This lasted until Tressilian, from very weariness, stood still, and was
about to abandon the pursuit with a hearty curse on the ill-favoured
urchin, who had engaged him in an exercise so ridiculous. But the boy,
who had, as formerly, planted himself on the top of a hillock close
in front, began to clap his long, thin hands, point with his skinny
fingers, and twist his wild and ugly features into such an extravagant
expression of laughter and derision, that Tressilian began half to doubt
whether he had not in view an actual hobgoblin.

Provoked extremely, yet at the same time feeling an irresistible desire
to laugh, so very odd were the boy's grimaces and gesticulations, the
Cornishman returned to his horse, and mounted him with the purpose of
pursuing Dickie at more advantage.

The boy no sooner saw him mount his horse, than he holloed out to him
that, rather than he should spoil his white-footed nag, he would come to
him, on condition he would keep his fingers to himself.

"I will make no conditions with thee, thou ugly varlet!" said
Tressilian; "I will have thee at my mercy in a moment."

"Aha, Master Traveller," said the boy, "there is a marsh hard by would
swallow all the horses of the Queen's guard. I will into it, and
see where you will go then. You shall hear the bittern bump, and the
wild-drake quack, ere you get hold of me without my consent, I promise
you."

Tressilian looked out, and, from the appearance of the ground behind
the hillock, believed it might be as the boy said, and accordingly
determined to strike up a peace with so light-footed and ready-witted an
enemy. "Come down," he said, "thou mischievous brat! Leave thy mopping
and mowing, and, come hither. I will do thee no harm, as I am a
gentleman."

The boy answered his invitation with the utmost confidence, and danced
down from his stance with a galliard sort of step, keeping his eye at
the same time fixed on Tressilian's, who, once more dismounted, stood
with his horse's bridle in his hand, breathless, and half exhausted with
his fruitless exercise, though not one drop of moisture appeared on the
freckled forehead of the urchin, which looked like a piece of dry and
discoloured parchment, drawn tight across the brow of a fleshless skull.

"And tell me," said Tressilian, "why you use me thus, thou mischievous
imp? or what your meaning is by telling me so absurd a legend as you
wished but now to put on me? Or rather show me, in good earnest, this
smith's forge, and I will give thee what will buy thee apples through
the whole winter."

"Were you to give me an orchard of apples," said Dickie Sludge, "I can
guide thee no better than I have done. Lay down the silver token on the
flat stone--whistle three times--then come sit down on the western side
of the thicket of gorse. I will sit by you, and give you free leave to
wring my head off, unless you hear the smith at work within two minutes
after we are seated."

"I may be tempted to take thee at thy word," said Tressilian, "if you
make me do aught half so ridiculous for your own mischievous sport;
however, I will prove your spell. Here, then, I tie my horse to this
upright stone. I must lay my silver groat here, and whistle three times,
sayest thou?"

"Ay, but thou must whistle louder than an unfledged ousel," said the
boy, as Tressilian, having laid down his money, and half ashamed of the
folly he practised, made a careless whistle--"you must whistle louder
than that, for who knows where the smith is that you call for? He may be
in the King of France's stables for what I know."

"Why, you said but now he was no devil," replied Tressilian.

"Man or devil," said Dickie, "I see that I must summon him for you;"
and therewithal he whistled sharp and shrill, with an acuteness of sound
that almost thrilled through Tressilian's brain. "That is what I call
whistling," said he, after he had repeated the signal thrice; "and now
to cover, to cover, or Whitefoot will not be shod this day."

Tressilian, musing what the upshot of this mummery was to be, yet
satisfied there was to be some serious result, by the confidence with
which the boy had put himself in his power, suffered himself to be
conducted to that side of the little thicket of gorse and brushwood
which was farthest from the circle of stones, and there sat down; and as
it occurred to him that, after all, this might be a trick for stealing
his horse, he kept his hand on the boy's collar, determined to make him
hostage for its safety.

"Now, hush and listen," said Dickie, in a low whisper; "you will soon
hear the tack of a hammer that was never forged of earthly iron, for the
stone it was made of was shot from the moon." And in effect Tressilian
did immediately hear the light stroke of a hammer, as when a farrier
is at work. The singularity of such a sound, in so very lonely a place,
made him involuntarily start; but looking at the boy, and discovering,
by the arch malicious expression of his countenance, that the urchin saw
and enjoyed his slight tremor, he became convinced that the whole was
a concerted stratagem, and determined to know by whom, or for what
purpose, the trick was played off.

Accordingly, he remained perfectly quiet all the time that the hammer
continued to sound, being about the space usually employed in fixing
a horse-shoe. But the instant the sound ceased, Tressilian, instead of
interposing the space of time which his guide had required, started up
with his sword in his hand, ran round the thicket, and confronted a man
in a farrier's leathern apron, but otherwise fantastically attired in a
bear-skin dressed with the fur on, and a cap of the same, which almost
hid the sooty and begrimed features of the wearer. "Come back, come
back!" cried the boy to Tressilian, "or you will be torn to pieces; no
man lives that looks on him." In fact, the invisible smith (now fully
visible) heaved up his hammer, and showed symptoms of doing battle.

But when the boy observed that neither his own entreaties nor the
menaces of the farrier appeared to change Tressilian's purpose, but
that, on the contrary, he confronted the hammer with his drawn sword,
he exclaimed to the smith in turn, "Wayland, touch him not, or you will
come by the worse!--the gentleman is a true gentleman, and a bold."

"So thou hast betrayed me, Flibbertigibbet?" said the smith; "it shall
be the worse for thee!"

"Be who thou wilt," said Tressilian, "thou art in no danger from me,
so thou tell me the meaning of this practice, and why thou drivest thy
trade in this mysterious fashion."

The smith, however, turning to Tressilian, exclaimed, in a threatening
tone, "Who questions the Keeper of the Crystal Castle of Light, the Lord
of the Green Lion, the Rider of the Red Dragon? Hence!--avoid thee, ere
I summon Talpack with his fiery lance, to quell, crush, and consume!"
These words he uttered with violent gesticulation, mouthing, and
flourishing his hammer.

