the justice to think I should be very ill pleased were he to trudge home a-foot and suffer for his courtesy; so he borrowed my grey, to keep him out of the mire; and indeed the ways were fouler than usual, with the rains. Was there any ill in all this? HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE! says I."
The gentlemen all sided loudly with her on this appeal—except Neville, who held his tongue, and smiled at her plausibility; and Griffith, who hung his head at her siding with Neville.
At last he spoke and said sorrowfully: "If you did exchange horses with him, of course I have only to ask his pardon—and go."
Catherine reflected a moment before she replied.
"Well," said she, "I did exchange, and I did not. Why quarrel about a word? certainly he took my horse, and I took his; but it was only for the nonce. Mr. Neville is foreign bred, and an example to us all: he knows his piebald is worth two of my grey, and so he was too fine a gentleman man to send me back my old hunter and ask for his young charger. He waited for me to do that; and, if anybody deserves to be shot, it must be Me. But, dear heart, I did not foresee all this fuss; I said to myself, 'La, Mr. Neville will be sure to call on my father or me some day, or else I shall be out on the piebald, and meet him on the grey, and then we can each take our own again.' Was I so far out in my reckoning? Is not that my Rosinante yonder? Here, Tom Leicester, you put my side-saddle on that grey horse, and the man's saddle on the piebald there.—And now, Griffith Gaunt, it is your turn: you must withdraw your injurious terms, and end this superlative folly."
Griffith hesitated.
"Come," said Kate, "consider; Mr. Neville is esteemed by all the county: you are the only gentleman in it who have ever uttered a disparaging word against him. Are you sure you are more free from passion and prejudice, and wiser than all the county? oblige me, and do what is right. Come, Griffith Gaunt; let your reason unsay the barbarous words your passion hath uttered against a worthy gentleman, whom we all esteem."
Her habitual influence, and these last words, spoken with gentle and persuasive dignity, turned the scale. Griffith turned to Neville, and said in a low voice that he began to fear he had been hasty, and used harsher words than the occasion justified: he was going to stammer out something more, but Neville interrupted him with a noble gesture: "That is enough, Mr. Gaunt," said he. "I do not feel quite blameless in the matter: and have no wish to mortify an honorable adversary unnecessarily."
"Very handsomely said," put in Major Rickards: "and now let me have a word. I say that both gentlemen have conducted themselves like men—under fire; and that honor is satisfied, and the misunderstanding at an end. As for my principal here, he has shown he can fight, and now he has shown he can hear reason against himself, when the lips of beauty utter it. I approve his conduct from first to last, and am ready to defend it in all companies, and in the field, should it ever be impugned."
Kate colored with pleasure, and gave her hand eloquently to the Major. He bowed over it, and kissed the tips of her fingers.
"Oh! sir," she said, looking on him now as a friend, "I dreamed I saw Mr. Neville lying dead upon the snow, with the blood trickling from his temple."
At this Neville's dark cheek glowed with pleasure. So! it was her anxiety on his account had brought her here.
Griffith heard too, and sighed patiently.
Assured by Major Rickards that there neither could nor should be any more fighting, Kate made her adieux, mounted her grey horse, and rode off, discreetly declining all attendance. She beckoned Tom Leicester, however. But he pretended not to see the signal; and let her go alone. His motive for lingering behind was characteristic, and will transpire shortly.
As soon as she was gone, Griffith Gaunt quietly reminded the surgeon that there was a bullet in his arm all this time.
"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Islip, "I forgot that; I was so taken up with the lady."
Griffith's coat was now taken off, and the bullet searched for: it had entered the fleshy part of his arm below the elbow, and, passing round the bone, projected just under the skin. The surgeon made a slight incision, and then, pressing with his finger and thumb, out it rolled. Griffith put it in his pocket.
Neville had remained out of civility, and now congratulated his late antagonist, and himself, that it was no worse.
The last words that passed between the rivals on this occasion were worth recording, and characteristic of the time.
Neville addressed Gaunt with elaborate courtesy, and to this effect: "I find myself in a difficulty, sir. You did me the honor to invite me to Mr. Charlton's funeral, and I accepted: but now I fear to intrude a guest, the sight of whom may be disagreeable to you. And, on the other hand, my absence might be misconstrued as a mark of disrespect, or of a petty hostility I am far from feeling. Be pleased, therefore, to dispose of me entirely in this matter."
Griffith reflected. "Sir," said he, "there is an old saying, 'let every tub stand on its own bottom.' The deceased wished you to follow him to the grave, and therefore I would on no account have you absent. Besides, now I think of it, there will be less gossip about this unfortunate business if our neighbors see you under my roof; and treated with due consideration there, as you will be."
"I do not doubt that, sir, from so manly an adversary; and I shall do myself the honor to come." Such was Seville's reply. The rivals then saluted each other profoundly, and parted.
Hammersley and Rickards lingered behind their principals to settle their little bet about Kate's affections: and, by-the-by, they were indiscreet enough to discuss this delicate matter within a dozen yards of Tom Leicester: they forgot that "little pitchers have long ears."
Catherine Peyton rode slowly home, and thought it all over as she went; and worried herself finely. She was one that winced at notoriety; and she could not hope to escape it now. How the gossips would talk about her! they would say the gentlemen had fought about her; and she had parted them for love of one of them. And then the gentlemen themselves! The strict neutrality she had endeavored to maintain on Scutchemsee Nob, in order to make peace, would it not keep them both her suitors? She foresaw she should be pulled to pieces, and live in hot water, and be "the talk of the county."
There were but two ways out: she must marry one of them, and petition the other not to shoot him; or else she must take the veil, and so escape them both.
She preferred the latter alternative. She was more enthusiastic in religion than in any earthly thing: and now the angry passions of men thrust her the same road that her own devout mind had always drawn her.
As soon as she got home she sent a message to Father Francis, who drove her conscience, and begged him to come and advise her.
After that, she did the wisest thing, perhaps, she had done all day. Went to bed.
CHAPTER VII
The sun was just setting when Catherine's maid came into her room and told her Father Francis was below. She sent down to say she counted on his sleeping at Peyton Hall; and she would come down to him in half an hour. She then ordered a refection to be prepared for him in her boudoir; and made her toilet with all reasonable speed, not to keep him waiting. Her face beamed with quiet complacency now: for the Holy man's very presence in the house was a comfort to her.
Father Francis was a very stout muscular man, with a ruddy countenance; he never wore gloves, and you saw at once he was not a gentleman by birth. He had a fine voice; it was deep, mellow, and when he chose, sonorous. This, and his person, ample, but not obese, gave him great weight, especially with his female pupils. If he was not quite so much reverenced by the men, yet he was both respected and liked; in fact, he had qualities that make men welcome in every situation: good humour, good sense, and tact. A good son of his Church, and early trained to let no occasion slip of advancing her interests.
I wish my readers could have seen the meeting between Catherine Peyton and this burly ecclesiastic. She came into the drawing-room