Pondering on his unhappy lot, Joe sat and listened for a longtime, expecting every moment to hear their creaking footsteps onthe stairs, or to be greeted by his worthy father with a summons tocapitulate unconditionally, and deliver himself up straightway.
But neither voice nor footstep came; and though some distantechoes, as of closing doors and people hurrying in and out ofrooms, resounding from time to time through the great passages, andpenetrating to his remote seclusion, gave note of unusual commotiondownstairs, no nearer sound disturbed his place of retreat, whichseemed the quieter for these far-off noises, and was as dull andfull of gloom as any hermit"s cell.
It came on darker and darker. The old-fashioned furniture of thechamber, which was a kind of hospital for all the invalidedmovables in the house, grew indistinct and shadowy in its manyshapes; chairs and tables, which by day were as honest cripples as need be, assumed a doubtful and mysterious character; and one oldleprous screen of faded India leather and gold binding, which hadkept out many a cold breath of air in days of yore and shut in manya jolly face, frowned on him with a spectral aspect, and stood atfull height in its allotted corner, like some gaunt ghost whowaited to be questioned. A portrait opposite the window--a queer,old grey-eyed general, in an oval frame--seemed to wink and doze asthe light decayed, and at length, when the last faint glimmeringspeck of day went out, to shut its eyes in good earnest, and fallsound asleep. There was such a hush and mystery about everything,that Joe could not help following its example; and so went off intoa slumber likewise, and dreamed of Dolly, till the clock ofChigwell church struck two.
Still nobody came. The distant noises in the house had ceased, andout of doors all was quiet; save for the occasional barking of somedeep-mouthed dog, and the shaking of the branches by the nightwind. He gazed mournfully out of window at each well-known objectas it lay sleeping in the dim light of the moon; and creeping backto his former seat, thought about the late uproar, until, with longthinking of, it seemed to have occurred a month ago. Thus, betweendozing, and thinking, and walking to the window and looking out,the night wore away; the grim old screen, and the kindred chairs and tables, began slowly to reveal themselves in their accustomedforms; the grey-eyed general seemed to wink and yawn and rousehimself; and at last he was broad awake again, and veryuncomfortable and cold and haggard he looked, in the dull greylight of morning.
The sun had begun to peep above the forest trees, and already flungacross the curling mist bright bars of gold, when Joe dropped fromhis window on the ground below, a little bundle and his trustystick, and prepared to descend himself.
It was not a very difficult task; for there were so manyprojections and gable ends in the way, that they formed a series ofclumsy steps, with no greater obstacle than a jump of some few feetat last. Joe, with his stick and bundle on his shoulder, quicklystood on the firm earth, and looked up at the old Maypole, it mightbe for the last time.
He didn"t apostrophise it, for he was no great scholar. He didn"tcurse it, for he had little ill-will to give to anything on earth.
He felt more affectionate and kind to it than ever he had done inall his life before, so said with all his heart, "God bless you!"
as a parting wish, and turned away.
He walked along at a brisk pace, big with great thoughts of goingfor a soldier and dying in some foreign country where it was veryhot and sandy, and leaving God knows what unheard-of wealth inprize-money to Dolly, who would be very much affected when she cameto know of it; and full of such youthful visions, which weresometimes sanguine and sometimes melancholy, but always had her fortheir main point and centre, pushed on vigorously until the noiseof London sounded in his ears, and the Black Lion hove in sight.
It was only eight o"clock then, and very much astonished the BlackLion was, to see him come walking in with dust upon his feet atthat early hour, with no grey mare to bear him company. But as heordered breakfast to be got ready with all speed, and on its beingset before him gave indisputable tokens of a hearty appetite, theLion received him, as usual, with a hospitable welcome; and treatedhim with those marks of distinction, which, as a regular customer,and one within the freemasonry of the trade, he had a right toclaim.
This Lion or landlord,--for he was called both man and beast, byreason of his having instructed the artist who painted his sign, toconvey into the features of the lordly brute whose effigy it bore, as near a counterpart of his own face as his skill could compassand devise,--was a gentleman almost as quick of apprehension, andof almost as subtle a wit, as the mighty John himself. But thedifference between them lay in this: that whereas Mr Willet"***treme sagacity and acuteness were the efforts of unassistednature, the Lion stood indebted, in no small amount, to beer; ofwhich he swigged such copious draughts, that most of his facultieswere utterly drowned and washed away, except the one great facultyof sleep, which he retained in surprising perfection. The creakingLion over the house-door was, therefore, to say the truth, rather adrowsy, tame, and feeble lion; and as these social representativesof a savage class are usually of a conventional character (beingdepicted, for the most part, in impossible attitudes and ofunearthly colours), he was frequently supposed by the more ignorantand uninformed among the neighbours, to be the veritable portraitof the host as he appeared on the occasion of some great funeralceremony or public mourning.
"What noisy fellow is that in the next room?" said Joe, when he haddisposed of his breakfast, and had washed and brushed himself.
"A recruiting serjeant," replied the Lion.
Joe started involuntarily. Here was the very thing he had beendreaming of, all the way along.
"And I wish," said the Lion, "he was anywhere else but here. Theparty make noise enough, but don"t call for much. There"s greatcry there, Mr Willet, but very little wool. Your father wouldn"tlike "em, I know."
