scure or penetrating into the secrets of the human heart and character. He received, then, the gift with gladness, and sat down to partake of it with something more than hunger. He accepted willingly, also, the invitation he had received to sup at the manor-house ; and bestowing a piece of money on the serving man which amply repaid the pains he had taken, he suffered him to depart, though not till he had lured him down the stream to see several trout brought out of the bright waters with as skilful a hand as ever held a rod. The fisherman was still going on after the old servant had left him, when he was suddenly roused by a rustling in the high- wooded bank above ; and the moment after he saw descend- ing by a path, apparently not frequently used, a personage upon whose appearance we must dwell for a moment. The gentleman on whose person the fisher- man's eyes were impiediately fixed was some- THE ROBBER. 25 where within the ill-defined limits of that vague period of human life called the middle age. None of his strength was gone, perhaps none of his activity ; but yet the traces of time's wearing hand might be seen in the grey that was plen- tifully mingled with his black hair, and in the furrows which lay along his broad, strongly marked brow. He was well dressed, according to the fashion of that day ; and any one who has looked into the pictures of Sir Peter Lely must have seen many such a dress as he then wore without our taking the trouble of describ- ing it. That was a period of heavy swords and many weapons; but the gentleman who now approached bore nothing offensive upon his person but a light blade, which looked better calculated for show than use, and a small va- luable cane hanging at his wrist. There was a certain degree of foppery, indeed, about his whole appearance, which accorded not very well with either his form or his features. He was about the same height as the angler whom we have before described, but much more 26 THE ROBBER. broadly made, with a chest like a mountain bull, and long sinewy arms and legs, whose swelling muscles might be discerned, clear and defined, through the white stocking that appeared above his riding boots. His face was quite in har- mony with his person, square cut, with good, but somewhat stern, features, large bright eyes flashing out from beneath a pair of heavy over- hanging eyebrows, a well shaped mouth, though somewhat too wide, and a straight nose, rather short, but not remarkably so. The complexion was of a deep tanned brown ; and there were many lines and furrows over the face, which indicated that the countenance there presented was a tablet on which passion often wrote with a fierce and fiery hand, leaving deep, uneffaceable traces behind. That coun- tenance, indeed, was one calculated to bear strong expressions ; and which, though changing ra- pidly under the influence of varied feelings, still became worn and channelled by each — by the storm and the tempest, the sunshine and the shower. On the present occasion, the expression of THE ROBBER. S7 his face was gay, smiling, and good hu- moured ; and as he approached the angler he exclaimed, with a laugh, " You have dined well. Master Harry; and, methinks, had you been generous, you might have saved me a nook of the pie, or a draught out of the bottle.'* " I did not know you were so near, Frank- lin," answered the angler, somewhat gravely : " I thought you would have met me at the Talbot this morning; and not finding you, I fancied that you had forgotten your promise." " I never forget a promise," replied the other sharply, and with his brow beginning to lower — "I never forget a promise, Master Harry, be it for good or evil. Had I promised to blow your brains out, I would have done it ; and having promised to meet you here this morning, here I am." " Do not talk such nonsense to me, Frank- lin, about blowing men's brains out," replied the angler calmly; "such things do not do with me ! I know you better, my good friend ! But what prevented you from coming?" " You do not know me better ! " replied the 28 THE ROBBER. Other sharply. " If I ever said I would blow your brains out — the which God forbid — by the rood I would do it; and as to what has kept me, I have been here since yesterday morning seeing what is to be done. I tell you. Master Harry, that the time is come ; and that if we lay our plans well, we may strike our great stroke within the next three days. I had my reasons, too, for not coming up to the Talbot ; but you go back there, and hang about the country, as if you had no thought but of fishing or fowling. Have your horses ready, fresh and well fed for action at a moment's notice, and I will find means to give you timely warning. You know my boy Jocelyn ! When you see him about, be sure that there is something to be done ; find means to give him a private hearing instantly, and have your arms and horses, as I have said, all prepared." While the other w^as speaking, the angler had laid down his rod on the bank, and cross- ing his arms upon his chest, had fixed his fine thoughtful eyes full calmly and steadfastly upon his companion. " Franklin,'* he said at THE ROBBER. 