Part 33 (1/2)
The sun was fast declining among the rich and glowing clouds of an autumnal evening, and pouring its melancholy l.u.s.tre upon the woods and the old towers of Leixlip, as the young man rode into that ancient town. How different were his present feelings from those with which he had last traversed the quiet little village--then his bright hopes and cheery fancies had tinged every object he looked on with their own warm and happy colouring; but now, alas! how mournful the reverse. With the sweet illusions he had so fondly cherished had vanished all the charm of all he saw; the scene was disenchanted now, and all seemed coloured in the sombre and chastened hues of his own deep melancholy; the river, with all its brawling falls and windings, filled his ear with plaintive harmonies, and all its dancing foam-bells, that chased one another down its broad eddies, glancing in the dim, discoloured light of the evening sun, seemed but so many images of the wayward courses and light illusions of human hope; even the old ivy-mantled towers, as he looked upon their time-worn front, seemed to have suffered a century's decay since last he beheld them; every scene that met his eye, and every sound that floated to his ear on the still air of evening, was alike charged with sadness.
At a slow pace, and with a heart oppressed, he pa.s.sed the little town, and soon its trees, and humble roofs, and blue curling smoke were left far behind him. He had proceeded more than a mile when the sun descended, and the dusky twilight began to deepen. He spurred his horse, and at a rate more suited to the limited duration of the little light which remained, he rode at a sharp trot along the uneven way toward Dublin. He had not proceeded far at this rate when he overtook a gentleman on horseback, who was listlessly walking his steed in the same direction, and who, on seeing a cavalier thus wending his way on the same route, either with a view to secure good company upon the road, or for some other less obvious purpose, spurred on also, and took his place by the side of our young friend. O'Connor looked upon his uninvited companion with a jealous eye, for his night adventure of a few months since was forcibly recalled to his memory by the circ.u.mstances of his present situation. The person who rode by his side was, as well as he could descry, a tall, lank man, with a hooked nose, heavy brows, and sallow complexion, having something grim and ascetic in the character of his face. After turning slightly twice or thrice towards O'Connor, as if doubtful whether to address him, the stranger at length accosted the young man.
”A fair evening this, sir,” said he, ”and just cool enough to make a brisk ride pleasant.”
O'Connor a.s.sented drily, and without waiting for a renewal of the conversation, spurred his horse into a canter, with the intention of leaving his new companion behind. That personage was not, however, so easily to be shaken off; he, in turn, put his horse to precisely the same pace, and remarked composedly,--
”I see, sir, you wish to make the most of the light we've left us; dark riding, they say, is dangerous riding hereabout. I suppose you ride for the city?”
O'Connor made no answer.
”I presume you make Dublin your halting-place?” repeated the man.
”You are at liberty, sir,” replied O'Connor, somewhat sharply, ”to presume what you please; I have good reasons, however, for not caring to bandy words with strangers. Where I rest for the night cannot concern anybody but myself.”
”No offence, sir--no offence meant,” replied the man, in the same even tone, ”and I hope none taken.”
A silence of some minutes ensued, during which O'Connor suddenly slackened his horse's pace to a walk. The stranger made a corresponding alteration in that of his.
”Your pace, sir, is mine,” observed the stranger. ”We may as well breathe our beasts a little.”
Another pause followed, which was at length broken by the stranger's observing,--
”A lucky chance, in truth. A comrade is an important acquisition in such a ride as ours promises to be.”
”I already have one of my own choosing,” replied O'Connor drily; ”I ride attended.”
”And so do I,” continued the other, ”and doubtless our trusty squires are just as happy in the rencounter as are their masters.”
A considerable silence ensued, which at length was broken by the stranger.
”Your reserve, sir,” said he, ”as well as the hour at which you travel, leads me to conjecture that we are both bound on the same errand. Am I understood?”
”You must speak more plainly if you would be so,” replied O'Connor.
”Well, then,” resumed he, ”I half believe that we shall meet to-night--where it is no sin to speak loyalty.”
”Still, sir, you leave me in the dark as to your meaning,” replied O'Connor.
”At a certain well of sweet water,” said the man with deliberate significance--”is it not so--eh--am I right?”
”No, sir,” replied O'Connor, ”your sagacity is at fault; or else, it may be, your wit is too subtle, or mine too dull; for, if your conjectures be correct, I cannot comprehend your meaning--nor indeed is it very important that I should.”
”Well, sir,” replied he, ”I am seldom wrong when I hazard a guess of this kind; but no matter--if we meet we shall be better friends, I promise you.”
They had now reached the little town of Chapelizod, and darkness had closed in. At the door of a hovel, from which streamed a strong red light, the stranger drew his bridle, and called for a cup of water. A ragged urchin brought it forth.
”_Pax Domini vobisc.u.m_,” said the stranger, restoring the vessel, and looking upward steadfastly for a minute, as if in mental prayer, he raised his hat, and in doing so exhibited the monkish tonsure upon his head; and as he sate there motionless upon his horse, with his sable cloak wrapped in ample folds about him, and the strong red light from the hovel door falling upon his thin and well-marked features, bringing into strong relief the prominences of his form and attire, and s.h.i.+ning full upon the drooping head of the tired steed which he bestrode--this equestrian figure might have furnished no unworthy study for the pencil of Schalken.