<h2> <SPAN name="XIX"> </SPAN> CHAPTER XIX. <br/><br/> <span class="small"> A STORMY NIGHT. </span> </h2>
<p>The Rev. Thomas Hardenow, fellow and tutor of Brasenose, strode into
his own room at full speed, and stopped abruptly at sight of the
Carrier. "Of all men, most I have avoided thee," was in his mind; but
he spoke it not, though being a strongly outspoken man. Not that he
ever had done any wrong to make him be shy of the Cripps race; but
that he felt in his heart a desire for commune, which must be
dangerous. He knew that in him lurked a foolish tendency towards
Esther; and (which was worse) he knew that she had done her best to
overcome a still more foolish turn towards him.</p>
<p>Cripps, however (who would have fed the doves of Venus on black peas),
looked upon any little bygone "coorting" as a social and congenial
topic, enabling a quiet man to get on (if he only had a good memory)
with almost any woman. Like a sensible man, he had always acquitted
Hardenow of any blame in the matter, knowing that young girls' fancies
may be caught without any angling. "If her chose to be a fool, how
were he to blame for it?" And the Carrier never forgot the stages of
social distinction. "Servant, sir," he therefore said, with his usual
salaam; "hope I see you well, sir."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Zacchary," said Mr. Hardenow, taking the Carrier's horny
palm (which always smelled of straps and buckles), and trying to
squeeze it, with a passive result, "I am pretty well, Zacchary, thank
you."</p>
<p>"Then you don't look it, sir, that you doesn't. We heerd you was
getting on wonderful well. But the proof of the puddin' ain't in you,
sir."</p>
<p>"That's right, Cripps," cried Overshute; "give it to him, Cripps! Why,
he starves himself! Ever since he took his first and second, and got
his fellowship and took orders, he hasn't known what a good dinner is.
He keeps all the fasts in the calendar, and the vigils of the
festivals, and he ought to have an appetite for the feasts; but he
overstays his time, and can't keep anything on his stomach!"</p>
<p>"Now, Russel, as usual!" Hardenow answered, with a true and pleasant
smile; "what a fine fellow you would be, if you only had moderation!
But I see that you want to talk to Cripps; and I have several men
waiting in the quad. Where is my beaver? Oh! here, to be sure! Will
you come with us? No, of course you can't. Will you dine in hall with
me?"</p>
<p>"Of course, I won't. But come you and dine with me on Sunday—the only
day you dare eat a bit—and my mother will do her best to strengthen
you, build you up, establish you, for a fortnight of macaroni. Will
you come?"</p>
<p>"Yes, yes, to-morrow—to be sure—I have many things I want to say to
you. Good-bye for the present; good-bye, Master Cripps."</p>
<p>"There goes one of the finest fellows, of all the fine fellows yet
ruined by rubbish!" With these words Russel Overshute ran to the
window and looked out. A dozen or more of young men were waiting, the
best undergraduates of the college, for Mr. Hardenow to lead them for
fifteen miles, without a word.</p>
<p>"Well, every man to his liking," said Russel; "but that would be about
the last of mine. Now, Cripps, most patient of carriers, are you ready
for me to go on or not?"</p>
<p>"I hath a been thinking about my horse. How greedy o' me to be ating
like this"—for the thought of so much fasting had made him set to
again, while he got the chance—"drinking likewise of college
ale—better I have tasted, but not often—and all this time, as you
might say, old Dobbin easing of his dainty foot, with no more nor a
wisp of hay to drag through his water—if he hath any."</p>
<p>"An excruciating picture, Cripps, drawn by too vivid a conscience.