29 length, " I trust you to a certain point in the conduct of this business, but no farther ! I trust you because I believe you to be faithful, bold, active, and shrewd. But remember there is a point where we must stop. What is it you propose to do ? I am not one to be led blindfold even by you. Gray ; and I re- member but too well, that when in other lands fortune cast our lots together, you were always bent upon some wild and violent enterprise, where the risk of your own life seemed to compensate in your eyes for the wrong you at times did to others. Forgive me, Gray ; but I must speak plainly. You have promised — you have offered to do me a great service — the greatest, perhaps, that man could render me ; but you have not told me how it is to be done ; and there must be no violence." " Not unless we are obliged to use it in our own defence," replied the other sharply. " As to the rest. Master Harry, the enterprise is mine as well as yours : so do not make me angry, or you may chance to fail altogether, and find Franklin Gray as bad an enemy as he can be a good friend." 30 THE ROBBER. " No threats, Franklin," replied the other : "you should know that threats avail not with me. I thank you deeply/or all your kindness, Frank- lin, but neither gratitude nor menaces can lead me blindfold. Years have passed since in the same high and noble cause, and under the same great good man, we fought together on the banks of the Rhine ; and you seem to have forgotten that even then, boy as I was, neither threats nor persuasions would move me to do any thing I judged — though, perhaps, falsely — to be really wrong. A change has come over you, Gray ; but no change has come over me. I am the same, and will remain the same." " Did you not promise to leave the con- duct of this to me?" cried his companion. " Did you not promise to submit to my guidance therein ? But never mind ! I give you back your promise. Break it all off! Let lis part. Go, and be a beggar. Lose all your hopes, and leave me to follow my own course. I care not ! But I will not peril my neck for any dastard scruples of yours." " Dastard !" exclaimed the other, taking a step towards him, and half drawing his sword THE ROBBER. 31 out of the sheath with the first impulse of in- dignation, while his brow contracted, so as to cover entirely the deep scar between his eyes. " Dastard ! such a word to me !" " Ay, to you, or any one," replied Franklin Gray, laying his hand upon the hilt of his sword also, as if about to draw it instantly, while his dark eye flashed and his lip quivered under the effects of strong passion. The next impulse, however, was to gaze for a moment in the countenance of his young op- ponent; the expression of anger passed away; and withdrawing his hand from the hilt, he threw his arms round the other, exclaiming, " No, no, Harry ! We must not quarrel ! We must not part ! at least not till I have fulfilled all I promised. I have nursed you as a baby on my knee; I have stood beside you when the bullets were flying round our heads like hail ; I have lain with j'ou in the same prison ; and for your own sake, as well as for those that are gone, I will serve you to the last; but you must not forget your promise either. Leave the conduct of this matter to me, and, on my soul, I will use no violence, I will shed 32 THE ROBBER. no blood, except in our own defence ! Even then they shall drive me to the last before I pull a trigger." " Well, well," replied the other, " I will trust you, Franklin, though T have had many a doubt and hesitation lately." " Did you not promise your mother on her death-bed," demanded the other, straining both his companion's hands in his — " Did you not solemnly swear to her to follow my suggestions, to put yourself under my guidance till the enterprise was achieved?" « I did, I did !" replied the angler. « I did; but then you promised, freely and frankly, to accomplish the object that was at that moment dearest to her heart; and I had no doubt, I had no fear, as to the means. I certainly did so promise my poor mother; but when she exacted that promise, you and I were both differently situated; and I fear me, Franklin, I fear me, that you are overfond of strife, that you are following paths full of danger to your- self; and that you will not be contented till you have brought evil on your own head." " Pshaw," replied his companion, turning THE ROBBER. 