Вальтер Скотт
Guy Mannering; or, The Astrologer
CHAPTER XIX
Wi’ coulters and wi’ forehammers
We garr’d the bars bang merrily,
Until we came to the inner prison,
Where Willie o’ Kinmont he did lie.
Old Border Ballad.
We return to Portanferry, and to Bertram and his honest-hearted friend, whom we left most innocent inhabitants of a place built for the guilty. The slumbers of the farmer were as sound as it was possible.
But Bertram’s first heavy sleep passed away long before midnight, nor could he again recover that state of oblivion. Added to the uncertain and uncomfortable state of his mind, his body felt feverish and oppressed. This was chiefly owing to the close and confined air of the small apartment in which they slept. After enduring for some time the broiling and suffocating feeling attendant upon such an atmosphere, he rose to endeavour to open the window of the apartment, and thus to procure a change of air. Alas! the first trial reminded him that he was in jail, and that the building being contrived for security, not comfort, the means of procuring fresh air were not left at the disposal of the wretched inhabitants.
Disappointed in this attempt, he stood by the unmanageable window for some time. Little Wasp, though oppressed with the fatigue of his journey on the preceding day, crept out of bed after his master, and stood by him rubbing his shaggy coat against his legs, and expressing by a murmuring sound the delight which he felt at being restored to him. Thus accompanied, and waiting until the feverish feeling which at present agitated his blood should subside into a desire for warmth and slumber, Bertram remained for some time looking out upon the sea.
The tide was now nearly full, and dashed hoarse and near below the base of the building. Now and then a large wave reached even the barrier or bulwark which defended the foundation of the house, and was flung up on it with greater force and noise than those which only broke upon the sand. Far in the distance, under the indistinct light of a hazy and often overclouded moon, the ocean rolled its multitudinous complication of waves, crossing, bursting, and mingling with each other.
‘A wild and dim spectacle,’ said Bertram to himself, ‘like those crossing tides of fate which have tossed me about the world from my infancy upwards. When will this uncertainty cease, and how soon shall I be permitted to look out for a tranquil home, where I may cultivate in quiet, and without dread and perplexity, those arts of peace from which my cares have been hitherto so forcibly diverted? The ear of Fancy, it is said, can discover the voice of sea-nymphs and tritons amid the bursting murmurs of the ocean; would that I could do so, and that some siren or Proteus would arise from these billows to unriddle for me the strange maze of fate in which I am so deeply entangled! Happy friend!’ he said, looking at the bed where Dinmont had deposited his bulky person, ‘thy cares are confined to the narrow round of a healthy and thriving occupation! Thou canst lay them aside at pleasure, and enjoy the deep repose of body and mind which wholesome labour has prepared for thee!’
At this moment his reflections were broken by little Wasp, who, attempting to spring up against the window, began to yelp and bark most furiously. The sounds reached Dinmont’s ears, but without dissipating the illusion which had transported him from this wretched apartment to the free air of his own green hills. ‘Hoy, Yarrow, man! far yaud, far yaud!’ he muttered between his teeth, imagining, doubtless, that he was calling to his sheep-dog, and hounding him in shepherds’ phrase against some intruders on the grazing. The continued barking of the terrier within was answered by the angry challenge of the mastiff in the courtyard, which had for a long time been silent, excepting only an occasional short and deep note, uttered when the moon shone suddenly from among the clouds. Now his clamour was continued and furious, and seemed to be excited by some disturbance distinct from the barking of Wasp, which had first given him the alarm, and which, with much trouble, his master had contrived to still into an angry note of low growling.
At last Bertram, whose attention was now fully awakened, conceived that he saw a boat upon the sea, and heard in good earnest the sound of oars and of human voices mingling with the dash of the billows. ‘Some benighted fishermen,’ he thought, ‘or perhaps some of the desperate traders from the Isle of Man. They are very hardy, however, to approach so near to the custom-house, where there must be sentinels. It is a large boat, like a long-boat, and full of people; perhaps it belongs to the revenue service.’ Bertram was confirmed in this last opinion by observing that the boat made for a little quay which ran into the sea behind the custom-house, and, jumping ashore one after another, the crew, to the number of twenty hands, glided secretly up a small lane which divided the custom-house from the bridewell, and disappeared from his sight, leaving only two persons to take care of the boat.
