The attorney made one of his slight, gentlemanlike
bows, and threw back his head with a lofty and reserved
look.
’I don’t know, Captain Lake, that I would
be quite justified in withholding the substance of
Sir Julius Hockley’s letter from Lord Chelford,
consulted, as I have had the honour to be, by that
nobleman. I shall, however, turn it over in my
mind.’
’Don’t the least mind me. In fact,
I would rather tell it than not. And I can explain
to Chelford why I could not mention the circumstance.
Wylder, in fact, tied me down by a promise, and he’ll
be devilish angry with you; but, it seems, you don’t
very much mind that.’
He knew that Mr. Larkin did very much mind
it; and the quick glance of the attorney could read
nothing whatever in the captain’s pallid face
and downcast eyes, smiling on the points of his varnished
boots.
’Of course, you know, Captain Lake, in alluding
to the possibility of my making any communication
to Lord Chelford, I limit myself strictly to the letter
of Sir Julius Hockley, and do not, by any means, my
dear Captain Lake, include the conversation which
has just occurred, and the communication which you
have volunteered to make me.’
‘Oh! quite so,’ said the captain, looking
up suddenly, as was his way, with a momentary glare,
like a man newly-waked from a narcotic doze.
THE HUNT BALL.
By this time your humble servant, the chronicler of
these Gylingden annals, had taken his leave of magnificent
old Brandon, and of its strangely interesting young
mistress and was carrying away with him, as he flew
along the London rails, the broken imagery of that
grand and shivered dream. He was destined, however,
before very long, to revisit these scenes; and in
the meantime heard, in rude outline, the tenor of
what was happening—the minute incidents
and colouring of which were afterwards faithfully
communicated.
I can, therefore, without break or blur, continue
my description; and to say truth, at this distance
of time, I have some difficulty—so well
acquainted was I with the actors and the scenery—in
determining, without consulting my diary, what portions
of the narrative I relate from hearsay, and what as
a spectator. But that I am so far from understanding
myself, I should often be amazed at the sayings and
doings of other people. As it is, I behold in
myself an abyss, I gaze down and listen, and discover
neither light nor harmony, but thunderings and lightnings,
and voices and laughter, and a medley that dismays
me. There rage the elements which God only can
control. Forgive us our trespasses; lead us not
into temptation; deliver us from the Evil One!
How helpless and appalled we shut our eyes over that
awful chasm.
I have long ceased, then, to wonder why any living
soul does anything that is incongruous and unanticipated.
And therefore I cannot say how Miss Brandon persuaded
her handsome Cousin Rachel to go with her party, under
the wing of Old Lady Chelford, to the Hunt Ball of
Gylingden. And knowing now all that then hung
heavy at the heart of the fair tenant of Redman’s
Farm, I should, indeed, wonder inexpressibly, were
it not, as I have just said, that I have long ceased
to wonder at any vagaries of myself or my fellow creatures.