33 away. " Tlmt is my affair; I will leave the more maudlin part of the business to you : let me have the strife, if there should be any ; but remember your promise, Harry; and let this be the last time that we have such fruitless words." The other made no reply; and Franklin, after gazing on him moodily for a moment, cast himself down upon the bank, and asked, *' How do you bestow yourself to-night ?" " I am invited to sup at the manor-house, with Sir Walter Herbert," replied the angler ; " and I shall go." " Go, to be sure !" exclaimed his companion; " it may serve us more than any thing. Have you ever seen Sir Walter ?" *' At a distance," replied the other; " but I never spoke to him. I know him well, how- ever, by repute. They tell me he has fallen into some difficulties." " From which, perhaps, you may help him," said Franklin, thoughtfully. " Perhaps I may," answered the angler in the same tone ; " perhaps I may, if I can discover VOL. I. D 34 THE ROBBER. how it may best be done ; but at present I only know that difficulties exist, without knowing why or how ; for the estates are princely. How- ever, if within my reach, I will try to aid him, whether Fortune ever turns round and smiles upon me or not; for I hear he is as noble a gentleman as ever lived." " Ay, and has a fair daughter," answered his companion with a smile. " You have seen her, I suppose ?" " Never," replied the angler : " I saw her mother once, who was still very lovely, though she was ill then, and died ere the month was out." " Go ! go ! " cried his companion, after a moment's thought ; " go to-night, by all means ; I feel as if good would come of it." " I do not know how that can be," said the other, musing, " but still I will go — though you know that, in my situation, I think not of men's fair daughters." " Why not ? " asked Franklin Gray quickly, " why not ? What is the situation in which woman and woman's love may not be the jewel THE ROBBER. 35 of our fate ? What is the state or condition that she may not beautify, or soften, or inspirit ? Oh ! Harry, if you did but know all, you would see that my situation is, of all others, the one in which woman can have the least share ; and yet, what were I — what would I become, were it not for the one — the single star that shines for me on earth ? When the fierce ex- citement of some rash enterprise is over, when the brow aches, and the heart is sick and weary — you know not what it is to rest my head upon her bosom, and hear the pulse within that beats for me alone. You know not what it is, in the hours of temporary idleness, to sit by her side, and see her eyes turn thoughtful from our child to me, and from me to him, and seem busy with the strange mysterious link that unites us three together. Why, I say, should you not think of woman's love, when you, if not riches, have peace to offer — when, if not splen- dour, you have an honest name? 1 tell you, Henry Langford, that when she chose me I was an unknown stranger, in a foreign land ; that there were strange tales of how and why I D 2 36 THE ROBBKR. sought those shores; that I had nought lo offer but poverty and a bold warm heart. She asked no question — she sought no explanation — she demanded not what was my trade, what were my prosppcts, whither I would lead her, what should be her after fate. She loved and was beloved — for her that was enough; and she left friends and kindred, and her bright native land, comfort, soft tendance, luxury, and splen- dour, to be the wife of a houseless wanderer, with a doubtful name. He had but one thing to give her in return — his whole heart; and it is hers." His companion gazed earnestly in his face, as he spoke, and then suddenly grasped his hand. " Franklin," he said, " you make me sad ; your words scarcely leave me a doubt of what I have long suspected." " Ask me no questions," exclaimed the other, " you have promised to ask no questions." " Neither do I, " rejoined his companion. " What you have said scarcely renders a ques- tion needful. Franklin, when several years ago we served with the P'rench army on the THE ROBBER. 