Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 274: what you’re looking at

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a —_— ———— retrace my. way towards the inn at which I had| secured a bed. As I was passing through a narrow street almost completely lined with huge towering factories, my attention was suddenly drawn to a terrific disturbance which exploded as it were all in a moment from a public-house. Two men rushed out and began to engage in a furious battle, —the same door vomiting forth a dozen half- drunken creatures of both sexes—who, with shouts, and yells, and cries of wild savage delight, en- couraged the combatants. Half-a-dozen police- constables were soon upon the spot; and there was a general rush of spectators and combatants back into the public-house. I got mingled with the throng and was irresistibly borne thither in their midst. Order was however soon restored: but one of the pugilists had received so severe a blow from his opponent, that he fell down senseless. At first it was thought the man had been stricken with apoplexy, and that he was dead. He was laid upon a bench in front of the bar: restoratives were administered, and I lingered to ascertain the result,—being naturally anxious on account of a fellow-creature whose life appeared to be in such jeopardy. He began to recover slowly ; and just at the instant that he unclosed his eyelids, the door ’ of the public-house parlour was thrown open. A half-tipsy individual, having the air of a small tradesman, came forth, with a pipe in his mouth; and in a thick voice inquired “what the devil all the disturbance was about ?” Glancing towards him, I was on the point of retreating in disgust from the entire scene, when methought that within the room on the threshold of which the half-tipsy individual had halted, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Dorchester. But if so, his appearance was assuredly very different from that of the grave and sedate gentleman whose drink was water and who for twenty years had never suffered alcohol to pass his lips. It was a drunken, brawling, furious vociferator, vehemently denouncing—and with no small quantity of im- precations too—some individual with whom it ap- peared he was holding an argument. I remained riveted to the spot in speechless amazement: the half-tipsy tradesman with the pipe retreated into the room—and the door was closed. My first impulre was now to rush towards the door—fling it open again—and satisfy myself whether my suspicions were true or false: but on a second thought I turned abruptly away and quitted the house. “No,” I said to myself, “it is as ridiculous, as it is insulting to the character of that excellent clergyman! I should have sunk immeasurabiy in my own esteem if I had yielded to an idea so dishonouring to a worthy man, and if I had suf- fered a momentary illusion to hurry me on to the taking of a step which on convincing me of my mistake would have filled me with humiliation.” Thus reasoning, I gained the tavern where I was to sleep—and retired to rest. But slumber did not immediately visit my eyes; and notwith- standing my endeavour to persuade myself that it was not Mr. Dorchester whom I had seen, my misgivings became strengthened. If it were not he, the individual of whom I had caught a glimpse, bore a remarkable resemblance to the reverend gentleman. Was it possible, I asked myself, that he could be a dissembler in public but a debauchee o_o ._ _ _= JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, TUE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. 261 swindled out of my money? No: I could not— I dared not come to such a conclusion. Had he not behaved most honourably ? had he not taken me to the house which was to be hired for this scholastic speculation? had he not purposed to introduce me to his friend Mr. Pointer? had he not bowed to the occupants of a carriage and to a gentleman in his gig? Thus did I strain and strive to reason myself out of my apprehensions : but the longer I reflected, the more serious they grew. I was now bitterly annoyed with myself that I had not penetrated into the public-house parlour to clear ‘up the uncertainty: I felt that I had yielded to a sentiment of generous confidence which was unnecessarily and even foolishly punc- tilious. However, it was now too late to take any step; and 1 must await the morning for the solution of all my doubts. I slept but little that night; and the few brief intervals of slumber which I did snatch, were troubled and uneasy. I rose early—indeed before it was light; and issuing forth, sought the street in which Mr. Dorchester dwelt. My hand was upon the knocker—but I,withdrew it. What was I about todo? It was now scarcely eight o’clock, and I was not to be with him till eleven :—what excuse could I make for this untimely visit? If all my suspicions were unfounded, how was I to explain my motives for knocking at the door thus early P and how could I question the maid-servant as to the manner in which Mr. Dorchester had spent the previous evening? I hastened back to the tavern —ordered my breakfast —and en- deavoured to tranquillize myself to the utmost of my power. But still I was not easy; and when the meal.was over, I sauntered again into the street where Mr. Dorchester dwelt. It was now nine o’clock; and the maid-servant was at the moment entering the house with a bunch of water- cresses in her hand. Ah! assuredly these were to form a portion of the clergyman’s frugal meal ; and it could not possibly be he of whom I had caught a glimpse in that low pot-house. Such was my reflection ; and at the instant I caught the look of surprise which the maid flung upon me. I sped away again—and wandered about the town until ten minutes to eleven. Then I thought I might venture to knock at the door of the clergyman’s abode. I did so; and while waiting for my sum- mons to be answered, I felt my heart palpitating violently. The trim, neat-looking servant-girl soon made her appearance; and with a still deeper degree of suspense, I said, “Is Mr. Dorchester within ?” “ Oh, no, sir !” she replied, with an air of amaze- ment: “he went away last night.” “ Went away last night?” I ejaculated, fury in my brain and sickness at my heart: for now all in a moment my worst fears were confirmed. ‘“To be sure, sir,” continued the maid; “and I understood that you were going with Mr. Dorchester. He told me so; and therefore I was quite surprised to see you passing up the street at about nine o’clock, when I went out to fetch something for missus’s breakfast.” “And who is your mistress?” I asked im- patiently. “ Why, the landlady of the house, to be sure,” responded the girl, somewhat distantly, as if she in private P—and was it possible that I had been EGhoo <S (Cc) AA