"Peace, thou vile cozener, with thy gipsy cant!" replied Tressilian
scornfully, "and follow me to the next magistrate, or I will cut thee
over the pate."

"Peace, I pray thee, good Wayland!" said the boy. "Credit me, the
swaggering vein will not pass here; you must cut boon whids." ["Give
good words."--SLANG DIALECT.]

"I think, worshipful sir," said the smith, sinking his hammer, and
assuming a more gentle and submissive tone of voice, "that when so poor
a man does his day's job, he might be permitted to work it out after his
own fashion. Your horse is shod, and your farrier paid--what need you
cumber yourself further than to mount and pursue your journey?"

"Nay, friend, you are mistaken," replied Tressilian; "every man has a
right to take the mask from the face of a cheat and a juggler; and your
mode of living raises suspicion that you are both."

"If you are so determined; sir," said the smith, "I cannot help myself
save by force, which I were unwilling to use towards you, Master
Tressilian; not that I fear your weapon, but because I know you to be
a worthy, kind, and well-accomplished gentleman, who would rather help
than harm a poor man that is in a strait."

"Well said, Wayland," said the boy, who had anxiously awaited the issue
of their conference. "But let us to thy den, man, for it is ill for thy
health to stand here talking in the open air."

"Thou art right, Hobgoblin," replied the smith; and going to the little
thicket of gorse on the side nearest to the circle, and opposite to that
at which his customer had so lately crouched, he discovered a trap-door
curiously covered with bushes, raised it, and, descending into the
earth, vanished from their eyes. Notwithstanding Tressilian's curiosity,
he had some hesitation at following the fellow into what might be a den
of robbers, especially when he heard the smith's voice, issuing from the
bowels of the earth, call out, "Flibertigibbet, do you come last, and be
sure to fasten the trap!"

"Have you seen enough of Wayland Smith now?" whispered the urchin
to Tressilian, with an arch sneer, as if marking his companion's
uncertainty.

"Not yet," said Tressilian firmly; and shaking off his momentary
irresolution, he descended into the narrow staircase, to which the
entrance led, and was followed by Dickie Sludge, who made fast the
trap-door behind him, and thus excluded every glimmer of daylight. The
descent, however, was only a few steps, and led to a level passage of
a few yards' length, at the end of which appeared the reflection of a
lurid and red light. Arrived at this point, with his drawn sword in
his hand, Tressilian found that a turn to the left admitted him and
Hobgoblin, who followed closely, into a small, square vault, containing
a smith's forge, glowing with charcoal, the vapour of which filled the
apartment with an oppressive smell, which would have been altogether
suffocating, but that by some concealed vent the smithy communicated
with the upper air. The light afforded by the red fuel, and by a lamp
suspended in an iron chain, served to show that, besides an anvil,
bellows, tongs, hammers, a quantity of ready-made horse-shoes, and other
articles proper to the profession of a farrier, there were also stoves,
alembics, crucibles, retorts, and other instruments of alchemy. The
grotesque figure of the smith, and the ugly but whimsical features of
the boy, seen by the gloomy and imperfect light of the charcoal fire and
the dying lamp, accorded very well with all this mystical apparatus,
and in that age of superstition would have made some impression on the
courage of most men.

But nature had endowed Tressilian with firm nerves, and his education,
originally good, had been too sedulously improved by subsequent study to
give way to any imaginary terrors; and after giving a glance around him,
he again demanded of the artist who he was, and by what accident he came
to know and address him by his name.

"Your worship cannot but remember," said the smith, "that about three
years since, upon Saint Lucy's Eve, there came a travelling juggler to a
certain hall in Devonshire, and exhibited his skill before a worshipful
knight and a fair company.--I see from your worship's countenance, dark
as this place is, that my memory has not done me wrong."

"Thou hast said enough," said Tressilian, turning away, as wishing
to hide from the speaker the painful train of recollections which his
discourse had unconsciously awakened.

"The juggler," said the smith, "played his part so bravely that the
clowns and clown-like squires in the company held his art to be little
less than magical; but there was one maiden of fifteen, or thereby, with
the fairest face I ever looked upon, whose rosy cheek grew pale, and her
bright eyes dim, at the sight of the wonders exhibited."

"Peace, I command thee, peace!" said Tressilian.

"I mean your worship no offence," said the fellow; "but I have cause to
remember how, to relieve the young maiden's fears, you condescended
to point out the mode in which these deceptions were practised, and to
baffle the poor juggler by laying bare the mysteries of his art, as ably
as if you had been a brother of his order.--She was indeed so fair a
maiden that, to win a smile of her, a man might well--"

"Not a word more of her, I charge thee!" said Tressilian. "I do well
remember the night you speak of--one of the few happy evenings my life
has known."

"She is gone, then," said the smith, interpreting after his own fashion
the sigh with which Tressilian uttered these words--"she is gone, young,
beautiful, and beloved as she was!--I crave your worship's pardon--I
should have hammered on another theme. I see I have unwarily driven the
nail to the quick."

This speech was made with a mixture of rude feeling which inclined
Tressilian favourably to the poor artisan, of whom before he was
inclined to judge very harshly. But nothing can so soon attract the
unfortunate as real or seeming sympathy with their sorrows.

"I think," proceeded Tressilian, after a minute's silence, "thou wert in
those days a jovial fellow, who could keep a company merry by song, and
tale, and rebeck, as well as by thy juggling tricks--why do I find thee
a laborious handicraftsman, plying thy trade in so melancholy a dwelling
and under such extraordinary circumstances?"