The dash of these men’s oars at first, and latterly the suppressed sounds of their voices, had excited the wrath of the wakeful sentinel in the courtyard, who now exalted his deep voice into such a horrid and continuous din that it awakened his brute master, as savage a ban-dog as himself. His cry from a window, of ‘How now, Tearum, what’s the matter, sir? down, d-n ye, down!’ produced no abatement of Tearum’s vociferation, which in part prevented his master from hearing the sounds of alarm which his ferocious vigilance was in the act of challenging. But the mate of the two-legged Cerberus was gifted with sharper ears than her husband. She also was now at the window. ‘B-t ye, gae down and let loose the dog,’ she said; ‘they’re sporting the door of the custom-house, and the auld sap at Hazlewood House has ordered off the guard. But ye hae nae mair heart than a cat.’ And down the Amazon sallied to perform the task herself, while her helpmate, more jealous of insurrection within doors than of storm from without, went from cell to cell to see that the inhabitants of each were carefully secured.
These latter sounds with which we have made the reader acquainted had their origin in front of the house, and were consequently imperfectly heard by Bertram, whose apartment, as we have already noticed, looked from the back part of the building upon the sea. He heard, however, a stir and tumult in the house, which did not seem to accord with the stern seclusion of a prison at the hour of midnight, and, connecting them with the arrival of an armed boat at that dead hour, could not but suppose that something extraordinary was about to take place. In this belief he shook Dinmont by the shoulder. ‘Eh! Ay! Oh! Ailie, woman, it’s no time to get up yet,’ groaned the sleeping man of the mountains. More roughly shaken, however, he gathered himself up, shook his ears, and asked, ‘In the name of Providence what’s the matter?’
‘That I can’t tell you,’ replied Bertram; ‘but either the place is on fire or some extraordinary thing is about to happen. Are you not sensible of a smell of fire? Do you not hear what a noise there is of clashing doors within the house and of hoarse voices, murmurs, and distant shouts on the outside? Upon my word, I believe something very extraordinary has taken place. Get up, for the love of Heaven, and let us be on our guard.’
Dinmont rose at the idea of danger, as intrepid and undismayed as any of his ancestors when the beacon-light was kindled. ‘Od, Captain, this is a queer place! they winna let ye out in the day, and they winna let ye sleep in the night. Deil, but it wad break my heart in a fortnight. But, Lordsake, what a racket they’re making now! Od, I wish we had some light. Wasp, Wasp, whisht, hinny; whisht, my bonnie man, and let’s hear what they’re doing. Deil’s in ye, will ye whisht?’
They sought in vain among the embers the means of lighting their candle, and the noise without still continued. Dinmont in his turn had recourse to the window-’Lordsake, Captain! come here. Od, they hae broken the custom-house!’
Bertram hastened to the window, and plainly saw a miscellaneous crowd of smugglers, and blackguards of different descriptions, some carrying lighted torches, others bearing packages and barrels down the lane to the boat that was lying at the quay, to which two or three other fisher-boats were now brought round. They were loading each of these in their turn, and one or two had already put off to seaward. ‘This speaks for itself,’ said Bertram; ‘but I fear something worse has happened. Do you perceive a strong smell of smoke, or is it my fancy?’
‘Fancy?’ answered Dinmont, ‘there’s a reek like a killogie. Od, if they burn the custom-house it will catch here, and we’ll lunt like a tar-barrel a’ thegither. Eh! it wad be fearsome to be burnt alive for naething, like as if ane had been a warlock! Mac-Guffog, hear ye!’ roaring at the top of his voice; ‘an ye wad ever hae a haill bane in your skin, let’s out, man, let’s out!’
