University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.,
Which introduces a nice little girl, and an accident.

I must have been about eighteen
years old, or thereabouts, when, on a
holiday in June, I walked out, and
strolled by the high road to the country
beyond Puttenham. The highway
led me to a common over which it
crossed; and there, musing over the
commonplace events of the week, I
wandered over the knolls of gravelly
soil, and among the furze-bushes, watching
the donkies as they cropped the
scanty blades of grass, and indulged
occasionally in a tit-bit, in the way of
a juicy thistle. Tired at length, I sat
me down to rest under a thorn-bush
by the road-side, and was thus seated
when I heard the sound of voices.
Looking up, I saw a man approach,
who was leading by the hand a little
girl who appeared to be about ten
years of age. I was struck with the
appearance of the couple, and so scanned
them closely.

The man was short, thick-set, and
well-stricken in years. He was clad
in a plain suit of black, considerably
worn, and much dusted by travel;
and he wore a black felt hat, with a
very wide brim. His complexion was
swarthy, and his eyes were keen and
deeply set beneath long and bushy
eye brows. On his face he wore a
thick, grey moustache—a thing quite
uncommon in England at that time.
In fact, it was the first I had ever
seen off the stage of a theatre. His
hair was jet black in color, streaked
here and there with white, and fell in
glossy curls to his shoulders; but
when he removed his hat for a moment
to wipe the perspiration from his forehead,
I noticed that the hair in a wide
circle over the crown was not over a
half inch in length, as though it had
grown after having been recently
shaved. His walk was slow and steady,
and, although he occasionally
threw searching glances around him
his eyes were generally bent on the
ground.

My gaze, however, was riveted most
firmly to the little girl. She was the
very perfection of childish beauty,
and I had never seen before, nor have
I beheld since, anything so exquisitely
lovely. Her complexion was clear
and delicate, with that thin skin, in
which the color comes and goes at
every fleeting emotion. Her features
were of as perfect an outline as ever
poet imagined, or painter drew. There
was but little color in the cheeks, but
the lips were intensely red, and the
lower one looked like a ripe, pulpy

cherry. Her form, well shown by a
closely-fitting dress, seemed to be most
symmetrical; and the mould of her
ancles and feet would have delighted
a sculptor. But her eyes were the
most striking of all. Large, lustrous
and passionate, in color of the deepest
hazel, with the iris floating in a sea
of liquid pearl, they beamed with a
mingled fire and softness from beneath
their long, dark lashes, in a way to
haunt the memory of the gazer for
many days afterward. She was a mere
child—a little, innocent, dreamy-looking
girl; but I rose to my feet as she
came forward, and felt an emotion of
tenderness for the beautiful being,
which, had she been older, could only
have been inspired by love. As it
was I was fascinated.

The man saw me, stopped, removed
his hat, and addressed me a question
in a foreign tongue. I knew the language
to be Spanish, for I had heard
similar sounds once before; but I could
not understand the meaning. I showed,
this, doubtless, by my looks, for he
replaced his hat, bowed slightly, and
moved on. It happened, however, that
the music-teacher of my adopted sister,
who was a Frenchman, had given
me frequent lessons in his language,
and having labored to acquire it during
a whole year, I managed to speak
it fluently enough, though with a defective
accent. My admiration for the
child made me forget this, and almost
everything else; and it was only when
the couple had turned, and the spell
of the little girl's eyes had passed,
that I recalled to mind my accomplishment.
Thinking the man might possibly
understand me, I called after him
in French, and asked how I could serve
him. He turned instantly, his coun
tenance expressing great satisfaction,
and replied in the same tongue:

“I should be glad, my son, if you
could tell me the distance to the town
of Puttenham.”

“Two miles from the milestone
which stands at the mouth of yonder
quarry, sir. You can see the town
from the rising ground just beyond.”

As I spoke I joined them in their
walk toward the town. The man resumed
his questions.

“How far thence is the chateau of
the Lord Landeeze?”

“Landys Castle, I suppose you
mean. The park commences about a
mile on the other side of town, but the
castle is at least two miles farther,
and stands back nearly a half mile
from the high road. There is a near
path which cuts off much of the distance.”

“Is milord at home?”

“I believe so.”

“He is a very tall, stately gentleman,
is he not? He has dark grey
eyes, and brown hair, not unlike your
own, in color I mean, for yours is
straight and his is curled?”

“No; you describe his second-cousin,
the former earl, who died about
two years since, and who rarely visited
the place. The present earl is
stately enough, and tall; but he has
light grey eyes, and light, reddish,
yellow hair, such as we call sandy.”

The man seemed staggered at this.

“Dead!” he exclaimed, “about two
years since!”

