Chapter 50

Nicholas Nickleby

by Charles Dickens

Involves a serious Catastrophe

The little race-course at Hampton was in the full tide and
height of its gaiety; the day as dazzling as day could be; the sun
high in the cloudless sky, and shining in its fullest splendour.
Every gaudy colour that fluttered in the air from carriage seat and
garish tent top, shone out in its gaudiest hues. Old dingy flags
grew new again, faded gilding was re-burnished, stained rotten canvas
looked a snowy white, the very beggars' rags were freshened up, and
sentiment quite forgot its charity in its fervent admiration of
poverty so picturesque.

It was one of those scenes of life and animation, caught in its
very brightest and freshest moments, which can scarcely fail to
please; for if the eye be tired of show and glare, or the ear be
weary with a ceaseless round of noise, the one may repose, turn
almost where it will, on eager, happy, and expectant faces, and the
other deaden all consciousness of more annoying sounds in those of
mirth and exhilaration. Even the sunburnt faces of gypsy children,
half naked though they be, suggest a drop of comfort. It is a
pleasant thing to see that the sun has been there; to know that the
air and light are on them every day; to feel that they are children,
and lead children's lives; that if their pillows be damp, it is with
the dews of Heaven, and not with tears; that the limbs of their girls
are free, and that they are not crippled by distortions, imposing an
unnatural and horrible penance upon their sex; that their lives are
spent, from day to day, at least among the waving trees, and not in
the midst of dreadful engines which make young children old before
they know what childhood is, and give them the exhaustion and
infirmity of age, without, like age, the privilege to die. God send
that old nursery tales were true, and that gypsies stole such
children by the score!

The great race of the day had just been run; and the close lines
of people, on either side of the course, suddenly breaking up and
pouring into it, imparted a new liveliness to the scene, which was
again all busy movement. Some hurried eagerly to catch a glimpse of
the winning horse; others darted to and fro, searching, no less
eagerly, for the carriages they had left in quest of better stations.
Here, a little knot gathered round a pea and thimble table to watch
the plucking of some unhappy greenhorn; and there, another proprietor
with his confederates in various disguises--one man in spectacles;
another, with an eyeglass and a stylish hat; a third, dressed as a
farmer well to do in the world, with his top- coat over his arm and
his flash notes in a large leathern pocket- book; and all with
heavy-handled whips to represent most innocent country fellows who
had trotted there on horseback--sought, by loud and noisy talk and
pretended play, to entrap some unwary customer, while the gentlemen
confederates (of more villainous aspect still, in clean linen and
good clothes), betrayed their close interest in the concern by the
anxious furtive glance they cast on all new comers. These would be
hanging on the outskirts of a wide circle of people assembled round
some itinerant juggler, opposed, in his turn, by a noisy band of
music, or the classic game of 'Ring the Bull,' while ventriloquists
holding dialogues with wooden dolls, and fortune-telling women
smothering the cries of real babies, divided with them, and many
more, the general attention of the company. Drinking-tents were full,
glasses began to clink in carriages, hampers to be unpacked, tempting
provisions to be set forth, knives and forks to rattle, champagne
corks to fly, eyes to brighten that were not dull before, and
pickpockets to count their gains during the last heat. The attention
so recently strained on one object of interest, was now divided among
a hundred; and look where you would, there was a motley assemblage of
feasting, laughing, talking, begging, gambling, and mummery.

Of the gambling-booths there was a plentiful show, flourishing
in all the splendour of carpeted ground, striped hangings, crimson
cloth, pinnacled roofs, geranium pots, and livery servants. There
were the Stranger's club-house, the Athenaeum club-house, the Hampton
club-house, the St James's club-house, and half a mile of club-houses
to play in; and there were rouge-et-noir, French hazard, and other
games to play at. It is into one of these booths that our story
takes its way.

