It ran between trees which took the force of the downpour, so that it seemed a very sanctuary after the open moor.His spirits lightened.The infernal birds had stopped crying, but again he heard the thud of hooves.
That was right, and proved the place was tenanted.Presently he turned a corner and faced a light which shone through the wet, rayed like a heraldic star.
The sight gave him confidence, for it brought him back to a familiar world.
He rode straight to it, crossing a patch of rough turf, where a fallen log all but brought him down.As he neared it the light grew till he saw its cause.He stood before the main door of a house and it was wide open.Agreat lantern, hung from a beam just inside, showed a doorway of some size and magnificence.And below it stood a servant, an old man, who at the sight of the stranger advanced to hold his stirrup.
"Welcome, my lord," said the man."All is ready for you."The last hour had partially sobered the traveller, but, having now come safe to port, his drunkenness revived.He saw nothing odd in the open door or the servant's greeting.As he scrambled to the ground he was back in his first exhilaration."My lord!" Well, why not? This was an honest man who knew quality when he met it.
Humming a tune and making a chain of little pools on the stone flags of the hall, Mr.Lovel followed his guide, who bore his shabby valise, another servant having led away the horse.The hall was dim with flickering shadows cast by the lamp in the doorway, and smelt raw and cold as if the house had been little dwelt in.Beyond it was a stone passage where a second lamp burned and lit up a forest of monstrous deer horns on the wall.The butler flung open a door.
"I trust your lordship will approve the preparations," he said."Supper awaits you, and when you have done I will show you your chamber.There are dry shoes by the hearth." He took from the traveller his sopping overcoat and drew from his legs the pulpy riding-boots.With a bow which might have graced a court he closed the door, leaving Mr.Lovel alone to his entertainment.
It was a small square room panelled to the ceiling in dark oak, and lit by a curious magnificence of candles.They burned in sconces on the walls and in tall candlesticks on the table, while a log fire on the great stone hearth so added to the glow that the place was as bright as day.The windows were heavily shuttered and curtained, and in the far corner was a second door.On the polished table food had been laid--a noble ham, two virgin pies, a dish of fruits, and a group of shining decanters.To one coming out of the wild night it was a transformation like a dream, but Mr.
Lovel, half drunk, accepted it as no more than his due.His feather brain had been fired by the butler's "my lord," and he did not puzzle his head with questions.From a slim bottle he filled himself a glass of brandy, but on second thoughts set it down untasted.He would sample the wine first and top off with the spirit.Meantime he would get warm.
He stripped off his coat, which was dampish, and revealed a dirty shirt and the dilapidated tops of his small clothes.His stockings were torn and soaking, so he took them off, and stuck his naked feet into the furred slippers which stood waiting by the hearth.Then he sat himself in a great brocaded arm-chair and luxuriously stretched his legs to the blaze.
But his head was too much afire to sit still.The comfort soaked into his being through every nerve and excited rather than soothed him.He did not want to sleep now, though little before he had been crushed by weariness..
..There was a mirror beside the fireplace, the glass painted at the edge with slender flowers and cupids in the Caroline fashion.He saw his reflection and it pleased him.The long face with the pointed chin, the deep-set dark eyes, the skin brown with weather--he seemed to detect a resemblance to Wharton.Or was it Beaufort? Anyhow, now that the shabby coat was off, he might well be a great man in undress."My lord!" Why not?
His father had always told him he came of an old high family.Kings, he had said--of France, or somewhere...A gold ring he wore on his left hand slipped from his finger and jingled on the hearthstone.It was too big for him, and when his fingers grew small with cold or wet it was apt to fall off.He picked it up and laid it beside the decanters on the table.That had been his father's ring, and he congratulated himself that in all his necessities he had never parted from it.It was said to have come down from ancient kings.
He turned to the table and cut himself a slice of ham.But he found he had no appetite.He filled himself a bumper of claret.It was a ripe velvety liquor and cooled his hot mouth.That was the drink for gentlemen.Brandy in good time, but for the present this soft wine which was in keeping with the warmth and light and sheen of silver....His excitement was dying now into complacence.He felt himself in the environment for which Providence had fitted him.His whole being expanded in the glow of it.He understood how able he was, how truly virtuous--a master of intrigue, but one whose eye was always fixed on the star of honour.And then his thoughts wandered to his son in the mean London lodgings.The boy should have his chance and walk some day in silks and laces.Curse his aliases! He should be Lovel, and carry his head as high as any Villiers or Talbot.
The reflection sent his hand to an inner pocket of the coat now drying by the hearth.He took from it a thin packet of papers wrapped in oil-cloth.
These were the fruits of his journey, together with certain news too secret to commit to writing which he carried in his head.He ran his eye over them, approved them, and laid them before him on the table.They started a train of thought which brought him to the question of his present quarters.
