THE DWARF AND THE RUIN.
The by-path down which Sir Norman rode, led to an inn, "The Golden Crown," about a quarter of a mile from the ruin.Not wishing to take his horse, lest it should lead to discovery, he proposed leaving it here till his return; and, with this intention, and the strong desire for a glass of wine - for the heat and his ride made him extremely thirsty - he dismounted at the door, and consigning the animal to the care of a hostler, he entered the bar-room.It was not the most inviting place in the world, this same bar-room - being illy-lighted, dim with tobacco-smoke, and pervaded by a strong spirituous essence of stronger drinks than malt or cold water.A number of men were loitering about, smoking, drinking, and discussing the all-absorbing topic of the plague, and the fires that might be kindled.There was a moment's pause, as Sir Norman entered, took a seat, and called for a glass of sack, and then the conversation went on as before.The landlord hastened to supply his wants by placing a glass and a bottle of wine before him, and Sir Norman fell to helping himself, and to ruminating deeply on the events of the night.Rather melancholy these ruminations were, though to do the young gentleman justice, sentimental melancholy was not at all in his line; but then you will please to recollect he was in love, and when people come to that state, they are no longer to be held responsible either for their thoughts or actions.It is true his attack had been a rapid one, but it was no less severe for that; and if any evil-minded critic is disposed to sneer at the suddenness of his disorder, I have only to say, that I know from observation, not to speak of experience, that love at first sight is a lamentable fact, and no myth.
Love is not a plant that requires time to flourish, but is quite capable of springing up like the gourd of Jonah full grown in a moment.Our young friend, Sir Norman, had not been aware of the existence of the object of his affections for a much longer space than two hours and a half, yet he had already got to such a pitch, that if he did not speedily find her, he felt he would do something so desperate as to shake society to its utmost foundations.The very mystery of the affair spurred him on, and the romantic way in which she had been found, saved, and disappeared, threw such a halo of interest round her, that he was inclined to think sometimes she was nothing but a shining vision from another world.Those dark, splendid eyes; that lovely marblelike face; those wavy ebon tresses; that exquisitely exquisite figure; yes, he felt they were all a great deal too perfect for this imperfect and wicked world.Six Norman was in a very bad way, beyond doubt, but no worse than millions of young men before and after him; and he heaved a great many profound sighs, and drank a great many glasses of sack, and came to the sorrowful conclusion that Dame Fortune was a malicious jade, inclined to poke fun at his best affections, and make a shuttlecock of his heart for the rest of his life.He thought, too, of Count L'Estrange; and the longer he thought, the more he became convinced that he knew him well, and had met him often.
But where? He racked his brain until, between love, Leoline, and the count, he got that delicate organ into such a maze of bewilderment and distraction, that he felt he would be a case of congestion, shortly, if he did not give it up.That the count's voice was not the only thing about him assumed, he was positive;and he mentally called over the muster-roll of his past friends, who spent half their time at Whitehall, and the other half going through the streets, making love to the honest citizens' pretty wives and daughters; but none of them answered to Count L'Estrange.He could scarcely be a foreigner - he spoke English with too perfect an accent to be that; and then he knew him, Sir Norman, as if he had been his brother.In short, there was no use driving himself insane trying to read so unreadable a riddle;and inwardly consigning the mysterious count to Old Nick, he swallowed another glass of sack, and quit thinking about him.
So absorbed had Sir Norman been in his own mournful musings, that he paid no attention whatever to those around him, and had nearly forgotten their very presence, when one of them, with aloud cry, sprang to his feet, and then fell writhing to the floor.The others, in dismay, gathered abut him, but the ne=t instant fell back with a cry of, "He has the plague!" At that dreaded announcement, half of them scampered off incontinently; and the other half with the landlord at their head, lifted the sufferer whose groans and cries were heart-rendering, and carried him out of the house.Sir Norman, rather dismayed himself, had risen to his feet, fully aroused from his reverie, and found himself and another individual sole possessors of the premises.His companion he could not very well make out; for he was sitting, or rather crouching, in a remote and shadowy corner, where nothing was clearly visible but the glare of a pair of fiery eyes.There was a great redundancy of hair, too, about his head and face, indeed considerable more about the latter than there seemed any real necessity for, and even with the imperfect glimpse he caught of him the young man set him down in his own mind as about as hard-looking a customer as he had ever seen.The fiery eyes were glaring upon him like those of a tiger, through a jungle of bushy hair, but their owner spoke never a word, though the other stared back with compound interest.There they sat, beaming upon each other - one fiercely, the other curiously, until the re-appearance of the landlord with a very lugubrious and woebegone countenance.It struck Sir Norman that it was about time to start for the ruin; and, with an eye to business, he turned to cross-examine mine host a trifle.
"What have they done with that man?" he asked by way of preface.