"My story is not long," said the artist, "but your honour had better
sit while you listen to it." So saying, he approached to the fire a
three-footed stool, and took another himself; while Dickie Sludge, or
Flibbertigibbet, as he called the boy, drew a cricket to the smith's
feet, and looked up in his face with features which, as illuminated by
the glow of the forge, seemed convulsed with intense curiosity. "Thou
too," said the smith to him, "shalt learn, as thou well deservest at my
hand, the brief history of my life; and, in troth, it were as well tell
it thee as leave thee to ferret it out, since Nature never packed a
shrewder wit into a more ungainly casket.--Well, sir, if my poor story
may pleasure you, it is at your command, But will you not taste a stoup
of liquor? I promise you that even in this poor cell I have some in
store."

"Speak not of it," said Tressilian, "but go on with thy story, for my
leisure is brief."

"You shall have no cause to rue the delay," said the smith, "for
your horse shall be better fed in the meantime than he hath been this
morning, and made fitter for travel."

With that the artist left the vault, and returned after a few minutes'
interval. Here, also, we pause, that the narrative may commence in
another chapter.



CHAPTER XI.

     I say, my lord, can such a subtilty
     (But all his craft ye must not wot of me,
     And somewhat help I yet to his working),
     That all the ground on which we ben riding,
     Till that we come to Canterbury town,
     He can all clean turnen so up so down,
     And pave it all of silver and of gold.
     --THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S PROLOGUE, CANTERBURY TALES.

THE artist commenced his narrative in the following terms:--

"I was bred a blacksmith, and knew my art as well as e'er a
black-thumbed, leathern-aproned, swart-faced knave of that noble
mystery. But I tired of ringing hammer-tunes on iron stithies, and went
out into the world, where I became acquainted with a celebrated juggler,
whose fingers had become rather too stiff for legerdemain, and who
wished to have the aid of an apprentice in his noble mystery. I served
him for six years, until I was master of my trade--I refer myself to
your worship, whose judgment cannot be disputed, whether I did not learn
to ply the craft indifferently well?"

"Excellently," said Tressilian; "but be brief."

"It was not long after I had performed at Sir Hugh Robsart's, in your
worship's presence," said the artist, "that I took myself to the stage,
and have swaggered with the bravest of them all, both at the Black Bull,
the Globe, the Fortune, and elsewhere; but I know not how--apples were
so plenty that year that the lads in the twopenny gallery never took
more than one bite out of them, and threw the rest of the pippin at
whatever actor chanced to be on the stage. So I tired of it--renounced
my half share in the company, gave my foil to my comrade, my buskins to
the wardrobe, and showed the theatre a clean pair of heels."

"Well, friend, and what," said Tressilian, "was your next shift?"

"I became," said the smith, "half partner, half domestic to a man
of much skill and little substance, who practised the trade of a
physicianer."

"In other words," said Tressilian, "you were Jack Pudding to a
quacksalver."

"Something beyond that, let me hope, my good Master Tressilian," replied
the artist; "and yet to say truth, our practice was of an adventurous
description, and the pharmacy which I had acquired in my first studies
for the benefit of horses was frequently applied to our human patients.
But the seeds of all maladies are the same; and if turpentine, tar,
pitch, and beef-suet, mingled with turmerick, gum-mastick, and one bead
of garlick, can cure the horse that hath been grieved with a nail, I see
not but what it may benefit the man that hath been pricked with a sword.
But my master's practice, as well as his skill, went far beyond
mine, and dealt in more dangerous concerns. He was not only a bold,
adventurous practitioner in physic, but also, if your pleasure so
chanced to be, an adept who read the stars, and expounded the fortunes
of mankind, genethliacally, as he called it, or otherwise. He was a
learned distiller of simples, and a profound chemist--made several
efforts to fix mercury, and judged himself to have made a fair hit at
the philosopher's stone. I have yet a programme of his on that subject,
which, if your honour understandeth, I believe you have the better, not
only of all who read, but also of him who wrote it."

He gave Tressilian a scroll of parchment, bearing at top and bottom, and
down the margin, the signs of the seven planets, curiously intermingled
with talismanical characters and scraps of Greek and Hebrew. In the
midst were some Latin verses from a cabalistical author, written out so
fairly, that even the gloom of the place did not prevent Tressilian from
reading them. The tenor of the original ran as follows:--

     "Si fixum solvas, faciasque volare solutum,
     Et volucrem figas, facient te vivere tutum;
     Si pariat ventum, valet auri pondere centum;
     Ventus ubi vult spirat--Capiat qui capere potest."

"I protest to you," said Tressilian, "all I understand of this jargon is
that the last words seem to mean 'Catch who catch can.'"

"That," said the smith, "is the very principle that my worthy friend and
master, Doctor Doboobie, always acted upon; until, being besotted with
his own imaginations, and conceited of his high chemical skill, he
began to spend, in cheating himself, the money which he had acquired
in cheating others, and either discovered or built for himself, I could
never know which, this secret elaboratory, in which he used to seclude
himself both from patients and disciples, who doubtless thought his
long and mysterious absences from his ordinary residence in the town of
Farringdon were occasioned by his progress in the mystic sciences, and
his intercourse with the invisible world. Me also he tried to deceive;
but though I contradicted him not, he saw that I knew too much of his
secrets to be any longer a safe companion. Meanwhile, his name waxed
famous--or rather infamous, and many of those who resorted to him did so
under persuasion that he was a sorcerer. And yet his supposed advance in
the occult sciences drew to him the secret resort of men too powerful
to be named, for purposes too dangerous to be mentioned. Men cursed
and threatened him, and bestowed on me, the innocent assistant of his
studies, the nickname of the Devil's foot-post, which procured me a
volley of stones as soon as ever I ventured to show my face in the
street of the village. At length my master suddenly disappeared,
pretending to me that he was about to visit his elaboratory in this
place, and forbidding me to disturb him till two days were past. When
this period had elapsed, I became anxious, and resorted to this vault,
where I found the fires extinguished and the utensils in confusion,
with a note from the learned Doboobius, as he was wont to style himself,
acquainting me that we should never meet again, bequeathing me his
chemical apparatus, and the parchment which I have just put into your
hands, advising me strongly to prosecute the secret which it
contained, which would infallibly lead me to the discovery of the grand
magisterium."