37 Rliine, and when first you sliovved that interest in me, which was strange, till my poor mother's sad history explained it in some degree, you promised me solemnly that if ever you should need money you would share my purse, which, however scanty, has still been more than suffi- cient for my wants." " But I have never needed it ! " interrupted the other — " The time has not come ! When it does, I will." " You trifle with me, Franklin," rejoined his companion ; " if you betake you to rash acts and dangerous enterprises, as your words admit " " I may be moved," said Franklin Gray, again interrupting him, " I may be moved by a thou- sand other causes than the need of money : — the love of activity, the restlessness of my nature, habits of danger and enterprise " " And is not the love of such a being as you have spoken of," demanded his companion, " is it not sufficient to calm down such a nature, to restrain you from all that may hurt or injure her. Think, Franklin, think, if you were to p 38 THE ROBBER. ikil in some of these attempts — if — if — You are moved — think what would be her fate — think what would be her feelings; — nay, listen to me: — share what I have, Franklin. It is enough for us both, if we be but humble in our thoughts and " But the other broke away from him with a sudden start, and something like a tear in his eye. " No, no ! " he cried, " no, no ! " but then again he turned, ere he had reached the top of the bank, and said, in a low but distinct voice, " Harry, if I succeed in this enterprise for you, and in your favour, you shall have your way. " " Bat no violence !" replied the angler, "re- member, I will have no violence." " None," rejoined Franklin Gray, "none; for I will take means to overawe resistance ; and we will, as we well and justly may, enforce your rights and laugh them to scorn who have so long opposed them ; — and all without violence — if possible." But the latter words were uttered in a low tone, and were unheard by bis companion. THE ROBBER. 39 CHAPTER III. Perhaps the sweetest hour of a sweet season is that which precedes the setting of the sun upon a May day. All the world is taking holyday, from the lowing herd that winds slowly o'er the lea, to the shard-born beetle and the large white moth. The aspect of the sky and earth too — clear, calm, and tranquil — are full of repose. The mistiness of the mid-day sunshine is away ; and the very absence of a portion of the full daylight, and the thin colourless transpa- rency of the evening air, afford that contem- plative, but no way drowsy, charm which well precedes, by thought tending to adoration, the hour when, in darkness and forgetfulness, we trust ourselves unconscious to the hands of God. The heart of man is but as an instru- ment from which the great musician. Nature, produces grand harmonies; and the most sooth- D 4 40 THE ROBBER. ing anthem that rises within tlie breast is surely elicited by the soft touch of that evening hour. It had shone calm over the world in those scenes we have lately described, and the last moments of the sun's stay above the horizon were passing away, while, within one of the rooms of the old manor-house of Moorhurst Park, the father and the daughter were sitting tranquill}^ in the seat of a deep window, gazing over the beautiful view before their eyes, and marking all the wonderful changes of colouring which the gradual descent of the sun and the slow passing of a few light evening clouds, brought each moment over the scene. There is in almost every heart some one deep memory, some one powerful feeling, which has its har- monious connection wdth a particular hour, and with a particular scene ; and, as the father and the daughter gazed, and marked the sun sinking slowly in the far west, one remembrance, one image, one sensation, took possession of both their bosoms. The daughter thought of the mother, the father of the wife, that was lost to them for ever. Neither spoke : both tried to suppress the TME HOHBEK. 41 feeling, or, rather, to indulge the feeling, while they suppressed its expression. But such efforts are vain, at least with hearts untutored by the cold policies of a superficial world. A tear glistened in the daughter's eye, and she dared not wipe it away, lest it should be remarked. The father's eye, indeed, was tearless, but his brow was sad ; and as he withdrew his gaze from the scene before him, and turned his looks upon his daughter, it was with a sigh. He marked, too, the bright drop that still hung trembling on her eyelid, catching the last ray of the setting sun ; and, knowing the spring whence that drop arose, he cast his arms around her, and pressed her in silence to his breast. At that very moment, however — for it is still at the time when the deep shy feelings of the warmest hearts peep forth to enjoy some cool secluded hour, that the world is sure to burst upon them, like the cry of the beagles upon the timid hare — at that very moment, one of the servants opened the door of the chamber, and announced Captain Henry Langford. Sir Walter Herbert withdrew his arms from his daughter, 