Fitted up with three tables for the purposes of play, and
crowded with players and lookers on, it was, although the largest
place of the kind upon the course, intensely hot, notwithstanding
that a portion of the canvas roof was rolled back to admit more air,
and there were two doors for a free passage in and out. Excepting
one or two men who, each with a long roll of half-crowns, chequered
with a few stray sovereigns, in his left hand, staked their money at
every roll of the ball with a business-like sedateness which showed
that they were used to it, and had been playing all day, and most
probably all the day before, there was no very distinctive character
about the players, who were chiefly young men, apparently attracted
by curiosity, or staking small sums as part of the amusement of the
day, with no very great interest in winning or losing. There were
two persons present, however, who, as peculiarly good specimens of a
class, deserve a passing notice.

Of these, one was a man of six or eight and fifty, who sat on a
chair near one of the entrances of the booth, with his hands folded
on the top of his stick, and his chin appearing above them. He was a
tall, fat, long-bodied man, buttoned up to the throat in a light
green coat, which made his body look still longer than it was. He
wore, besides, drab breeches and gaiters, a white neckerchief, and a
broad-brimmed white hat. Amid all the buzzing noise of the games,
and the perpetual passing in and out of the people, he seemed
perfectly calm and abstracted, without the smallest particle of
excitement in his composition. He exhibited no indication of
weariness, nor, to a casual observer, of interest either. There he
sat, quite still and collected. Sometimes, but very rarely, he
nodded to some passing face, or beckoned to a waiter to obey a call
from one of the tables. The next instant he subsided into his old
state. He might have been some profoundly deaf old gentleman, who
had come in to take a rest, or he might have been patiently waiting
for a friend, without the least consciousness of anybody's presence,
or fixed in a trance, or under the influence of opium. People turned
round and looked at him; he made no gesture, caught nobody's eye, let
them pass away, and others come on and be succeeded by others, and
took no notice. When he did move, it seemed wonderful how he could
have seen anything to occasion it. And so, in truth, it was. But
there was not a face that passed in or out, which this man failed to
see; not a gesture at any one of the three tables that was lost upon
him; not a word, spoken by the bankers, but reached his ear; not a
winner or loser he could not have marked. And he was the proprietor
of the place.

The other presided over the rouge-et-noir table. He was
probably some ten years younger, and was a plump, paunchy,
sturdy-looking fellow, with his under-lip a little pursed, from a
habit of counting money inwardly as he paid it, but with no decidedly
bad expression in his face, which was rather an honest and jolly one
than otherwise. He wore no coat, the weather being hot, and stood
behind the table with a huge mound of crowns and half-crowns before
him, and a cash-box for notes. This game was constantly playing.
Perhaps twenty people would be staking at the same time. This man
had to roll the ball, to watch the stakes as they were laid down, to
gather them off the colour which lost, to pay those who won, to do it
all with the utmost dispatch, to roll the ball again, and to keep
this game perpetually alive. He did it all with a rapidity
absolutely marvellous; never hesitating, never making a mistake,
never stopping, and never ceasing to repeat such unconnected phrases
as the following, which, partly from habit, and partly to have
something appropriate and business-like to say, he constantly poured
out with the same monotonous emphasis, and in nearly the same order,
all day long:

'Rooge-a-nore from Paris! Gentlemen, make your game and back
your own opinions--any time while the ball rolls--rooge-a-nore from
Paris, gentlemen, it's a French game, gentlemen, I brought it over
myself, I did indeed!--Rooge-a-nore from Paris--black wins--black--
stop a minute, sir, and I'll pay you, directly--two there, half a
pound there, three there--and one there--gentlemen, the ball's a
rolling--any time, sir, while the ball rolls!--The beauty of this
game is, that you can double your stakes or put down your money,
gentlemen, any time while the ball rolls--black again--black wins--I
never saw such a thing--I never did, in all my life, upon my word I
never did; if any gentleman had been backing the black in the last
five minutes he must have won five-and-forty pound in four rolls of
the ball, he must indeed. Gentlemen, we've port, sherry, cigars, and
most excellent champagne. Here, wai-ter, bring a bottle of
champagne, and let's have a dozen or fifteen cigars here--and let's
be comfortable, gentlemen--and bring some clean glasses--any time
while the ball rolls!--I lost one hundred and thirty-seven pound
yesterday, gentlemen, at one roll of the ball, I did indeed!--how do
you do, sir?' (recognising some knowing gentleman without any halt or
change of voice, and giving a wink so slight that it seems an
accident), 'will you take a glass of sherry, sir?--here, wai-ter!
bring a clean glass, and hand the sherry to this gentleman--and hand
it round, will you, waiter?--this is the rooge-a-nore from Paris,
gentlemen--any time while the ball rolls!--gentlemen, make your game,
and back your own opinions--it's the rooge-a-nore from Paris-- quite
a new game, I brought it over myself, I did indeed--gentlemen, the
ball's a-rolling!'