"And didst thou follow this sage advice?" said Tressilian.

"Worshipful sir, no," replied the smith; "for, being by nature cautious,
and suspicious from knowing with whom I had to do, I made so many
perquisitions before I ventured even to light a fire, that I at length
discovered a small barrel of gunpowder, carefully hid beneath the
furnace, with the purpose, no doubt, that as soon as I should commence
the grand work of the transmutation of metals, the explosion should
transmute the vault and all in it into a heap of ruins, which might
serve at once for my slaughter-house and my grave. This cured me of
alchemy, and fain would I have returned to the honest hammer and anvil;
but who would bring a horse to be shod by the Devil's post? Meantime, I
had won the regard of my honest Flibbertigibbet here, he being then at
Farringdon with his master, the sage Erasmus Holiday, by teaching him
a few secrets, such as please youth at his age; and after much counsel
together, we agreed that, since I could get no practice in the ordinary
way, I should try how I could work out business among these
ignorant boors, by practising upon their silly fears; and, thanks to
Flibbertigibbet, who hath spread my renown, I have not wanted custom.
But it is won at too great risk, and I fear I shall be at length taken
up for a wizard; so that I seek but an opportunity to leave this vault,
when I can have the protection of some worshipful person against the
fury of the populace, in case they chance to recognize me."

"And art thou," said Tressilian, "perfectly acquainted with the roads in
this country?"

"I could ride them every inch by midnight," answered Wayland Smith,
which was the name this adept had assumed.

"Thou hast no horse to ride upon," said Tressilian.

"Pardon me," replied Wayland; "I have as good a tit as ever yeoman
bestrode; and I forgot to say it was the best part of the mediciner's
legacy to me, excepting one or two of the choicest of his medical
secrets, which I picked up without his knowledge and against his will."

"Get thyself washed and shaved, then," said Tressilian; "reform thy
dress as well as thou canst, and fling away these grotesque trappings;
and, so thou wilt be secret and faithful, thou shalt follow me for a
short time, till thy pranks here are forgotten. Thou hast, I think, both
address and courage, and I have matter to do that may require both."

Wayland Smith eagerly embraced the proposal, and protested his devotion
to his new master. In a very few minutes he had made so great an
alteration in his original appearance, by change of dress, trimming his
beard and hair, and so forth, that Tressilian could not help remarking
that he thought he would stand in little need of a protector, since none
of his old acquaintance were likely to recognize him.

"My debtors would not pay me money," said Wayland, shaking his head;
"but my creditors of every kind would be less easily blinded. And,
in truth, I hold myself not safe, unless under the protection of a
gentleman of birth and character, as is your worship."

So saying, he led the way out of the cavern. He then called loudly for
Hobgoblin, who, after lingering for an instant, appeared with the horse
furniture, when Wayland closed and sedulously covered up the trap-door,
observing it might again serve him at his need, besides that the tools
were worth somewhat. A whistle from the owner brought to his side a nag
that fed quietly on the common, and was accustomed to the signal.

While he accoutred him for the journey, Tressilian drew his own girths
tighter, and in a few minutes both were ready to mount.

At this moment Sludge approached to bid them farewell.

"You are going to leave me, then, my old playfellow," said the boy; "and
there is an end of all our game at bo-peep with the cowardly lubbards
whom I brought hither to have their broad-footed nags shed by the devil
and his imps?"

"It is even so," said Wayland Smith, "the best friends must part,
Flibbertigibbet; but thou, my boy, art the only thing in the Vale of
Whitehorse which I shall regret to leave behind me."

"Well, I bid thee not farewell," said Dickie Sludge, "for you will be
at these revels, I judge, and so shall I; for if Dominie Holiday take me
not thither, by the light of day, which we see not in yonder dark hole,
I will take myself there!"

"In good time," said Wayland; "but I pray you to do nought rashly."

"Nay, now you would make a child, a common child of me, and tell me of
the risk of walking without leading-strings. But before you are a mile
from these stones, you shall know by a sure token that I have more of
the hobgoblin about me than you credit; and I will so manage that, if
you take advantage, you may profit by my prank."

"What dost thou mean, boy?" said Tressilian; but Flibbertigibbet only
answered with a grin and a caper, and bidding both of them farewell,
and, at the same time, exhorting them to make the best of their way from
the place, he set them the example by running homeward with the same
uncommon velocity with which he had baffled Tressilian's former attempts
to get hold of him.

"It is in vain to chase him," said Wayland Smith; "for unless your
worship is expert in lark-hunting, we should never catch hold of
him--and besides, what would it avail? Better make the best of our way
hence, as he advises."

They mounted their horses accordingly, and began to proceed at a round
pace, as soon as Tressilian had explained to his guide the direction in
which he desired to travel.

After they had trotted nearly a mile, Tressilian could not help
observing to his companion that his horse felt more lively under him
than even when he mounted in the morning.

"Are you avised of that?" said Wayland Smith, smiling. "That is owing
to a little secret of mine. I mixed that with an handful of oats which
shall save your worship's heels the trouble of spurring these six hours
at least. Nay, I have not studied medicine and pharmacy for nought."

"I trust," said Tressilian, "your drugs will do my horse no harm?"

"No more than the mare's milk; which foaled him," answered the artist,
and was proceeding to dilate on the excellence of his recipe when he
was interrupted by an explosion as loud and tremendous as the mine which
blows up the rampart of a beleaguered city. The horses started, and the
riders were equally surprised. They turned to gaze in the direction from
which the thunder-clap was heard, and beheld, just over the spot they
had left so recently, a huge pillar of dark smoke rising high into the
clear, blue atmosphere. "My habitation is gone to wreck," said Wayland,
immediately conjecturing the cause of the explosion. "I was a fool to
mention the doctor's kind intentions towards my mansion before that limb
of mischief, Flibbertigibbet; I might have guessed he would long to put
so rare a frolic into execution. But let us hasten on, for the sound
will collect the country to the spot."

So saying, he spurred his horse, and Tressilian also quickening his
speed, they rode briskly forward.

