It was some time before our hero could persuade the old woman to stick to Little Wrestham, or to Toddrington, and not to mix the directions for the different roads together--he took patience, for his impatience only confused his director the more.In process of time, he made out, and wrote down, the various turns that he was to follow, to reach Little Wrestham; but no human power could get her from Little Wrestham to Toddrington, though she knew the road perfectly well; but she had, for the seventeen last years, been used to go 'the other road,' and all the carriers went that way, and passed the door, and that was all she could certify.
Little Wrestham, after turning to the left and right as often as his directory required, our hero happily reached; but, unhappily, he found no Mr.Reynolds there; only a steward, who gave nearly the same account of his master as had been given by the old woman, and could not guess even where the gentleman might now be.
Toddrington was as likely as any place--but he could not say.
'Perseverance against fortune.' To Toddrington our hero proceeded, through cross-country roads--such roads!--very different from the Irish roads.Waggon ruts, into which the carriage wheels sunk nearly to the nave--and, from time to time, 'sloughs of despond,' through which it seemed impossible to drag, walk, wade, or swim, and all the time with a sulky postillion.
'Oh, how unlike my Larry!' thought Lord Colambre.
At length, in a very narrow lane, going up a hill, said to be two miles of ascent, they overtook a heavy laden waggon, and they were obliged to go step by step behind it, whilst, enjoying the gentleman's impatience much, and the postillion's sulkiness more, the waggoner, in his embroidered frock, walked in state, with his long sceptre in his hand,The postillion muttered 'curses not loud, but deep.' Deep or loud, no purpose would they have answered; the waggoner's temper was proof against curse in or out of the English language; and from their snail's pace neither DICKENS nor devil, nor any postillion in England, could make him put his horses.Lord Colambre jumped out of the chaise, and, walking beside him, began to talk to him; and spoke of his horses, their bells, their trappings; the beauty and strength of the thill-horse--the value of the whole team, which his lordship happening to guess right within ten pounds, and showing, moreover, some skill about road-making and waggon-wheels, and being fortunately of the waggoner's own opinion in the great question about conical and cylindrical rims, he was pleased with the young chap of a gentleman; and, in spite of the chuffiness of his appearance and churlishness of his speech, this waggoner's bosom 'being made of penetrating stuff,'
he determined to let the gentleman pass.Accordingly, when half-way up the hill, and the head of the fore-horse came near an open gate, the waggoner, without saying one word or turning his head, touched the horse with his long whip--and the horse turned in at the gate, and then came--'Dobbin!--Jeho!' and strange calls and sounds, which all the other horses of the team obeyed; and the waggon turned into the farmyard.
'Now, master! while I turn, you may pass.'
The covering of the waggon caught in the hedge as the waggon turned in; and as the sacking was drawn back, some of the packages were disturbed--a cheese was just rolling off on the side next Lord Colambre; he stopped it from falling; the direction caught his quick eye--'To Ralph Reynolds, Esq.'--'TODDRINGTON' scratched out; 'Red Lion Square, London,' written in another hand below.
'Now I have found him! And surely i know that hand!' said Lord Colambre to himself, looking more closely at the direction.
The original direction was certainly in a handwriting well known to him it was Lady Dashfort's.
'That there cheese, that you're looking at so cur'ously,' said the waggoner, has been a great traveller; for it came all the way down from Lon'on, and now it's going all the way up again back, on account of not finding the gentleman at home; and the man that booked it told me as how it came from foreign parts.'
Lord Colambre took down the direction, tossed the honest waggoner a guinea, wished him good-night, passed, and went on.As soon as he could, he turned into the London road--at the first town, got a place in the mail--reached London--saw his father--went directly to his friend, Count O'Halloran, who was delighted when he beheld the packet.Lord Colambre was extremely eager to go immediately to old Reynolds, fatigued as he was; for he had travelled night and day, and had scarcely allowed himself, mind or body, one moment's repose.
'Heroes must sleep, and lovers too; or they soon will cease to be heroes or lovers!' said the count.'Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! this night; and to-morrow morning we'll finish the adventure in Red Lion Square, or I will accompany you when and where you will; if necessary, to earth's remotest bounds.'
The next morning Lord Colambre went to breakfast with the count.
The count, who was not in love, was not up, for our hero was half an hour earlier than the time appointed.The old servant Ulick, who had attended his master to England, was very glad to see Lord Colambre again, and, showing him into the breakfast parlour, could not help saying, in defence of his master's punctuality--'Your clocks, I suppose, my lord, are half an hour faster than ours; my master will be ready to the moment.'
The count soon appeared--breakfast was soon over, and the carriage at the door; for the count sympathised in his young friend's impatience.As they were setting out, the count's large Irish dog pushed out of the house door to follow them and his master would have forbidden him, but Lord Colambre begged that he might be permitted to accompany them; for his lordship recollected the old woman's having mentioned that Mr.Reynolds was fond of dogs.