This officer was busily plying his vocation when half-a-dozen
persons sauntered through the booth, to whom, but without stopping
either in his speech or work, he bowed respectfully; at the same time
directing, by a look, the attention of a man beside him to the
tallest figure in the group, in recognition of whom the proprietor
pulled off his hat. This was Sir Mulberry Hawk, with whom were his
friend and pupil, and a small train of gentlemanly-dressed men, of
characters more doubtful than obscure.

The proprietor, in a low voice, bade Sir Mulberry good-day. Sir
Mulberry, in the same tone, bade the proprietor go to the devil, and
turned to speak with his friends.

There was evidently an irritable consciousness about him that he
was an object of curiosity, on this first occasion of showing himself
in public after the accident that had befallen him; and it was easy
to perceive that he appeared on the race-course, that day, more in
the hope of meeting with a great many people who knew him, and so
getting over as much as possible of the annoyance at once, than with
any purpose of enjoying the sport. There yet remained a slight scar
upon his face, and whenever he was recognised, as he was almost every
minute by people sauntering in and out, he made a restless effort to
conceal it with his glove; showing how keenly he felt the disgrace he
had undergone.

'Ah! Hawk,' said one very sprucely-dressed personage in a
Newmarket coat, a choice neckerchief, and all other accessories of
the most unexceptionable kind. 'How d'ye do, old fellow?'

This was a rival trainer of young noblemen and gentlemen, and
the person of all others whom Sir Mulberry most hated and dreaded to
meet. They shook hands with excessive cordiality.

'And how are you now, old fellow, hey?'

'Quite well, quite well,' said Sir Mulberry.

'That's right,' said the other. 'How d'ye do, Verisopht? He's
a little pulled down, our friend here. Rather out of condition
still, hey?'

It should be observed that the gentleman had very white teeth,
and that when there was no excuse for laughing, he generally finished
with the same monosyllable, which he uttered so as to display
them.

'He's in very good condition; there's nothing the matter with
him,' said the young man carelessly.

'Upon my soul I'm glad to hear it,' rejoined the other. 'Have
you just returned from Brussels?'

'We only reached town late last night,' said Lord Frederick.
Sir Mulberry turned away to speak to one of his own party, and
feigned not to hear.

'Now, upon my life,' said the friend, affecting to speak in a
whisper, 'it's an uncommonly bold and game thing in Hawk to show
himself so soon. I say it advisedly; there's a vast deal of courage
in it. You see he has just rusticated long enough to excite
curiosity, and not long enough for men to have forgotten that deuced
unpleasant--by-the-bye--you know the rights of the affair, of course?
Why did you never give those confounded papers the lie? I seldom
read the papers, but I looked in the papers for that, and may I
be--'

'Look in the papers,' interrupted Sir Mulberry, turning suddenly
round, 'tomorrow--no, next day, will you?'

'Upon my life, my dear fellow, I seldom or never read the
papers,' said the other, shrugging his shoulders, 'but I will, at
your recommendation. What shall I look for?'

'Good day,' said Sir Mulberry, turning abruptly on his heel, and
drawing his pupil with him. Falling, again, into the loitering,
careless pace at which they had entered, they lounged out, arm in
arm.

'I won't give him a case of murder to read,' muttered Sir
Mulberry with an oath; 'but it shall be something very near it if
whipcord cuts and bludgeons bruise.'

His companion said nothing, but there was something in his
manner which galled Sir Mulberry to add, with nearly as much ferocity
as if his friend had been Nicholas himself:

'I sent Jenkins to old Nickleby before eight o'clock this
morning. He's a staunch one; he was back with me before the
messenger. I had it all from him in the first five minutes. I know
where this hound is to be met with; time and place both. But there's
no need to talk; tomorrow will soon be here.'