The fire began now to rise high, and thick clouds of smoke rolled past the window at which Bertram and Dinmont were stationed. Sometimes, as the wind pleased, the dim shroud of vapour hid everything from their sight; sometimes a red glare illuminated both land and sea, and shone full on the stern and fierce figures who, wild with ferocious activity, were engaged in loading the boats. The fire was at length triumphant, and spouted in jets of flame out at each window of the burning building, while huge flakes of flaming materials came driving on the wind against the adjoining prison, and rolling a dark canopy of smoke over all the neighbourhood. The shouts of a furious mob resounded far and wide; for the smugglers in their triumph were joined by all the rabble of the little town and neighbourhood, now aroused and in complete agitation, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, some from interest in the free trade, and most from the general love of mischief and tumult natural to a vulgar populace.
Bertram began to be seriously anxious for their fate. There was no stir in the house; it seemed as if the jailor had deserted his charge, and left the prison with its wretched inhabitants to the mercy of the conflagration which was spreading towards them. In the meantime a new and fierce attack was heard upon the outer gate of the correction house, which, battered with sledge-hammers and crows, was soon forced. The keeper, as great a coward as a bully, with his more ferocious wife, had fled; their servants readily surrendered the keys. The liberated prisoners, celebrating their deliverance with the wildest yells of joy, mingled among the mob which had given them freedom.
In the midst of the confusion that ensued three or four of the principal smugglers hurried to the apartment of Bertram with lighted torches, and armed with cutlasses and pistols. ‘Der deyvil,’ said the leader, ‘here’s our mark!’ and two of them seized on Bertram; but one whispered in his ear,’ Make no resistance till you are in the street.’ The same individual found an instant to say to Dinmont-’Follow your friend, and help when you see the time come.’
In the hurry of the moment Dinmont obeyed and followed close. The two smugglers dragged Bertram along the passage, downstairs, through the courtyard, now illuminated by the glare of fire, and into the narrow street to which the gate opened, where in the confusion the gang were necessarily in some degree separated from each other. A rapid noise, as of a body of horse advancing, seemed to add to the disturbance. ‘Hagel and wetter, what is that?’ said the leader; ‘keep together, kinder; look to the prisoner.’ But in spite of his charge the two who held Bertram were the last of the party.
The sounds and signs of violence were heard in front. The press became furiously agitated, while some endeavoured to defend themselves, others to escape; shots were fired, and the glittering broadswords of the dragoons began to appear flashing above the heads of the rioters. ‘Now,’ said the warning whisper of the man who held Bertram’s left arm, the same who had spoken before, ‘shake off that fellow and follow me.’
Bertram, exerting his strength suddenly and effectually, easily burst from the grasp of the man who held his collar on the right side. The fellow attempted to draw a pistol, but was prostrated by a blow of Dinmont’s fist, which an ox could hardly have received without the same humiliation. ‘Follow me quick,’ said the friendly partizan, and dived through a very narrow and dirty lane which led from the main street.
No pursuit took place. The attention of the smugglers had been otherwise and very disagreeably engaged by the sudden appearance of Mac-Morlan and the party of horse. The loud, manly voice of the provincial magistrate was heard proclaiming the Riot Act, and charging ‘all those unlawfully assembled to disperse at their own proper peril.’ This interruption would, indeed, have happened in time sufficient to have prevented the attempt, had not the magistrate received upon the road some false information which led him to think that the smugglers were to land at the bay of Ellangowan. Nearly two hours were lost in consequence of this false intelligence, which it may be no lack of charity to suppose that Glossin, so deeply interested in the issue of that night’s daring attempt, had contrived to throw in Mac-Morlan’s way, availing himself of the knowledge that the soldiers had left Hazlewood House, which would soon reach an ear so anxious as his.