4*2 THE ROBBET^. and look a stop forward: and Alices Herbert, though she felt prepossessed in tlieir visitor's favour, felt also almost vexed that he had come so soon to interrupt the sweet but melancholy feelings which were rising in her father's heart and in her own. She gazed with some interest towards the door, however ; and the next instant, the angler, whose course through the day we have already traced, entered the apartment. Rod, and line, and fishing-basket had been, by this time, thrown aside, and he stood before them well, but not gaily, dressed; with scru- pulous neatness observable in every part of his apparel, and with his wavy brown hair ar- ranged with some care and attention. His air was distinguished, and not to be mistaken : his person was, as we have before said, eminently handsome; so that, although a stranger to both the father and daughter, he bore Ti^ith him a letter of recommendation of a very prepossessing kind. As he entered, Sir Walter Herbert advanced to meet him, with the calm dignity of one who, in former years, had mingled with courts and THE ROBBER. 48 camps; and who felt within liis breast the ease- giving consciousness of a noble and an upright mind ; and he was met by the stranger with the same bearing. Sir Walter, though not usually familiar, offered him his hand, saying, " Captain Lang- ford, I am very glad to see you ; and must explain how it is that I took the liberty of sending you the invitation that has procured me this pleasure. Without intending to act the part of eavesdroppers, my daughter and myself overheard, this morning, the conclusion of a conversation between you and one of my serv- ants, regarding some birds that float about upon the stream ; and the few words that fell from you on that occasion breathed a spirit which gave me too strong a temptation to be resisted of seeking your acquaintance, even at the risk of intruding upon the calm and tranquil soli- tude which you, who are, doubtless, a denizen of cities and courts, seek, in all probability, when you venture into the country." " It could be no intrusion, Sir," replied his guest ; " and let me assure you that, in forbid- 44 THE llOBiiLK. ding nie to shoot the wild fowl on the stream, your servant imposed upon me no hard condition. Tliose birds have been a sort of companions to me, during my sport, for these two or three years past, and I should never have thought of in- juring them; but would still less have wished to do so, when I knew that you took a pleasure and an interest in them." " They are associated with pa^t happiness," Sxiid Sir Walter; "and, though 1 believe it is foolish to cling to things which only awaken regret, yet I confess 1 do take a pleasure, a sad pleasure perhaps, in seeing them." " I cannot but think," replied his guest, "that there are some regrets far sweeter than all our every-day enjoyments. The only real pleasures that I myself now possess are in me- mories; because my only attachments are with the past." " You are very young to say so, Sir," answered Sir Walter; "you must at an early age have broken many sweet ties." " But one," replied Langford ; " for, through life, I have had but one — that between mother THK ROBBER. 45 and a son ; bnt of course it broke witli tlie greater pain from being the only one." " And your father ?" — demanded Sir Walter. " I never knew him," replied the stranger ; and, seeing that the conversation might grow painful. Sir Walter Herbert dropped it ; and, turning to his daughter, presented the stranger to her, which he had neglected to do before. It might be, that, as the old knight did so, the remembrance of what had passed not longbefore, regarding the beautiful girl to whom he was now introduced, called the colour rather more brightly into Langford's face; and, certainly, it produced a slight degree of embarrassment in his manner, which he had never felt on such an occasion before. She was, certainly, very beautiful, and that beauty of a very peculiar cast. It was the bright and sunshiny, united with the deep and touching. Her skin was clear, and exquisitely fair ; her lips full, but beautifully formed ; the brow broad and white; and the eyes of that soft peculiar hazel, which, when fringed with long- black lashes, perhaps is more expressive than any other colour. The hair, which was very 46 THE ROBBER. full and luxuriant, was of a brown — several shades lighter than Langford's own — soft and glossy as silk, and catching a golden gleam in all the prominent lights. She was not tall, but her form was perfectly well proportioned, and every full and rounded limb was replete with grace and symmetry. Langford's slight embarrassment wore off in a moment ; and