'And wha-at's to be done tomorrow?' inquired Lord Frederick.

Sir Mulberry Hawk honoured him with an angry glance, but
condescended to return no verbal answer to this inquiry. Both walked
sullenly on, as though their thoughts were busily occupied, until
they were quite clear of the crowd, and almost alone, when Sir
Mulberry wheeled round to return.

'Stop,' said his companion, 'I want to speak to you in earnest.
Don't turn back. Let us walk here, a few minutes.'

'What have you to say to me, that you could not say yonder as
well as here?' returned his Mentor, disengaging his arm.

'Hawk,' rejoined the other, 'tell me; I must know.'

'Must know,' interrupted the other disdainfully. 'Whew! Go on.
If you must know, of course there's no escape for me. Must
know!'

'Must ask then,' returned Lord Frederick, 'and must press you
for a plain and straightforward answer. Is what you have just said
only a mere whim of the moment, occasioned by your being out of
humour and irritated, or is it your serious intention, and one that
you have actually contemplated?'

'Why, don't you remember what passed on the subject one night,
when I was laid up with a broken limb?' said Sir Mulberry, with a
sneer.

'Perfectly well.'

'Then take that for an answer, in the devil's name,' replied Sir
Mulberry, 'and ask me for no other.'

Such was the ascendancy he had acquired over his dupe, and such
the latter's general habit of submission, that, for the moment, the
young man seemed half afraid to pursue the subject. He soon overcame
this feeling, however, if it had restrained him at all, and retorted
angrily:

'If I remember what passed at the time you speak of, I expressed
a strong opinion on this subject, and said that, with my knowledge or
consent, you never should do what you threaten now.'

'Will you prevent me?' asked Sir Mulberry, with a laugh.

'Ye-es, if I can,' returned the other, promptly.

'A very proper saving clause, that last,' said Sir Mulberry;
'and one you stand in need of. Oh! look to your own business, and
leave me to look to mine.'

'This is mine,' retorted Lord Frederick. 'I make it mine; I
will make it mine. It's mine already. I am more compromised than I
should be, as it is.'

'Do as you please, and what you please, for yourself,' said Sir
Mulberry, affecting an easy good-humour. 'Surely that must content
you! Do nothing for me; that's all. I advise no man to interfere in
proceedings that I choose to take. I am sure you know me better than
to do so. The fact is, I see, you mean to offer me advice. It is
well meant, I have no doubt, but I reject it. Now, if you please, we
will return to the carriage. I find no entertainment here, but quite
the reverse. If we prolong this conversation, we might quarrel,
which would be no proof of wisdom in either you or me.'

With this rejoinder, and waiting for no further discussion, Sir
Mulberry Hawk yawned, and very leisurely turned back.

There was not a little tact and knowledge of the young lord's
disposition in this mode of treating him. Sir Mulberry clearly saw
that if his dominion were to last, it must be established now. He
knew that the moment he became violent, the young man would become
violent too. He had, many times, been enabled to strengthen his
influence, when any circumstance had occurred to weaken it, by
adopting this cool and laconic style; and he trusted to it now, with
very little doubt of its entire success.

But while he did this, and wore the most careless and
indifferent deportment that his practised arts enabled him to assume,
he inwardly resolved, not only to visit all the mortification of
being compelled to suppress his feelings, with additional severity
upon Nicholas, but also to make the young lord pay dearly for it, one
day, in some shape or other. So long as he had been a passive
instrument in his hands, Sir Mulberry had regarded him with no other
feeling than contempt; but, now that he presumed to avow opinions in
opposition to his, and even to turn upon him with a lofty tone and an
air of superiority, he began to hate him. Conscious that, in the
vilest and most worthless sense of the term, he was dependent upon
the weak young lord, Sir Mulberry could the less brook humiliation at
his hands; and when he began to dislike him he measured his
dislike--as men often do--by the extent of the injuries he had
inflicted upon its object. When it is remembered that Sir Mulberry
Hawk had plundered, duped, deceived, and fooled his pupil in every
possible way, it will not be wondered at, that, beginning to hate
him, he began to hate him cordially.

