From Hovenden Lodge, Philip Martindale returned home; and after finding every thing as it should be at the Abbey, and arranging with the trusty Oliver concerning uniformity of narrative, he called upon the old gentleman at the cottage. There he underwent a long harangue on the folly of archery, and the silliness of Sir Andrew Featherstone, together with a desultory dissertation on the frivolity of the age in general. From which dissertation, it was to be inferred that old John Martindale was the only man living who had the least idea of propriety and wisdom of conduct.

With becoming deference and submission, the young gentleman gave his assent to whatsoever the senior was pleased to assert. This is one of the greatest pains of a state of dependence, that it robs a man of the pleasure of contradicting; and it is also one of the greatest evils of holding intercourse with dependants, that a man is thereby deprived of the pleasure of being contradicted. These were evils which the old and the young gentleman both felt, but the old gentleman felt it most deeply. Contradiction was so much his element, that he could hardly live without it; and rather than not enjoy the pleasure of it, he would contradict himself. That must have been a man of uncommon and high powers of mind, who could so have managed the old gentleman as to stimulate without offending him. The Hon. Philip Martindale was not equal to it, either from want of capacity or from lack of attention and diligence.

When the old gentleman had finished a tolerably long harangue on fools and follies of all descriptions, it almost occurred to him that if so great was the number of follies, and so long was the list of fools, there could be little else than folly in all human pursuits; and that he himself, in his own singularity of wisdom, was something of a fool for being so outrageously wise, when there was nobody left to keep him in countenance. Paradoxical as it may sound, it is not far from truth that excess of wisdom is excess of folly. The old gentleman thought so when he said to his cousin:

“I dare say now that you think me an old fool for my pains, if you would be honest enough to speak your mind.”

Not waiting for a reply to this very wise, though not very original remark, Mr. Martindale continued his talk: “I am sorry, Master Philip, you thought fit to take yourself off just at the very moment that you were wanted. I have had a very pleasant and intelligent companion at the cottage for the last two days, I particularly wished to introduce him to you; I mean the young barrister, who pleaded old Richard Smith’s cause so temperately and so successfully. I should have thought that the company of an intelligent young man would be far more agreeable than a set of idle gabbling chits, and an old simpleton of a baronet, who has not an idea in the world beyond a cookery-book. But every man to his taste.”

“I am sorry, sir,” replied Philip, “that I was not aware of your friend’s being at Brigland. It would have given me great pleasure to be introduced to him. He certainly conducted his cause with great propriety, and did not take, as some persons might have done, an opportunity of insulting me.”

“He did not conduct himself as your advocate did, Master Philip; he did not attempt to convert a court of justice into a bear-garden, or degrade the dignity of his profession by playing the buffoon to make boobies laugh. Mr. Markham is a man of good sense, and I think his conversation would have been of service to you: though he is a young man, he is very extensively informed.”

“I have not the least doubt of it,” replied Philip; “I am only sorry that I was so unfortunate as to be out of the way when he was here. I shall be more fortunate I hope another time.”

That was a lie; but dependants must lie if they would not lose their places. The Hon. Philip Martindale recollected the time when he was under no necessity of saying the thing which was not, when he was independent but of his profession; but then he was not called the honourable, then he had no rank to support or dignity to keep up. It was really mortifying and distressing to him that those very circumstances to which he had looked with hope and pleasure, and from which he had anticipated an accession to his happiness through the gratification of his pride, should become the means of annoying him so keenly where he was most susceptible. The dilemma in which he was placed was grievously perplexing. Turn which way he would, mortifications awaited him. There was the daughter of a retired soap-boiler on one side; there was the son of a country shopkeeper pestering him on the other. To go back to his profession was quite out of the question. To marry rank and fortune too was not in the compass of probability. Oh, how perplexing and troublesome it is that such perpetual encroachments should be made upon persons of rank; so that notwithstanding all the care and pains which they take to avoid it, they are perpetually brought into contact with the commercial cast. Most deeply did Philip Martindale feel this inconvenience, but he could find no remedy for it. He had however one consolation, in the thought that he was not alone in his sorrows. He was acquainted with others who carried their heads much higher than himself, who yet suffered the convenient degradation of commercial affinities.

“Well, well,” said the old gentleman, “I am sorry that Mr. Markham is gone; and I fear we shall not see him again very soon.”