the conversation turned upon more general themes than those with which it begun. Sir Walter and his daughter, from the few words they had heard in the morning, un- doubtedly expected to find in their guest high and kindly feelings, and that grace, too, which such feelings always afford to the demeanour and conversation of those who possess them. But they found much more than they had expected — a rich and cultivated mind, great powers of conversation, much sparkling variety of idea, and an inexhaustible fund of experience, and information regarding many things, whereof they themselves, if not ignorant, had but a slight knowledge; and which he had gained ap- parently, by travelling far and long in foreign THE ROBBER. 47 countries, and by mingling with many classes and descriptions of men. Tliere were few sub- jects on which he could not speak ; and, on what- ever he did speak, there was something more displayed than mere ordinary judgment. The heart had its part as well as the understanding, and a bright and playful imagination linked the two together. Had Sir Walter Herbert and his daughter felt inclined to be distant and reserved towards the stranger, whom they had invited, they could not have maintained such a de- meanour long ; for he was one of those who ap- plied for adinittance to every door of the human heart, and was sure to find some entrance ; but when, on the contrary, they were predisposed to like and esteem him, even the first slight chil- ness of new acquaintance was speedily done away; and, ere he had been an hour in the house, the reciprocation of feeling and ideas, had made them far more intimate with him than with many persons whom they had known for long and uninterrupted years. Music was talked of, and painting, and sculp- ture; andineach, Langford, without affecting the 48 THi: IJOBBER. tone of a connoisseur, displayed that knowledge, which is gained rather by a deep feeling for all that is fine and beautiful than from an experimental acquaintance with the arts themselves. He had heard LuUi, and had been present when some of his most celebrated compositions had been first performed ; and, though he talked not of the scientific accuracy of this piece of music or of that, he spoke with enthusiasm of the effect which each produced upon the mind; of what feelings they called up ; whether they soothed, or inspired, or touched, or saddened, or elevated. Then, again, when the conversation turned to the sculpture or the painting of Florence or of Rome, he did not — perhaps he could not, use the jargon of connoisseurs : he did not speak of breadth, and juice, and contour, but he told of how he had been affected by the sight, of what were the sensations produced in his bosom, and in the bosoms of others whom he had known, by the Venus, or the Apollo, or the Laocoon, or the works of Raphael, or Guido, or Titian, or Michael Angelo. In short, he dwelt upon that part of the subject which referred to the mind, the imagination, or the heart ; and in regard to THE ROBBER. 49 which all those who heard him could go along with him, feeling, comprehending, and enjoying all he spoke of or described. Alice Herbert, though she was not learned in such things, yet had a natural taste, which was not uncultivated. In the seclusion in which she dwelt, the ordinary household duties of a young Englishwoman of that period had not been enough for her; and her mind had been oc- cupied with much and various reading, with music, as it was then known and taught, and with drawing ; though in the latter art, she had received no instruction but from her mother, who had acquired it herself while in exile at the court of France. Her father, also, had some taste in, and much feeling for, the arts, and she joined eagerly in the conversation between him and Langford, often leading it, with the sportive eagerness of a young and enthusiastic mind, to a thousand collateral subjects, which constantly elicited, from their new companion, remarks full of freshness and of genius. She listened, well pleased, — something more than well pleased, struck and surprised : and VOL. I. E 50 TIIK ]U)J31JEH. roiii thai night's interview, slie bore away mat- ter for deep thought and meditation ; — the most favoui-able effvct that man can produce when lie wishes to make an impression on the heart of woman. Did Langford seek to produce such an effect / Perhaps not; or, most likely, he would not have succeeded so well; but he was pleased himself: he too was struck, and surprised ; and, carried away by his own feelings, he took, unconsciously, llie best means of interesting hers. But the interview ended not so soon ; and they had scarcely sat down to the evening meal, when a fourth person was added to the party. He came in unannounced, and seemed to be a fa- miliar and a favoured guest. Young, handsome, and prepossessing, with a frank and noble countenance, an air full of ease and grace, and an expression, in some degree, thoughtful, rather than sad, his coming, and the hour and manner in which he came, seemed to Henry Langford a warning, tliat if there were a day- dream dawning in his bosom, in regard to tlie sweet girl by whom he sat, it would be better lo extinguish it at once. But feelings such as he THE RODBEIl. 