On the other hand, the young lord having thought--which he very
seldom did about anything--and seriously too, upon the affair with
Nicholas, and the circumstances which led to it, had arrived at a
manly and honest conclusion. Sir Mulberry's coarse and insulting
behaviour on the occasion in question had produced a deep impression
on his mind; a strong suspicion of his having led him on to pursue
Miss Nickleby for purposes of his own, had been lurking there for
some time; he was really ashamed of his share in the transaction, and
deeply mortified by the misgiving that he had been gulled. He had
had sufficient leisure to reflect upon these things, during their
late retirement; and, at times, when his careless and indolent nature
would permit, had availed himself of the opportunity. Slight
circumstances, too, had occurred to increase his suspicion. It
wanted but a very slight circumstance to kindle his wrath against Sir
Mulberry. This his disdainful and insolent tone in their recent
conversation (the only one they had held upon the subject since the
period to which Sir Mulberry referred), effected.

Thus they rejoined their friends: each with causes of dislike
against the other rankling in his breast: and the young man haunted,
besides, with thoughts of the vindictive retaliation which was
threatened against Nicholas, and the determination to prevent it by
some strong step, if possible. But this was not all. Sir Mulberry,
conceiving that he had silenced him effectually, could not suppress
his triumph, or forbear from following up what he conceived to be his
advantage. Mr Pyke was there, and Mr Pluck was there, and Colonel
Chowser, and other gentlemen of the same caste, and it was a great
point for Sir Mulberry to show them that he had not lost his
influence. At first, the young lord contented himself with a silent
determination to take measures for withdrawing himself from the
connection immediately. By degrees, he grew more angry, and was
exasperated by jests and familiarities which, a few hours before,
would have been a source of amusement to him. This did not serve
him; for, at such bantering or retort as suited the company, he was
no match for Sir Mulberry. Still, no violent rupture took place.
They returned to town; Messrs Pyke and Pluck and other gentlemen
frequently protesting, on the way thither, that Sir Mulberry had
never been in such tiptop spirits in all his life.

They dined together, sumptuously. The wine flowed freely, as
indeed it had done all day. Sir Mulberry drank to recompense himself
for his recent abstinence; the young lord, to drown his indignation;
and the remainder of the party, because the wine was of the best and
they had nothing to pay. It was nearly midnight when they rushed
out, wild, burning with wine, their blood boiling, and their brains
on fire, to the gaming-table.

Here, they encountered another party, mad like themselves. The
excitement of play, hot rooms, and glaring lights was not calculated
to allay the fever of the time. In that giddy whirl of noise and
confusion, the men were delirious. Who thought of money, ruin, or
the morrow, in the savage intoxication of the moment? More wine was
called for, glass after glass was drained, their parched and scalding
mouths were cracked with thirst. Down poured the wine like oil on
blazing fire. And still the riot went on. The debauchery gained its
height; glasses were dashed upon the floor by hands that could not
carry them to lips; oaths were shouted out by lips which could
scarcely form the words to vent them in; drunken losers cursed and
roared; some mounted on the tables, waving bottles above their heads
and bidding defiance to the rest; some danced, some sang, some tore
the cards and raved. Tumult and frenzy reigned supreme; when a noise
arose that drowned all others, and two men, seizing each other by the
throat, struggled into the middle of the room.

A dozen voices, until now unheard, called aloud to part them.
Those who had kept themselves cool, to win, and who earned their
living in such scenes, threw themselves upon the combatants, and,
forcing them asunder, dragged them some space apart.

'Let me go!' cried Sir Mulberry, in a thick hoarse voice; 'he
struck me! Do you hear? I say, he struck me. Have I a friend here?
Who is this? Westwood. Do you hear me say he struck me?'

'I hear, I hear,' replied one of those who held him. 'Come away
for tonight!'

'I will not, by G--,' he replied. 'A dozen men about us saw the
blow.'

'Tomorrow will be ample time,' said the friend.

'It will not be ample time!' cried Sir Mulberry. 'Tonight, at
once, here!' His passion was so great, that he could not articulate,
but stood clenching his fist, tearing his hair, and stamping upon the
ground.