In the meantime, Bertram followed his guide, and was in his turn followed by Dinmont. The shouts of the mob, the trampling of the horses, the dropping pistol-shots, sunk more and more faintly upon their ears, when at the end of the dark lane they found a post-chaise with four horses. ‘Are you here, in God’s name?’ said the guide to the postilion who drove the leaders.
‘Ay, troth am I,’ answered Jock Jabos, ‘and I wish I were ony gate else.’
‘Open the carriage then. You, gentlemen, get into it; in a short time you’ll be in a place of safety, and (to Bertram) remember your promise to the gipsy wife!’
Bertram, resolving to be passive in the hands of a person who had just rendered him such a distinguished piece of service, got into the chaise as directed. Dinmont followed; Wasp, who had kept close by them, sprung in at the same time, and the carriage drove off very fast. ‘Have a care o’ me,’ said Dinmont, ‘but this is the queerest thing yet! Od, I trust they’ll no coup us. And then what’s to come o’ Dumple? I would rather be on his back than in the Deuke’s coach, God bless him.’
Bertram observed, that they could not go at that rapid rate to any very great distance without changing horses, and that they might insist upon remaining till daylight at the first inn they stopped at, or at least upon being made acquainted with the purpose and termination of their journey, and Mr. Dinmont might there give directions about his faithful horse, which would probably be safe at the stables where he had left him. ‘Aweel, aweel, e’en sae be it for Dandie. Od, if we were ance out o’ this trindling kist o’ a thing, I am thinking they wad find it hard wark to gar us gang ony gate but where we liked oursells.’
While he thus spoke the carriage, making a sudden turn, showed them through the left window the village at some distance, still widely beaconed by the fire, which, having reached a store-house wherein spirits were deposited, now rose high into the air, a wavering column of brilliant light. They had not long time to admire this spectacle, for another turn of the road carried them into a close lane between plantations, through which the chaise proceeded in nearly total darkness, but with unabated speed.
CHAPTER XX
The night drave on wi’ sangs and clatter,
And aye the ale was growing better
Tam o’Shanter.
We must now return to Woodbourne, which, it may be remembered, we left just after the Colonel had given some directions to his confidential servant. When he returned, his absence of mind, and an unusual expression of thought and anxiety upon his features, struck the ladies, whom he joined in the drawing-room. Mannering was not, however, a man to be questioned, even by those whom he most loved, upon the cause of the mental agitation which these signs expressed. The hour of tea arrived, and the party were partaking of that refreshment in silence when a carriage drove up to the door, and the bell announced the arrival of a visitor. ‘Surely,’ said Mannering, ‘it is too soon by some hours.’
There was a short pause, when Barnes, opening the door of the saloon, announced Mr. Pleydell. In marched the lawyer, whose well-brushed black coat and well-powdered wig, together with his point ruffles, brown silk stockings, highly-varnished shoes, and gold buckles, exhibited the pains which the old gentleman had taken to prepare his person for the ladies’ society. He was welcomed by Mannering with a hearty shake by the hand. ‘The very man I wished to see at this moment!’
‘Yes,’ said the Counsellor, ‘I told you I would take the first opportunity; so I have ventured to leave the court for a week in session time-no common sacrifice; but I had a notion I could be useful, and I was to attend a proof here about the same time. But will you not introduce me to the young ladies? Ah! there is one I should have known at once from her family likeness! Miss Lucy Bertram, my love, I am most happy to see you.’ And he folded her in his arms, and gave her a hearty kiss on each side of the face, to which Lucy submitted in blushing resignation.
‘On n’arrete pas dans un si beau chemin,’ continued the gay old gentleman, and, as the Colonel presented him to Julia, took the same liberty with that fair lady’s cheek. Julia laughed, coloured, and disengaged herself. ‘I beg a thousand pardons,’ said the lawyer, with a bow which was not at all professionally awkward; ‘age and old fashions give privileges, and I can hardly say whether I am most sorry just now at being too well entitled to claim them at all, or happy in having such an opportunity to exercise them so agreeably.’
