Redgauntlet [192]
in which every rougher expression was exchanged for those of courtesy and kindness.
'The visit we have been just honoured with, my young friend, has given you,' he said, 'more secrets to keep than I would have wished you burdened with. The lady is a person of condition--of rank and fortune--but nevertheless is so circumstanced that the mere fact of her being known to be in this country would occasion many evils. I should wish you to observe secrecy on this subject, even to Redgauntlet or Maxwell, however much I trust them in all that concerns my own affairs.'
'I can have no occasion,' replied Fairford, 'for holding any discussion with these gentlemen, or with any others, on the circumstance which I have just witnessed--it could only have become the subject of my conversation by mere accident, and I will now take care to avoid the subject entirely.'
'You will do well, sir, and I thank you,' said the father, throwing much dignity into the expression of obligation which he meant to convey. 'The time may perhaps come when you will learn what it is to have obliged one of my condition. As to the lady, she has the highest merit, and nothing can be said of her justly which would not redound to her praise. Nevertheless--in short, sir, we wander at present as in a morning mist--the sun will, I trust, soon rise and dispel it, when all that now seems mysterious will be fully revealed--or it will sink into rain,' he added, in a solemn tone, 'and then explanation will be of little consequence.--Adieu, sir; I wish you well.'
He made a graceful obeisance, and vanished through the same side- door by which the lady had entered; and Alan thought he heard their voices high in dispute in the adjoining apartment.
Presently afterwards, Ambrose entered, and told him that a horse and guide waited him beneath the terrace.
'The good Father Buonaventure,' added the butler, 'has been graciously pleased to consider your situation, and desired me to inquire whether you have any occasion for a supply of money?'
'Make my respects to his reverence,' answered Fairford, 'and assure him I am provided in that particular. I beg you also to make my acknowledgements to the Misses Arthuret, and assure them that their kind hospitality, to which I probably owe my life, shall be remembered with gratitude as long as that life lasts. You yourself, Mr. Ambrose, must accept of my kindest thanks for your skill and attention.'
Mid these acknowledgements they left the house, descended the terrace, and reached the spot where the gardener, Fairford's old acquaintance, waited for him, mounted upon one horse and leading another.
Bidding adieu to Ambrose, our young lawyer mounted, and rode down the avenue, often looking back to the melancholy and neglected dwelling in which he had witnessed such strange scenes, and musing upon the character of its mysterious inmates, especially the noble and almost regal-seeming priest, and the beautiful but capricious dame, who, if she was really Father Buonaventure's penitent, seemed less docile to the authority of the church than, as Alan conceived, the Catholic discipline permitted. He could not indeed help being sensible that the whole deportment of these persons differed much from his preconceived notions of a priest and devotee. Father Buonaventure, in particular, had more natural dignify and less art and affectation in his manner, than accorded with the idea which Calvinists were taught to entertain of that wily and formidable person, a Jesuitical missionary.
While reflecting on these things, he looked back so frequently at the house, that Dick Gardener, a forward, talkative fellow, who began to tire of silence, at length said to him, 'I think you will know Fairladies when you see it again, sir?'
'I dare say I shall, Richard,' answered Fairford good-humouredly. 'I wish I knew as well where I am to go next. But you can tell me, perhaps?'
'Your worship should know better than I,' said Dick Gardener; 'nevertheless, I have a notion you are going where all you Scotsmen should be sent, whether you
'The visit we have been just honoured with, my young friend, has given you,' he said, 'more secrets to keep than I would have wished you burdened with. The lady is a person of condition--of rank and fortune--but nevertheless is so circumstanced that the mere fact of her being known to be in this country would occasion many evils. I should wish you to observe secrecy on this subject, even to Redgauntlet or Maxwell, however much I trust them in all that concerns my own affairs.'
'I can have no occasion,' replied Fairford, 'for holding any discussion with these gentlemen, or with any others, on the circumstance which I have just witnessed--it could only have become the subject of my conversation by mere accident, and I will now take care to avoid the subject entirely.'
'You will do well, sir, and I thank you,' said the father, throwing much dignity into the expression of obligation which he meant to convey. 'The time may perhaps come when you will learn what it is to have obliged one of my condition. As to the lady, she has the highest merit, and nothing can be said of her justly which would not redound to her praise. Nevertheless--in short, sir, we wander at present as in a morning mist--the sun will, I trust, soon rise and dispel it, when all that now seems mysterious will be fully revealed--or it will sink into rain,' he added, in a solemn tone, 'and then explanation will be of little consequence.--Adieu, sir; I wish you well.'
He made a graceful obeisance, and vanished through the same side- door by which the lady had entered; and Alan thought he heard their voices high in dispute in the adjoining apartment.
Presently afterwards, Ambrose entered, and told him that a horse and guide waited him beneath the terrace.
'The good Father Buonaventure,' added the butler, 'has been graciously pleased to consider your situation, and desired me to inquire whether you have any occasion for a supply of money?'
'Make my respects to his reverence,' answered Fairford, 'and assure him I am provided in that particular. I beg you also to make my acknowledgements to the Misses Arthuret, and assure them that their kind hospitality, to which I probably owe my life, shall be remembered with gratitude as long as that life lasts. You yourself, Mr. Ambrose, must accept of my kindest thanks for your skill and attention.'
Mid these acknowledgements they left the house, descended the terrace, and reached the spot where the gardener, Fairford's old acquaintance, waited for him, mounted upon one horse and leading another.
Bidding adieu to Ambrose, our young lawyer mounted, and rode down the avenue, often looking back to the melancholy and neglected dwelling in which he had witnessed such strange scenes, and musing upon the character of its mysterious inmates, especially the noble and almost regal-seeming priest, and the beautiful but capricious dame, who, if she was really Father Buonaventure's penitent, seemed less docile to the authority of the church than, as Alan conceived, the Catholic discipline permitted. He could not indeed help being sensible that the whole deportment of these persons differed much from his preconceived notions of a priest and devotee. Father Buonaventure, in particular, had more natural dignify and less art and affectation in his manner, than accorded with the idea which Calvinists were taught to entertain of that wily and formidable person, a Jesuitical missionary.
While reflecting on these things, he looked back so frequently at the house, that Dick Gardener, a forward, talkative fellow, who began to tire of silence, at length said to him, 'I think you will know Fairladies when you see it again, sir?'
'I dare say I shall, Richard,' answered Fairford good-humouredly. 'I wish I knew as well where I am to go next. But you can tell me, perhaps?'
'Your worship should know better than I,' said Dick Gardener; 'nevertheless, I have a notion you are going where all you Scotsmen should be sent, whether you