'What is this, my lord?' said one of those who surrounded him.
'Have blows passed?'

'One blow has,' was the panting reply. 'I struck him. I
proclaim it to all here! I struck him, and he knows why. I say,
with him, let this quarrel be adjusted now. Captain Adams,' said the
young lord, looking hurriedly about him, and addressing one of those
who had interposed, 'let me speak with you, I beg.'

The person addressed stepped forward, and taking the young man's
arm, they retired together, followed shortly afterwards by Sir
Mulberry and his friend.

It was a profligate haunt of the worst repute, and not a place
in which such an affair was likely to awaken any sympathy for either
party, or to call forth any further remonstrance or interposition.
Elsewhere, its further progress would have been instantly prevented,
and time allowed for sober and cool reflection; but not there.
Disturbed in their orgies, the party broke up; some reeled away with
looks of tipsy gravity; others withdrew noisily discussing what had
just occurred; the gentlemen of honour who lived upon their winnings
remarked to each other, as they went out, that Hawk was a good shot;
and those who had been most noisy, fell fast asleep upon the sofas,
and thought no more about it.

Meanwhile, the two seconds, as they may be called now, after a
long conference, each with his principal, met together in another
room. Both utterly heartless, both men upon town, both thoroughly
initiated in its worst vices, both deeply in debt, both fallen from
some higher estate, both addicted to every depravity for which
society can find some genteel name and plead its most depraving
conventionalities as an excuse, they were naturally gentlemen of most
unblemished honour themselves, and of great nicety concerning the
honour of other people.

These two gentlemen were unusually cheerful just now; for the
affair was pretty certain to make some noise, and could scarcely fail
to enhance their reputations.

'This is an awkward affair, Adams,' said Mr Westwood, drawing
himself up.

'Very,' returned the captain; 'a blow has been struck, and there
is but one course, of course.'

'No apology, I suppose?' said Mr Westwood.

'Not a syllable, sir, from my man, if we talk till doomsday,'
returned the captain. 'The original cause of dispute, I understand,
was some girl or other, to whom your principal applied certain terms,
which Lord Frederick, defending the girl, repelled. But this led to
a long recrimination upon a great many sore subjects, charges, and
counter-charges. Sir Mulberry was sarcastic; Lord Frederick was
excited, and struck him in the heat of provocation, and under
circumstances of great aggravation. That blow, unless there is a
full retraction on the part of Sir Mulberry, Lord Frederick is ready
to justify.'

'There is no more to be said,' returned the other, 'but to
settle the hour and the place of meeting. It's a responsibility; but
there is a strong feeling to have it over. Do you object to say at
sunrise?'

'Sharp work,' replied the captain, referring to his watch;
'however, as this seems to have been a long time breeding, and
negotiation is only a waste of words, no.'

'Something may possibly be said, out of doors, after what passed
in the other room, which renders it desirable that we should be off
without delay, and quite clear of town,' said Mr Westwood. 'What do
you say to one of the meadows opposite Twickenham, by the river-
side?'

The captain saw no objection.

'Shall we join company in the avenue of trees which leads from
Petersham to Ham House, and settle the exact spot when we arrive
there?' said Mr Westwood.

To this the captain also assented. After a few other
preliminaries, equally brief, and having settled the road each party
should take to avoid suspicion, they separated.

'We shall just have comfortable time, my lord,' said the
captain, when he had communicated the arrangements, 'to call at my
rooms for a case of pistols, and then jog coolly down. If you will
allow me to dismiss your servant, we'll take my cab; for yours,
perhaps, might be recognised.'

What a contrast, when they reached the street, to the scene they
had just left! It was already daybreak. For the flaring yellow
light within, was substituted the clear, bright, glorious morning;
for a hot, close atmosphere, tainted with the smell of expiring
lamps, and reeking with the steams of riot and dissipation, the free,
fresh, wholesome air. But to the fevered head on which that cool air
blew, it seemed to come laden with remorse for time misspent and
countless opportunities neglected. With throbbing veins and burning
skin, eyes wild and heavy, thoughts hurried and disordered, he felt
as though the light were a reproach, and shrunk involuntarily from
the day as if he were some foul and hideous thing.