‘Upon my word, sir,’ said Miss Mannering, laughing, ‘if you make such flattering apologies we shall begin to doubt whether we can admit you to shelter yourself under your alleged qualifications.’
‘I can assure you, Julia,’ said the Colonel, ‘you are perfectly right. My friend the Counsellor is a dangerous person; the last time I had the pleasure of seeing him he was closeted with a fair lady who had granted him a tete-a-tete at eight in the morning.’
‘Ay, but, Colonel,’ said the Counsellor, ‘you should add, I was more indebted to my chocolate than my charms for so distinguished a favour from a person of such propriety of demeanour as Mrs. Rebecca.’
‘And that should remind me, Mr. Pleydell,’ said Julia, ‘to offer you tea; that is, supposing you have dined.’
‘Anything, Miss Mannering, from your hands,’ answered the gallant jurisconsult; ‘yes, I have dined; that is to say, as people dine at a Scotch inn.’
‘And that is indifferently enough,’ said the Colonel, with his hand upon the bell-handle; ‘give me leave to order something.’
‘Why, to say truth, ‘replied Mr. Pleydell, ‘I had rather not. I have been inquiring into that matter, for you must know I stopped an instant below to pull off my boot-hose, “a world too wide for my shrunk shanks,”’ glancing down with some complacency upon limbs which looked very well for his time of life, ‘and I had some conversation with your Barnes and a very intelligent person whom I presume to be the housekeeper; and it was settled among us, tota re perspecta, – I beg Miss Mannering’s pardon for my Latin, – that the old lady should add to your light family supper the more substantial refreshment of a brace of wild ducks. I told her (always under deep submission) my poor thoughts about the sauce, which concurred exactly with her own; and, if you please, I would rather wait till they are ready before eating anything solid.’
‘And we will anticipate our usual hour of supper,’ said the Colonel.
‘With all my heart,’ said Pleydell, ‘providing I do not lose the ladies’ company a moment the sooner. I am of counsel with my old friend Burnet; [Footnote: See Note 5] I love the coena, the supper of the ancients, the pleasant meal and social glass that wash out of one’s mind the cobwebs that business or gloom have been spinning in our brains all day.’
The vivacity of Mr. Pleydell’s look and manner, and the quietness with which he made himself at home on the subject of his little epicurean comforts, amused the ladies, but particularly Miss Mannering, who immediately gave the Counsellor a great deal of flattering attention; and more pretty things were said on both sides during the service of the tea-table than we have leisure to repeat.
As soon as this was over, Mannering led the Counsellor by the arm into a small study which opened from the saloon, and where, according to the custom of the family, there were always lights and a good fire in the evening.
‘I see,’said Mr. Pleydell, ‘you have got something to tell me about the Ellangowan business. Is it terrestrial or celestial? What says my military Albumazar? Have you calculated the course of futurity? have you consulted your ephemerides, your almochoden, your almuten?’
‘No, truly, Counsellor,’ replied Mannering, ‘you are the only Ptolemy I intend to resort to upon the present occasion. A second Prospero, I have broken my staff and drowned my book far beyond plummet depth. But I have great news notwithstanding. Meg Merrilies, our Egyptian sibyl, has appeared to the Dominie this very day, and, as I conjecture, has frightened the honest man not a little.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Ay, and she has done me the honour to open a correspondence with me, supposing me to be as deep in astrological mysteries as when we first met. Here is her scroll, delivered to me by the Dominie.’
Pleydell put on his spectacles. ‘A vile greasy scrawl, indeed; and the letters are uncial or semi-uncial, as somebody calls your large text hand, and in size and perpendicularity resemble the ribs of a roasted pig; I can hardly make it out.’
‘Read aloud,’ said Mannering.