"This, then, was the meaning of the little imp's token which he promised
us?" said Tressilian. "Had we lingered near the spot, we had found it a
love-token with a vengeance."

"He would have given us warning," said the smith. "I saw him look back
more than once to see if we were off--'tis a very devil for mischief,
yet not an ill-natured devil either. It were long to tell your honour
how I became first acquainted with him, and how many tricks he played
me. Many a good turn he did me too, especially in bringing me customers;
for his great delight was to see them sit shivering behind the bushes
when they heard the click of my hammer. I think Dame Nature, when she
lodged a double quantity of brains in that misshapen head of his, gave
him the power of enjoying other people's distresses, as she gave them
the pleasure of laughing at his ugliness."

"It may be so," said Tressilian; "those who find themselves severed from
society by peculiarities of form, if they do not hate the common bulk of
mankind, are at least not altogether indisposed to enjoy their mishaps
and calamities."

"But Flibbertigibbet," answered Wayland, "hath that about him which
may redeem his turn for mischievous frolic; for he is as faithful when
attached as he is tricky and malignant to strangers, and, as I said
before, I have cause to say so."

Tressilian pursued the conversation no further, and they continued
their journey towards Devonshire without further adventure, until they
alighted at an inn in the town of Marlborough, since celebrated for
having given title to the greatest general (excepting one) whom Britain
ever produced. Here the travellers received, in the same breath, an
example of the truth of two old proverbs--namely, that ILL NEWS FLY
FAST, and that LISTENERS SELDOM HEAR A GOOD TALE OF THEMSELVES.

The inn-yard was in a sort of combustion when they alighted; insomuch,
that they could scarce get man or boy to take care of their horses, so
full were the whole household of some news which flew from tongue to
tongue, the import of which they were for some time unable to discover.
At length, indeed, they found it respected matters which touched them
nearly.

"What is the matter, say you, master?" answered, at length, the head
hostler, in reply to Tressilian's repeated questions.--"Why, truly,
I scarce know myself. But here was a rider but now, who says that the
devil hath flown away with him they called Wayland Smith, that won'd
about three miles from the Whitehorse of Berkshire, this very blessed
morning, in a flash of fire and a pillar of smoke, and rooted up the
place he dwelt in, near that old cockpit of upright stones, as cleanly
as if it had all been delved up for a cropping."

"Why, then," said an old farmer, "the more is the pity; for that Wayland
Smith (whether he was the devil's crony or no I skill not) had a good
notion of horses' diseases, and it's to be thought the bots will spread
in the country far and near, an Satan has not gien un time to leave his
secret behind un."

"You may say that, Gaffer Grimesby," said the hostler in return; "I have
carried a horse to Wayland Smith myself, for he passed all farriers in
this country."

"Did you see him?" said Dame Alison Crane, mistress of the inn
bearing that sign, and deigning to term HUSBAND the owner thereof, a
mean-looking hop-o'-my-thumb sort or person, whose halting gait, and
long neck, and meddling, henpecked insignificance are supposed to have
given origin to the celebrated old English tune of "My name hath a lame
tame Crane."

On this occasion he chirped out a repetition of his wife's question,
"Didst see the devil, Jack Hostler, I say?"

"And what if I did see un, Master Crane?" replied Jack Hostler, for,
like all the rest of the household, he paid as little respect to his
master as his mistress herself did.

"Nay, nought, Jack Hostler," replied the pacific Master Crane; "only if
you saw the devil, methinks I would like to know what un's like?"

"You will know that one day, Master Crane," said his helpmate, "an ye
mend not your manners, and mind your business, leaving off such idle
palabras.--But truly, Jack Hostler, I should be glad to know myself what
like the fellow was."

"Why, dame," said the hostler, more respectfully, "as for what he was
like I cannot tell, nor no man else, for why I never saw un."

"And how didst thou get thine errand done," said Gaffer Grimesby, "if
thou seedst him not?"

"Why, I had schoolmaster to write down ailment o' nag," said Jack
Hostler; "and I went wi' the ugliest slip of a boy for my guide as ever
man cut out o' lime-tree root to please a child withal."

"And what was it?--and did it cure your nag, Jack Hostler?" was uttered
and echoed by all who stood around.

"Why, how can I tell you what it was?" said the hostler; "simply it
smelled and tasted--for I did make bold to put a pea's substance into
my mouth--like hartshorn and savin mixed with vinegar; but then no
hartshorn and savin ever wrought so speedy a cure. And I am dreading
that if Wayland Smith be gone, the bots will have more power over horse
and cattle."

The pride of art, which is certainly not inferior in its influence to
any other pride whatever, here so far operated on Wayland Smith, that,
notwithstanding the obvious danger of his being recognized, he could not
help winking to Tressilian, and smiling mysteriously, as if triumphing
in the undoubted evidence of his veterinary skill. In the meanwhile, the
discourse continued.

"E'en let it be so," said a grave man in black, the companion of Gaffer
Grimesby; "e'en let us perish under the evil God sends us, rather than
the devil be our doctor."

"Very true," said Dame Crane; "and I marvel at Jack Hostler that he
would peril his own soul to cure the bowels of a nag."

"Very true, mistress," said Jack Hostler, "but the nag was my master's;
and had it been yours, I think ye would ha' held me cheap enow an I had
feared the devil when the poor beast was in such a taking. For the rest,
let the clergy look to it. Every man to his craft, says the proverb--the
parson to the prayer-book, and the groom to his curry-comb.

"I vow," said Dame Crane, "I think Jack Hostler speaks like a good
Christian and a faithful servant, who will spare neither body nor soul
in his master's service. However, the devil has lifted him in time, for
a Constable of the Hundred came hither this morning to get old Gaffer
Pinniewinks, the trier of witches, to go with him to the Vale of
Whitehorse to comprehend Wayland Smith, and put him to his probation. I
helped Pinniewinks to sharpen his pincers and his poking-awl, and I saw
the warrant from Justice Blindas."