'Shivering?' said the captain. 'You are cold.'

'Rather.'

'It does strike cool, coming out of those hot rooms. Wrap that
cloak about you. So, so; now we're off.'

They rattled through the quiet streets, made their call at the
captain's lodgings, cleared the town, and emerged upon the open road,
without hindrance or molestation.

Fields, trees, gardens, hedges, everything looked very
beautiful; the young man scarcely seemed to have noticed them before,
though he had passed the same objects a thousand times. There was a
peace and serenity upon them all, strangely at variance with the
bewilderment and confusion of his own half-sobered thoughts, and yet
impressive and welcome. He had no fear upon his mind; but, as he
looked about him, he had less anger; and though all old delusions,
relative to his worthless late companion, were now cleared away, he
rather wished he had never known him than thought of its having come
to this.

The past night, the day before, and many other days and nights
beside, all mingled themselves up in one unintelligible and senseless
whirl; he could not separate the transactions of one time from those
of another. Now, the noise of the wheels resolved itself into some
wild tune in which he could recognise scraps of airs he knew; now,
there was nothing in his ears but a stunning and bewildering sound,
like rushing water. But his companion rallied him on being so
silent, and they talked and laughed boisterously. When they stopped,
he was a little surprised to find himself in the act of smoking; but,
on reflection, he remembered when and where he had taken the
cigar.

They stopped at the avenue gate and alighted, leaving the
carriage to the care of the servant, who was a smart fellow, and
nearly as well accustomed to such proceedings as his master. Sir
Mulberry and his friend were already there. All four walked in
profound silence up the aisle of stately elm trees, which, meeting
far above their heads, formed a long green perspective of Gothic
arches, terminating, like some old ruin, in the open sky.

After a pause, and a brief conference between the seconds, they,
at length, turned to the right, and taking a track across a little
meadow, passed Ham House and came into some fields beyond. In one of
these, they stopped. The ground was measured, some usual forms gone
through, the two principals were placed front to front at the
distance agreed upon, and Sir Mulberry turned his face towards his
young adversary for the first time. He was very pale, his eyes were
bloodshot, his dress disordered, and his hair dishevelled. For the
face, it expressed nothing but violent and evil passions. He shaded
his eyes with his hand; grazed at his opponent, steadfastly, for a
few moments; and, then taking the weapon which was tendered to him,
bent his eyes upon that, and looked up no more until the word was
given, when he instantly fired.

The two shots were fired, as nearly as possible, at the same
instant. In that instant, the young lord turned his head sharply
round, fixed upon his adversary a ghastly stare, and without a groan
or stagger, fell down dead.

'He's gone!' cried Westwood, who, with the other second, had run
up to the body, and fallen on one knee beside it.

'His blood on his own head,' said Sir Mulberry. 'He brought
this upon himself, and forced it upon me.'

'Captain Adams,' cried Westwood, hastily, 'I call you to witness
that this was fairly done. Hawk, we have not a moment to lose. We
must leave this place immediately, push for Brighton, and cross to
France with all speed. This has been a bad business, and may be
worse, if we delay a moment. Adams, consult your own safety, and
don't remain here; the living before the dead; goodbye!'

With these words, he seized Sir Mulberry by the arm, and hurried
him away. Captain Adams--only pausing to convince himself, beyond
all question, of the fatal result--sped off in the same direction, to
concert measures with his servant for removing the body, and securing
his own safety likewise.

So died Lord Frederick Verisopht, by the hand which he had
loaded with gifts, and clasped a thousand times; by the act of him,
but for whom, and others like him, he might have lived a happy man,
and died with children's faces round his bed.

The sun came proudly up in all his majesty, the noble river ran
its winding course, the leaves quivered and rustled in the air, the
birds poured their cheerful songs from every tree, the short-lived
butterfly fluttered its little wings; all the light and life of day
came on; and, amidst it all, and pressing down the grass whose every
blade bore twenty tiny lives, lay the dead man, with his stark and
rigid face turned upwards to the sky.