This was no subject of regret with the Hon. Philip Martindale; he was glad to hear that he was not likely to be soon annoyed by an introduction to a man of such equivocal rank as Horatio Markham. But seeing that his opulent relative was very much pleased with this stranger, he thought it might be agreeable if he made farther inquiries; he therefore asked, how it happened that Mr. Markham had made so short a visit. To his inquiries he received for answer, that an express had arrived calling the young barrister to London, and offering to his acceptance a highly respectable legal situation in one of the colonies. For this information Philip was thankful; and finding that there was no danger of being compelled to realise his profession, he began to speak very highly of the young barrister’s moral and intellectual qualities, and to express in still stronger terms the sorrow he felt at not being able to have the pleasure of his acquaintance. Cunning as old Mr. Martindale in general was, he was so far deceived by these protestations, that he was put by them into high good humour, both with himself and his relative; and then he went on to talk about Richard Smith and his niece. This, however, was a topic not altogether agreeable to Philip; but the young gentleman so far succeeded in explaining that affair, that Mr. Martindale was ready to accept the explanation. He then told Philip that Mr. Markham and he had visited the cottage; and so communicative and good-humoured was the elder Martindale, that he even repeated, as far as he could recollect, what took place at that visit, and how he had cautioned the young barrister not to lose his heart.

While this discourse was going on in the cottage, the town of Brigland was agitated to its very centre by a tragical event which had occurred at old Richard Smith’s cottage. Multitudes of idle people were running from place to place, full of dreadful news of a murder that had been committed in the course of the preceding night. Almost every one had a different story to tell; and the affair lost nothing of its horror and mystery by being transmitted from one to another. Mr. Denver, as in duty or in habit bound, brought the tidings to Mr. Martindale at the cottage. The story, as related by the good-humoured perpetual curate, spoke of poor old Richard Smith as having been murdered by the gipsies, and of his niece being carried away nobody knew where. Upon cross-examination, however, it was elicited that Mr. Denver had acquired his information by a very circuitous route; for he had heard Mrs. Price and Mrs. Flint both at once telling a different version of the same story to Mrs. Denver, who, while those two ladies were speaking narratively, noisily, and contradictorily, was herself also talking exclamatively and interrogatively. The ladies who communicated the event to Mrs. Denver had received their information also from compound sources, but both were satisfied that they had received their intelligence from the best authority; and in order to prove that they were both rightly informed, they both of them talked very loudly and very rapidly.

Mr. Denver must have been a very clever man under such circumstances to have made out any story at all; and he was a very clever man in such matters, and very much experienced in carrying and collecting intelligence: indeed, the mode above stated was that in which he usually acquired his knowledge. Practice gives great facility. But it must be acknowledged, notwithstanding all Mr. Denver’s accuracy and dexterity, that there were in his narrative some errors. It was not true that Richard Smith had been murdered; and it was not true that his niece had been carried away by violence or otherwise. These were the only two errors in the whole account. Much more however was reported, which Mr. Denver did not relate; and that which he did not relate was the part to which was most especially applicable that pathos of look and exclamation with which he introduced his narrative. This part of the story unfortunately was not true; we say unfortunately, because it is really mortifying to the multitude when investigation and inquiry deprive them of the richest part of a most horrible story. It was not likely that Mr. Denver should mention this part of the report when he saw Mr. Philip; for it was to that gentleman that it referred.

The report was, that Richard Smith had been murdered by some ruffians who had been employed by the Hon. Philip Martindale to carry off the niece of the poor old man. There was mention made of a fierce-looking military man, who was to all appearance a foreigner, who had been seen lurking about Brigland Common, and conversing with the gipsies that had but recently made their appearance there; and one person actually saw this foreigner enter the lane where old Smith’s cottage stood. All this part of the tale was very properly and very considerately omitted by Mr. Denver, who was a very candid man; and who thought that if it were true, it would in proper time transpire; and that if Mr. Philip had employed ruffians to carry off the young woman, he might have his own reasons for it.

At the hearing of this very serious story, the two Martindales expressed their horror and astonishment; and Philip immediately asked Mr. Denver why he had not gone to the old man’s cottage, in order to make some inquiry about the matter: to which interrogation Mr. Denver gave no answer. The retailers of intelligence would indeed lose many a choice and delightful story, if they were to take great pains to investigate the matter before they talked about it.

Philip Martindale requested Mr. Denver immediately to accompany him to the spot, that they might be assured whether or not any violence had been used, and whether there was any necessity for the interference of a magistrate. In their way they called on the constable, who was frightened out of his wits at the thought of going into a house where a man lay murdered. But the presence of Philip Martindale inspired him with an extraordinary share of courage. As they proceeded, they saw groups of people standing here and there, discussing with great gravity, the mysterious affair of the old man’s cottage. They looked with great earnestness on Mr. Martindale and his companions; and their murmurings and whisperings grew thicker and deeper.

