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A couple of china figures disfigured it, to be sure, but Mitchelbourne could not bring himself to believe that even their barbaric crudity had power to produce so visible a discomposure. He inclined to the notion that his companion was struck by a physical disease, perhaps some recrudescence of a malady contracted in those foreign lands of which he vaguely spoke.
Yet here are you upon the roads to Suffolk which have nothing to recommend them. I wonder at it, sir." "You may do that," replied Mitchelbourne, "though to be sure, there are two of us in the like case." "Oh, as for me," said his companion shrugging his shoulders, "I am on my way to be married.
Captain Bassett suddenly raised his hand to his mouth, not so quickly, however, but Mitchelbourne saw the grim, amused smile upon his lips. "It is Mr. Lance for whom you now mistake me," he said abruptly. The young man at the door uttered a short, contemptuous laugh, Major Chantrell only smiled.
Now he slipped some outlandish name or oath unexpectedly into his talk, and watched with a forward bend of his body to mark whether the word struck home; or again he mentioned some person with whom Mitchelbourne was quite unfamiliar. At length, however, he seemed satisfied, and drawing up his chair to the fire, he showed himself at once in his true character, a loud and gusty boaster.
The three officers listened so far with impassive faces, or barely listened, for they were as indifferent to the words as to the passion with which they were spoken. "We have had enough of the gentleman's ingenuities, I think," said Chantrell, and he made a movement towards his companions. "One moment," exclaimed Mitchelbourne. "Answer me a question! These letters are to the address of Mrs.
He stopped suddenly, and Mitchelbourne, looking up, saw that his mouth had fallen. He sat with his eyes starting from his head and a face grey as lead, an image of panic pitiful to behold. Mitchelbourne spoke but got no answer. It seemed Lance could not answer he was so arrested by a paralysis of terror.
The tobacco was a fine, greenish seed. "I thought as much," said Mitchelbourne, "you expected Mr. Lance to-night. It is Mr. Lance whom you thought to misdirect to this solitary house. Indeed Mr. Lance spoke of such a place in this neighbourhood, and had a mind to buy it."
He had his spice of philosophy too, and discovered that these sharp contrasts, luxury and hardship, treading hard upon each other and the new strange people with whom he fell in, kept fresh his zest of life. Thus it happened that at a time when families were gathering cheerily each about a single fireside, Mr. Mitchelbourne was riding alone through the muddy and desolate lanes of Suffolk.
"An exchange of sentiments, Mr. Mitchelbourne, with a chance acquaintance over a pipe and a glass upon my word I think you are in the right of it, and there's no pleasanter way of passing an evening. I could tell you stories, sir; I served the King in his wars, but I scorn a braggart, and all these glories are over. I am now a man of peace, and, as I told you, on my way to be married. Am I wise?
No, Major Chantrell, I am not come to the end of my lane," and before either of the three could guess what he was at, he had snatched up the pistol from the table and dashed the lamp into a thousand fragments. The flame shot up blue and high, and then came darkness. Mitchelbourne jumped lightly back from his position to the centre of the room.
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