I nodded my head affirmatively.

We walked for a few minutes in silence.
Then he turned suddenly and
questioned me again.

“How did he die?”

“I can only tell you what is generally

believed here,” I replied. “He
had been absent from England for many
years, traveling restlessly all over
the world. He was last heard from
at Valparaiso, where he took passage
in a schooner bound to Mazatlan,
whence he intended to cross over-and
to Vera Cruz, and to go thence
by way of Havana to the United States.
The vessel was wrecked near her port,
and all on board perished, except his
lordship's valet. He returned about a
year and a half since, and brought the
news of his master's death.”

He muttered something in Spanish,
and then resumed his questions.

“And the second-cousin succeeded.
Ah, yes! I know your English law—
the nearest heir-male.”

“Not exactly,” I replied. “His second-cousin
did succeed him, undoubtedly;
but as the nearest heir, and not
as the nearest heir-male.”

“I do not understand the distinction.
“What is it?”

“Because,” I said, “the earldom of
Landys is unlike many, and for all I
know, unlike any other title in the
peerage. It is of a very old creation,
and the title and estates are entailed
on the senior heir, without regard to
sex. If a female, and she marries,
the husband becomes earl through his
wife's right, to the exclusion of the
next of kin. The grandfather of the late
earl was a commoner, but on his marriage
with the young Countess of Landys,
entered on the wife's title and estate.
The late earl was childless, having
never married, and so the next
heir, the son of his father's cousin,
succeeded.”

The Spaniard seemed to be revolving
something in his mind, and walked
along for awhile in silence. I pleased
myself during the interval by watching
the movements of the child, who
tripped along, walking naturally and
gracefully, as most girls of her age
do. At length the man raised his head
and inquired:

“The present earl—is he married?”

“He is,” I replied, “and has a child
about four years old, a son.”

The eyes of the stranger flashed angrily,
but the gleam of passion passed,
and was followed by an expression
half smile and half sneer.

“What kind of man is the earl,”
he asked, “I mean as to mind and
manners?”

“That,” I answered, “would be
hard for me to tell. I have no opportunities
of judging of either.”

“I should have supposed,” said the
stranger, “from your familiarity with
the family history, that you were a
connexion or friend.”

I laughed at this, and said:

“You will not be in Puttenham long
before you learn that the townsfolk
are naturally interested in the Landys
family, since the earl owns about one-half
the town—the rest belonging to
old Sharp, the miser. My position debars
me from any special intimacy
with a peer.”

“Your position; may I ask, without
offending you, what that is?”

“Certainly. I am a printer's apprentice
at your service—apprentice
and adopted son of John Guttenberg,
printer and stationer.”

“You! a printer?”

“Nothing more sure.”

“Do printer's apprentices in this
part of the world usually learn
French?”

“I believe not; but I have a taste
for languages.”

We had now reached the edge of the
town, and my companion having asked
where he could obtain lodging, I
directed him to the Crown and Angel,
a respectable, middle-class inn, situated
on the main street. He bowed
formally, gave me a profusion of thanks
for my courtesy, and so we parted. I
stood and gazed after him and the little
girl as she walked by his side, her
body gently swaying, and her glossy
hair, which hung in unrestrained
waves down her back, glistening in
the sunshine. A turn of the street
hid them from my sight; and then I
walked to the lodgings of a friend with
whom I purposed to spend the remainder
of the day.

This friend was a young London artist,
fastly rising into note in his profession,
who came annually to Puttenham,
and spent a couple of months'
time there and thereabouts, partly to
sketch, for there was some beautiful
scenery around the place, and partly
to fish, for there was an excellent trout
stream in the neighborhood. His
name was Paul Bagby. We had met
while I was spending a Saturday afternoon—a
half holiday always allowed
me—fishing on the banks of the
Willowfringe; and, from the admiration
I expressed at a huge trout he
dexterously captured, we became acquaintances.
He had his sketch-book
with him, and I begged a sight at the
drawings, which he was good enough
to let me have. Finding that I admired
art and artists, he invited me to
call at his lodgings, and I was glad
to accept the invitation. Being John
Guttenberg's adopted son, I had received
a fair English education, and
was not, in either manner or language,
what the world expected to find in an
ordinary apprentice-boy. Paul was
struck by some boyish remark I made
when looking at his sketches—its oddity
tickled his fancy—perhaps my
unfeigned admiration for his productions
tickled his vanity too—and we
became friends. He gave me lessons
in drawing, and during his stay would
frequently come to the shop and beg a
holiday for me that I might accompany
him in his sketching rambles.
My master never refused this, for Mr.
Bagby was becoming distinguished,
and was patronized by the Landys family,
the last fact, of course, a high
recommendation to the favor of the
townsfolk. Beside this he was a very
good customer to our circulating library,
taking out a fresh book nearly
every day, merely to dawdle over a
few passages, and then throw it aside.
He was lively, made many queer
remarks, and used to drop in at the
shop along with the officers and others,
and to tell all kinds of funny stories
to Mrs. Guttenberg and Mary, who
had charge of that part of the business.
He was a great favorite with
the family, as he appeared to be with
every one else.

