University of Virginia Library

2. II.
A FALL FROM HORSEBACK.

At the moment when Dr. Vandyke
had unburdened his mind by shaking his
fist at the skeleton, a man had passed
along Gloucester Street, at full gallop,
on a black horse of great strength and
speed.

The man was apparently about thirty-five,
erect, sinewy, though rather thin,
and clad in a dark riding-suit and elegant
riding-boots. His face was handsome
and distinguished, but remarkable
for its pallor, which his black hair rendered
more striking. His seat in the
saddle was that of an excellent horseman,
but he had allowed the bridle to
fall on the neck of his horse; and the

dreamy expression of his eyes indicated
that he was sunk in a profound reverie.

The result of this was unfortunate.
In passing the door of the Virginia Gazette
office, a young man, whose back
was turned to him, suddenly unfolded a
number of the paper, just handed to him
by a boy; and the black horse shied violently,
unseating and throwing his rider,
whose head struck heavily against the
stones of the street.

The young man, who had inadvertently
caused the accident, hastened to
the assistance of the fallen horseman and
raised him in his arms. He was quite insensible,
and the blood flowed from a
deep gash in his temple.

A crowd immediately collected.—
While some endeavored unsuccessfully
to stop the black horse, which galloped
off, the rest gathered around the fallen
man, shutting off the fresh air. All at
once, however, the throng divided, and
was thrust back. A tall, bony serving-man,
with a face like bronze, hastened
to throw his arms around the victim of
the accident. The new-comer paid no
attention to the youth. Raising the unconscious
form in his arms, he bore it
into the Raleigh Tavern, which was only
a few paces distant, and, ascending the
narrow staircase, deposited it upon a
couch in one of the chambers.

The crowd had remained on the
porch of the tavern, but the young man
who had hastened to the rescue, followed.
He had already dispatched a
boy for Dr. Vandyke, with orders that
he should lose no time.

The tall serving-man, meanwhile,
busied himself in bathing the wounded
forehead in cold water. The youth
looked on during this ceremony with an
expression of much concern.

“What is the name of your master?”
he said, at length, to the old servant.

That personage replied in a brief,
cold voice, without raising his head—

“My Lord Ruthven.”

“Of his Excellency's suite?”

“Yes.”

As the abrupt monosyllable was uttered,
Lord Ruthven opened his eyes.
As they fell upon the young man, he
started violently.

“You here!” he gasped, with an appalled
look. “Good Heavens!—you?”

He sank back, closing his eyes, and
shuddering.

The old serving-man rose erect, and
his whole body seemed to stiffen—his
eyes expressed a vague astonishment,
mingled with sternness. He had opened
his lips to speak, when another personage
made his appearance—Dr. Vandyke.

“Well,” said Dr. Vandyke, approaching
the couch, and striking the floor with
his stick at each step, “where is the
hurt?”

He stopped suddenly.

“Humph!—Lord Ruthven!” he said.
“An excellent horseman. How was he
thrown?”

“I was the unfortunate cause of the
accident, doctor,” said the young man.

Dr. Vandyke wheeled round and
gazed at the speaker.

“You are Edmund Innis?” he said.

“Then you know me?”

“Yes, I know you.”

“So much the better, doctor—then
you will understand how much I regret
this unfortunate occurrence.”

In a few words he described the origin
of the accident.

Dr. Vandyke, who was now engaged
in laving and bandaging the wound, replied
only in grunts. In a few moments,
the patient uttered a deep sigh,
and again opened his eyes. Again he
gave a violent start, and exclaimed:

“You!—then I did not dream!—oh,
no, no!”

The words were almost a cry. The
wounded man shook as he uttered them.
Both the youth and Dr. Vandyke listened
with the utmost astonishment. Then
the physician looked keenly at the youth.

“Your presence appears to agitate
Lord Ruthven,” he said.

“Agitate him? my presence? I cannot
conceive the reason!” exclaimed the
youth in utter bewilderment.

“He evidently recognizes you!”
growled Dr. Vandyke.

“Recognizes me? I have never before
seen him even!”

“That is strange,” was the reply,
and Dr. Vandyke directed another keen
glance at the speaker.

“It is true.”

“Doubtless—but listen, he is going
to speak!”

“That face!” murmured Lord Ruthven,
without opening his eyes, “that
form! — again! — and here, when I
thought I had fled from him forever?”

“Listen!” said Dr. Vandyke, with a
species of grunt.

“The ocean is no barrier, then!”
muttered Lord Ruthven. “Fate plays
with me!”

The young man gazed with great astonishment
on the wounded nobleman,
and then at the physician.

“This is the strangest of mysteries
to me, doctor,” he said. “What Lord
Ruthven can mean by thus speaking of
me—as though we had met elsewhere—
had relations with each other—I know
not. I am in utter darkness as to the
meaning of the whole affair. But one
thing is plain—that my presence agitates
him, as you say. I will therefore go,
and return later, to ascertain his condition.
I had proposed leaving Williamsburg
this very day; but I shall now defer
my departure. Before going I must
know that he is out of danger, as I was
the unhappy occasion of his very painful
accident.”

“Right,” said Dr. Vandyke; “go, and
come back to-morrow. The hurt is serious—not
mortal at all.”

The youth bowed, looked with sympathy
upon the pale face of the sick
man, and left the room.

As the door closed, Lord Ruthven
opened his eyes, and looked around him,
evidently seeking for some one. A deep
sigh followed.

“Where is he?” he said, in a low,
trembling voice.

“The young gentleman?” said Dr.
Vandyke.

“Yes—yes!”

“He is gone.”

“His name?”

“Mr. Edmund Innis.”

“I never heard the name before!”

And, as he spoke, Lord Ruthven fell
back, uttering a sigh, and closing his eyes.

“Humph!” grunted Dr. Vandyke;
“the mystery is growing more mysterious
than ever. Well!”

The words attracted the attention
apparently of the sick man, who looked
at the speaker.

“You are—a physician, I think, sir?”
he said.

“Yes—sent for, to come to see you.”

“Your name, doctor?”

“Vandyke.”

The patient inclined his head faintly.

“You are known to me, doctor, by
repute at least. I am fortunate. Tell
me how I was hurt. My horse threw
me, I think?”

“Yes.”

A few words described the accident.

“That was careless in me—very careless,”
he said; “and this young gentleman—will
he return?”

“To-morrow, he informs me.”

Lord Ruthven made no reply for some
moments. His face had grown whither
than ever.

“If I could only—leave this place to-night!”
he murmured.

He looked at the physician, and said:

“My hurt is a mere trifle, I presume,
doctor?”

“Every thing in life is a trifle, and
every thing important,” was the reply.
“You may be ill for a month, or well in
a week.”

“Thanks, doctor, and now I think a
little sleep will prove beneficial to me.
May I beg that you will call and see me
again to-morrow?—Wait upon the doctor,
Fergus—and give orders that I shall
not be disturbed. Then return.”

It was plain that Lord Ruthven
wished to be alone, and Dr. Vandyke
took his departure, escorted ceremoniously
by the body-servant Fergus.

In five minutes Fergus reëntered the
chamber, closing and locking the door
behind him. His master's face was even
paler, if that were possible, than before.
His eyes burned in their deep sockets.

“Fergus,” he said in a low, awe-struck
whisper, “I have seen him!”