51 had never experienced before, came across his bosom ; an eager and irritable anxiety, an in- clination to retire into himself, and to watch the conduct of those aro'md him; a tendency, whether he would or not, to be ungracious, not alone towards the stranger, but towards all ; such were tlie strange and new sensations which he experienced. There is no stronger indication of a new passion having begun to take a' hold of our heart, than a change in our ordi- nary sensations, in regard to things apparently trifling. Langford was a great inquisitor of his own bosom, and by that incpiisition liad, through life, saved himself from much pain. The examination, in the present instance, was made in a minute ; and before the stranger had come round, and had been introduced to hiniielf, he had asked his own heart more than one keen question. He had demanded, why he fi-lt dis- pleased at any addition to their party at all ? why he felt disposed to deny to the stranger those graces of person and manner which he certainly possessed, and which were at once discernible ? why he watched so eagerly the E 2 a OF ILL LIB. 5*2 THE HOKBER. maiiMer, in whicli Sir Walter received him ? ^vhy lie gazed so intently upon Alice Herbert's cheek, to see if the tell-tale blood would rise up in it, and betray any secret of the heart ? He asked himself all these questions in a moment, and suddenly felt that he had been dreaming — ay, dreaming sweet dreams, without knowing it. He banished them in a moment. Sir Walter received the stranger kindl}^ and familiarly, though with a slight degree of state- liness, which was from time to time observable in his demeanour to all. It was a stateliness evidently not natural to him, for his character was frank and kindly, and this perhaps was the only little piece of affectation that shaded — for it did not stain — a mind all gentleness, and warmth, and affection. He shook hands warmly with the young man, called him Edward, and suffered him to go round to shake hands with his daughter before he introduced him to their guest. While he did speak with Alice Herbert we have said that Langford's eye was fixed upon her cheek. It betrayed nothing, however : the colour varied not by a shade; and, though the THE ROBBER. 53 lips smiled and the eye sparkled as she wel- comed him, there was no agitation to be re- marked. Langford was accustomed to read other hearts as well as his own, and the translation he put upon the indications he beheld was — not that there was no love between the stranger and Alice Herbert — but that the period of emotion was past. He was not usually an unskilful reader of hearts ; but in interpreting that book it is necessary to take care that no passion in our own breast puts a false glose upon the text. Whether such was the case in the present in- stance will be seen hereafter; but, at all events, the knowledge Langford speedily obtained of what his own feelings might become taught him to regulate and restrain them. He resolved that the coming of the stranger should produce no change in his demeanour ; that he would not forget the suavity of his manner, or let any one around remark an alteration which, to them, would be unaccountable, and which he never could have an opportunity of explaining. After having given his visitor an oppor- E ;l iJ4 Tin: if(jDiii:u. tunlty of speaking for a moment lo his daugliU-r, Sir Walter Herbert introduced him to Captain Langford, saying, " Captain Langford, Lord Harold, the son of our good neighbour on the liill. Edward, Captain Langford, one whom I kn'>w you will esteem." Langford gazed upon the new guest ear- nestly; but. whatever were his first thoughts, his mind almost immediately reverted to Lord Harold's situation in regard to Alice Her- bert. The words in which the young noble- man's introduction to himself was couched, even jnore than what he had seen before, made him say in his own heart, " The matter is settled. Idle dreams ! idle dreams ! I thought I had held imagination with a stronger rein." Lord Harold unslung his sword, and, giving it to one of the servants to hang it up behind tlie door, he sat down