Dobbin is as happy as he can be, with twenty-five horses to talk to
him. At this very moment I behold him munching choicest of white oats
and chaff."</p>
<p>"Your Worship can see through a stone-wall, they say; but they only
keeps black oats at the Cross just now, along of a contract the
landlord have made—and a blind sort of bargain, to my thinking——"</p>
<p>"Never mind that—let him have black oats then, or Irish oats, or no
oats at all. But do you wish to hear my story out, or will you leave
it till next Saturday?"</p>
<p>"Sir, you might a' seen as I was waiting, until such time as you plaze
to go on wi' un."</p>
<p>"Very well, Cripps, that satisfies the most exacting historian. I will
go on where I left off, if that point can be established. Well, I left
the foreman of the nursery telling me about the man he sent with the
bag of potatoes to the Oxford coach. He told me he was one of his
sharpest hands, who had been off work for a week or two then, and had
only returned that morning. 'Joe Smith' was his name; and when they
could get him to work, he would do as much work as any two other men
on the place. He might be trusted with anything, if he only undertook
it; but the worst of him was that he never could be got to stick long
to anything. Here to-day and gone to-morrow had always been his
character; and they thought that he must be of gipsy race, and perhaps
had a wandering family.</p>
<p>"This made me a little curious about the man; and I asked to see him.
But the foreman said that for some days now he had not been near the
nursery, and they thought that he was on the Oxford road, in the
neighbourhood of Nettlebed; and another thing—if I did see him, I
could not make out more than half he said, for the man had such a
defect in his voice, that only those who were used to him could be
certain of his meaning. Suddenly I thought of your sister's tale, and
I said to the foreman, 'Does he speak like this?' imitating as well as
I could your sister's imitation of him. 'You know the man, sir,' the
foreman answered; 'you have got him so exactly, that you must have
heard him many times.' I told him no more, but asked him to describe
Joe Smith's appearance. He answered that he was a tall, dark man,
loosely built, but powerful, with a stoop in his neck, and a long
sharp nose; and he generally wore a brown pointed hat.</p>
<p>"Cripps, you may well suppose that my suspicions were strong by this
time. Here was your sister's description—so far as the poor girl
could see in the dusk and the fright—confirmed to the very letter;
and here was the clear opportunity offered for slipping the wreath of
hair into the bag."</p>
<p>"Your Worship, now, your Worship! you be a bit too sharp! If that
there man were at Headington quarry at nightfall of the Tuesday, how
could he possible a' been to Maidenhead next morning? No, no, your
Worship are too sharp."</p>
<p>"Too thick, you mean, Cripps; and not sharp enough. But listen to me
for a moment. Those long-legged gipsies think very little of going
thirty miles in a night; though they never travel by day so. And then
there is the up mail-coach. Of course he would not pay his fare, but
he might hang on beneath the guard's bugle, with or without his
knowledge, and slip away at the changing-houses. Of that objection I
think nothing. It serves to my mind as a confirmation."</p>
<p>"Very well, sir," said Cripps discreetly; "who be I for to argify?"</p>
<p>"No, Cripps, of course not. But still I wish to allow you to think of
everything. You may not be right; but still I like you to speak when
you think of anything. That is what I have always said, and contended
for continually—let every man speak—when sensible."</p>
<p>"Your Worship hath hit the mark again. The old Squire saith, 'let no
man speak,' as St. Paul sayeth of the women. But your Worship saith
'let all men speak, all women likewise, as hath a tongue'—and then
you stoppeth us both the more, by restirrecting all on us, women or
men, whichever a may happen, till such time as all turns up sensible.
Now, there never could ever be such a time!"</p>
<p>"Carrier, you are satirical. Keep from the Dusty Anvil, Cripps. Marry
a wife, and you will have a surfeit of argument at home. But still you
have been very good on the whole, and you never will get home
to-night. At any rate, I was so convinced, in spite of all smaller
difficulties, that I bound the foreman to let me know, by a man on
horseback, at any expense, the moment he saw Joe Smith again. And his
parting words to me were these—'Well, sir, don't you think harm of
Joe without sure proof against him. He is a random chap, I know; but I
never saw a better man to earn his wages.'</p>
<p>"Well, I went back to the inn at once, and rode leisurely to Henley.