‘I will try,’ answered the Lawyer. ‘“YOU ARE A GOOD SEEKER, BUT A BAD FINDER; YOU SET YOURSELF TO PROP A FALLING HOUSE, BUT HAD A GEY GUESS IT WOULD RISE AGAIN. LEND YOUR HAND TO THE WORK THAT’S NEAR, AS YOU LENT YOUR EE TO THE WEIRD THAT WAS FAR. HAVE A CARRIAGE THIS NIGHT BY TEN O’CLOCK AT THE END OF THE CROOKED DYKES AT PORTANFERRY, AND LET IT BRING THE FOLK TO WOODBOURNE THAT SHALL ASK THEM, IF THEY BE THERE IN GOD’S NAME." – Stay, here follows some poetry-
“DARK SHALL BE LIGHT,
AND WRONG DONE TO RIGHT,
WHEN BERTRAM’S RIGHT AND BERTRAM’S MIGHT
SHALL MEET ON ELLANGOWAN’S HEIGHT."
A most mystic epistle truly, and closes in a vein of poetry worthy of the Cumaean sibyl. And what have you done?’
‘Why,’ said Mannering, rather reluctantly, ‘I was loth to risk any opportunity of throwing light on this business. The woman is perhaps crazed, and these effusions may arise only from visions of her imagination; but you were of opinion that she knew more of that strange story than she ever told.’
‘And so,’ said Pleydell, ‘you sent a carriage to the place named?’
‘You will laugh at me if I own I did,’ replied the Colonel.
‘Who, I?’ replied the Advocate. ‘No, truly, I think it was the wisest thing you could do.’
‘Yes,’ answered Mannering, well pleased to have escaped the ridicule he apprehended; ‘you know the worst is paying the chaise-hire. I sent a post-chaise and four from Kippletringan, with instructions corresponding to the letter; the horses will have a long and cold station on the outpost to-night if our intelligence be false.’
‘Ay, but I think it will prove otherwise,’ said the Lawyer. ‘This woman has played a part till she believes it; or, if she be a thorough-paced impostor, without a single grain of self-delusion to qualify her knavery, still she may think herself bound to act in character; this I know, that I could get nothing out of her by the common modes of interrogation, and the wisest thing we can do is to give her an opportunity of making the discovery her own way. And now have you more to say, or shall we go to the ladies?’
‘Why, my mind is uncommonly agitated,’ answered the Colonel, ‘and-but I really have no more to say; only I shall count the minutes till the carriage returns; but you cannot be expected to be so anxious.’
‘Why, no; use is all in all,’ said the more experienced lawyer; ‘I am much interested certainly, but I think I shall be able to survive the interval, if the ladies will afford us some music.’
‘And with the assistance of the wild ducks, by and by?’ suggested Mannering.
‘True, Colonel; a lawyer’s anxiety about the fate of the most interesting cause has seldom spoiled either his sleep or digestion. [Footnote: See Note 6.] And yet I shall be very eager to hear the rattle of these wheels on their return, notwithstanding.’
So saying, he rose and led the way into the next room, where Miss Mannering, at his request, took her seat at the harpsichord, Lucy Bertram, who sung her native melodies very sweetly, was accompanied by her friend upon the instrument, and Julia afterwards performed some of Scarlatti’s sonatas with great brilliancy. The old lawyer, scraping a little upon the violoncello, and being a member of the gentlemen’s concert in Edinburgh, was so greatly delighted with this mode of spending the evening that I doubt if he once thought of the wild ducks until Barnes informed the company that supper was ready.
‘Tell Mrs. Allan to have something in readiness,’ said the Colonel; ‘I expect-that is, I hope-perhaps some company may be here to-night; and let the men sit up, and do not lock the upper gate on the lawn until I desire you.’
‘Lord, sir,’ said Julia, ‘whom can you possibly expect to-night?’
‘Why, some persons, strangers to me, talked of calling in the evening on business,’ answered her father, not without embarrassment, for he would have little brooked a disappointment which might have thrown ridicule on his judgment; ‘it is quite uncertain.’
‘Well, we shall not pardon them for disturbing our party,’ said Julia, ‘unless they bring as much good-humour and as susceptible hearts as my friend and admirer, for so he has dubbed himself, Mr. Pleydell.’