to supper with the party, and the conversation was renewed. The nev/ guest looked at Langford more than once with a keen and scrutinising expression, though his countenance was not of a cast with which that ex- pression suited, the natural one being of a frank and open character, with somewhat of indecision 'I'HK HOr.BKK. 55 about llie mouili, but an air of sternness, per- haps of fierceness, upon the brow. There was nothing in it, however, either very shrewd or penetrating ; but, nevertheless, such a look was not uncalled for, for the moment that Langford resumed his seat, after bowing to Lord Harold on their introduction, he turned deadly pale, and remained so for several minutes. It might be that there was a struggle going on within to overcome himself, which none of those present knew or understood; but the outward expression thereof was quite sufficient to call the attention of the whole party ; and it was, as we have said, some time before he had sufficiently mastered himself to resume the conversation with spirit. Even when he did so, there was a tone of sadness mingled with it, which rendered it quite different from what it had been before. It was no longer the gay, the sparkling, the playful. It was no longer the mountain current, rushing over a clear and varied bed, now eddying round every larger object in its course, now rippling brightly over the pebbles, which it seemed to gild as it flowed amongst them ; but it had be- E 4 .56 THE ROBBER. come a deep stream, strong, powerful, and, though still clear and rapid, yet calm, and shady, and dark, from its very depth. Lord Harold took his part in the convers- ation well and gracefully. A high education ; and an early acquaintance with the Court, which had polished but not spoilt him, acting upon a heart, originally good, feeling, and generous, had improved what powers of mind he pos- sessed as far as possible. His talents were, how- ever, evidently inferior to those of Langford; and though he himself, apparently, was as much struck with the charm of the other's convers- ation as either Sir Walter or his daughter had been, yet he felt he was far surpassed by the new guest at the Manor House ; and besides that sensation, which is in itself a heavy burden to be borne by those who seek to please, there was an indescribable something in Langford's presence which put a restraint upon him, and even made him bend down his glance before that of the stranger. It was late before any one prepared to depart, and the first who did so was Langford. He took leave of Sir Walter with THE ROBBER. 57 graceful thanks for his hospitality and kindness, and the old knight expressed a hope that they should see him several times again before he left the country ; adding, " Of course you do not mean to limit your angling to one day." " I really do not know," replied Langford with a somewhat melancholy smile; '' I may be summoned to the capital at a moment's notice ; but, at all events, I shall not fail to pay my re- spects here before I go. I will take your hint, Sir Walter, as a permission to continue my de- predations on the trout." " As often and as much as you please," re- joined the old knight. " The stream, as far as my manor extends, shall always contribute to your sport." ." I hope," said Lord Harold, taking a step forward with graceful courtesy, " that Captain Langford will not make Sir Walter's manor the boundary. Our lands march, and the stream which flows on beyond, my father will make as much at his service as that in Sir Walter's pro- perty is already." Langford thanked him, though somewhat 58 'IHK ROBBER. coldly ; bill ailcr ho liad taken leave of Miss Herbert, he turned to Lord Harold, and ad- vanced as if to shake hands with him, then sud- denly seemed to recollect himself, and, wishing him good night in a more distant manner, quitted the apartment. Lord Harold remained behind for nearly an hour; and the conversation naturally rested on him who had just left tliem. The vounjjj noble- man praised him with a sort of forced praise, which evidently sprang more from candour and tlie determination to do justice than from really liking him. Sir Walter spoke of him warmly and enthusiastically, declaring he had seldom met any one at all equal to him. Alice Herbert said little, but what she did say was very nearly an echo of her father's opinion. After his cha- racter, his appearance, his manners, and his talents had been discussed, his state of fortune and history became the subjects of conjecture. Lord Harold was surprised when he heard that the Knight of Moorhurst had invited an un- known angler to his table, and had introduced him to his daughter; and, though he said no- rut: i{