"Pooh--pooh--the devil would laugh both at Blindas and his warrant,
constable and witch-finder to boot," said old Dame Crank, the Papist
laundress; "Wayland Smith's flesh would mind Pinniewinks' awl no
more than a cambric ruff minds a hot piccadilloe-needle. But tell me,
gentlefolks, if the devil ever had such a hand among ye, as to snatch
away your smiths and your artists from under your nose, when the good
Abbots of Abingdon had their own? By Our Lady, no!--they had their
hallowed tapers; and their holy water, and their relics, and what not,
could send the foulest fiends a-packing. Go ask a heretic parson to do
the like. But ours were a comfortable people."

"Very true, Dame Crank," said the hostler; "so said Simpkins of
Simonburn when the curate kissed his wife,--'They are a comfortable
people,' said he."

"Silence, thou foul-mouthed vermin," said Dame Crank; "is it fit for
a heretic horse-boy like thee to handle such a text as the Catholic
clergy?"

"In troth no, dame," replied the man of oats; "and as you yourself are
now no text for their handling, dame, whatever may have been the case in
your day, I think we had e'en better leave un alone."

At this last exchange of sarcasm, Dame Crank set up her throat, and
began a horrible exclamation against Jack Hostler, under cover of which
Tressilian and his attendant escaped into the house.

They had no sooner entered a private chamber, to which Goodman Crane
himself had condescended to usher them, and dispatched their worthy and
obsequious host on the errand of procuring wine and refreshment, than
Wayland Smith began to give vent to his self-importance.

"You see, sir," said he, addressing Tressilian, "that I nothing fabled
in asserting that I possessed fully the mighty mystery of a farrier, or
mareschal, as the French more honourably term us. These dog-hostlers,
who, after all, are the better judges in such a case, know what credit
they should attach to my medicaments. I call you to witness, worshipful
Master Tressilian, that nought, save the voice of calumny and the hand
of malicious violence, hath driven me forth from a station in which I
held a place alike useful and honoured."

"I bear witness, my friend, but will reserve my listening," answered
Tressilian, "for a safer time; unless, indeed, you deem it essential
to your reputation to be translated, like your late dwelling, by the
assistance of a flash of fire. For you see your best friends reckon you
no better than a mere sorcerer."

"Now, Heaven forgive them," said the artist, "who confounded learned
skill with unlawful magic! I trust a man may be as skilful, or more so,
than the best chirurgeon ever meddled with horse-flesh, and yet may be
upon the matter little more than other ordinary men, or at the worst no
conjurer."

"God forbid else!" said Tressilian. "But be silent just for the present,
since here comes mine host with an assistant, who seems something of the
least."

Everybody about the inn, Dame Crane herself included, had been indeed
so interested and agitated by the story they had heard of Wayland Smith,
and by the new, varying, and more marvellous editions of the incident
which arrived from various quarters, that mine host, in his righteous
determination to accommodate his guests, had been able to obtain the
assistance of none of his household, saving that of a little boy, a
junior tapster, of about twelve years old, who was called Sampson.

"I wish," he said, apologizing to his guests, as he set down a flagon
of sack, and promised some food immediately--"I wish the devil had flown
away with my wife and my whole family instead of this Wayland Smith,
who, I daresay, after all said and done, was much less worthy of the
distinction which Satan has done him."

"I hold opinion with you, good fellow," replied Wayland Smith; "and I
will drink to you upon that argument."

"Not that I would justify any man who deals with the devil," said mine
host, after having pledged Wayland in a rousing draught of sack, "but
that--saw ye ever better sack, my masters?--but that, I say, a man had
better deal with a dozen cheats and scoundrel fellows, such as this
Wayland Smith, than with a devil incarnate, that takes possession of
house and home, bed and board."

The poor fellow's detail of grievances was here interrupted by the
shrill voice of his helpmate, screaming from the kitchen, to which he
instantly hobbled, craving pardon of his guests. He was no sooner gone
than Wayland Smith expressed, by every contemptuous epithet in the
language, his utter scorn for a nincompoop who stuck his head under
his wife's apron-string; and intimated that, saving for the sake of
the horses, which required both rest and food, he would advise his
worshipful Master Tressilian to push on a stage farther, rather than pay
a reckoning to such a mean-spirited, crow-trodden, henpecked coxcomb, as
Gaffer Crane.

The arrival of a large dish of good cow-heel and bacon something soothed
the asperity of the artist, which wholly vanished before a choice capon,
so delicately roasted that the lard frothed on it, said Wayland, like
May-dew on a lily; and both Gaffer Crane and his good dame became, in
his eyes, very painstaking, accommodating, obliging persons.

According to the manners of the times, the master and his attendant
sat at the same table, and the latter observed, with regret, how little
attention Tressilian paid to his meal. He recollected, indeed, the pain
he had given by mentioning the maiden in whose company he had first seen
him; but, fearful of touching upon a topic too tender to be tampered
with, he chose to ascribe his abstinence to another cause.

"This fare is perhaps too coarse for your worship," said Wayland, as the
limbs of the capon disappeared before his own exertions; "but had you
dwelt as long as I have done in yonder dungeon, which Flibbertigibbet
has translated to the upper element, a place where I dared hardly broil
my food, lest the smoke should be seen without, you would think a fair
capon a more welcome dainty."

"If you are pleased, friend," said Tressilian, "it is well.
Nevertheless, hasten thy meal if thou canst, For this place is
unfriendly to thy safety, and my concerns crave travelling."

Allowing, therefore, their horses no more rest than was absolutely
necessary for them, they pursued their journey by a forced march as far
as Bradford, where they reposed themselves for the night.

The next morning found them early travellers. And, not to fatigue the
reader with unnecessary particulars, they traversed without adventure
the counties of Wiltshire and Somerset, and about noon of the third day
after Tressilian's leaving Cumnor, arrived at Sir Hugh Robsart's seat,
called Lidcote Hall, on the frontiers of Devonshire.



CHAPTER XII.