But Bagby was not at home, having
left in the morning on a sketching
tour, and I turned to go elsewhere.
Longing to have another look at the
little girl whose childish beauty had
so impressed me, I made my way to
the inn, knowing that by taking a
street which ran diagonally, I would
reach there before the Spaniard and
his daughter, who had taken the longer
and usual way.

The Crown and Angel was in Charter
street, which was the principal
avenue of the town, and the house
stood at the corner of the market

square. By going through Billet lane
I arrived at the inn first. On entering
the public room I called for a mug
of ale, not that I wanted a drink, but
because I desired a pretext for remaining.
The waiter sat it before me,
and it was still untasted when I heard
an uproar without, and ran to the
door with the rest, to learn the cause.

Two runaway horses attached to an
empty phæton were galloping furiously
down the street, everybody getting
out of the way, and no one attempting
to stop the infuriated animals. As
they came near the inn, the Spaniard
and little girl emerged from the cross
street, and walked toward the Crown
and Angel. A dozen voices called to
them to go back; but the man, not
understanding English, did not think
the words to be addressed to him, or
was probably so lost in thought as
not to hear the noise. He still advanced,
the little girl accompanying
him. I called to him in French to take
care, and springing forward, dragged
the child out of the horses' path. The
man saw his danger, and leaped desperately
forward, but the hub of one
of the wheels struck him on the hip,
and threw him forward violently on
his face. The horses, as though startled
by the occurrence, stopped suddenly,
and were at once secured by
the bystanders.

The stranger was picked up insensible,
carried into the inn, and a surgeon
sent for. The little girl was almost
frantic at first, but soon calmed
when she recognized me as one whom
she had met before, though only for a
few minutes; and though she understood
none of my words, I was enabled
by soothing looks and gestures
to reassure her. In a few minutes her
father recovered his senses, but was
evidently seriously injured, as the
blood on his face denoted—even more
seriously hurt than at first appeared,
for when the surgeon came he pronounced
the hip to be dislocated. The
patient was at once removed to a
chamber, and the dislocation with
great difficulty reduced. The operation
was doubtless very painful; but
the Spaniard, during its continuance,
merely set his teeth firmly together,
and did not even groan. So soon as
the head of the bone resumed its proper
position, he fainted, but quickly
recovered, and in a short while, although
the parts around the joints
were much swollen, enjoyed comparative
ease.

The child would not be separated
from her father, but obeyed every order
given by signs to remain quiet—
keeping her large eyes fixed on the
sufferer during the operation, and
wiping the large drops of perspiration
from his forehead.

As I was the only person present
who could act as interpreter, I was
forced to remain nearly an hour. During
that time the Spaniard, who gave
his name as Jose Espinel, requested
me to tell the landlord that he preferred
to remain there rather than to go
to the public hospital, and that he had
sufficient means to pay for the required
accommodation. This I did, and at
his further request made the landlord
send by the carrier to the next town,
Puddleford, for his own portmanteau,
and his daughter's trunk, both of which
had been left there. He explained to
me that he could not obtain a conveyance
that morning, and, being anxious
to get to Puttenham, had walked over,
getting a lift for himself and the child

part of the way in a farmer's cart. He
requested me to visit him often while
he lay there, which I promised to do
if permitted. I pressed his hand, patted
the child on the shoulder, and left
the two together.

When I got home I found that the
news of the accident had preceded me
—indeed by that time had been spread
throughout the town. Captain Berkeley,
of the stationed regiment, was
commenting on the matter as I entered
the shop, and complimented me as
a “doocid plucky little fellah.” Mrs.
Guttenburg, who looked upon me as a
kind of hero for having pulled the
child out of the way of the horses,
made a great many inquiries about
the couple, and seemed very proud of
the compliment paid me by the captain.
Mary asked if the little girl
were pretty, and on my answering in
the affirmative, said that when we
grew up we would be married—as
that was the way in all the novels and
plays. As for John Guttenberg, he
merely said that I had acted properly
enough; and when I told him of the
Spaniard's request, added that I might
spend two hours with him during the
day, and the entire evenings, if he desired
it—a permission I was not slow
to accept.