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.




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