     Ah me!  the flower and blossom of your house,
     The wind hath blown away to other towers.
     --JOANNA BAILLIE'S  FAMILY LEGEND.

The ancient seat of Lidcote Hall was situated near the village of
the same name, and adjoined the wild and extensive forest of Exmoor,
plentifully stocked with game, in which some ancient rights belonging to
the Robsart family entitled Sir Hugh to pursue his favourite amusement
of the chase. The old mansion was a low, venerable building, occupying
a considerable space of ground, which was surrounded by a deep moat. The
approach and drawbridge were defended by an octagonal tower, of ancient
brickwork, but so clothed with ivy and other creepers that it was
difficult to discover of what materials it was constructed. The angles
of this tower were each decorated with a turret, whimsically various
in form and in size, and, therefore, very unlike the monotonous stone
pepperboxes which, in modern Gothic architecture, are employed for
the same purpose. One of these turrets was square, and occupied as
a clock-house. But the clock was now standing still; a circumstance
peculiarly striking to Tressilian, because the good old knight, among
other harmless peculiarities, had a fidgety anxiety about the exact
measurement of time, very common to those who have a great deal of that
commodity to dispose of, and find it lie heavy upon their hands--just
as we see shopkeepers amuse themselves with taking an exact account of
their stock at the time there is least demand for it.

The entrance to the courtyard of the old mansion lay through an archway,
surmounted by the foresaid tower; but the drawbridge was down, and one
leaf of the iron-studded folding-doors stood carelessly open. Tressilian
hastily rode over the drawbridge, entered the court, and began to
call loudly on the domestics by their names. For some time he was only
answered by the echoes and the howling of the hounds, whose kennel lay
at no great distance from the mansion, and was surrounded by the same
moat. At length Will Badger, the old and favourite attendant of the
knight, who acted alike as squire of his body and superintendent of his
sports, made his appearance. The stout, weather-beaten forester showed
great signs of joy when he recognized Tressilian.

"Lord love you," he said, "Master Edmund, be it thou in flesh and fell?
Then thou mayest do some good on Sir Hugh, for it passes the wit of
man--that is, of mine own, and the curate's, and Master Mumblazen's--to
do aught wi'un."

"Is Sir Hugh then worse since I went away, Will?" demanded Tressilian.

"For worse in body--no; he is much better," replied the domestic; "but
he is clean mazed as it were--eats and drinks as he was wont--but sleeps
not, or rather wakes not, for he is ever in a sort of twilight, that is
neither sleeping nor waking. Dame Swineford thought it was like the dead
palsy. But no, no, dame, said I, it is the heart, it is the heart."

"Can ye not stir his mind to any pastimes?" said Tressilian.

"He is clean and quite off his sports," said Will Badger; "hath neither
touched backgammon or shovel-board, nor looked on the big book of
harrowtry wi' Master Mumblazen. I let the clock run down, thinking the
missing the bell might somewhat move him--for you know, Master Edmund,
he was particular in counting time--but he never said a word on't, so
I may e'en set the old chime a-towling again. I made bold to tread on
Bungay's tail too, and you know what a round rating that would ha' cost
me once a-day; but he minded the poor tyke's whine no more than a madge
howlet whooping down the chimney--so the case is beyond me."

"Thou shalt tell me the rest within doors, Will. Meanwhile, let this
person be ta'en to the buttery, and used with respect. He is a man of
art."

"White art or black art, I would," said Will Badger, "that he had any
art which could help us.--Here, Tom Butler, look to the man of art;--and
see that he steals none of thy spoons, lad," he added in a whisper to
the butler, who showed himself at a low window, "I have known as honest
a faced fellow have art enough to do that."

He then ushered Tressilian into a low parlour, and went, at his desire,
to see in what state his master was, lest the sudden return of his
darling pupil and proposed son-in-law should affect him too strongly.
He returned immediately, and said that Sir Hugh was dozing in his
elbow-chair, but that Master Mumblazen would acquaint Master Tressilian
the instant he awaked.

"But it is chance if he knows you," said the huntsman, "for he has
forgotten the name of every hound in the pack. I thought, about a week
since, he had gotten a favourable turn. 'Saddle me old Sorrel,' said he
suddenly, after he had taken his usual night-draught out of the great
silver grace-cup, 'and take the hounds to Mount Hazelhurst to-morrow.'
Glad men were we all, and out we had him in the morning, and he rode to
cover as usual, with never a word spoken but that the wind was south,
and the scent would lie. But ere we had uncoupled'the hounds, he began
to stare round him, like a man that wakes suddenly out of a dream--turns
bridle, and walks back to Hall again, and leaves us to hunt at leisure
by ourselves, if we listed."

"You tell a heavy tale, Will," replied Tressilian; "but God must help
us--there is no aid in man."

"Then you bring us no news of young Mistress Amy? But what need I
ask--your brow tells the story. Ever I hoped that if any man could or
would track her, it must be you. All's over and lost now. But if ever I
have that Varney within reach of a flight-shot, I will bestow a forked
shaft on him; and that I swear by salt and bread."

As he spoke, the door opened, and Master Mumblazen appeared--a withered,
thin, elderly gentleman, with a cheek like a winter apple, and his
grey hair partly concealed by a small, high hat, shaped like a cone,
or rather like such a strawberry-basket as London fruiterers exhibit at
their windows. He was too sententious a person to waste words on mere
salutation; so, having welcomed Tressilian with a nod and a shake of the
hand, he beckoned him to follow to Sir Hugh's great chamber, which the
good knight usually inhabited. Will Badger followed, unasked, anxious to
see whether his master would be relieved from his state of apathy by the
arrival of Tressilian.

