33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
MR. LYTTELTON IS MADE TO UNDERSTAND.
The household were seated discussing the strange
incident which had just occurred, when the face of Mr.
William Lyttelton was seen at the door; and that gentleman
gravely stalked in, shaking the rain drops from his
hat.
“You mentioned the hour of ten, I believe, sir,” he said
to father Von Horn, taking out his watch, “and then you
promised me an explanation of this most extraordinary
occurrence.”
“Be seated, Mr. Lyttelton,” said the old man, who had
changed his dripping clothes, but was still panting, “I
shall get my breath again very soon.”
Mr. Lyttelton sat down, betraying as much astonishment
as his face was capable of expressing. As yet he
was wholly ignorant of what we have narrated for the
reader in detail—namely, the family tradition of the Von
Horns, the explanation of Barry's fright on the previous
evening, and the catastrophe related in the last chapter.
The solemn gentleman was completely at a loss; he was
wandering about in the mazes of conjecture, like a blind
man in the night time, like a huge learned-looking owl in
the day time. He understood nothing; and now called
by appointment to hear the statement of the case, from
his intended father-in-law.
“You were, no doubt, very much astonished yesterday,”
father Von Horn said after a pause of some minutes, “at
the abrupt manner in which I dismissed my guests. Well
sir, you had, I confess, some right to be surprised. Listen,
and you shall judge for yourself.”
The old German then related to Mr. Lyttelton the whole
affair from beginning to end, making no mystery of his
family superstition, but offering for it no apology. Mr.
Lyttelton stretched his eyes to their greatest possible
width; solemnly rubbed one side of his nose with his
long finger; shook his head with an oracularity which
expressed folio volumes; and in one word, exhibited all
those signs of astonishment which men are accustomed
to exhibit, on hearing a strange and unaccountable circumstance
narrated. Father Von Horn with a mixture
of amusement and indignation, concluded by detailing
the final catastrophe and signal overthrow, in a double
sense, of Mr. Huddleshingle.
“And now,” said he, “you have the whole matter,
and may comprehend these singular events completely.”
“I understand,” said Mr. Lyttelton gravely, “This
gentleman—Mr. Huddleshingle I think you call him—
well deserves a severe punishment at my hands.”
“No, no,” said father Von Horn, regaining his cheerful
good-humor, “his father and myself were friends. I
must not disgrace him more than he has disgraced himself.”
“Hum!” muttered Mr. Lyttelton, “but I was not his
father's friend, sir.”
“You?” said the old man, laughing.
“No; and I hold it to be my right and my duty to
take notice of this insult to—”
“To whom, friend William?”
“To Nina.”
“Why, you are too fast!” said father Von Horn, merrily,
“Nina is not your wife yet. Until then—”
Mr. Lyttelton smiled.
“She soon will be, I hope, sir. To-morrow evening,
I believe, is fixed upon for the wedding.”
“See, Nina,” said father Von Horn, shaking with
laughter, “if you allow him to take things into his own
hands so completely now before your marriage, what will
you do when he is your lord and master?”
Nina blushed, and glanced at the solemn face of her
lover. That gentleman considered himself, possibly, very
well repaid for the banter which had given him that loving
glance.
“Well, sir,” he said gravely to the old man, “I suppose
now the wedding may take place without further
difficulty. I am ready, and so is Nina, I believe; I am
naturally anxious,” added Mr. Lyttelton, with as much
diffidence as his profession had left him master of, “to
have the ceremony over; if Nina, therefore, throws no
obstacle in the way—”
“Oh!” said Nina, much embarrassed.
“To-morrow evening will be our wedding-day.”
“Or wedding-evening: I don't think you will be further
troubled by insolent triflers, like Mr. Huddleshingle,”
said father Von Horn. “The wedding will take
place; and friend William, I wish you all happiness.
We all do. We are all here now, and all are pleased
that Nina has chosen so worthy a gentleman as yourself
for her husband; all of us—with the exception of my
wild nephew, Max, who appeared some time since you
recollect, in the character of Romeo, on the evening of
Mrs. —'s examination. He is off in the mountains
with hunter John, and no doubt will be much surprised
when he receives the message I sent him. I am afraid
he has wandered deeper into the mountains, though—to
Mr. Emberton's, or other of his friends; and will not
return until the marriage is over. Max is a wild dog,
but we all love him; I hope he will be in time.”
At that moment the hoof-strokes of a horse were heard
upon the hard ground without—the sound suddenly
ceased—and a footstep was distinguished upon the graveled
walk leading to the door. The door opened, and the
figure of Max appeared upon the threshold, his clothes
soiled with dust, his face agitated, one hand pressed upon
his heart as if to still its tumultuous beating.
