Cigars, like other pleasures, are transitory.
Lord Chelford threw away his stump, tendered his case
again to Mr. Larkin, and then took his leave, walking
slowly homewards.
THE ATTORNEY’S ADVENTURES ON THE WAY HOME.
Mr. Jos. Larkin was now moving alone, under the
limbs of the Brandon trees. He knew the path,
as he had boasted to Lord Chelford, from his boyhood;
and, as he pursued his way, his mind got upon the accustomed
groove, and amused itself with speculations respecting
the vagaries of Mark Wylder.
‘I wonder what his lordship thinks. He
was very close—very’ ruminated Larkin;
’no distinct ideas about it possibly; and did
not seem to wish to lead me to the subject. Can
he know anything? Eh, can he possibly?
Those high fellows are very knowing often—so
much on the turf, and all that—very sharp
and very deep.’
He was thinking of a certain noble lord in difficulties,
who had hit a client of his rather hard, and whose
affairs did not reflect much credit upon their noble
conductor.
’Aye, I dare say, deep enough, and intimate
with the Lakes. He expects to be home in two
months’ time. He’s a deep fellow
too; he does not like to let people know what he’s
about. I should not be surprised if he came to-morrow.
Lake and Lord Chelford may both know more than they
say. Why should they both object merely to receive
and fund his money? They think he wants to get
them into a fix—hey? If I’m to
conduct his business, I ought to know it; if he keeps
a secret from me, affecting all his business relations,
like this, and driving him about the world like an
absconding bankrupt, how can I advise him?’
All this drifted slowly through his mind, and each
suggestion had its collateral speculations; and so
it carried him pleasantly a good way on his walk,
and he was now in the shadow of the dense copsewood
that mantles the deep ravine which debouches into
Redman’s Dell.
The road was hardly two yards wide, and the wood walled
it in, and overhung it occasionally in thick, irregular
masses. As the attorney marched leisurely onward,
he saw, or fancied that he saw, now and then, in uncertain
glimpses, something white in motion among the trees
beside him.
At first he did not mind; but it continued, and grew
gradually unpleasant. It might be a goat, a white
goat; but no, it was too tall for that. Had he
seen it at all? Aye! there it was, no mistake
now. A poacher, maybe? But their poachers
were not of the dangerous sort, and there had not
been a robber about Gylingden within the memory of
man. Besides, why on earth should either show
himself in that absurd way?
He stopped—he listened—he stared
suspiciously into the profound darkness. Then
he thought he heard a rustling of the leaves near him,
and he hallooed, ‘Who’s there?’
But no answer came.
So, taking heart of grace, he marched on, still zealously
peering among the trees, until, coming to an opening
in the pathway, he more distinctly saw a tall, white
figure, standing in an ape-like attitude, with its
arms extended, grasping two boughs, and stooping,
as if peeping cautiously, as he approached.