It was raining hard, and the river in flood with all the melted snow
and so on, when I crossed that pretty bridge. I had been trying in
vain to think what was the best thing I could do; not liking to go
home, and leave my new discovery so vague. But being soaked and chilly
now, I resolved to have a glass of something hot, for fear of taking a
violent cold, and losing perhaps a week by it. So I went into the
entrance of that good inn by the waterside, and called for some brandy
and water hot. The landlord was good enough to come out; and knowing
me from old boating days, he got into a talk with me. I had helped him
at the sessions about a house of his at Dorchester; and nothing could
exceed his good will. Remembering how the gipsies hang about the boats
and the waterside, I asked him (quite as a random shot) whether any of
them happened to be in the neighbourhood just now. He thought perhaps
that I was timid about my dark ride homeward, and he told me all he
knew of them. There was one lot, as usual, in the open ground about
Nuneham, and another large camp near Chalgrove, and another, quite a
small pitch that, on the edge of the firs above Nettlebed.</p>
<p>"This last was the lot for me; and I pressed him so about them, that
he looked at me with a peculiar grin. 'What do you mean by that?' I
asked. 'Now, Squire Overshute, as if you did not know!' he answered.
'Doth your Worship happen to remember Cinnaminta's name?'</p>
<p>"Cripps, I assure you I was astonished. Of course you knew
Cinnaminta—well, I don't want to be interrupted. No one could say any
harm of her; and a lovelier girl was never seen. The landlord had
heard some bygone gossip about Cinnaminta and myself. I did admire
her. I am not ashamed to say that I greatly admired her. And so did
every young fellow here, who had got a bit of pluck in him. I will not
go into that question; but you know what Cinnaminta was."</p>
<p>Cripps nodded, with a thick mixture of feelings. His poetical self had
been smitten more with Cinnaminta than he cared to tell; and his
practical self was getting into a terrible hubbub about his horse. "To
be sure, your Worship," was all he said.</p>
<p>"Very well, now you understand me. To hear of Cinnaminta being in that
camp at Nettlebed made me so determined that I laid hold of the
landlord by the collar without thinking. He begged me not to ride off
with him, or his business would be ruined; and feeling that he weighed
about eighteen stone, I left him on his threshold.</p>
<p>"I could not bear to ask him now another word of anything. Knowing
looks, and winks, and reeking jokes so irritate me, when I know that a
woman is pure and good. You remember how we all lost Cinnaminta. Three
or four score of undergraduates, reckless of parental will, had
offered her matrimony; and three or four newly-elected fellows were
asking whether they would vacate, if they happened to jump the
broomstick."</p>
<p>"All that were too fine to last," muttered Cripps, most sensibly. "But
her ought to a' had a sound man on the road—a man with a horse well
seasoned, and a substantial cart—her ought."</p>
<p>"Oh, then, Cripps, you were smitten too! A nice connection for light
parcels! Well, never mind. The whole thing is over. We all are sadder
and wiser men; but we like to know who the chief sufferer is—what man
has won the beauty. And with this in my mind, I rode up the hill, and
resolved to go through with my seeking.</p>
<p>"When I got to the end of 'the fair-mile,' the night came down in
earnest. You know my young horse 'Cantelupe,' freckled like a melon.
He knows me as well as my old dog; and a child can ride him. But in
the dark he gets often nervous, and jumps across the road, if he sees
what he does not consider sociable. So that one must watch his ears,
whatever the weather may be. And now the weather was as bad as man or
horse could be out in.</p>
<p>"All day, there had been spits of rain, with sudden puffs of wind, and
streaks of green upon the sky, and racing clouds with ragged edges.
