“No; I fear he must have gone. But in that
case I hope you will take his generous desire to serve
my poor basket-maker into benevolent consideration.”
“Do not press me; I feel so reluctant to refuse
any request of yours. But I have my own theory
as to the management of an estate, and my system does
not allow of favour. I should wish to explain
that to the young stranger himself; for I hold courage
in such honour that I do not like a brave man to leave
these parts with an impression that Leopold Travers
is an ungracious churl. However, he may not have
gone. I will go and look for him myself.
Just tell Cecilia that she has danced enough with
the gentry, and that I have told Farmer Turby’s
son, a fine young fellow and a capital rider across
country, that I expect him to show my daughter that
he can dance as well as he rides.”
QUITTING Mr. Lethbridge, Travers turned with quick
step towards the more solitary part of the grounds.
He did not find the object of his search in the walks
of the plantation; and, on taking the circuit of his
demesne, wound his way back towards the lawn through
a sequestered rocky hollow in the rear of the marquee,
which had been devoted to a fernery. Here he
came to a sudden pause; for, seated a few yards before
him on a gray crag, and the moonlight full on his face,
he saw a solitary man, looking upwards with a still
and mournful gaze, evidently absorbed in abstract
contemplation.
Recalling the description of the stranger which he
had heard from Mr. Lethbridge and the Saundersons,
Mr. Travers felt sure that he had come on him at last.
He approached gently; and, being much concealed by
the tall ferns, Kenelm (for that itinerant it was)
did not see him advance, until he felt a hand on his
shoulder, and, turning round, beheld a winning smile
and heard a pleasant voice.
“I think I am not mistaken,” said Leopold
Travers, “in assuming you to be the gentleman
whom Mr. Lethbridge promised to introduce to me, and
who is staying with my tenant, Mr. Saunderson?”
Kenelm rose and bowed. Travers saw at once that
it was the bow of a man in his own world, and not
in keeping with the Sunday costume of a petty farmer.
“Nay,” said he, “let us talk seated;”
and placing himself on the crag, he made room for
Kenelm beside him.
“In the first place,” resumed Travers,
“I must thank you for having done a public service
in putting down the brute force which has long tyrannized
over the neighbourhood. Often in my young days
I have felt the disadvantage of height and sinews,
whenever it would have been a great convenience to
terminate dispute or chastise insolence by a resort
to man’s primitive weapons; but I never more
lamented my physical inferiority than on certain occasions
when I would have given my ears to be able to thrash
Tom Bowles myself. It has been as great a disgrace
to my estate that that bully should so long have infested
it as it is to the King of Italy not to be able with
all his armies to put down a brigand in Calabria.”