‘Ah, Miss Julia,’ said Pleydell, offering his arm with an air of gallantry to conduct her into the eating-room, ‘the time has been, when I returned from Utrecht in the year 1738-’
‘Pray don’t talk of it,’ answered the young lady; ‘we like you much better as you are. Utrecht, in Heaven’s name! I daresay you have spent all the intervening years in getting rid so completely of the effects of your Dutch education.’
‘O forgive me, Miss Mannering,’ said the Lawyer, ‘the Dutch are a much more accomplished people in point of gallantry than their volatile neighbours are willing to admit. They are constant as clock-work in their attentions.’
‘I should tire of that,’ said Julia.
‘Imperturbable in their good temper,’ continued Pleydell.
‘Worse and worse,’ said the young lady.
‘And then,’ said the old beau garcon, ‘although for six times three hundred and sixty-five days your swain has placed the capuchin round your neck, and the stove under your feet, and driven your little sledge upon the ice in winter, and your cabriole through the dust in summer, you may dismiss him at once, without reason or apology, upon the two thousand one hundred and ninetieth day, which, according to my hasty calculation, and without reckoning leap-years, will complete the cycle of the supposed adoration, and that without your amiable feelings having the slightest occasion to be alarmed for the consequences to those of Mynheer.’
‘Well,’ replied Julia,’ that last is truly a Dutch recommendation, Mr. Pleydell; crystal and hearts would lose all their merit in the world if it were not for their fragility.’
‘Why, upon that point of the argument, Miss Mannering, it is as difficult to find a heart that will break as a glass that will not; and for that reason I would press the value of mine own, were it not that I see Mr. Sampson’s eyes have been closed, and his hands clasped for some time, attending the end of our conference to begin the grace. And, to say the truth, the appearance of the wild ducks is very appetising.’ So saying, the worthy Counsellor sat himself to table, and laid aside his gallantry for awhile to do honour to the good things placed before him. Nothing further is recorded of him for some time, excepting an observation that the ducks were roasted to a single turn, and that Mrs. Allan’s sauce of claret, lemon, and cayenne was beyond praise.
‘I see,’ said Miss Mannering, ‘I have a formidable rival in Mr. Pleydell’s favour, even on the very first night of his avowed admiration.’
‘Pardon me, my fair lady,’ answered the Counsellor, ‘your avowed rigour alone has induced me to commit the solecism of eating a good supper in your presence; how shall I support your frowns without reinforcing my strength? Upon the same principle, and no other, I will ask permission to drink wine with you.’
‘This is the fashion of Utrecht also, I suppose, Mr. Pleydell?’
‘Forgive me, madam,’ answered the Counsellor; ‘the French themselves, the patterns of all that is gallant, term their tavern-keepers restaurateurs, alluding, doubtless, to the relief they afford the disconsolate lover when bowed down to the earth by his mistress’s severity. My own case requires so much relief that I must trouble you for that other wing, Mr. Sampson, without prejudice to my afterwards applying to Miss Bertram for a tart. Be pleased to tear the wing, sir, instead of cutting it off. Mr. Barnes will assist you, Mr. Sampson; thank you, sir; and, Mr. Barnes, a glass of ale, if you please.’
While the old gentleman, pleased with Miss Mannering’s liveliness and attention, rattled away for her amusement and his own, the impatience of Colonel Mannering began to exceed all bounds. He declined sitting down at table, under pretence that he never eat supper; and traversed the parlour in which they were with hasty and impatient steps, now throwing up the window to gaze upon the dark lawn, now listening for the remote sound of the carriage advancing up the avenue. At length, in a feeling of uncontrollable impatience, he left the room, took his hat and cloak, and pursued his walk up the avenue, as if his so doing would hasten the approach of those whom he desired to see. ‘I really wish,’ said Miss Bertram,’ Colonel Mannering would not venture out after nightfall. You must have heard, Mr. Pleydell, what a cruel fright we had.’
