Rookwood

altogether unworthy of decoration; nor, in justice to Jack, can we allow that he was in error. He was a model of a man for five feet ten; square, compact, capitally built in every particular, excepting that his legs were slightly imbowed, which defect probably arose from his being almost constantly on horseback; a sort of exercise in which Jack greatly delighted, and was accounted a superb rider. It was, indeed, his daring horsemanship, upon one particular occasion, when he had outstripped a whole field, that had procured him the honour of an invitation to Rookwood. Who he was, or whence he came, was a question not easily answered—Jack, himself, evading all solution to the enquiry. Sir Piers never troubled his head about the matter; he was a 'd—d good fellow—rode devilish well, and stood on no sort of ceremony'; that was enough for him. Nobody else knew anything about him, save that he was a capital judge of horseflesh, kept a famous black mare, and attended every hunt in the West Riding—that he could sing a good song, was a choice companion, and could drink three bottles without feeling the worse for them.

Sensible of the indecorum that might attach to his appearance, Doctor Small had hastily laid down his pipe, and arranged his wig. But when he saw who was the intruder, with a grunt of defiance he resumed his occupation, without returning the bow of the latter, or bestowing further notice upon him. Nothing discomposed at the churchman's displeasure, Jack greeted Titus cordially, and carelessly saluting Mr. Coates, threw himself into a chair. He next filled a tumbler of claret, and drained it at a draught.

'Have you ridden far, Jack?' asked Titus, noticing the dusty state of Palmer's azure attire.

'Some dozen miles,' replied Palmer; 'and that, on such a sultry afternoon as the present, makes one feel thirstyish. I'm as dry as a sandbed. Famous wine this—beautiful tipple—better than all your red fustian. Ah, how poor Sir Piers used to like it! Well, that's all over—a glass like this might do him good in his present quarters! I'm afraid I'm intruding. But the fact is, I wanted a little information about the order of the procession, and missing you below, came hither in search of you. You're to be chief mourner, I suppose, Titus— rehearsing your part, eh?'

'Come, come, Jack, no joking,' replied Titus; 'the subject's too serious. I am to be chief mourner—and I expect you to be a mourner—and everybody else to be mourners. We must all mourn at the proper time. There'll be a power of people at the church.'

'There are a power of people here already,' returned Jack, 'if they all attend.'

'And they all will attend, or what is the eating and drinking to go for? I shan't leave a soul in the house.'

'Excepting one,' said Jack, slyly. 'She won't attend, I think.'

'Ay, excepting one—Lady Rookwood and her abigail. All the rest go with me, and form part of the procession. You go too.'

'Of course. What time do you start?'

'Twelve precisely. As the clock strikes, we set out—all in a line, and a long line we'll make. I'm waiting for that ould coffin-faced rascal, Peter Bradley, to arrange the order.'

'How long will it all occupy, think you?' asked Jack, carelessly.

'That I can't say,' returned Titus; 'possibly an hour, more or less. But we shall start to the minute—that is, if we can get all together, so don't be out of the way. And hark ye, Jack, you must contrive to change your toggery. That sky-blue coat won't do. It's not the thing at all, at all.'

'Never fear that,' replied Palmer. 'But who were those in the carriages?'

'Is it the last carriage you mean? Squire Forester and his sons. They're dining with the other gentlefolk, in the great room upstairs, to be out of the way. Oh, we'll have a grand berrin'. And by Saint Patrick! I must be looking after it.'

'Stay a minute,' said Jack; 'let's have a cool bottle first. They are all taking care of themselves below, and Peter Bradley has not made his appearance, so you need be in no hurry. I'll go with you presently. Shall I ring for the claret?'

'By all means,' replied Titus.

Jack accordingly arose; and a butler answering the summons, a long-necked bottle was soon placed before them.

'You heard of the affray last night, I presume,' said Jack, renewing the conversation.

'With the poachers? To be sure I did. Wasn't I called in to examine Hugh Badger's wounds the first thing this morning; and a deep cut there was, just over the eye, besides other bruises.'

'Is the wound dangerous?' enquired Palmer.

'Not exactly mortal, if you mean that,' replied the Irishman; 'dangerous, certainly.'

'Humph!' exclaimed Jack; 'they'd a pretty hardish bout of it, I understand. Anything been heard of the body?'

'What body?' enquired Small, who was half dozing.

'The body of the drowned poacher,' replied Jack; 'they were off to search for it this morning.'

'Found it—not they!' exclaimed Titus. 'Ha, ha!—I can't help laughing, for the life and sowl of me; a capital trick he played 'em—capital—ha, ha! What do you think the fellow did? Ha, ha!—after leading 'em the devil's dance, all round the park, killing a hound as savage as a wolf, and breaking Hugh Badger's head, which is as hard and thick as a butcher's block, what does the fellow do but dive into a pool, with a great rock hanging over it, and make his way to the other side, through a subterranean cavern, which nobody knew anything about, till they came to drag it, thinking him snugly drowned all the while—ha, ha!'

'Ha, ha, ha!' chorused Jack; 'bravo! he's a lad of the right sort—ha, ha!'

'He! who?' enquired the attorney.

'Why, the poacher, to be sure,' replied Jack; 'who else were we talking about?'

'Beg pardon,' returned Coates; 'I thought you might have heard some intelligence. We've got an eye upon him. We know who it was.'