You remember the weather of course; Wednesday is one of your Oxford
days. Well, I hope you were home before it began to pelt as it did
that evening. For myself I did not care one fig. I would rather be
drenched than slowly sodden. But I did care for my horse; because he
had whistled a little in the afternoon, and his throat is slightly
delicate. And the whirr of the wind in the hedge, and the way it
struck the naked branches back, like the clashing of clubs against the
sky, were enough to make even a steady old horse uneasy at the things
before him. Moreover, the road began to flash with that peculiar light
which comes upward or downward—who can tell?—in reckless tumults of
the air and earth. The road was running like a river; come here and go
there, like glass it shone with the furious blows of the wind striking
a pale gleam out of it. I stooped upon Cantelupe's neck, or the wind
would have dashed me back over his crupper.</p>
<p>"Suddenly in this swirl and roar, my horse stood steadfast. He spread
his fore legs and stooped his head to throw his balance forward; and
his mane (which had been lashing my beard) swished down in a waterfall
of hair. I was startled as much as he was, and in the strange light
stared about. 'You have better eyes than I have,' I said, 'or else you
are a fool, Canty.'</p>
<p>"I thought that he was a fool, until I followed the turn of his head,
and there I saw a white thing in the ditch. Something white or rather
of a whity-brown colour was in the trough, with something dark leaning
over it. 'Who are you there?' I shouted, and the wind blew my voice
back between my teeth.</p>
<p>"'Nort to you, master. Nort to you. Go on, and look to your own
consarns.'</p>
<p>"This rough reply was in a harsh high cackle, rather than a human
voice; but it came through the roar of the tempest clearly, as no
common voice could come. For a moment, I had a great mind to do
exactly as I was ordered. But curiosity, and perhaps some pity for the
fellow, stopped me. 'I will not leave you, my friend,' I said, 'until
I am sure that I can do no good.' The man was in such trouble, that he
made no answer which I could hear, so I jumped from my horse, who
would come no nearer; and holding the bridle, I went up to see.</p>
<p>"In as sheltered a spot as could be found, but still in a dripping and
weltering place, lay, or rather rolled and kicked, a poor child in a
most violent fit. 'Don't 'ee now, my little Tom; don't 'ee, that's a
deary, don't!' The man kept coaxing, and moaning, and trying to smooth
down little legs and arms. 'Let it have its way,' I said; 'only keep
the head well up; and try to put something between the teeth.' Without
any answer, he did as I bade; and what he put betwixt the teeth must
have been his own great thumb. Of course he mistook me for a doctor.
None but a doctor was likely to be out riding on so rough a night."</p>
<p>"Ah, how I do pity they poor chaps!" cried Carrier Cripps, who really
could not wait one minute longer. "Many a naight I mates 'em a
starting for ten or twenty maile of it, just when I be in the smell o'
my supper, and nort but nightcap arterward. Leastways, I mean, arter
pipe and hot summat. Your Worship'll 'scoose me a-breakin' in. But
there's half my arrands to do yet, and the sun gone flat on the
Radcliffe! The Lord knows if I shall get home to-night. But if I
doos—might I make so bold—your Worship be coming to see poor Squire?
Your Worship is not like some worships be—and I has got a rare drop
of fine old stuff! Your Worship is not the man to take me crooked. I
means no liberty, mind you."</p>
<p>"Of that I am certain," Mr. Overshute answered. "Cripps, your
suggestion just hits the mark. I particularly want to see your sister.
That was my object in seeking you. And I did not like to see her,
until you should have had time to prepare her. I have several things
to see to here, and then I will ride to Beckley. Mrs. Hookham will
give me a bit of dinner, when I have seen my dear friend the Squire.
At night, I will come down, and smoke a pipe, and finish my story with
you, as soon as I am sure you have had your supper."</p>
<p>"Never you pay no heed at all," said Master Cripps, with solemnity,
"to no thought of my zupper, sir. That be entire what you worships
call a zecondary consideration. However, I will have un, if so be I
can. And you mustn't goo for to think, sir, that goo I would now, if
stay I could. I goes with that there story, the same as the jog of a
cart to the trot of the nag. My wits kapes on agoin' up and down. But
business is a piece of the body, sir. But no slape for me; nor no
church to-morrow; wi'out I hears the last of that there tale!"</p>
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