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Updated: May 23, 2025
It was quite well known, however, in Gylingden, by this time, that Captain Lake was not to see the hustings that his spine was smashed that he was lying on an extemporised bed, still in his clothes, in the little parlour of Redman's Farm cursing the dead mare in gasps railing at everybody shuddering whenever they attempted to remove his clothes hoping, in broken sentences, that his people would give Bracton and good licking.
But their poachers were not of the dangerous sort, and there had not been a robber about Gylingden within the memory of man. Besides, why on earth should either show himself in that absurd way? He stopped he listened he stared suspiciously into the profound darkness. Then he thought he heard a rustling of the leaves near him, and he hallooed, 'Who's there? But no answer came.
They bowed, and stood, grinning, near the door; and the urbane and cordial captain, with all a candidate's good fellowship, shook them both by the hands, and heard their story; and an exciting one it was. Sir Harry Bracton had actually invaded the town of Gylingden. There was a rabble of the raff of Queen's Bracton along with him.
When the 'service' was over, the neighbourly little congregation, with a sprinkling of visitors to Gylingden, for sake of its healing waters, broke up, and loitered in the vicinity of the porch, to remark on the sermon or the weather, and ask one another how they did, and to see the Brandon family enter their carriage and the tall, powdered footman shut the door upon them, and mount behind, and move off at a brilliant pace, and with a glorious clangour and whirl of dust; and, this incident over, they broke up gradually into little groups, in Sunday guise, and many colours, some for a ramble on the common, and some to tea, according to the primitive hours that ruled old Gylingden.
The posture of affairs in the small world of Gylingden, except in the matter of the alliance just referred to, was not much changed. Since the voluminous despatch from Marseilles, promising his return so soon, not a line had been received from Mark Wylder. He might arrive any day or night.
Some wondered what might be the disease of that pale, peevish-looking gentleman, who sat there so still, languid, and dejected. Others set him down as a gentleman in difficulties of some sort, who was using Gylingden for a temporary refuge. Others, again, supposed he might be that Major Craddock who had lost thirty thousand pounds on Vanderdecken the other day. Others knew he was staying with Mr.
Wylder plainly wrote in great haste, and merely said: 'I shall have to wait a day or two longer than I yesterday thought, to meet a fellow from whom I am to receive something of importance, rather, as I think, to me. Get the deeds ready, as I said in my last. If I am not in Gylingden by Monday, we must put off the wedding for a week later there is no help for it. You need not talk of this.
At the post-office window he tapped with the silver tip of his cane, and told Miss Driver with a sleepy smile 'I'm going down to Redman's Farm, and any letters for my sister, Miss Lake, I may as well take with me. Everybody 'in business' in the town of Gylingden, by this time, knew Captain Lake and his belongings a most respectable party a high man; and, of course, there was no difficulty.
There are some cheerful little cottages near the green, in Gylingden, and I venture to think, this is one of the very gloomiest and most uncomfortable places you could have selected to live in. Rachel looked drearily toward the window and sighed it was almost a groan. 'It was cheerful always till this frightful week changed everything.
On the contrary, he really believed, I am convinced, that he scouted the ghost, and had merely volunteered this salutary self-examination as an exercise of conscience. He could not, however, have doubted that he was very nervous and that he would have been glad of the companionship even of one of the Gylingden shopkeepers, through this infested bit of wood.
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