farther preface, asked De Vere where he was going? "I wish I could tell you, "replied he;" but the truth is, except that I am in search of a bed, in any hospitable farm-house I can find, I do not know where I am going." "A stranger perhaps in these parts," said the other, inquiringly. "Not absolutely," returned De Vere, "but still so much so, as not exactly to know how to shape my course to my object." "Leave that to me," cried his companion, with heartiness. "You are young and stout, and if you can walk a couple of miles farther, you will find an old hall that will not shut its door upon you, I'll answer it." De Vere expressed his thanks, and it being an absolute matter of necessity, and moreover, being much pleased with his fellow-traveller, he accepted the offer. "You live there, of course," said De Vere. "I do," answered the stranger, "and you shall sup like a prince." The moon was silver bright; there was a soft buxom feel in the air; and the two new acquaintances proceeded cheerfully together, towards their destination. By degrees the guide deviated from the high road, and traversing a meadow, spread over with tedded grass, and exhaling scents which he seemed to suck in at his mouth as well as his nostrils, he asked De Vere if he had ever been in London ? "I am not three days from it," answered De Vere. "I fancy there is not much in it like this," said his fellow-traveller, and he took up a handful of hay which emitted perfumes that were delicious. "Not much," returned De Vere, uncertain in what manner to shape the conversation. "Nor these woods," added the keeper (if we may call him so), "nor that brook, that sings so sweet of a summer's night." "We have the Thames," said De Vere, affecting an air of superiority. 66 "O! ay!" replied the stranger, "but it is fuller of ships than of wild ducks, and I can't abide ships and trade, and all that.” "You have been in London, then?" returned De Vere, somewhat amused. 66 The stranger immediately changed his tone. Why, yes," said he, “ once, and more was my bad luck, and somebody else's too." At these words, a deep sigh half amounting to a groan, escaped him, and he strode on be fore, in a silence of some minutes, till they passed through a wood, and then a succession of fields. They then began to ascend a hill, from which the gleaming of lights shewed inhabitancy, and De Vere began to think they were in the domain of some rural thane, whose house could not be far off. This was soon put out of doubt, by the appearance of an old garden-wall, a gate in which was opened by the stranger, and they found themselves in a bowling-green, bounded on three sides by a yew-tree hedge, cut very close and thick. On the fourth was the gable end of an antiquated house, seemingly covered to the very chimnies with ivy. There was a new wing, however, consisting of two or three rooms, with modern sashed windows, but all the rest were casements at least as old as the Tudors. De Vere now began to be uneasy, from the fear that he had made a mistake in following his leader to a place not his own; but his hope was that his good-natured companion, being left in charge of an empty mansion, had allotted a spare chamber in it to him for the night, in the absence of the owner. What then was his sur prise, when, apologizing for leaving him for a minute, the stranger said he must go and inform his master of his arrival, who, he would answer for it, would be glad to give him a bed, and a supper too. De Vere felt distressed; but before he could utter a word, the man had disappeared through a side door into a court yard, where the noise of half a dozen dogs, greeting his return, shewed signs of a family establishment which our traveller was any thing but pleased to think of. He was disposed even to retire, when his new friend returned with a lad wearing a livery he had somewhere seen, and bearing a lanthorn to conduct him through the offices; and his guide then delivered him a message in form from his master, who had desired him to say he should be welcome to any thing that Okeover Hall could afford for his accommodation. This was said with the smile of one who had succeeded in a negotiation, not to mention a bow of protection and ceremony mixed, as if the speaker had now a right to assume some authority. With an air, therefore, of command, he cried to the lad with the lanthorn-" Lead the way in, Jack!" and De Vere felt he could not help following, however unwilling to intrude. As they crossed the hall, the keeper, or Major Domo, as we will now call him, pointing to two immense doors of black oak, well barred for the night, apologized in the name of his master for not receiving him at the great gate; but all was so unexpected. Farther inquiry was stopped, by the appear. ance of the master himself, who issued from what seemed to be a library, and with a natural frankness, mixed, however, with a little shyness of countenance, said he was welcome to Okeover. "My servant Gorblestone," added the gentleman, " says you are benighted." De Vere returned a suitable compliment, but added excuses for an unintended intrusion, in which he was most sincere. "I thought your servant," said he, "a keeper in some forest lodge, of which I have seen a few sometimes in this country; and did not imagine I was breaking in upon any gentleman's privacy." The gentleman assured him he had done so most agreeably; and, struck with De Vere's manner, his erect carriage, and intelligent as well as ingenuous countenance, he added, "I should have been sorry if Gorblestone had known me so little as to suppose I would deny hospitality to any one who wanted it. But, in this instance, I shall owe him thanks. From your account, however, it should seem that you have at least been in this country before." |