When at length they arrived at the cottage, they found it surrounded by a crowd of women and children, and idle girls and boys. The women were all talking, and the girls and boys were clambering up to the cottage-windows, or were mounted on trees that were near, as if to catch a glimpse of something within the cottage. At the approach of Philip Martindale and his party, the boys and girls slunk down from the windows; the women stayed their loud talking; the whole multitude buzzed with low whisperings; and the faces of all were turned towards the magistrate, who was hastily dragging the clergyman by his arm, and was followed at a very respectful distance by the constable.

Not staying to make any inquiries, Philip Martindale hastily opened the door of the cottage, and leading in Mr. Denver, he turned round and urged the constable to make haste in. When he entered the apartment, he saw presently that one part of the clergyman’s narrative was incorrect, namely, that which referred to the murder of old Richard Smith; for there sat the old man in life and health, but apparently in a state of great agitation, unable to answer a word to the impatient and numerous interrogatories of Philip Martindale and Mr. Denver. A very short interval elapsed, before there appeared from an inner-room a person who was likely to be able to give some rational account of the mystery. This person was a surgeon. As soon as he heard Mr. Martindale’s voice, he came forward to explain the affair.

“Pray, Mr. Davis,” exclaimed the magistrate, “what is the cause of all this bustle and confusion? Mr. Denver has been informed that this poor man was murdered. What has given rise to such a rumour?”

“I am happy to say, sir,” replied Mr. Davis, “that there has been no life lost, though there was great danger of it; and I fear that this poor man will suffer seriously from the agitation which he has undergone. If you will give me leave, sir, I will tell you all the particulars. A little better than an hour ago, just as I was preparing to go my rounds, a boy came running almost breathless into my surgery, imploring me to make all the haste I could up to old Richard Smith’s cottage, for there was a man there who was so dreadfully wounded that he was almost killed. Of course I made the best of my way here; and when I arrived, I found the poor man sitting, as he is now, quite speechless; and while I was endeavouring to learn from him what was the matter, there came into the room a gentleman, who spoke like a foreigner, and asked if I was a surgeon, and begged me to step into the back room; there I found upon the bed one of the gipsies that have been here for some days, just at the edge of the common. They are gone now, all but this man. I found, sir, that this man had been severely wounded with a pistol-ball, and that he had suffered much from loss of blood. I immediately dressed the wound, which is by no means dangerous, and then inquired of the foreign gentleman what was the cause of the accident; for I could not get a single word from the man himself. It appeared, sir, from the account which the stranger gave me, that the gipsey had broke into the cottage in the night, or rather early in the morning, and that he was threatening to murder this poor old man if he would not tell where his money was. The stranger hearing a noise in the apartment where Richard Smith slept, listened, and soon ascertained the cause of it; fearing that the robber might have fire-arms in his possession, he seized a pistol, and without farther thought entered the room, and discharged it at the robber. The gentleman also informed me that he heard the voices of persons outside the cottage, but that after he had discharged the pistol, they retreated. He tells me that Richard Smith, in consequence of the fright, has not been able to speak since.”

On hearing this account, Philip Martindale expressed a wish to see the foreigner, of whom Mr. Davis had made mention; and upon his introduction, he immediately recognised the Italian whom he had met in London a day or two ago. The poor foreigner looked full of concern for the hasty manner in which he had acted, and seemed to fear that he had violated the law. He made many apologies to Philip Martindale, whom he presently recognised as a person of some importance; but his mind was soon set at ease, when he was informed that what he had done was perfectly legal. He then repeated with great energy the obligations under which he lay to his very good friend, who had so kindly assisted him in finding his wife and child.

The next step was the committal of the wounded man for burglary; and upon the assurance of Mr. Davis that he might be safely moved, the commitment was accordingly made out; and the stranger, who gave his name as Giulio Rivolta, was bound over to give evidence at the trial.

Matters being thus arranged, Philip and the clergyman returned to give the old gentleman a more accurate version of the story than he had before heard. Mr. Denver underwent, as was usual, a lecture from the old gentleman, on the folly of telling stories just as he heard them, without taking any trouble, to ascertain as he easily might in most cases, whether those said stories were true or false. And when the truth of the matter came to be generally known in Brigland, every body laughed at every body for circulating, inventing, and believing improbable tales; and all the idle, gossiping people in the town, went about from house to house, complaining, bewailing, and lamenting, that Brigland was the most idle, gossiping, censorious place in the world. But still it was insinuated that there was something very mysterious in the business, which was not yet brought to light. There was more talk than ever concerning Richard Smith; and nobody could recollect when or how he first came to take up his abode at Brigland.