University of Virginia Library

9. IX.
ANGEL AND PIGMY.

In a few moments I stood beside a bed, in which lay
the dwarf, who had disappeared suddenly after his fatal
duel with Coftangry in Hampton Court Park.

He was terribly emaciated, and resembled a puny
infant. His cheek-bones protruded, his sunken eyes
rolled in their cavernous hollows, and the white lips
drawn tightly across the teeth distorted the mouth into
a species of grin.

“Mr. Cecil!” he exclaimed, in his piping voice, as
soon as he saw me. “Is it possible an old friend has
discovered and visits me?”

“Yes,” I said, “by a singular chance. But how do
I find you here?”

His explanation was very simple. After the death
of his adversary at Hampton Court, he had fled, fearing
punishment, and wandered about England awaiting
the moment when the fatal duel would be forgotten.
He had finally repaired, when the war broke out, to
the army of Prince Charles in the west; had enlisted
as a trooper, acquired the friendship of his commander,
and was sent, spite of a wound he had received, to
carry a message to the king, then near Reading.
On the way his wound had broken out afresh; and he
had fallen from his horse at the door of the excellent
Mr. Gregory: that good man and his daughter had
nursed him with tender care; but his wound had not
closed, his life seemed ebbing away; good fortune
had sent him at last, however, the sight of a friendly
face, and the means of forwarding his message, out of
date though it must be.

All this the dwarf communicated in a rapid and
feverish voice; he then gave me the message, which
was no longer of any importance: thereafter we conversed
on all the events which had taken place since
our last meeting.

During the conversation the maiden Janet passed in
and out, caring tenderly for the invalid; and it was
after her disappearance on one of these occasions that
the dwarf, who had been silent for some moments, said,
in a low voice,—

“I wish to live.”

I looked at him. His face had flushed.

“You say that in a singular tone,” I said.

He hesitated, and seemed anxious, but afraid, to
speak.

“This maiden has made me cling to life,” he said,
at length, in a low voice.

“This maiden?”

“Yes; I love her with my whole being! I have only
lived since we met. You are a friend, even an old
friend; I am here dumb and alone on this bed: I must
speak to some one of this. Yes, the wretched, distorted
pigmy loves this rose-bud, who is an angel!”

The feverish eyes glowed brilliantly.

“She has watched over me like a sister,” he went
on; “she has supplied all my wants; her white hand has
smoothed my pillow, and I have felt her pitying tears
fall upon my face!”

“Well,” I said, with deep emotion at this love of
a deformed being for the daughter of one who was a
social outcast,—“well, your love is not strange. This
maiden is heavenly goodness in person.”

“And beautiful! very beautiful!”

“Yes,” I said.

“While I—”

The poor being stopped suddenly. An acute pang
seemed to distort his features.

“While I,” he added, in a low voice, “am a deformity,
a monster wellnigh,—a poor, wretched pigmy!”

He groaned piteously, and went on in a feverish
voice:

“And yet how can I avoid this? I am a man, however
small I be in stature, am I not? Has not a dwarf
eyes, and a heart, and blood, and loves and hatreds?
Does the height make the man?”

His face grew savage.

“I have killed many six-footers in my life!” he

growled. “They despised me, but they fell before
me; and yet not one of them, not the meanest full-grown
man, but would have been preferred to me.”

I could find nothing to say, save,—

“Do not yield to these sad thoughts: 'twill retard
your recovery.”

“I care not whether I live or die,” said the poor
creature, groaning. “Can she ever love me? No,
no, no, no! Oh, thank God that you were not born a
deformed pigmy!—thank God for your limbs and
stature and human appearance! You are a man, not
a dwarf,—one a woman may love, not a cur she may
tread beneath her heel and despise! To love and be
laughed at! it is frightful, and drives me mad! She
does not laugh at me, but pities me, with the pity of a
woman for a pet lap-dog!”

His tones were so passionate and pathetic that I
could scarce find words to reply.

“At least,” I said, at length, “you have no rival;
you are spared that. And your love may melt her.”

“No rival? How know I that?” he exclaimed.
“Even now some one may be approaching who will
snatch her from me!—some man who will laugh to
scorn my deformed anatomy, and take from me all I
live for!”

He had scarce spoken when the young girl hastily
entered the apartment. “Save yourself, sir!” she exclaimed,
addressing me. “I see a party coming who
from their uniform must belong to the parliament!”

I rose and put on my hat.

“Farewell!” I said to the poor dwarf, extending my
hand. “And do not despair.”

His small hand gripped mine, and he drew me down,
whispering,—

“You will say naught of this madness. If I recover,
I will return to court. If I die, at least 'twill be here.”

“I will say nothing; but you will not die.”

“Oh, hasten! hasten!” cried the young girl, looking
through the window. “They are almost at the
house! And there is that terrible man at their head,—
that Hulet, who has persecuted me daily, wellnigh, since
he chanced one day to come hither!”

I had not time to question the maiden. The party
of mounted parliamentarians were nearly at the door.
I had just time to seize the bridle of my horse and
throw myself into the saddle, when they charged me,
firing, and ordering me to surrender.

My response was to discharge my pistol at Hulet
and retreat at full gallop. They pursued me to the
edge of the woods, where they drew rein at last, returning
towards the house; and, going on at a gallop, I
met my friends, who had been alarmed by the shots,
coming to meet me. No time was lost in pursuing in
our turn. Our force outnumbered that of the enemy,
and we chased them for more than a mile. Then,
however, encountering at least a regiment coming to
their assistance, we were compelled to retreat, hotly pursued;
and, finding himself powerless to contend with
such a force, the officer commanding our party retired
to Oxford.

I had caught a glimpse, and only a glimpse, of a singular
drama. Other scenes were to be hidden; but a
strange chance was to show me the dénouement.