In a long, low parlour, amply furnished with implements of the chase,
and with silvan trophies, by a massive stone chimney, over which hung
a sword and suit of armour somewhat obscured by neglect, sat Sir Hugh
Robsart of Lidcote, a man of large size, which had been only kept within
moderate compass by the constant use of violent exercise, It seemed to
Tressilian that the lethargy, under which his old friend appeared to
labour, had, even during his few weeks' absence, added bulk to his
person--at least it had obviously diminished the vivacity of his eye,
which, as they entered, first followed Master Mumblazen slowly to a
large oaken desk, on which a ponderous volume lay open, and then rested,
as if in uncertainty, on the stranger who had entered along with him.
The curate, a grey-headed clergyman, who had been a confessor in the
days of Queen Mary, sat with a book in his hand in another recess in the
apartment. He, too, signed a mournful greeting to Tressilian, and laid
his book aside, to watch the effect his appearance should produce on the
afflicted old man.

As Tressilian, his own eyes filling fast with tears, approached more
and more nearly to the father of his betrothed bride, Sir Hugh's
intelligence seemed to revive. He sighed heavily, as one who awakens
from a state of stupor; a slight convulsion passed over his features;
he opened his arms without speaking a word, and, as Tressilian threw
himself into them, he folded him to his bosom.

"There is something left to live for yet," were the first words he
uttered; and while he spoke, he gave vent to his feelings in a paroxysm
of weeping, the tears chasing each other down his sunburnt cheeks and
long white beard.

"I ne'er thought to have thanked God to see my master weep," said Will
Badger; "but now I do, though I am like to weep for company."

"I will ask thee no questions," said the old knight; "no
questions--none, Edmund. Thou hast not found her--or so found her, that
she were better lost."

Tressilian was unable to reply otherwise than by putting his hands
before his face.

"It is enough--it is enough. But do not thou weep for her, Edmund. I
have cause to weep, for she was my daughter; thou hast cause to rejoice,
that she did not become thy wife.--Great God! thou knowest best what is
good for us. It was my nightly prayer that I should see Amy and Edmund
wedded,--had it been granted, it had now been gall added to bitterness."

"Be comforted, my friend," said the curate, addressing Sir Hugh, "it
cannot be that the daughter of all our hopes and affections is the vile
creature you would bespeak her."

"Oh, no," replied Sir Hugh impatiently, "I were wrong to name broadly
the base thing she is become--there is some new court name for it, I
warrant me. It is honour enough for the daughter of an old Devonshire
clown to be the leman of a gay courtier--of Varney too--of Varney, whose
grandsire was relieved by my father, when his fortune was broken, at
the battle of--the battle of--where Richard was slain--out on my
memory!--and I warrant none of you will help me--"

"The battle of Bosworth," said Master Mumblazen--"stricken between
Richard Crookback and Henry Tudor, grandsire of the Queen that now is,
PRIMO HENRICI SEPTIMI; and in the year one thousand four hundred and
eighty-five, POST CHRISTUM NATUM."

"Ay, even so," said the old knight; "every child knows it. But my poor
head forgets all it should remember, and remembers only what it would
most willingly forget. My brain has been at fault, Tressilian, almost
ever since thou hast been away, and even yet it hunts counter."

"Your worship," said the good clergyman, "had better retire to your
apartment, and try to sleep for a little space. The physician left
a composing draught; and our Great Physician has commanded us to use
earthly means, that we may be strengthened to sustain the trials He
sends us."

"True, true, old friend," said Sir Hugh; "and we will bear our trials
manfully--we have lost but a woman.--See, Tressilian,"--he drew from
his bosom a long ringlet of glossy hair,--"see this lock! I tell thee,
Edmund, the very night she disappeared, when she bid me good even, as
she was wont, she hung about my neck, and fondled me more than usual;
and I, like an old fool, held her by this lock, until she took her
scissors, severed it, and left it in my hand--as all I was ever to see
more of her!"

Tressilian was unable to reply, well judging what a complication of
feelings must have crossed the bosom of the unhappy fugitive at that
cruel moment. The clergyman was about to speak, but Sir Hugh interrupted
him.

"I know what you would say, Master Curate,--After all, it is but a lock
of woman's tresses; and by woman, shame, and sin, and death came into
an innocent world.--And learned Master Mumblazen, too, can say scholarly
things of their inferiority."

"C'EST L'HOMME," said Master Mumblazen, "QUI SE BAST, ET QUI CONSEILLE."

"True," said Sir Hugh, "and we will bear us, therefore, like men who
have both mettle and wisdom in us.--Tressilian, thou art as welcome
as if thou hadst brought better news. But we have spoken too long
dry-lipped.--Amy, fill a cup of wine to Edmund, and another to me." Then
instantly recollecting that he called upon her who could not hear,
he shook his head, and said to the clergyman, "This grief is to my
bewildered mind what the church of Lidcote is to our park: we may lose
ourselves among the briers and thickets for a little space, but from
the end of each avenue we see the old grey steeple and the grave of my
forefathers. I would I were to travel that road tomorrow!"

Tressilian and the curate joined in urging the exhausted old man to lay
himself to rest, and at length prevailed. Tressilian remained by his
pillow till he saw that slumber at length sunk down on him, and then
returned to consult with the curate what steps should be adopted in
these unhappy circumstances.

They could not exclude from these deliberations Master Michael
Mumblazen; and they admitted him the more readily, that besides what
hopes they entertained from his sagacity, they knew him to be so great
a friend to taciturnity, that there was no doubt of his keeping counsel.
He was an old bachelor, of good family, but small fortune, and distantly
related to the House of Robsart; in virtue of which connection, Lidcote
Hall had been honoured with his residence for the last twenty years. His
company was agreeable to Sir Hugh, chiefly on account of his profound
learning, which, though it only related to heraldry and genealogy, with
such scraps of history as connected themselves with these subjects,
was precisely of a kind to captivate the good old knight; besides the
convenience which he found in having a friend to appeal to when his
own memory, as frequently happened, proved infirm and played him false
concerning names and dates, which, and all similar deficiencies, Master
Michael Mumblazen supplied with due brevity and discretion. And,
indeed, in matters concerning the modern world, he often gave, in his
enigmatical and heraldic phrase, advice which was well worth attending
to, or, in Will Badger's language, started the game while others beat
the bush.